He picked up the phone—Bill was onto some legal complication with Griff’s lawyer, Paulie D—grabbed a fresh pair of briefs, pulled them on, and headed to the kitchen for water and the frozen tea bags he used to get rid of the bags under his eyes. He stopped at the mention of Stephanie.
“What was that part about Stephanie?” he asked.
Bill let out a noisy exhale. “Were you listening at all? I heard you take a piss.”
“Yeah, yeah, I was listening. I just wasn’t sure I heard that part about Steph correctly.”
“She’s left several messages, and I know you don’t want a divorce—”
“So why are we talking about her?” Griff liked having a wife. It helped deflect women looking for a commitment. So sorry. Can’t. I’m married.
“She sounded really serious this time. She threatened to sue for back alimony. To, I quote, ‘take him for all he’s worth.’”
“That’s weird.” He grabbed a bottle of Perrier from the fridge and twisted off the cap. That wasn’t like Steph to care about money. What was she really trying to say? Did she miss him? He’d been thinking about her more lately, back there in Connecticut, wondering how she was doing. Sometimes, on a rare night in, when he was alone, he wondered what his life would’ve been like if he’d stayed. If he was still a guitar teacher. They’d probably have a bunch of kids, barely able to make ends meet. Steph always wanted kids. He didn’t. He knew what it was like to grow up poor, having the electricity shut off because your single mom couldn’t pay the bill on a secretary’s paycheck. His dad was also a musician, one that couldn’t be nailed down in one place. Like father, like son.
He took a long drink and watched the blonde lounging by the pool turn over, sunbathing topless. Gretchen? Did she have an accent? He couldn’t remember.
“Are you listening?” Bill demanded.
“Mmm,” he murmured noncommittally. He got out the frozen tea bags and headed for the long white sectional sofa.
“I said go see Stephanie. See what’s got a bug up her ass. Make sure we don’t have a money problem here.”
He stretched out on the sofa and put the bags over his eyes. “Why do I have to see her? Just wait until she takes legal action and sic Paulie D on her. He’ll take care of everything.”
“Can I be honest with you here, Griff?”
“Sure.”
“You need the publicity. It’s as simple as that. I’ve got a call in to Mandy. You’re taking the jet tonight. I’ve arranged cars for both of you. We need pictures of you with your secret wife. It won’t hurt her and, believe me, the mystery of your long-lost wife will only help you.”
Griff grunted. Mandy worked for a trashy tabloid, Stars Chronicle, and had always reported on him in a flattering light. They were friendly. And he wasn’t opposed to seeing Steph again. Their brief time together was the only time in his life he felt like part of a real family—the two of them and her younger brother, Joey. They’d lived together before he went on his first tour. He smiled, thinking of Joey. Sweet kid. Maybe he could squeeze in a visit to him too. It’d been a year since he’d last seen him.
“Yeah, sure,” Griff said. “Looking forward to it.”
“You are? Great!” Bill blew out a breath, muttering to himself, then louder, “I knew you’d come through when it counted. You’ve got until Saturday; then we need you back here for The Bridgette Show.”
They had a gig on the popular late-night talk show. “No problem.”
“Thatta boy.”
Griff hung up and headed over to the pool. “Hey, gorgeous, I gotta leave town. I’ll call you, okay?”
The woman stood and grabbed her bikini top. “I’ll wait by the phone,” she said dryly with no accent.
“Michaela!” he said triumphantly. Her eyes flashed, and he quickly realized he should’ve kept that to himself.
“It’s Taylor, asshole.” She turned on her heel and stalked toward the house.
“Don’t let the door hit your pretty ass on the way out, Taylor,” he called after her.
She flipped him the bird and left.