Everyone Worth Knowing (57 page)

night with him, but you've been real good to us this trip, so we'll

just forget that ever happened."

Bastard. He was openly leering at my outfit and what I imagined

to be a face full of smeared makeup and that general, allnight-

sex look that simply could not be denied.

"Besides," he continued, unsnapping the flash from his camera

and tucking it into a black shoulder bag, "what I
thought
was

going on in there would've been far hotter than you banging Isabelle's

guy."

"Pardon me?" I wanted to strangle him for suggesting that anything

could be better than the night I'd just had, for the fact that he

didn't believe my ridiculous story about scheduling, and because he

had the nerve to state that Sammy belonged to Isabelle. Naturally, I

couldn't think of one remotely insulting or clever thing to say.

"Well, let's just say that sources indicated the possibility of a little

private party between your boyfriend and some of his closest

friends." He raised his bushy unibrow and pulled his lips taut

against his teeth in an effort to smile.

"By 'boyfriend' I mean Philip Weston," he added with a grin.

I swallowed my anger. "Mmm, while that all sounds really fascinating,

I have to get back upstairs now to continue my rounds,

so if you'll excuse me . . . " I pushed past him in my bare feet, with

my sandals in one hand and my purse in the other, and beelined

for the elevator.

The more I thought about it, the less nightmarish it seemed, especially

since he didn't seem particularly fascinated by the scandal—

or lack thereof—of Sammy and me.
And why should he be?
I

reasoned. The man spends his life following insanely famous celebrities

and documenting all the drama they manage to create, so why

should he be the least bit interested in some insignificant publicist

who appeared to be doing some extracurricular bed-hopping? And

not even with someone famous! Of course, there was the issue of

Philip. And if Kelly found out that I'd been caught keeping Isabelle's

friend-for-hire company, she wouldn't be happy. Isabelle might insist

I be fired. But I was getting ahead of myself; it seemed unlikely that

John would leak anything. Only Abby seemed interested in my

whereabouts, and there was no way even she had tentacles that

reached all the way to Istanbul. I realized that was part of why I'd

gotten so upset when I saw the photographer—for a blissful twentyfour

hours, I'd forgotten what it felt like to feel stalked and spied on

and vulnerable. Since Abby was a solid five thousand miles away, I

didn't have that constant, creepy feeling that someone was trying to

expose my private life to the general public. I took a deep breath

and reminded myself that it could be far worse, and gave thanks that

Abby was in an entirely different country.

As I approached, I saw that the door to Philip's and my suite

was slightly ajar—only noticeable if you actually stood right next to

it and looked—and I heard some muffled noises coming from inside.

It was just after eight in the morning—practically the middle

of the night, considering I hadn't returned to the hotel until three

and Philip was still at Bella when I left—and I immediately understood

that the supposed threesome most likely
was
going on, only

it was happening in my room. The idea of knocking briefly crossed

my mind, but instead 1 pushed the door open.

I rounded the corner from the sitting room and strolled through

the French doors to the bedroom, only to see Leo sprawled on his

back, naked, on the bed. It took another second or two for me to

realize that the mop of hair that was currently bobbing up and

down in the general area of Leo's exposed pelvic region—his bare

ass saluting me—belonged to Mr. Philip Weston. Before I could

even react, Leo spotted me.

"Hey, Bette, what's up?" Leo asked nonchalantly, making no attempt

to cover himself or Philip.

At the sound of my name, Philip's head snapped around, exposing

the few inches of Leo's naked body that I hadn't yet seen.

"Oh, hey, babe, how are you?" he asked, wiping his mouth delicately

with a pillowcase. "Where were you all night?"

"Where was I all night?" As usual, I could merely mimic.

"I waited forever, love," he whined, bounding off the bed like a

little boy on Christmas morning and shrugging on a robe. I realized

that this was the first time I'd seen him completely naked.

"Forever, huh?" I responded brilliantly.

"Well, if you'd come home when you should've, I don't think

Leo would've ended up in my bed. Do you, love?"

I laughed out loud. Now
that
was funny. "Oh, Philip. Please!

You haven't wanted to sleep with me in—"

"Relax, doll, just calm down a bit. Leo here showed up a few

minutes ago and just passed out. I must've had a sleep, too. We

were daft to drink so much, but at least we slept it off."

I was laughing uncontrollably now. "Are you serious? Are you

saying I didn't just see what I know I just saw?" Had either of them

had the courtesy to appear the least bit embarrassed by what had

just happened, I might—might—have been able to deal with it.

"Hey, guys, I'm going to order some coffee and orange juice,

maybe a few croissants. I feel a wicked hangover coming on," Leo

announced. He still made no attempt to cover himself, instead

grabbing the remote and scrolling through the hotel's movie offerings.

