Chapter Fifteen
The sound of the phone ringing jolted Joy out of the best dream she’d had in months. She’d been watching Troy move comfortably around her kitchen, and he’d been completely naked, save her Kiss the Cook apron. And man, was he gorgeous. She especially liked watching his muscular butt as he stood at the stove steeping the herbs for her throat. She’d been about to sneak up on him and finally grab onto his glorious globes when the damn phone had woken her up.
The ringing stopped before Joy managed to grab it from her nightstand. She rolled over and groaned when she saw it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. Who the hell was calling that early on a Sunday morning?
The phone started chiming again, and she grabbed it, finding Paul’s name lit up on the screen. Unease settled in her gut. Something was wrong. He’d never call that early otherwise.
Hunter.
Her breath caught as she thought of her oldest son. Was it him? Their other two children were safe in Joy’s home. She quickly answered. “Paul?” she croaked. Her voice was barely audible, but at least the stabbing pain had vanished. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Paul?” The word came out clearer even though her voice was still husky. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” he thundered on the other end of the line. “What’s wrong? What isn’t wrong?”
Joy climbed out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans out of her closet. Irritation formed in her chest, and she couldn’t help snapping back, “I don’t know, Paul. Why don’t you tell me instead of biting my head off?”
“You did this to our family, Joy. Didn’t you ever even stop to think what it would mean for me and the kids when you decided to start running around with those Hollywood types?”
“Did what?” She grabbed her toothbrush and filled the brush with toothpaste. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Read the Premonition Perspective. You have ten minutes before I get there.” The call ended abruptly, and Joy stared at the phone with her lip curled in disgust.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she asked the phone as she tossed it down on the bathroom counter. She took a moment to settle down, and then stared at herself in the mirror. She looked tired and like she could use a facial, but at least the purple spots had faded and were almost gone. It was the one bright spot of her rude awakening. After going through her morning routine, she emerged from her bedroom in jeans and a T-shirt and headed straight for the coffee pot.
“You’re up early,” Britt said from where she sat at the table. She was wearing leggings and a long sweatshirt, with one foot on the seat of the chair and the other on the floor.
“Not that early,” Joy said. “It’s not like I sleep half the day away every day.”
“Did you smoke a pack of cigarettes last night or something? You sound like Mrs. Barker,” Britt said, referring to the ninety-four-year-old woman who sold incense and friendship bracelets at the Arts Market.
Joy shook her head. “I started to come down with something last night, but Troy made some miracle herbal tea that knocked it out. Now I just sound like death.”
“Not death,” Britt said, pulling a knit cap over her short hair. The cool breeze from the nearby ocean was wafting through the open window. “More like a phone sex worker.”
Snickering, Joy poured a cup of the coffee that Britt had already made and grabbed a donut from a bakery box on the table. “Did you get these?”
She shook her head. “Lex dropped them off last night when she came by to see Kyle.”
“That was sweet of her.” Joy took a long sip of her coffee and then a large bite of the glazed donut. It wasn’t long before the sugar and caffeine combination worked their magic and Joy finally felt human. She glanced over at her daughter. “All right. How bad is it?”
“How bad is what?” Britt asked in a tone conveying innocence.
“You’re not fooling me. Your dad already called to yell at me. I know something made the papers.”
She sighed, lifted her right butt cheek, and pulled the paper out from underneath her. As she passed it over, she scrunched up her face and said, “It’s pretty bad. Mostly for Kyle.”
“Kyle?” The coffee curdled in her gut. They’d written about her son. The bastards!
Britt frowned. “There’s a few unflattering pictures of you, too.”
Joy waved a hand, unconcerned about that. All she really cared about was protecting her kids. She put down her coffee and donut, opened the gossip rag, and cringed when she saw the picture. She was climbing into Troy’s SUV, and the photo captured her with her legs open, giving everyone a clear shot of her black underwear. To top it off, her mouth was open and she looked as if she were yelling at someone. The effect made it appear she was running from the paparazzi and pulling a diva moment with the press. “That’s attractive,” she said dryly.
“Sorry, Mom.” Britt pushed the donut closer. “You might want to choke that down before you read the article.”
“I doubt it. I’m already on the verge of losing what little I have in my stomach.” She turned her attention to the headline.
Joy Lansing, freshly divorced, freshly dating, and running from questions about her troubled gay son.
Joy let out a gasp. “What the hell?”
“I told you it was bad.” Britt grabbed another donut and shoved it in her mouth.
The article was full of made up lies and pure trash.
Joy Lansing spent the last thirty years in a troubled marriage. Within six months of her husband leaving her, she posed for racy photos, landed a supporting role in an upcoming film under suspicious circumstances, and abandoned her injured son after he came out as gay. To say that Joy Lansing is a problematic woman would be an understatement.
“Problematic? This is the most sexist, misogynistic, homophobic piece of trash I’ve ever read. How can they make up such lies?” she cried, glancing around widely as if she had an audience bigger than her daughter.
Britt climbed out of her chair and rushed to her mother, wrapping her arms around her in a tight bear hug. “It’s one hundred percent lies, Mom,” she said. “Anyone who knows you won’t believe a word of that. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, but this is going to kill any hopes I have for a career if stories like this keep circulating. Who’s going to want to cast a forty-eight-year-old drama queen?”
Britt opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when the front door crashed open and Paul called, “Joy!”
“Oh, shit,” Joy muttered and buried her face in her hands.
Britt reached over and rubbed her mom’s arm soothingly. “Don’t worry. He’ll get over it.”
Paul barged into the kitchen, holding a copy of the Premonition Perspective up in the air. “What the hell were you thinking going to a drug-fueled Hollywood party half naked?”
“Dad!” Britt yelled, turning to face him. “You’re out of line.”
The tall man with thick black hair and plastic black-rimmed glasses did a double take when he saw his daughter standing in Joy’s kitchen. “Britt. Why are you here so early?”