Page 166 of Damaged Mogul
“That horrible stage mom’s greediness was her demise.” I lean into him. “What I’m about to tell you is between the two of us.”
“Absolutely.”
A smirk tilts my lips. “A tattooed chest and stomach, and a Prince Albert saved Matthew’s ass.”
Rhys frowns.
“The publicist tracked unblurred versions of the accusatory photos. The model—or asshole—on Blanche’s dick pics had a bare stomach and no piercings on his cock.”
Rhys rests back in his seat. “Well, I’ll be damned. Matthew is clean cut on the outside, and a rebel on the inside.”
“You can never judge a book by its cover. The saying is even truer in the City of Angels. Under his suits, Matthew hides a few secrets.”
“Did he have to flash his abs as proof of his innocence and absolve him of any wrongdoing?”
“He didn’t have to drop his pants and boxer briefs. The publicist had multiple photos of Matthew shirtless ready for his interview on WNN, poking a hole the size of the moon in Blanche’s case. The publicist didn’t want to leave anything to chance, so she had Matthew’s tattoo artist and piercing artist on standby, in case date confirmations were needed.”
“Smart move.”
I nod. “At first, Matthew was dead set against using his sexual orientation as leverage, but Blanche’s defamation campaign was fraying his resolve. If it came to that, he was willing to go down that road. He’s never denied he was gay, but he’s always been a private guy. Same for his partner. Some might say it’s a dichotomy to be in the public eye and want tokeep your private life private. Just because you’re in the public eye doesn’t make you a circus animal.”
“He’s entitled not to have every aspect of his life scrutinized.”
“Damn right.”
“Did Blanche’s camp have a comeback?”
“It’s been crickets.”The bitch is silent. It’s about time.“Even if she were to come up with a new attention-grabbing scheme, I doubt it would be enough. She’s lost all credibility. From now on, any accusations that come out of her lying mouth will be received with ashovel of skepticism.”
“She caused a good man anguish, and damaged your show’s reputation.”
“The nightmare is behind us now.” I play with the collar of my shirt. “I can breathe again.”
Rhys lifts his beer glass. “Here’s to the next celebrity scandal that’ll steal the spotlight from yours.”
I clink my glass with his. “I can drink to that.”
“Gentlemen,” a tall, dark-haired man says, approaching us.
“Larkin,” Rhys says.
“Hey,” I say.
Larkin pulls out a chair. “May I?”
“You own the joint,” I say.
“I do, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.”
He undoes the top button of his gray suit before taking a seat.
My eyes swing to the entrance of the restaurant, and sure enough, his shadows are standing guard. I don’t recognize them. Larkin must’ve added to his team.
Rhys and I are both multibillionaires––same for most of the guys we hang out with. Without ever catching a glimpse of Larkin’s bank account, it’s clear, he trumps us all. The only guys who stand toe-to-toe with Larkin when it comes towealth is Phoenix König and his brothers. Their international conglomerate of hotels and real estate is a force to be reckoned with. Phoenix’s cousin Callum is another, via his father’s empire and his own business dealings. But neither Phoenix or Callum walk around with bodyguards. That right there is quite telling. There’s more to Larkin than meets the eye.
Larkin lifts a hand, and a waiter, carrying a tray, rushes over.
He drops a highball containing ice on the table and proceeds to fill it with Perrier.
