A short while later, they dropped anchor at Pria do Sancho,
arguably the most beautiful beach in Brazil, according to all of the literature. Phillip couldn’t speak to that, but it was awe-inspiring. He pulled off his shirt and shorts and dove into the
water. Most of the group was going snorkeling, but several peo-
ple made directly for the beach and the tiny bar. Phillip saw
Steph wading through the clear water holding her miniature
backpack protectively over her head. He tried to close his eyes
and enjoy the sun, but found himself peeking at her from behind
his sunglasses. Once she was on the sand, she dried off her feet and pulled sneakers and her camera from her backpack. She
slung both over her shoulder and made for the stairs that lead to a crevice which the guide had informed them contained a treacherous ladder leading straight up the cliff face. A crooked smile tugged at his lips. Of course she’d climb the cliff. The pictures would be better from above.
Phillip walked out of the water and made his way toward
the towels the crew had stashed nearby. He heard a phone ring. It was the first time he’d heard one on the island, since coverage
was terrible and international calling was an issue. He saw Steph stop mid-stride and dig in her backpack. She pulled out a sat
phone. She was always the first one to have a gadget. He won-
dered why he hadn’t thought to get one. Steph looked at the
number on the display, and her shoulders sagged. Then she an-
swered.
“Christopher?” The acoustics of the cliffs rocketed her
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voice at him.
Christopher. Her “agent”.
“I know. It just took me by surprise.” She was pacing slow-
ly back and forth in the sand, twisting a piece of her curly hair around her finger. She always did that when she was nervous.
“I know. I know. I don’t disagree with you. What?” She
covered her ear as if she were having trouble hearing him. She
suddenly looked around as if trying to make sure no one was
listening. Phillip rested back on his towel as if he were innocently sunbathing instead of eavesdropping on his ex-girlfriend’s
private phone calls. He was feeling decidedly creepy, but his
curiosity won out.
“Chris, you know how I feel about you.”
Phillip went from curious to outraged in one second flat.
That sorry son of a bitch must have told her he loved her. And
she was handing Christopher the same line of bullshit she had
him. He almost felt sorry for the tosser. Then he remembered the Music Video Awards.
They’d just cleaned house, winning three awards, and Da-
vid and Nathan wanted to celebrate at the after-party. Bret and
Scot were in Sydney doing some promo, so it was up to the three
of them to represent. They’d been doing tequila shots for about a half hour when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, expecting yet another obnoxious female advance. He was startled to see a tall stranger in an expensive suit glaring at him.
“I’m Christopher Hoult.” The man announced. Phillip had
stuck his hand out automatically. He’d been meeting people all
night, after all. Christopher looked down at Phillip’s hand and
huffed.
When he spoke again, his tone was cold and his speech
clipped. “I’m not here on a social call. I represent Stephanie Brier.”
Phillip’s hand fell to his side. The sound of her name still
emasculated him. Phillip squared his shoulders in preparation for 90
RAGE
whatever repercussions he was about to experience. The video
was all over the music stations and number one on their count-
downs across the board. Making the video had been incredibly
cathartic, and he still felt righteously indignant about Clive Richards rubbing his nose in his tryst with her.
“Is she filing a lawsuit? My lawyers assure me the video is
neither slander nor libel!” Phillip scoffed and promptly did an-
other shot.
“I’m her agent. Not her lawyer,” the man replied.
Surprised, Phillip turned to Nathan. “Hey, mate. It’s Steph’s
agent. Times must be hard if she’s thinking of working with Fury again.”
The man took a menacing step toward Phillip, and his smile
disappeared. Something about his stance and the way he looked
at Phillip spoke volumes about the dynamic of his relationship
with Stephanie. It was obvious that his concern for her was more than just professional.
“That video was unacceptable. I certainly hope the pain it
caused her it was worth the closure you so desperately needed.”
Phillip started to turn away from him toward his drink. He
didn’t need a behavioral lecture from someone who only knew
what Steph wanted him to know about the situation. “Toss off.
You don’t know anything about it.”
“Perhaps it’s time you learn to deal with your problems like
a man instead of an egotistical bastard.” Christopher’s hard eyes demanded respect. Phillip’s temper flared. He flashed back to
Callahan and didn’t enjoy another person interpreting his behav-
ior in the same manner.
“Maybe if Ms. Brier takes issue with the way I conduct
business, she should fight her own battles instead of sending her employee.” Phillip’s curt response was met with glowering ha-tred. No one looked like that in defense of his client. He was
most definitely sleeping with her.
“Maybe you should stop toying with little girls and face
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TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
someone your own size.” Christopher was close enough that
when he spoke, his spittle hit Phillip’s cheek. Phillip wiped it off with the back of his hand and chuckled.
“You see anyone around here that’s my size, you go ahead
and send ‘em my way.” Phillip completely turned his back on
Christopher and took a step in the direction of the loo. He wasn’t expecting what came next. Suddenly someone had him by the
hair. He felt himself spun around and Christopher hauled back
and hit him in the eye with the full force of his body. Phillip was stunned by the impact of his soccer riot style punch. He realized as the second blow came that he’d seriously underestimated two
things. One, Christopher was a bezerker that obviously had some
street cred. Two, Christopher was
