of the world, but he’d humor her for the moment. “What did it say?”
In response, Lorelei pulled a torn page out of her purse and shoved it at him. It took a second for him to get through a rundown of the guest list, what everyone was wearing and a description of the ice sculptures, but finally he found Lorelei’s name and his. He turned the paper over, looking for more, but on the back was an advertisement for a casino. “That’s it?”
Lorelei’s jaw dropped. “You don’t think that’s enough?”
“I don’t actually see the problem, Lorelei.”
She looked on the edge of a sputter. “My mother reads the Wednesday Pages like the Bible.”
“As does mine. So?”
This time Lorelei did sputter. “So? That’s all you have to say?”
“Well, I don’t see a reason to freak out.”
“Obviously your mother hasn’t been texting you all morning, looking for an explanation because half the city is asking her for an explanation.”
So that was what had her panties in a twist. Damn it. I shouldn’t have thought about her panties. Especially since he knew for a fact that her taste in undergarments ran to the tiny and lacy. “Definitely not.”
“Well, that figures.”
He could hear the sour that must be nice tone under those words. “Look, Lorelei. We don’t owe anyone an explanation for anything—much less some busybody’s baseless speculation in what is little more than a gossip column.”
Lorelei’s eyes widened. “‘Baseless speculations?’”
“Well, it was baseless—at least until your little freak-out gave it credence. The very fact you came running down here makes it look like there really is something going on. Something more than what was publicly witnessed. Someone went fishing and you took the bait. You’ve pretty much told the world we had sex.”
Her eyes widened. “For the love of …” Lorelei obviously hadn’t thought it through until now, and the realization set her pacing in frustration. She started muttering to herself, and he caught the occasional phrase about her mother or Vivi killing her. Even Connor’s name came up once. Finally she stopped pacing and turned to him. “What do you suggest we do?”
He didn’t see the big deal. “We don’t do anything. I’m going to go about my business as always. You can do whatever you think best.”
“Donovan, I’m asking for your help here. You may not care that there’s gossip in the paper, but I do.”
“Since when?” There was certain information a person couldn’t avoid, no matter how uninterested they might be. That included news of the adventures of the young, wealthy, beautiful and fabulous. Lorelei had made the papers plenty of times with far more descriptive rundowns on her activities.
“I know I haven’t cared in the past, but things are different now.”
Her voice lost the impatience and the snark, and for a moment she sounded almost vulnerable. But she was completely overreacting. This was not nearly the catastrophe Lorelei seemed to think it was, and, left alone, it would all blow over soon enough.
“I know I’ve never been a saint like Vivi. Never will be, either.” She smiled weakly, and he realized that it had to be tough to live up to an example like Vivi. “The thing is, with Vivi and Connor on their honeymoon, I’m going to be making appearances on their behalf—for the charities they represent and the organizations they support. I don’t need—and can’t have—this kind of gossip hanging over my head and coloring everyone’s thoughts.” Lorelei’s blue eyes were wide and earnest. She was serious. “It’s not just about me. It’s about them and their reputations and the organizations they do so much for. There’s a lot more at stake than just a little public embarrassment for me.”
He normally didn’t have any patience for the troubles of the children of the city’s elite. Connor and Vivi had been the exceptions that had slowly brought him around to a different view. They hadn’t sat on their trust funds or relied on family connections to coast through in a perfect life. They’d worked hard: Connor with his music career and Vivi with her art gallery and work with every non-profit organization in the parish. That he respected.
If Lorelei had hit him with anything else …
Damn. He felt himself buckling. When had he become such a sucker for a damsel in distress?
“Who did the write-up?”
Lorelei looked relieved as he relented. She glanced at the article for its byline. “Evelyn Jones.”
He knew Evelyn slightly through the newspaper. Her true calling was in tabloid gossip, and the New Orleans society pages were the closest she’d gotten. “Was she a guest at the wedding?”
Lorelei seemed to be thinking. “She was there. I’m pretty sure she left after the cake-cutting, though.”
“Then she’s reporting hearsay. Everyone in the bar that night was just as far gone as we were.”
“Except for the servers—”
“And the one who gave up that little tidbit probably got a nice fat tip for the story.”
“That’s a terrible—”
He shrugged off her outrage. “That’s the way it works. For a hundred bucks I could get a source to swear they once saw Mother Theresa doing keg stands. Times are tough all around. Money talks.”
Lorelei looked outraged. “That’s dishonest.”
“That’s tabloid journalism for you.”
“And you wonder why—”
“I don’t wonder anything, Lorelei. It is what it is.”
“So you’d sell someone’s reputation out just for money?” She looked worried. He assumed she’d only just now realized that he now had quite the story about her to sell. He wouldn’t even have to lie or embellish it, either.
“Calm down. I see no need to spread the news, and I certainly don’t need the money.”
Lorelei shot him a look he couldn’t decipher. Then she sighed and sank back onto the couch. “So how do I disprove something when I don’t know how much of it is true? I’m not a very good liar.” The corners of her mouth turned down as she confessed that like it was a character flaw.
“We did not engage in any PDA at the bar. It was later that …” He trailed off as Lorelei flushed that rosy color. “We laugh it off. That’s it. We and the others were just having a good time—as one does at a party—and any other claims have been exaggerated for effect.”
Lorelei started to nod, but caught herself. “Wait a second …” A suspicious look began to pull her eyebrows together. “How are you so certain that there was no PDA in the bar? You told me it was all fuzzy from the tequila.”
Damn.
