Quiet Angel (27 page)

Gage headed to
the penthouse, needing some peace and quiet. And he wasn’t about to ruin it by turning on the television or powering up his laptop. He didn’t want to see himself or Layla or, worse, some asshole reporter speculating about them. He downed a glass of water then peered out a window at the media camped out in make-shift tents, waiting like vultures. He heard the scene was the same outside Story Wings in Savannah.

He cursed under his breath, drew the shades, and collapsed on the sofa. Since the sun rose, he’d flown back to Atlanta, saw their lives splashed on the front page, flown Layla to Atlanta, fired and re-hired his sister, and arranged for wedding dress shopping. It was actually Mary who arranged that, getting the finest boutique to deliver wedding dresses to his building in a matter of hours, and having his family fly out, too. He hoped it would take her mind off the media circus.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the name and quickly answered. “What took you so long to call me back?”

“I was playing golf,” Governor Clements said, his voice cheery. “And nothing interrupts that.”

“Have you seen the papers today?”

“Yep, it’s great! The State of Georgia is in love with you! Layla looks like the perfect Georgia peach, and you don’t look too shabby yourself!”

“I don’t care how we look! How did this happen? Who leaked that I was considering running?”

“Well, that’s an easy one,” he said, chuckling. “I did.”

“What?
Why’d you do that?”

“Because you’re dragging your feet,” Governor Clements said. “I thought you could use a little nudge in the right direction.”

“It wasn’t your job to do that!”

“Gage, I simply couldn’t let that charity event go to waste. That’s not the right word, of course. The event was great—everything about it—all the money that was raised, and everybody’s heart in the right place. But it was a great opportunity—a great backdrop for a potential campaign!”

“
What?
” His godfather was like a father figure—good-intentioned but impossible.

“All the coverage is hearts and rainbows at this point,” Governor Clements continued. “I made sure of that. The press loves the idea of a young couple in the mansion—a wedding, babies playing on the lawn. It all reminds them of JFK.”

“JFK got shot!”

The old man laughed. “I’m sorry you’re upset. You shouldn’t be. I was just trying to help.”

“You put Layla at risk!”

“Oh Gage, if that’s true—and what I did was so bad—then I’m sure Layla has now told you she wants no part of this and has told you not to run.”

Gage paused, the question hanging in the air. “No.”

“Of course not. That’s because Layla’s a strong woman. I could tell from the moment I met her.”

“You scared the shit out of her!”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry if I did. She’s been through a lot—well, I don’t know it for a fact, but I could sense it. We don’t need to discuss it. We both know she’ll be good for women, good for Georgia. And I trust you can keep her safe and protected throughout the whole process.”

Gage shook his head. “How am I supposed to tell her you’re the one that caused all this news coverage, that you’re the reason all these assholes are camped outside my house? I mean, you are like family!”

“Simple,” Governor Clements said. “Don’t tell her.”

Gage hung up, wishing Mary was around with some aspirin. It didn’t seem right not to tell Layla. But the damage was done. And she was dealing with her own mess right now—closing the store, a wedding, a move to Atlanta, unwanted fame. He didn’t want to add to all that. His job, like his godfather said, was to protect her and keep her safe. He called in a reinforcement.

“Have you seen the news?” he asked Dash.

“Nope. Recovering from a sex hangover.”

“I heard you spent the weekend with Poppy.”

“She’s a little hottie.”

“You going to see her again?” Gage asked.

“Do you think Layla’s OK with that? I don’t want trouble for you and your lady.”

“Layla doesn’t care. I need to know if you like Poppy enough to see her again.”

“Yeah, I planned on taking her to dinner soon. What’s going on?”

“I need you to do me a favor,” Gage said. “I need to change your route.”

*

Gage didn’t say
a word to the media for days and corralled his godfather to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. If they could just lay low and keep quiet, he figured the media storm about a third party run, and what impact “the handsome aviator with fresh ideas” might have in the Governor’s Mansion, would run its course.

And he was right. The coverage slowly died down over a couple of news cycles. Sure, there was still the occasional poll showing he’d defeat any Republican or Democrat, and an occasional puff piece about his time at the Naval Academy and growing Southern Wings. There wasn’t much else. It seemed they were in the clear.

But the coverage soon shifted to Layla—the children’s bookstore owner who’d captured his heart. She was originally from Houston and now lived in Savannah. In her spare time, she was involved with Hope Cottage and made crosses that were auctioned off for charity. She was perfect for Gage, and no one had a bad word to say about her.

The media love affair didn’t last long.

It started innocently
enough, the press excited about a possible wedding in the Governor’s Mansion. There were interviews with bridal consultants, fashion designers, caterers, and more to get perspective on planning such a huge event. Gage and Layla had a good laugh watching all the coverage. None of the idiots had any idea they were getting married in two weeks in his mother’s backyard.

