“I’m sorry. What’s your problem?” I snap.
“My problem is that my baby boy is lying in a hospital bed, and it’s all because of you.” Glancing over at an unconscious River, my blood starts to boil on his behalf.
I’ve been in his room for less than two minutes with this woman, and I can confidently say that it’s two minutes too long. How the hell did someone as sweet, easy-going, and accepting of those around him come from genes this twisted? It’s a freaking miracle.
“Now, my son might not admit it, but he craves my approval like a junkie.”
I snort but bite my tongue as her catlike eyes narrow in annoyance before she defends, “Why do you think he became a model? Why do you think he auditioned for the B.T. Henderson project? It’s obvious he’s looking for my approval.”
Seems I’m not the only one with a crazy stalker, I think to myself before questioning her. “How did you know about the B.T. Henderson project?”
“Because I have connections. You know he’s going to lose the role for this, don’t you? That is unless we spin it in our favor. Heroic boyfriend sacrifices himself to save girl-next-door from her crazy stalker who cut the brakes in his truck. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? It’s a little long. I’ll give you that. We’ll have to cut it down. Make it a little…snappier perhaps, but I think it’ll do quite nicely.”
“Where’s Ted?” My attention darts to the empty doorway. And how the hell does she know anything about Ian, let alone the cut brakes? Even I didn’t piece together that little tidbit until now. That’s why River couldn’t stop. That’s why he lost control.
But…how did she know?
“Only two visitors at a time, remember?” Monet answers while picking at her blood-red fingernails. “You’ve never dealt with the paparazzi, Miss Anders. You don’t understand the importance of weaving a palatable story together before it gets twisted into something that’s bad for business.”
Nerves frazzled, I point out, “If you weren’t here, there wouldn’t be a story.”
“But I’m his mother.”
“You’re a washed-up actress who’s hoping to make the headlines because her son was in a car accident.”
She scoffs. “Washed-up? I could have any role I want delivered to me on a silver platter.”
“Unless B.T. Henderson is directing it. Tell me something, Miss Cavier,” I ask, mimicking the same condescending tone she so eloquently delivers. “Were you jealous when you found out he was given the part? Were you hoping to milk your connection to him, but he wasn’t interested in airing out his dirty laundry to the public? And when I say dirty laundry, I mean you. Is that why you’re here?”
“He wouldn’t be anyone without me.”
“He’s who he is in spite of you,” I return, my words practically dripping acid. “How did you know about my ex? How did you know someone was following us tonight? And how, exactly, did you know about the cut brakes?”
“The, uh––” She hesitates before regaining her composure. “Ted. He told me all about it.”
“Ted didn’t know about the cut brakes.”
“Then it must’ve been the police.”
“But you said, Ted.”
Waving her hand through the air, she argues, “Does it matter? The past twenty-four hours have been a bit chaotic. You’ll have to forgive me for a minor slipup or two.”
“How did you know about the audition? About the role River was given?”
“You’re surprised? I know everything in this business.”
“He went through a lot of work to keep the opportunity discreet.”
She laughs. “And he thought I wouldn’t be able to piece it together? I might be beautiful, Miss Anders, but I’m not stupid.”
“No, you’re more calculating than that,” I answer, stroking her precious ego in hopes of her opening up a bit more. Something doesn’t feel right.
Her botoxed smile curves up in the corners. “Maybe you aren’t as dull as I’d initially assumed. I might’ve even underestimated you, and that’s a rare occurrence.”
“I’m flattered,” I mock her.
“I’m sure you are. To answer your question, Henderson might not be a friend of mine, but he is a big influencer in the industry, and whenever there are whispers of a new film in the works, you can bet your life on Brett doing the heavy lifting for finding promising additions to the cast. And when Olivia was booked for a simple lingerie shoot with Brett and a no-name model, it was quite easy to piece it together.”
“So, you knew he auditioned for the role. Big deal. I’m sure a lot of people auditioned.”
“Yes, but not with the help of Brett,” she counters while slowly pacing the room. “He’s the key.”
“Okay, so, you could assume this no-name actor––aka your estranged son––had gotten the part. Then what? You could’ve just leaked your relationship to the media.”
“And have him air out his dirty laundry?” she counters with a quirked brow.
“So, this was…what, exactly? A PR stunt for you? Loving mother visits son in the hospital?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffs.
Shrugging, I tap my finger against my chin as it all clicks into place. “I’m not a PR expert, but I can see the weight of a palatable story woven together like the one I just suggested. Especially when it’s compared to a leaked birth certificate and a flimsy claim to a toxic relationship between an up-and-coming actor and a washed-up, deadbeat mother with a drug addiction.”
“What, exactly, are you insinuating?” Her eyes narrow into tiny slits as she purses her lips and dares me to voice the truth. But if I’m wrong, it’ll be catastrophic.
Still, I finally understand how my brother feels when he needs to protect me. How Gibson, Jake, and River felt when they found out about my past.
And now, I’m going to protect River.
“You cut the brakes,” I accuse her.
“I was in LA.”
“Then you paid someone to do it. It’s obvious you keep tabs on people of interest, and once River was given the role in Henderson’s movie, he became one to you. But you couldn’t convince him to give you another chance, could you? The texts, the calls…all of them were an attempt to reconcile your relationship. Not because you’re a good mom, but because you crave the spotlight even if you have to take it from your own son to steal another taste. And I’m sure that once you found out I had a possessive ex, the rest of your plan practically wrote itself. Are you the one that stole the pictures from my room, too, then dropped them off at my brother’s work?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Like you said…you’re not dumb, Ms. Cavier,” I seethe. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Running her hands along her perfectly coiffed hair, her eyelids flutter a few times as a fresh wave of anxiety rolls off her.
“Admit it,” I push.
“You’re grasping at straws––”
“Maybe. But if that’s the case, then I’m sure you won’t mind being interviewed by the police when I tell them my theory, right?”