What I Did for Love

Chapter 11

Georgie called out softly…ever so softly…and in her friendliest, most soothing voice. “Uhm…Rory? Please don’t shoot.”

Rory spun toward the wall, her blond hair flying. “Who is that?”

“It’s Georgie. York. And that man you just saw running across your yard was Bram. My…uh…husband. You probably shouldn’t shoot him either.”

“Georgie?”

Her toes were going numb inside her Crocs, and she was starting to slip. “A photographer climbed your tree to take pictures of us. Bram went after him.” She tried to cling tighter to the top of the wall, but her arms were getting tired. “I’m…losing my grip. I have to get down.”

“I think there’s a gate at the end of the wall.”

Georgie made it to the ground, but not before she’d scraped her other shin.

“It’s here somewhere,” Rory called from the other side as Georgie picked her way along the stones. “The studio owns the house, and I haven’t lived here long, so I haven’t really looked for it.”

Georgie located the wooden gate, partially hidden behind some shrubs. “I found it, but it’s stuck.”

“I’ll push from my side.”

The gate dragged but eventually gave way enough for Georgie to slip through. Rory stood on the other side with the gun resting in the folds of her nightgown. Despite her long, sleep-rumpled blond hair, she looked cool and calm, as if confronting nighttime intruders was all in a day’s work. “What’s going on?”

Georgie looked around for Bram, but he was nowhere in sight. “I’m really sorry about this. Bram and I were out on our balcony when a flash went off. A photographer was hiding in that big tree of yours. Bram went after him. It happened so fast.”

“A photographer sneaked on my property to watch your house?”

“It looks that way.”

“Do you want me to call the police?”

If Georgie were an ordinary citizen, that’s exactly what she’d do, but she wasn’t, and the police weren’t an option. Rory arrived at the same conclusion. “Stupid question.”

“I need to…I’d better make sure Bram hasn’t killed anybody.” She took off in the direction he’d disappeared. Just as she reached the pool, she spotted him coming around the side of the house. Other than a slight limp and a murderous expression, he seemed unharmed. “The son of a bitch got away from me.”

“You could have killed yourself jumping off the roof like that.”

“I don’t care. That cockroach stepped way over the line.”

Just then he spotted Rory coming toward him, the gun dangling at her side like a Prada purse. Georgie couldn’t help but envy her. A woman as coolheaded as Rory Keene would never wake up in a Las Vegas hotel room married to her oldest enemy. But then a woman like Rory Keene controlled her life, not the other way around.

Bram froze. Rory ignored him. “I’ll call my security company first thing tomorrow, Georgie. Obviously, the lights aren’t enough to discourage unwelcome visitors.”

Bram stared at the handgun. “Is that thing loaded?”

“Of course.”

Georgie bit back a wisecrack about the dangers of being armed and blond. Even in jest, it didn’t seem smart to crack a joke at the expense of such a powerful woman, especially one they’d awakened at three in the morning.

“It looks like a Glock,” Bram said.

“A thirty-one.”

His interest in the gun gave Georgie a chill, and she quickly intervened. “You can’t have one. You’re way too hotheaded to be armed.”

Bram chucked her under the chin in a way that made her itch to slap him. He gave her a quick, businesslike kiss that couldn’t have been more different from the intimate one they’d exchanged a few minutes earlier. “I can’t get used to the way you worry about me, sweetheart,” he said. “How did you get over here?”

“There’s a gate.”

Bram nodded. “I’d almost forgotten. Apparently the original families were good friends.”

Georgie wondered why Rory was in a house leased by the studio instead of in a place of her own. “Bram forgot to mention that you lived next door.” She slipped her hand behind his back, an affectionate gesture except for the sharp pinch she gave him to retaliate for the way he’d chin-chucked her.

He winced. “Sure I mentioned it, sweetheart. I guess there’s been so much going on that it slipped your mind. Besides, this isn’t exactly a get-to-know-your-neighbors kind of neighborhood.”

It was true. Pricey estates separated by high walls and locked gates didn’t make for a block party atmosphere. In the Brentwood neighborhood where she and Lance had lived, they’d never met the nineties pop star in the house next door.

Georgie’s gaze wandered to Rory’s Glock. “We’d better let you go back to bed.”

Rory slipped her nightgown strap up on her shoulder. “I doubt if any of us will get much sleep after this.”

