“Well, Bridget was wrong,” I say before she can spout more nonsense Bridget erroneously authorized. “Simone’s coming out of her session any minute, and if she is in even one shot, I promise you I will shut your shit down. You understand that?”
Lillian swallows and nods solemnly.
“You’re overreacting as usual,” Bridget says, sounding bored and longsuffering.
“And you’re acting irresponsibly as usual,” I fire back. I turn to Lillian, leaving Bridget to find some common sense.
“This is our family counseling session. Our daughter’s having a hard time with this divorce, and we’re doing this to help her,” I say. “This is real life. She needs to take it seriously. Coming out to a circus for fake reality TV does not help.”
“And where do you suggest we go?” Lillian asks, one brow flicked imperiously. I gotta give it to the kid. She’s got balls to be standing up to me when I’m in a mood this foul.
“That, Lillian James, is your job.” I point a thumb over my shoulder to the closed door of the therapist’s office. “My daughter is my job. You can park under the Brooklyn Bridge as far as I care, but get the hell out of this lobby before Simone comes out of that office.”
“Maybe you can wait in the parking lot across the street,” Bridget suggests impatiently. “Get some instant reactions from me after the session.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ross. I was told,” she says, shooting a hard, pointed look at my ex-wife, “this had been cleared.”
“To be safe,” I advise, “anything you’re shooting with proximity to me or Simone, you should clear with my team.”
“Okay. So I’ll contact you if—”
“No, this is the last time you and I speak. If you need anything, you’ll go through my agent, Banner Morales. You think I’m an asshole? Wait’ll you meet her.”
Lillian turns to Bridget. “We’ll be in the parking lot when you’re done.”
I stand by the elevator with arms folded until the last person has left and there’s no sign of a camera, cord or mic.
Bridget watches me in simmering silence, resentment tightening every line of her body. As soon as they’re gone, she unleashes all that banked vitriol on me. “What the fuck, Kenan?”
“What the fuck, Bridget? How could you think it was okay to bring a camera crew to our family counseling session?”
“They weren’t going in,” she says, shifting on her stilettos and glancing away.
“Just the sight of them here could affect Simone’s perception of things, of our life.”
“You humiliated me.”