Page 17 of The Game

“Fighting fires?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing bad. Talking to journalists. Making sure we get the correct story out there.” He waves the tub at me. “Pastries from Steve.”

His boyfriend, Steve, is the patisserie chef at an upscale restaurant. I take the tub and unclip it, peering in at some amazing-looking pastry creations.

“Oh my God, you are the best. And can I just say I could offer Steve a very nice life?” I sweep my hand around my apartment.

Damian rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry to say you really don’t have the right parts for him.”

I grin at him as he slides past me into the kitchen. “I’m under strict instructions to heat these up for five minutes.” He fiddles with the dial on my oven and pops the pastries on a tray. My stomach growls.

“He’s decided you need feeding up.”

“Feeding up?”

Damian tuts. “Or at least a treat or two after that asshole …”

I hold up my hand. “Don’t mention his name.”

“Arty the Asshole. It could be a comic strip. Dennis the Menace. Arty the Asshole.”

I sip my coffee. “Can we fix on that nickname for all future correspondence? I like it.” But I really don’t want to talk about Arty. I suspect I’ve got no choice this morning, though. “So, what have you got for me?”

“It’s like fucking magic,” he crows. “Damn, I love my job.”

“Why? What happened?”

He props his shoulder against the end unit by the built-in oven. “No one is the least bit interested in the fact you’ve ‘split up’ with Arty.” He makes air quotes around the words. “June and I talked to a lot of journalists last night and early this morning, and all they wanted was information about Adam.”

“Oh shit! Is Adam okay with that?”

“He’s fine with it. I’ve been liaising with his marketing lady, Susie—who’s awesome by the way—and she’s keeping him up to speed with everything. It’s moving so fast we’ve hardly been able to keep a hold on the stories.”

“I ought to touch base with him.”

Damian leans in. “I don’t think we even need to issue a statement about you and Arty splitting up or waste time agreeing on the wording with his awful PR people. It was a master stroke taking a cute guy to that event, Anna. Honestly.”

“I did it in a panic!”

Damian waves his hand. “Many an excellent decision comes out of a flailing panic. That’s how I met Steve. I kissed him when I caught an ex of mine making out with someone else. But enough of me. We’ve had loads of questions from the media: Who’s this new man? etc., etc. So, June and I did a straightforward press briefing: Anna and Arty have split up, Anna’s just dating now. But get this, several of the female journos weredelighted. One said, ‘Why did she go out with Arty Maroz in the first place? He’s an opportunist and an angry one at that.’”

“He has a reputation for having a temper, but I never saw it. Until I dumped him for cheating, that is.”

Damian chews his cheek, leans forward, and whispers, “He’s a real revenge queen, so I’m told.”

The buzzer sounds, and he grabs the oven mitt and lifts the tray out, placing it on the stovetop.

“Ugh. Revenge.” I say, prodding the toffee-colored top of a hot pastry, and the smell of honey and warm raisins drifts up.

“Yeah. He goes after his exes like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t know how much you shared with him, but you might need to talk to your lawyers.”

“I’ve already had to.”

“What?Why?”

“He sent me some legal papers about the ownership of Pepper.”

“Are youkidding? Pepper? And that fast? He split up with youyesterday. He gave you that dog for your birthday! We built her Instagram on the back of that little gem. Didn’t love the man, but that was an outstanding gift.”

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