“Good point,” Bram said. “Why don’t you come over to the house? I’ll put on a pot of coffee and heat up some of my housekeeper’s cinnamon rolls. You’ll be our first official company.”

Georgie stared at him. It was the middle of the night. Had he lost his mind?

“Another time. I need to catch up on some reading.” Rory gave him her coolest look, then shocked Georgie by offering a quick hug. “I’ll call you as soon as I talk to the security company.” She turned back to Bram. “Be good to her. And, Georgie, if you need any help, let me know.”

Bram’s fake good humor slipped. “If she needs any help, I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure you will,” Rory replied in a manner that suggested she wasn’t sure at all. She walked away, the folds of her nightgown concealing her gun.

Bram waited until they were on their own side of the wall before he spoke. “If the tabs run any of those shots, we’re going after them.”

“They probably won’t,” she said. “Not here. But there’s a big market in Europe, and then they’ll hit the Web. We won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“We’re suing.”

“Our marriage will be long over before a lawsuit reaches the courts.”

“What do you suggest? We just forget the whole thing? This doesn’t bother you?”

The truth was that she’d gotten numb. “I hate it,” she said.

They walked silently across the yard. She shouldn’t be so upset. The photos of the two of them would lend legitimacy to her sham marriage. But she felt almost as violated as the day the paps had caught her looking at the sonogram. “I’m going to bed,” she said, when they reached the house. “Alone.”

“Your loss.”

She was heading up the steps when an interesting piece of the puzzle that made up Bram Shepard fell into place. “Rory has something to do with your reunion show project, doesn’t she? That’s why you were sucking up to her at The Ivy two weeks ago. And that embarrassing invitation to heat up cinnamon rolls…”

“Babe, I suck up to anybody who might be able to get me a decent acting job.”

“That’s pathetic. But I’ll admit it’s enormously gratifying to watch you grovel.”

“Whatever it takes to get ahead,” he said lightly.

Sleep was beyond him, so Bram went to the pool. Life had become way too complicated, he thought as he stripped and dove in. He’d hoped this idiotic marriage would make things run smoother for him, but he hadn’t factored in how protective Rory was of Georgie.

He flipped to his back and let himself drift. Every time he tried to dig his way out of the tunnel he’d fallen into, another cave-in threatened to bury him. Georgie thought it was all about money. She didn’t know that he needed respectability more. And he didn’t want her to know. He intended to make sure Georgie continued to see him as the bastard he’d always been. His life was his own, and he wasn’t letting her into any part of it that mattered.

He hadn’t always been a loner. Growing up without a real family had made him quick to create an artificial one from the guys who’d eventually bitten him in the ass. He’d thought they were his friends, but they’d been users-spending his money, exploiting his connections, and eventually setting him up for that damned sex tape. Lesson well learned. Looking out for number one meant going it alone.

Georgie wasn’t a user, but that didn’t mean he wanted her rooting around in his psyche, figuring out how much he needed to create a new life for himself. She’d known him too long, she saw too much, and she was dangerously easy to talk to. But he couldn’t stomach the idea of having her watch him fail, a possibility that grew more likely every day.

Georgie was useful for polishing his reputation and for sex. As much as he wanted to rush that last part, his ugly behavior that night on the boat meant he had to give her as much time as she needed…and then draw her in.

Four days passed. Just as Georgie began to hope the balcony photos would never appear, they showed up in a U.K. tabloid. After that, they were everywhere. But instead of revealing a lovers’ tryst, the blurry nighttime images the photographer had caught seemed to show Georgie and Bram having a nasty argument. In the first frame, Georgie looked combative with her hand splayed on her hip. Next came Georgie with her face buried in her palms, remorseful over her self-serving plan to go to Haiti, except even the most casual observer would believe she was crying from their fight. Another picture showed Bram holding her by the shoulders. It had been a comforting gesture, but the shadowy image made his posture look menacing. The final shot, the blurriest of them all, showed their private kiss. Unfortunately, it was impossible to tell whether he was kissing her or shaking her.

All hell broke loose.

“I can’t believe these bastards get away with this kind of crap.” Bram took a vicious swipe at a fly that had the temerity to land on the table next to his coffee mug. He’d once made an art out of shrugging off bad publicity, but now he wanted blood-the photographer’s and everyone who’d printed the photos, from the original tabloid to the online gossip sites. “If I could just get my hands on one of them…”

“Don’t look at me if you’re going to turn violent,” she said. “I’m on your side for once.”

