The Taming of a Wild Child. Kimberly Lang
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struggling to superstar nearly overnight and made them the largest direct response and infomercial production company in the South. His father had an original Toilet Whiz framed and hanging outside Studio One in a place of honor.
The sight still made Donovan laugh every time he passed it. Part of Donovan’s success as a TV personality came from the fact he always seemed to be amused about something when the cameras rolled; only a few people knew it was because he’d just passed a framed Toilet Whiz.
Donovan had an office right down the hall from his father’s, but he rarely used it. He wasn’t a part of the business—infomercials had given him a comfortable checking-account balance and paid his college tuition, but he wasn’t interested in the actual production of them—but since his siblings had offices in the building Dad had given him one, too.
He could have used it, but he far preferred to work in his own space, where there were fewer distractions and his tendency to work odd hours went unquestioned. Because he was so rarely there, his office had a sterile, unlived-in feeling. It was expertly and expensively decorated, and it gave him a place to hang plaques and pictures and things, but he couldn’t actually work in there.
He was using the studios more often these days, though, as his TV appearance schedule picked up. Their facilities and staff were truly top-notch, and he’d found he rather liked using the family’s home field. His brothers had even expanded the studio’s capabilities, and St. James Media was getting traffic from a lot of famous faces these days.
Maybe he had contributed something to the family business, after all.
However, it was proving quite handy to have the office to use as a place to drop off his stuff and put on a tie before he went on air. Unknotting the noose around his neck, he headed back toward his office, ready to go home.
His father’s secretary followed him down the long hallway, talking a mile a minute, and he listened with half an ear. As he opened his office door and saw Lorelei sitting on the low sofa under the window, he wished he’d paid a bit more attention.
How had she known he’d be here?
He closed the door behind him. “Lorelei. This is … unexpected.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, really?” Sarcasm dripped off her words.
“Yeah. Your ‘have a nice life’ statement kind of implied you wouldn’t be dropping by to chat.”
“That was before we made the newspaper.”
“We?”
“Yes, we.” She sounded downright irritated about it.
“When? For what?”
“This morning. In the write-up about the wedding.”
“And you came by to tell me about it?”
“I rather assumed you’d already know.”
This was obviously going to take more than just a minute. He sat on the edge of his desk. “Uh, no. I usually skip that part of the paper.”
“Well, it might not be as far-reaching as that transportation bill, but it certainly rocks this little part of the world.”
The mention of his column caught him off-guard. He wouldn’t have thought Lorelei read the editorial section of any newspaper. And normally he’d be surprised that the mention of something two private citizens possibly did at a private function could be considered earth-rocking in any part of the world, but he’d humor her for the moment. “What did it say?”
In response, Lorelei pulled a torn page out of her purse and shoved it at him. It took a second for him to get through a rundown of the guest list, what everyone was wearing and a description of the ice sculptures, but finally he found Lorelei’s name and his. He turned the paper over, looking for more, but on the back was an advertisement for a casino. “That’s it?”
Lorelei’s jaw dropped. “You don’t think that’s enough?”
“I don’t actually see the problem, Lorelei.”
She looked on the edge of a sputter. “My mother reads the Wednesday Pages like the Bible.”
“As does mine. So?”
This time Lorelei did sputter. “So? That’s all you have to say?”
“Well, I don’t see a reason to freak out.”
“Obviously your mother hasn’t been texting you all morning, looking for an explanation because half the city is asking her for an explanation.”
So that was what had her panties in a twist. Damn it. I shouldn’t have thought about her panties. Especially since he knew for a fact that her taste in undergarments ran to the tiny and lacy. “Definitely not.”
“Well, that figures.”
He could hear the sour that must be nice tone under those words. “Look, Lorelei. We don’t owe anyone an explanation for anything—much less some busybody’s baseless speculation in what is little more than a gossip column.”
Lorelei’s eyes widened. “‘Baseless speculations?’”
“Well, it was baseless—at least until your little freak-out gave it credence. The very fact you came running down here makes it look like there really is something going on. Something more than what was publicly witnessed. Someone went fishing and you took the bait. You’ve pretty much told the world we had sex.”
Her eyes widened. “For the love of …” Lorelei obviously hadn’t thought it through until now, and the realization set her pacing in frustration. She started muttering to herself, and he caught the occasional phrase about her mother or Vivi killing her. Even Connor’s name came up once. Finally she stopped pacing and turned to him. “What do you suggest we do?”
He didn’t see the big deal. “We don’t do anything. I’m going to go about my business as always. You can do whatever you think best.”
“Donovan, I’m asking for your help here. You may not care that there’s gossip in the paper, but I do.”
“Since when?” There was certain information a person couldn’t avoid, no matter how uninterested they might be. That included news of the adventures of the young, wealthy, beautiful and fabulous. Lorelei had made the papers plenty of times with far more descriptive rundowns on her activities.
“I know I haven’t cared in the past, but things are different now.”
Her voice lost the impatience and the snark, and for a moment she sounded almost vulnerable. But she was completely overreacting. This was not nearly the catastrophe Lorelei seemed to think it was, and, left alone, it would all blow over soon enough.
“I know I’ve never been a saint like Vivi. Never will be, either.” She smiled weakly, and he realized that it had to be tough to live up to an example like Vivi. “The thing is, with Vivi and Connor on their honeymoon, I’m going to be making appearances on their behalf—for the charities they represent and the organizations they support. I don’t need—and can’t have—this kind of gossip hanging over my head and coloring everyone’s thoughts.” Lorelei’s blue eyes were wide and earnest. She was serious. “It’s not just about me. It’s about them and their reputations and the organizations they do so much for. There’s a lot more at stake than just a little public embarrassment for me.”
He normally didn’t have any patience for the troubles of the children of the city’s elite. Connor and Vivi had been the exceptions that had slowly brought him around to a different view. They hadn’t sat on their trust funds or relied on family connections to coast through in a perfect life. They’d worked hard: Connor with his music career and Vivi with her art gallery and work with every non-profit organization in the parish. That he respected.
If Lorelei had hit him with anything