After the wedding speculation ran its course, some in the media thought Layla might be pregnant. There was no “baby bump,” but a pregnancy could explain the quick engagement. The media was unsure how the public would take the news of a baby out of wedlock. It likely might have an impact on Gage’s decision whether to run. He and Layla laughed at this story, too.

Then things turned dark. News broke that “Layla Tanner” wasn’t her real name. That led to a series of news articles wondering why Layla would change her name, and hours of talk from so-called “experts” about why a person would ever do that. The reasons usually aren’t good. There is usually some complication about the person. The person usually has something to hide, that she’s running away from and wants to forget.

Today news broke that a “Layla Baxter” once lived in a homeless shelter in Annapolis. The media suggested it probably was the same woman since Gage was in college there at the same time. They wondered how he came to “associate” with her, and what a young girl with family in Houston was doing in a shelter. One possibility was that Layla, despite the sweet façade, was “troubled” and could be “difficult,” so much so that she once ran away from home for a summer.

*

His blood boiling,
Gage switched off the television in his office. A fury of pain was heading her way if he didn’t do something quickly. “I’m sick of this shit,” he barked. “I’m going to put a stop to it.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Emerson asked.

“I’m going to tell them to stop.”

“That won’t work,” she said. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Have to say I agree with her,” Governor Clements said. “You’re too emotionally involved.”

“You’ll only make things worse,” she said.

“Emerson, I’m not going to sit around and do nothing when they’re attacking my future wife!”

“You’re not going to help things, Gage.”

“I want them to hear from me, Emerson!”

“The goal is to
help
things. You talking doesn’t accomplish that.”

“I don’t see you helping things! I’m going to talk to them. You can’t stop me. There’s always one or two of them hanging around outside on the street like cockroaches.”

Emerson shook her head and lowered her glasses. “Can I convince you not to do this?”

“No.”

“Can I?” Governor Clements asked.

“No.”

“OK,” Emerson said. “Then let’s draft a statement together—something we can control.”

“I’m not reading a statement!”

“You don’t have to read it,” Governor Clements said. “It’s just a few talking points. We just want you to be under control if you say something. It will only take one reporter making a snide comment, and you’re liable to bash his head in. That wouldn’t be good for you, the company, Layla. Your sister is right. Let us help put something together.”

*

Layla wanted to
be strong. She didn’t want to be intimidated. She could bear a story every few days, but now the drips about her past were coming quicker—all the “questions” the media had, as if they had the right to ask them, and all the “answers” they wanted, as if they had a right to those, too. She wiped a few tears from her eyes.

Poppy walked in the break room. “You going to hide in here all day?”

“Are the reporters still outside the store?”

“Yeah, a handful. I just flipped them the bird when I put up the “Going Out of Business” sign.”

“All the digging the press is doing—it’s horrible,” Layla said. “They make me seem terrible.”

Dash stuck his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but someone’s here to see you, Layla.”

“Move it!” Helen said, swatting Dash’s shoulder. “Let me see my future daughter-in-law.”

Layla smoothed her sundress as Helen shooed Poppy and Dash away. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“Honey, I know who you are,” Helen said.

“I appreciate that,” Layla said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“One of my own has been attacked!” Helen said. “Where the hell else would I be? Sorry for the language. I save my curses for extreme situations.”

“Me, too.”

“Well, let’s hear it then.”

“I’m not sure I should.”

“Give me your best curse at those damn reporters!”

“There are a few children in the store.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing they haven’t heard before. You hear the way my grandkids talk. Now, make me proud! Just don’t use G.D. We are fine Southern women. We don’t go there.”

Layla took a deep breath and shook out her hands to prepare. “Shit!” she said with a laugh.

“You can do better.” Helen pulled out two mini bottles of scotch from her purse. “This might help. Emerson gets them for me from the planes.”

Layla looked down at the bottle. “Damn, shit!”

“Come on!” Helen said, shooting back her bottle. “Those assholes invaded your privacy! Made up all kinds of shit! Let them have it!”

“Fucking bastards!” Layla screamed and took a sip, choking slightly.

Helen cheered. “Fucking cunt bastards!”

Layla took a big slug and channeled her inner Poppy. “Fucking cunt, son of a bitch, damn mother fucking bastards! And bitches, too!”

“Feel better, dear?”

“We should’ve done this days ago,” Layla said.

“Gage asked me not to interfere,” Helen said. “He didn’t want your privacy invaded even more.”

“Do you want Gage to run for governor?”

“My opinion doesn’t mean squat anymore,” Helen said. “What do you want, Layla? It’s you they’re ripping apart.”