They were sitting outside at Urth Caffé on Melrose sipping cups of organic coffee. Seven days had elapsed since the photos had appeared. Photographers and gawkers lined the sidewalk, and the Caffé’s other customers were openly staring at the city’s most famous newlyweds.

Everything she’d hoped to achieve with this marriage was backfiring. All her friends had called except Meg, who was still M.I.A. She’d had to keep both April and Sasha from flying back to L.A. As for her father…He’d stormed over to the house and threatened to kill Bram. She still wasn’t sure he believed her account of what had really happened, and his resistance to their marriage had only intensified. So much for taking charge of her life. Her self-confidence was shakier than ever.

“Will you smile at me, for chrissake?” His clenched jaw made his own smile suspect, but she played the good soldier and leaned forward to kiss the tight corner of his mouth.

There’d been no more private kisses since the night on the balcony eleven days ago, although she’d thought about that kiss more than she wanted to. She might dislike Bram as a person, but apparently his body was another matter, because the only pleasure she’d managed to conjure up all week had been watching him walk around with his shirt off, or even with his shirt on, like now.

“And this is a date, damn it. Our fifth this week.”

“Bull,” she said, keeping her smile. “This is business, damage control like all the rest. I told you-it’s not a date until we’re both having a good time, and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re miserable.”

He clenched his teeth. “Maybe you could try a little harder.”

She dunked her second biscotti in her coffee and took a desultory nibble. At least she’d gained a few pounds, but that was small compensation for being trapped in an impossible situation with the press dogging them…and with a man who trailed testosterone.

He set down his own cup. “People think pictures don’t lie.”

“These do.”

The headlines read:

Marriage Over! Next Stop Splitsville

More Heartbreak for Georgie

Georgie’s Ultimatum! Get to Rehab!

Even Bram’s old sex tape had resurfaced.

They’d been trying to repair the damage by hitting all the paparazzi hot spots daily. They’d bought muffins at City Bakery in Brentwood, lunched at the Chateau, visited The Ivy again, as well as Nobu, the Polo Lounge, and Mr. Chow. They spent two nights club hopping, which left Georgie feeling old and even more depressed. Today, they’d shopped at Armani’s home store on Robertson, Fred Segal on Melrose, then stopped at a trendy boutique where they’d bought a set of obnoxious matching T-shirts they’d never wear anyplace but in public.

They’d only been able to risk a few separate outings. Bram slipped away for a couple of mysterious meetings. She took a few dance classes, went for an early-morning hike, and sent a huge anonymous check to Food for the Poor’s Haitian relief program. Generally, however, they had to stick together. At his suggestion, she was pulling the publicity-hungry celeb’s favorite trick of changing her clothes several times a day, since every new outfit meant the tabs bought a fresh photo. After having spent the past year trying to stay out of the public eye, she didn’t miss the irony.

The other coffee-shop customers had been content merely to stare, but now a young guy with a scraggly goatee and a fake Rolex came up to their table. “Can I get your autographs?”

She didn’t mind signing autographs for genuine fans, but something told her these would be up for sale on eBay by the end of the day.

“Just your signature is okay,” he said, confirming her suspicions as she took the felt pen and pristine piece of paper he handed her.

“Let me personalize it,” she said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

Personalizing a signature devalued it, and his loser’s mouth grew sullen as he realized she had his number. He muttered the name Harry. She signed, “To Harry, with all my love.” On the next line, she deliberately misspelled her last name, adding an e to York, so the autograph looked bogus. Bram, in the meantime, scrawled “Miley Cyrus” across the other piece of paper.

The kid balled up both signatures and stalked away. “Thanks for nothing.”

Bram slumped back in the chair and muttered, “What the hell kind of life is this?”

“Right now it’s our life, and we need to make the best of it.”

“Do me a favor and spare me the Annie sound track.”

“You’re a very negative person.” She made her point by launching into the chorus of “Tomorrow.”

“That’s it.” He shot to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

They set off down the sidewalk, their hands linked, his bronze hair glistening in the sun, hers desperately in need of a cut, and the paps trailing close behind. The trip took a while. “Do you have to stop and talk to every little kid you see?” Bram grumbled.