"Good call, mate. I fancy a double espresso, a few aspirin, and

an extra-tall Bloody Mary," Philip said.

"Is this happening?" I asked, wondering at what point my

night—my entire life—had veered into the twilight zone. It felt like

I was living in some sort of alternate reality, but apparently I was

living there alone.

"Hmm?" Philip asked, dropping his robe again in front of both

of us as he stepped into the shower, leaving the bathroom door

wide open. "Leo? Tell your coworker here that you and I are just

mates."

Leo managed to extract himself from the tangle of covers,

which looked as though they'd been put through the paces for

hours already, and pulled on his jeans sans underwear. "Of course,

Philip. Bette, we're just friends, honey. You want something to

eat?"

"Urn, no thanks. I, uh, I think I'm going to get some breakfast

downstairs, okay? I'll see you both later." I grabbed a clean pair of

jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops, tossed them in a plastichotel

laundry bag, and sprinted out of the room, feeling slightly

queasy as I left Philip and Leo to their domestic tranquillity.

I went to kill some time in the lobby restaurant and get a snack

before I could safely go back to my room, but just as the waiter

brought a full coffee service and a basket of the most amazinglooking

pastries and muffins, Elisa stumbled in and collapsed into

the seat across from me.

"I can't fucking sleep, and I'm ready to kill myself," she announced.

I panicked the moment I saw her, convinced that she already

knew what had happened. I figured no one would be awake at

that hour, but her knotty hair and black-circled eyes and jumpy

hands indicated that she'd probably done way too many drugs to

even entertain the idea of sleep, so she'd come down to wait it

out.

"Hey, sure, have a seat," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The waiter brought her a cup and saucer. Her glassy eyes fixated

on them for a moment, as though she'd never before seen ei-

ther, but she recovered and poured herself some coffee. Then she

eyed me suspiciously.

"You're up early. Where's Philip?" she asked, finishing off the

entire cup in one gulp.

"Philip?" I tried to laugh casually, but it sounded more like a

choke. "Oh, he's sleeping, I think. I don't know why I'm up so

early. Must be the time difference."

"Time difference?" She snorted. "If that's your only problem,

just take a Xanax. I feel like shit."

"Here, have something to eat. You look like you could use

some food."

Another snort. "That muffin is equivalent in fat and carbs to at

least two Big Macs. No, thank you." She poured another cup of

black coffee and finished it off.

"Is Davide upstairs?" I asked, not out of any genuine interest

but because I felt I had to say something.

"I don't know where he is. Lost track of him around three in

the morning. Probably went home with some Turkish chick." She

sounded neither upset nor surprised by this.

I just stared at her.

She just sighed. "Philip would probably never do that to you,

right? He's such a great guy . . ."

I nearly spat out my orange juice but somehow remained composed.

"Mmm," I murmured. "Have you ever heard anything about

Philip being . . . well, uh, about him being interested in . . ."

She gave me a glazed stare. "Interested in what?"

"Oh, I don't know . . . guys?"

This elicited a gasp, and her mouth fell wide open. "Philip Weston?

Gay? Are you joking? Bette, how can you be so naive? Just

because he happens to have a fabulous sense of style and drive a

Vespa and do yoga does not, in any way, mean he likes guys."

No,
I thought to myself,
of course it doesn't. But what about the

fact that I walked in on him a half-hour ago while he was performing

oral sex on our ve/ygay and veiy out coworker?

"Right, no, I hear what you're saying. It's just that—"

"Bette, when are you going to appreciate that boy? Any girl in

her right mind would do anything and everything she could to

keep him, but you don't seem to understand that. So apparently

there was some scandal around here this morning." She switched

tacks so quickly I barely had time to process that what she was

saying might concern me.

"Scandal? With one of our group? Did anyone see it?"

She looked me in the eye and for a moment I was sure she knew

the entire story. But then she just said, "I'm not sure exactly. One of

the photographers—that fat one, what's his name?—mentioned that

he may have snapped a few 'interesting' shots of someone in a compromising

position. Any idea who it was or what happened?"

I chewed my croissant deliberately and fixed my gaze on the

front page of the
International Herald Tribune.
"Hmm, no, I

haven't heard a thing. Should we be worried? I mean, we wouldn't

want anything truly damaging to get out."

Elisa poured a third cup of coffee and allowed herself a single

packet of Equal this time. Her hands shook from the effort. "1

guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we? I'm going to try to

sleep—I've got to be back down here in a couple hours for my

scrub in the Turkish bath. I hear it's even better for your skin than

a laser peel. See you later."