“Obviously,” Tiffy snaps. “Are you this… this… Sexy Man? Do you write that column?”
I nod. “I am. I do.”
“And you make those letters up?” It’s an accusation. One she already knows the answer to, she just wants confirmation.
“Come on, Tiffy. The whole world is scripted. You know this.”
“You know what? Yesterday I almost thought that I had misjudged you. That I was pegging you unfairly. That I came here with an expectation that you deserved to be fired. Because you have this smooth voice. And your words are like candy. Soothing and sweet. But you’re poison, Fletcher Novak. Nothing but poison.”
I give her a sidelong glance. “How would you know?” I growl. “You have no idea who I am.”
“I have an idea,” she snaps back. “Cole sent me to the spa today to relax. Because he had meetings all day and we weren’t going to meet until dinner.”
I cringe at the dinner part, just like I did this morning. She’s finally wrangled him into a date. Got just what she wanted.
“But I wasn’t into it, so I left and went up to the restaurant. And do you know who I saw up there?”
“I can guess,” I say evenly, letting out a breath of air.
She stares at me for a moment, looking like she might explode. But then she lifts her chin and steels herself for the next confrontation. “You set up your client with my possibility.”
I shake my head no.
“You liar,” she seethes. “You liar. I saw you today too.”
“Saw me where?”
Tiffy crosses her arms cross her chest. “That mansion you have up in Incline Village? What the hell was that? You’re rich? You’re married?”
“You had me followed?”
“I followed you myself. I saw you with your… wife, lover, girlfriend… whatever she’s called in your sick world. And your daughter. Do they know what you do, Fletcher?”
“She knows,” I say, leaving Shelly out of it. “And she knows why.”
“So she’s OK with you whoring yourself out? Taking home girls, fucking them on the roof, stringing them along so—”
“I never strung you along. You’re the one who got up and walked out on me this morning.”
“You set Cole up with one of your clients.” She snarls the words out. “You wanna tell me why you did that when you knew I wanted him?”
“You can’t always get what you want, princess.” Her face hardens. “Besides, he’s no good for you. I realized he was an asshole the first time I saw him up at this hotel months ago.” I wait for the surprise, but it never comes. “So you know he was up here?” I ask.
“I do now. Not that it matters. He and I weren’t dating then.” Her anger morphs into pain before my eyes. “He and I weren’t fucking. You used me. You lied to me.” Tears begin to form. “You sold me out, Fletcher. And all I ever did was try to help you keep your job.”
I scoff out a laugh. “I told you the other day, you can keep that fucking job. You think this one measly paycheck is enough to pay my bills?”
“What bills? I saw your house today, Fletcher. And I’m not a real-estate expert, but I looked the address up, and comps come in around four million dollars.”
“Shit.” My laugh is practically a guffaw this time. “If that house was worth four million dollars, my problems would be over. Try thirteen million, Tiffy. Thirteen fucking million dollars. Almost three acres of lakefront property. Two hundred yards of beach. A dock with deep water access so the bigger boats can get in. Eight thousand square feet of living space, home theatre, heated pool in the backyard, and a gym on the lower level that would put this hotel gym to shame.”
“Then why do you need money? And is that why you were so interested in me? For my money?”
Jesus Christ. I eye her, considering if I should tell her or not, considering if she deserves the truth. In the end, I let her decide. “Why do you think?” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m serious,” I say, before she can protest. “Tell me why you think I need money.”
“God only knows. You already admitted to using me for that stupid column of yours. Who knows why you need anything.”
“Give it a shot,” I growl.
She purses her lips and shrugs. “Drugs. Gambling debt.”
“You have a really low opinion of me, don’t you, Tiffy?”
“Oh, please!” she chortles. “I have a low opinion of you? Try the other way around, Fletcher.”
But I’m shaking my head, and then my words come out so low, I’m practically whispering. “I never lied to you. I just don’t hand the truth out to just anyone. And I never had a low opinion of you, Tiffy. From the minute I saw you out in the audience, I was hooked. You were beautiful. So fucking beautiful, you caught my eye in a crowd of hundreds. And even though you didn’t realize it, I liked you because you were confident. It shone through all the doubts you had. I saw it, even when you didn’t. I thought you were sexy. I thought you were funny, and intriguing, and smart. And yeah, the first time we fucked, it was a fuck. But if you think that was fucking last night, then I feel sorry for you. Because you don’t seem to be able to recognize love, Tiffy. And that is just sad.”
I stare at her as she stands in front of me with her arms crossed, shocked into silence.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna be busy packing, so get the fuck—”
A knock at my door stops me mid-sentence, and since I could use the distraction, I walk over and open it up.
Claudio is standing on the other side of the door, his face in a long, sad frown. “Is Tiffy with you? She’s got her phone turned off and I need to talk to her.”
I open the door wide and wave him in.
“Claudio,” Tiffy says, rushing forward. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Claudio nods, looking at me first, before shifting his gaze to Tiffy. “Your father is in the hospital. They’ve sent a helicopter to take us to Reno where the jet is waiting.”
Chapter Thirty
My father died on Tuesday. And the saddest thing about it was that the world went on.
The doctors and nurses in the private hospital suite were too used to death, too wrapped up in the realities of it, and too busy to mark this one particular occasion as special. It wasn’t, in fact. Special. And aside from a somber three sentences muttered on the stock report news that night on the cable channels, no one noticed.
I got there in time, at least. I spent nearly forty-eight hours with him before he slipped away. He wasn’t coherent though. He hadn’t come to the show Saturday night because he’d had another stroke due to the tumor pressing on his brain.
And now that I’m sitting here alone at the cemetery five days later, I feel like shutting down.
At least it’s not raining, though. But it might later because I can see a storm brewing out over the Pacific from where I sit. And it’s not quiet. The traffic from the city is all too familiar. It’s just an ordinary day marking another ordinary death. I don’t mind. I don’t care about anything right now.
Claudio and Cole both explained the money situation. I’m not even sure I mind that. It wasn’t mine, after all. Why should he let me have it?
No, it’s not the money that nags at my calm exterior. It’s the fact that being cut out makes me feel like it was all a lie.
Of course, Claudio insists that I shouldn’t feel this way. But what does he know about rejection? His parents are still together. They live in the same top-floor condo in Russian Hill as they did when he was five. He’s the poster child for unconditional forever love from his parents. He can’t possibly understand.
And that’s why I’m here alone. I told Claudio I’d talk to him later. I just wanted a few minutes alone with my dad to say goodbye. People who have been loved their whole life like he has can’t possibly understand how I feel right now.