“Good photo op.” She didn’t reveal how much she loved talking to children. “And who are you to complain? How many times have I had to stand around while you flirted with other women?”

“That last one was sixty if she was a day.”

She’d also had a big mole on her face and bad makeup, but Bram had admired her earrings and even given her an eye-smolder. He did that a lot, she’d noticed, bypassing the beauty queens to stop and chat with their homelier sisters. For the space of a few moments, he made them feel beautiful.

She hated it when he did nice things.

Still, his generally foul mood had lifted her own, and when she spotted a pretty flower shop, she pulled him inside. The interior was fragrant, the flowers beautifully arranged, and the clerk left them alone. Georgie took her time studying the arrangements and finally chose a mixed bouquet of iris, roses, and lilies. “Your treat.”

“I’ve always been a generous guy.”

“You’re going to bill me, aren’t you?”

“Sad, but true.”

Before they got to the register, his cell rang. He glanced at the display and flipped the phone shut without answering. He was on the phone a lot, she’d noticed, but seldom where she could overhear. She held out her hand before he could pocket the phone. “Lend it to me, will you? I need to make a call, and I forgot mine.”

He passed it over, but instead of punching in a number, she flicked through the display to the most recent entry. “Caitlin Carter. Now I know your lover’s last name.”

He snatched the phone back. “Stop snooping. And she’s not my lover.”

“Then why won’t you talk to her in front of me?”

“Because I don’t want to.” He headed for the counter with the bouquet. As he stopped near a florist’s cart filled with frilly pastel blooms, she was struck by the contrast between his confident masculinity and those lacy flowers. Once again, she felt that distracting sexual stirring. This morning she’d even made an excuse to work out with him just so she could watch the show.

It was pathetic, but understandable. She was even a little proud of herself. Despite the current chaos stirred up by the photos, she was experiencing lust at its most elemental, separate from even a minimal amount of affection. Basically, she’d turned into a guy.

Bram gave her the flowers to carry from the shop. They’d been lucky enough to find a rare parking space close by, but they still had to get through the crowd of noisy paps stalking the sidewalk in front.

“Bram! Georgie! Over here!”

“Have you two patched up your fight?”

“Make-up flowers, Bram?”

“Georgie! Right here!”

Bram pulled her against him. “Stand back, guys. Give us some room.”

“Georgie, I heard you saw a lawyer.”

Bram shoved the burly photographer who’d gotten too close. “I said to stay back!”

Out of nowhere, Mel Duffy emerged from the swarm and lifted his camera toward them. “Hey, Georgie. Any comment about Jade Gentry’s miscarriage?”

His shutter clicked away.

Georgie felt sick. Her envy had somehow poisoned that defenseless fetus. Duffy had told them the miscarriage had happened in Thailand nearly two weeks ago, only a few days after her Vegas wedding, when Lance and Jade had been about to join up with a U.N. task force. Their publicist had just released the news, saying the couple was devastated but that doctors had assured them there was no reason they couldn’t have another child. All those phone messages Lance had left her…

Bram didn’t say anything until they were nearly home. Then he turned down the radio and gazed over at her. “Tell me you’re not taking this to heart.”

What kind of woman resented an innocent, unborn child? She was nauseated by guilt. “Me? Of course not. It’s sad, that’s all. Of course, I’m sorry for them.”

His knowing expression made her look away. She needed a gigolo, not a shrink. She adjusted her sunglasses. “Nobody wants something like this to happen. Maybe I wish I hadn’t been quite so upset when I heard she was pregnant. That’s only natural.”

“This had nothing to do with you.”

“I know that.”

“Your brain knows it, but the rest of you is seriously screwed up when it comes to anything associated with the Loser.”

Her self-control snapped. “He just lost his baby! A baby I didn’t want to see born.”

“I knew it! I knew you’d decide you were somehow responsible. Toughen up, Georgie.”

“You think I’m not tough? I’m surviving this marriage, aren’t I?”

“This isn’t a marriage. It’s a chess game.”

He was right, and she was sick of the whole thing.

They drove the rest of the way to the house in silence, but after he’d parked the car in the garage, he didn’t immediately get out. Instead, he sat there, pulling off his sunglasses and messing with the stems. “Caitlin is the daughter of Sarah Carter.”

