"Rock star?"
"Politician."
"Sounds like hell," Lyle said.
"Better than LA." Riley
took another long drink from his water bottle. "I swear, I must love you, man, to come back to this hell hole."
Lyle flashed the trademark smile that had made his face famous back in his sitcom days. "What can I say? I'm lovable." He tossed the towel aside. "We still have another hour. Might as well let you get back to tormenting me."
They were just about to get back into it when the door opened and Evelyn marched in, accompanied by Lyle's assistant, Natasha, who looked efficient as always in black slacks, a white sleeveless shirt, and a red leather portfolio held tight in her hands.
"Sorry to interrupt, Lyle," Natasha said, without acknowledging Riley. "Evelyn needed to see you right away, and I thought it would be easier to drive her here than to explain where this shithole of a gym is hidden. Especially since it's a shithole without any decent WiFi or cell service."
"Not a problem," Lyle said at the same time Riley said, "Good to see you again, Natasha."
She only gave him a half nod, then stepped back as Evelyn moved in to fill the gap. She clutched the portfolio to her chest with one arm, her attention still locked on Lyle. If anything, it looked as if she was avoiding even turning in Riley's direction. And, Lyle noticed, she was twisting a strand of long dark hair around her finger. She'd worked for him for going on four years now, and he recognized the nervous habit.
All of which, he thought, was pretty damn interesting.
Whatever was--or wasn't--going on between his assistant and his friend, however, was pushed out of his mind when Evelyn took another step closer. "I'm going to assume you haven't seen this," she said as she thrust her phone at him. "But I damn sure hope you have an explanation."
He looked down at the image--and as he did, he felt his guts twist inside him. It was him, no doubt about that. And the picture showed him in a passionate lip lock with Sugar. At least, he knew it was Sugar. About all anyone else could tell was that she was blonde and a head shorter than him.
"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," he said, giving the phone back to Evelyn.
"Who is she? Someone you've been seeing? Someone you met in a bar?"
"Something like that."
Evelyn scoffed. "Dammit, Iowa. I may not be able to tell who that girl is, but I do know she's not Frannie. Who, by the way, has called me twice. Which is nine times fewer than the studio calls I've fielded--every department from publicity all the way up to Ronald himself," she added, referring to the head of the studio backing the film.
"You're lucky you chose today to work out, or you would have gotten an earful, too," she continued, looking more harried than he could ever remember seeing her. "Ignore all your voicemails, by the way. I'm fielding everything."
"It's that bad." He said it as a statement, not a question. All these years he'd been so damn careful. Then one woman slips in through the cracks in his armor, and suddenly everything he's worked for is on the verge of shattering.
"Hell yes, it's that bad."
"Hold on." Riley's attention had been on Natasha, who'd moved back to lean against a wall as she tapped on her phone, presumably answering emails. Now, however, he stepped forward. "The studio actually gives a rat's ass about one photo of our boy and a blonde?"
"With the money they've invested in this picture, they care about what brand of toothpaste he uses. You're under a microscope, Iowa. You know that. Hell, we talked about it just a few hours before this photo was taken. So do you want to explain to me how this happened?"
"Not really, no. But I'll fix it."
"Too late. I already fixed it. Or, at least, I put a Band-Aid on it."
Lyle stiffened as trepidation shot through him. "What did you do?"
"What I told you to do yesterday. Congratulations, Iowa, I got you a girlfriend."
Lyle stared at her, uncomprehending. "Hang on. You got me a--how? Who?"
"The woman in the photo, obviously. I told Ronald she was your girlfriend, that you've been seeing her for months, but that she's not in the business and doesn't like the spotlight. And, most important, that you're not going to cheat on her just to make Frannie or the publicity department happy."
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"As for Frannie, so long as the relationship seems serious, she'll leave you alone. She screws around, but she's also got a romantic streak. As long as you bring this girl to Wyatt's opening tonight and look madly in love, I think we'll be back on track."