Secrets Of The A-List Complete Collection, Episodes 1-12. Cat Schield

would her problems go away?

      It was a weak, futile imagining, one not worthy of Mariella. She braced for whatever news was to come and stared down at the screen. The sight of Gabe’s picture provided a welcome reprieve.

      “Hi, querido,” she responded with genuine warmth.

      “How are you?”

      She fluttered her eyes shut, taking comfort from the inquiry that came from his very good, very loyal heart. With Harrison sidelined and his own actions in all this unclear, she knew without a minute’s doubt that Gabe was the one person she could trust.

      He was hers and always had been. They were kindred spirits, two of the Santiagos who’d both been wounded by the same person. They’d banded together, and she had loved him like her own child.

      “Fine.” A lie. She was the farthest from fine she’d been in a very long time.

      “Good. You have to keep strong, Tía. It’s what Uncle Harrison would expect.”

      She bit back the sharp retort that she wasn’t too sure she cared much about what her husband wanted at that moment. It wasn’t a fair assessment, in any event. She had loved her husband with all her heart for a very long time. Surely Harrison deserved the benefit of the doubt? A chance to explain for himself? Once he was better, he’d fix all this. Wouldn’t he?

      “Gabe? Was Harrison doing any business in China? Hong Kong, perhaps?” she asked.

      There was a long pause, and she imagined Gabe pulling his hand through his dark hair. “Not that I am aware of,” he said eventually. And then he moved on, changing the subject easily. “Listen, Tía, I didn’t want to bother you with this. But she was insistent.”

      “Who? What’s going on?”

      “Veronica Waterhouse,” he said in a tone that Mariella instantly understood. Mention of the woman drove thoughts of the phone number from her mind. The society dame who’d been making their lives a living hell ever since her darling granddaughter had become engaged to Chester Jameson III. “She’s insisting on speaking to you personally. I can handle it, though. I just have to at least look like I’m checking in with you,” he said with a detectable eye roll in his tone.

      The woman was infuriating, but she was also a key player in the social scene, and the wedding of Katherine to Chester would be sensational. The press attention alone made it worth putting up with any number of diva requests. The guest list would be the crème de la crème. It was not the time to risk upsetting such a high-profile client. “No, Gabe. I’ll come down.”

      “There’s no need—”

      “Yes, there is,” she interjected. “You just said Harrison would have wanted us to be strong. Well, he’d sure as hell want to know his business was running as usual.” A fine line formed between her eyes as she mentally clarified, legitimate business. “Now, more than ever, it’s vital that we don’t drop the ball. People will be looking for cracks. I’m going to rely on you even more than usual. Together, we’ll keep this show on the road. Okay?”

      “You know I’m here for you, Mariella,” he murmured, and she smiled.

      “I’ll be there soon. Get her a cocktail. A strong one.”

      Gabe laughed as he disconnected the call. Mariella moved through the grounds quickly, already mentally bracing for the conversation.

      Of course, it would mean delaying her visit to the clinic. Should that have upset her? Worried her? It didn’t. Mariella imagined walking into the room, seeing Harrison, and uncertainty bubbled through her. She loved him, and she wanted him to be well again, but dread accompanied that possibility, too, for they would need to talk when he was well, and Mariella was almost certain she wouldn’t want to hear the truth.

      He needed her, though. Until she knew for sure just what other business he’d been involved in, she wasn’t going to desert him.

      A few more hours, and then she’d go to see him.

      She couldn’t put it off indefinitely. He was her husband, after all.

      * * *

      “Jim Avon?”

      The news anchor was just as expected. Handsome in a Hollywood way, like he spent a little too much time and money on maintaining his look. Caramel pants rolled up to reveal slim ankles and loafers, a shirt tucked in at the waist, and a red string on one wrist. Was it a religious detail or an affectation to a trend?

      The Fixer had never had much time for vanity, especially not in men.

      “Yeah.” Jim was nervous. His voice was thick with adrenaline and anxiety. The Fixer could practically smell it wafting off the reporter. The moment Jim’s eyes landed on Harrison, a sense of anger at the intrusion almost made the Fixer regret this move.

      But it was essential.

      The Fixer needed to take control of the reporting. Harrison would have wanted that.

      “What the hell?” Jim took three more steps into the room, and the Fixer moved to block access to the bed.

      “That’s close enough.”

      “This is a damned waste of my time,” he grunted, his eyes seemingly unable to lift from Harrison’s body.

      “Why do you say that?” A simple question, delivered with a face lacking expression.

      “This guy’s comatose. Look at him.”

      “He’s resting.” The Fixer was dismissive.

      “Resting?” Jim scoffed. “Come on.” Harrison’s face was pale, but for the dark purple bruises that covered one side of him. His body looked lifeless.

      “Resting,” the Fixer emphasized, knowing the dislike was obvious and not caring. “But when you leave here, you’ll be able to report back to your bosses that you had a nice in-depth conversation with him.”

      “You’re shitting me.” The reporter laughed, a sound that was incongruous with the worry knitted tight to the Fixer.

      “No. I’m not shitting you.”

      “You’re actually asking me to fabricate a story?”

      “Oh, that’s a pessimistic way to look at it.” The Fixer bared some teeth. “I’d prefer you to see that I’m giving you an opportunity.”

      “To wreck my career by going on air with a lie? You drag me down here to look at what might as well be the cadaver of Harrison Marshall and expect me to go on air and lie about it? Yeah, right. I’d last about three seconds.”

      “I’m giving you an opportunity to save yourself.”

      The words were different from those said before, but the Fixer had issued a variation on them enough times to understand the effect they had. The threat that was implied in their soft, passive utterance.

      “From what?” Defiance was bravado; the Fixer had Jim’s attention and they both knew it.

      “You know—” The Fixer was in the zone now. The game was about the subtle lingering of a finger on a button at the right time. The adversary in the game always had to believe the Fixer was willing to press down on it—the threat was more useful than the deed, quite often. “I think there are greater threats to your career than a harmless stretching of the truth.”

      Jim’s breath was coming in loud spurts. “Such as?”

      No matter how many things fixed, this never got old. “That kinky little affair you’ve got going with the underage daughter of your network’s major shareholder?” The Fixer’s head shook slowly from side to side, tut-tutting with the appearance of sympathy. “How would your boss feel? Your network? Your wife? Not to mention law enforcement. What a shame it would be to see your promising career cut off at the knees like that, when here you stand, potentially on the brink of a major professional breakthrough.” The Fixer’s smile