“The novelist?” She let go of the door handle.

“She died three years ago.”

“I remember.” Considering Bram’s past history, she’d been certain Caitlin was a bimbo, but that was unlikely, with an author of Sarah Carter’s caliber as her mother. Carter had written a number of literary thrillers, none of them successful. Several years after her death, a small press had brought out Tree House, a previously unpublished work. The novel had gradually caught fire with the public, and eventually became the darling of book clubs. Like everyone else, Georgie had loved it.

“Caitlin and I were dating when the book first came out,” Bram said. “Before it hit the best-seller lists. She mentioned that the last thing her mother had written before she died was a screenplay for Tree House, and she let me read it.”

“Sarah Carter turned the book into a screenplay herself?”

“A damn good one. I optioned it two hours after I finished it.”

Georgie nearly choked. “You hold the film option on Tree House? You?”

“I was drunk and didn’t think about what I was getting into.” He climbed out of the car looking as gorgeous and worthless as ever.

She hurried across the garage after him. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me you optioned it before the book became a best seller?”

He headed into the house. “I was drunk and lucky.”

“I’ll say. How lucky?”

“Very. Caitlin could sell a new option on that screenplay for twenty times what I paid her, something she never stops reminding me about.”

Georgie pressed her palm to her chest. “Give me a minute. I don’t know which is harder for me to visualize. You as a producer or the fact that you actually read an entire screenplay start to finish.”

He made his way to the kitchen. “I’ve matured since our Skip and Scooter days.”

“In your opinion.”

“I hardly had to look up any of the big words.” She didn’t expect him to say more and was surprised when he went on. “Unfortunately, I’m having a little trouble getting it financed.”

She stopped. “You’re actually trying to get the project made?”

“Nothing better to do.”

That explained all the mysterious phone calls, but it didn’t explain why Bram had kept this such a big secret. He tossed his car keys on the kitchen counter. “The bad news is that my option runs out in less than three weeks, and if I can’t get a package put together by then, Caitlin will have her rights back.”

“And be considerably richer.”

“She doesn’t give a damn about anything except the money. She hated her mother. She’d sell Tree House to a cartoon factory if they made the best offer.”

Georgie had never optioned a book or screenplay, but she knew how the process worked. The option holder-in this case Bram-had only a specific amount of time to get solid backing for his project before his option expired and the rights reverted to the original owner. Since all he’d have left when that happened would be a hole in his bank account, his suck-up attitude toward Rory Keene finally made sense.

“How close are you to getting someone to green-light Tree House?” she asked, even though she already had an inkling of the answer.

He grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. “Pretty close. Hank Peters loves the screenplay, and he’s interested in directing, so that’s caught a lot of attention. With the right casting, we can make the movie on a shoestring, another plus.”

Peters was a great director, but Georgie couldn’t imagine him being willing to work with unreliable Bram Shepard. “Is Hank interested or committed?”

“Interested in committing. And I have a leading man to play Danny Grimes. That’s part of the deal.”

Grimes was a fabulously multidimensional character, and it didn’t surprise her that lots of actors would be interested. “Who did you get?”

He twisted off the bottle cap. “Who do you think?”

She stared at him, then groaned. “Oh, no…You’re not.”

“A couple of acting lessons…I’ll be able to handle it.”

“You can’t play a part like that. Grimes is a complex character. He’s conflicted, tortured…You’d be laughed out of town. No wonder you can’t get financing.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He took a slug of water.

“Have you really thought this through? Successful producers need a reputation for something other than gross unreliability. And the way you’re insisting on playing the lead…Not smart.”

“I can do it.”

His intensity unsettled her. The Bram she knew only cared about pleasure. She considered the possibility that she didn’t understand him as well as she thought, and not just because of his interest in Tree House…She hadn’t seen any signs of drug abuse, and he spent hours every day in his office. He’d even gotten rid of his old, disreputable friends, which was odd for a guy who’d hated being alone. Alcohol and pathological arrogance seemed to be his last vices.

“I’m going for a swim.” He disappeared toward the pool.

She went to her room to change into shorts and a tank. If the screenplay was as good as he said, everyone in town had to be waiting for his option to expire so they could pounce on the project themselves. The leading role would go to the male Flavor of the Month instead of the actor best equipped to handle the part, which in any case wouldn’t be Bram. He’d handled Skip Scofield brilliantly, but he didn’t have the skills or the depth to tackle anything more emotionally intricate, witness the lightweight roles he’d taken on since then.

As she was slipping into her most comfortable pair of sandals, her head shot up. “Bastard!”

She charged downstairs and across the veranda to the pool, where he was swimming laps. “You jerk! There isn’t any Skip and Scooter reunion movie! That was a smoke screen you threw up to hide what you were really doing.”

“I told you there was no reunion movie.” He dove under.

“But you made me think there was,” she said the instant he resurfaced. “This stupid fake marriage…My money was just a bonus, wasn’t it? Tree House is the real reason you agreed to cooperate. You couldn’t afford to be the second man in recent history to break sweet Georgie York’s heart. Not when you need the honchos to believe you’ve turned into a solid citizen so they’ll take you seriously.”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“I have a problem being misled,” she said.

“It’s me you’re dealing with. What did you expect?”

She stalked across the pool deck as he swam toward the waterfall. “If people believe my respectability has rubbed off on you, you’ve gone a long way toward improving your chances of getting your movie made, now haven’t you?”

“You shouldn’t call the sacred bonds of holy matrimony ‘stupid.’”

“What sacred bonds? The only reason you’re finally telling me the truth is because you want to get in my panties.”

“I’m a guy, so sue me.”

“Don’t speak to me ever again. For the rest of your life.” She stalked away.

“Fine by me,” he called after her. “Unless you’re planning to say dirty words, I don’t like a woman who talks too much in bed.”

The phone he’d left by the side of the pool rang. He swam to the edge and grabbed it. She stopped to listen in.

“Scott…How’s it going? Yeah, it’s been crazy…” He switched to the other ear and climbed the ladder. “I don’t want to say too much on the phone, but I have something I know you’ll be interested in. Let’s meet at the Mandarin tomorrow afternoon for a drink so we can talk about it.” He frowned. “Friday morning? Okay, I’ll shift a couple of things around. Hey, I need to let you go. I’m late for a meeting.”

He flipped his phone shut and grabbed a towel. She tapped her toe. “Late for a meeting?”

“It’s L.A. Always be first to end the call.”

“I’ll remember that. And you’re not getting another penny from me.”

Instead of returning to the house, she stomped out to his office. The idea of Bram being willing to work at anything unsettled her. But at least his disclosure about the screenplay had given her something to think about other than whatever metaphysical part she’d played in the loss of Lance’s baby.

She ripped open the manuscript box that was supposed to contain the Skip and Scooter reunion script and tilted out a neat stack of porno magazines with a blue Post-it note on top. the real thing is so much better.

As Bram headed up to his workout room, he wondered what stupid-ass weakness had made him tell Georgie about Tree House. But she’d looked so frickin’ tragic when she’d heard about Lance and Jade’s baby-that overdeveloped sense of responsibility popping up again-and somehow he’d let the truth slip out only to immediately regret it. Failure already hung over him like a mushroom cloud. With the odds stacked so high against him, the fewer people who knew how much Tree House meant to him, the better. That especially applied to Georgie, who couldn’t wait for him to fail.

He didn’t bother changing out of his wet trunks but went right to his workout room. A ballet barre had appeared a couple of days ago. One more invasion of his private space. What would he do with his life if Tree House slipped away from him? Go back to guest roles as vapid playboys? The idea turned his stomach.

He put on an Usher CD and eyed the elliptical machine with distaste. He wanted to be outside, free to run for miles in the hills like he used to, but thanks to his Vegas misadventure, he was trapped.

At least he had the room to himself. Watching Georgie go through her stretching routine had become torturous. She tied up her hair before she worked out, so that even the nape of her neck became an erogenous zone. Then there was the sexy extension of those long legs. It said something about his life that getting down and dirty with Little Orphan Annie had gone to the top of his thrill list.

But he couldn’t dismiss her as easily as she dismissed herself. She had an unconscious sex appeal that trumped big tits and phony posturing. Nobody was going to catch Georgie York flashing her goody bits in public.

Or in private…Something he was growing increasingly intent on changing. She might hate his guts, but she definitely liked the packaging they came in. Georgie didn’t know it yet, but her days of wasting away over the Loser were coming to an end.

Who said he only cared about himself? Liberating Georgie York had become his civic duty.