New York, Actually

by Sarah Morgan

  “You looked different.” He’d barely recognized her. “Your hair was shorter. But you were still beautiful.”

  “Not beautiful enough according to Rupert’s legions of fans. No one short of Helen of Troy would have pleased them. I was supposed to count myself lucky that someone as gorgeous as him wanted me, and yet I’d turned him down in a horribly public way. Afterward the press tried to get a comment from Rupert but all he would say was that he was too upset to talk about it.”

  “Did he know what they were going to do?”

  “No! And I felt terrible for him and totally mad with the production team. They’d said before that they wanted to film a proposal live on air, but I’d always stopped them. I’d told them it was a private moment and not something that should be shared, and I’d also pointed out that the outcome was never sure. So they decided to film mine. It backfired on them, too.”

  He could imagine her horror when she’d discovered that it had all been streamed live, her insecurities about herself witnessed by millions. “You made a choice, Molly. I don’t see why that led to the witch hunt.”

  There was another long pause.

  “Rupert went home, humiliated. He didn’t emerge from his house for a week. There were rumors that he’d harmed himself—” Her voice broke a little. “It was truly awful. Everyone’s attention and anger turned on me. The media dug up details of my old relationships. Collectively they decided I was a heartless bitch who needed punishing. And perhaps they were right. I’d hurt another good, decent man. I never should have agreed to date him.”

  “Molly—”

  “Rupert stayed in hiding, fueling the rumors. One tabloid newspaper took my picture and captioned it The face of guilt. I stopped switching on my laptop. To try and protect my dad, I moved in with a friend, but after a day they surrounded her house, too, and she told me I had to move.”

  Daniel ground his teeth. “Not a great friend, then.”

  “She did what she could. Finally Rupert appeared looking gaunt and told people he was fine.”

  “Which gained him even more sympathy.” Daniel was starting to seriously dislike Rupert. “Did he call to see how you were holding up with all this going on? Did he tell the press to leave you alone?”

  “He was too hurt to think about anyone but himself.”

  Or too selfish. “What about the show? You carried on presenting?”

  “Yes. I recorded the show on my own while he was off sick, but people were outraged that I was carrying on with my life when his was ruined. I was followed to the supermarket, to the gym. People I’d thought were my friends waded in and fed the media with stories. A couple of my old boyfriends joined in.”

  “None of your friends stood by you?”

  “To be fair, the attention was hideous and then it escalated. The public started a campaign—Dump Dr. Kathy. There were literally millions of people who didn’t know me and had never met me, hounding me and the TV company, saying that I shouldn’t be allowed to do the job. That I shouldn’t be described as an expert on relationships when I’d never had one myself. They were judge, jury and executioner.” She spoke faster and faster, her distress almost painful to watch. Valentine clearly thought so, too, because he shot to his feet and trotted to her side, nudging her with his nose, checking she was all right. She stroked his head, calming down a little. “And I didn’t particularly love being in the spotlight but I did love the show. They picked people who genuinely struggled to find a partner. These weren’t self-obsessed narcissists who wanted to make a name for themselves on TV, they were real people with real problems. My skills genuinely helped them and I felt as if what we did was truly positive, so to have all that taken away—they made me look like a fraud.” She hesitated. “I suppose it tapped into all those fears I’d buried, about not being enough. They made me feel as if I was lacking. But the worst thing was seeing Rupert looking so awful. It reminded me of the way my dad had looked in those first awful weeks and months after my mum left. I couldn’t bear to think I’d broken Rupert’s heart the same way my mum broke my dad’s.”

  “So you resigned from your job?”

  “No, they fired me and I was left with nothing but a bucketful of guilt, low self-esteem and a permanently damaged reputation.” She breathed. “And I had all these feelings. Feelings I’d buried. Feelings I didn’t want. About how it had felt when my mum left. About how I wasn’t capable of falling in love.”

  “You should have sued them.” He kept his anger under control. “So they fired you, and then what? Did you look for another job?”

  “Who was going to hire me? I was a pariah. Fortunately the show had paid well. I had savings. Enough to support myself for a while. So I moved here, kept a low profile. I stopped using the name Kathy and called myself Molly, my middle name. I was so afraid the press would track me down, or someone on social media would find me and broadcast my whereabouts. I closed all my online accounts. Fortunately, the media lost interest. I guess once they’d destroyed me, ripped away my reputation and my job, and driven me from my home, they were satisfied. No one seemed to care where I’d gone.”

  “You knew people in New York?”

  “I didn’t know anybody. And that was a good thing. I moved into a tiny walk-up in Brooklyn, paid cash and cried myself to sleep for a month. I didn’t leave the apartment except to buy groceries. And then one day I decided I’d punished myself enough. I started the blog just for me, as a way to get my confidence back. To begin with I posted the questions myself and answered them. Then real ones gradually started to trickle in. If I’m honest I never expected it to grow the way it did. And the attention it gained got me more attention. My blog was featured by a couple of big news sites. People started asking questions. I refused interviews. I never put a photograph up. There was nothing that could associate my name with Aggie. I wasn’t interested in any sort of publicity. When I was approached by Phoenix Publishing, I made it clear I didn’t want my photo or real identity used.”

  “So you kept your name out of it.”

  “Yes. Fortunately writers use pseudonyms all the time. I don’t have my photo on the book jacket and I don’t do book signings or personal appearances, so there’s no way my face will be recognized. I’ve covered my tracks and been careful. I’ve rebuilt my life. And then I met you. I should have known I couldn’t hide forever. Whenever you’re hiding something you don’t want people to know, you can be sure it’s going to come out.” She rolled onto her side and buried her face in the cushions. “You should probably go.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was muffled. “Anywhere. I’m sure you don’t want to be here.”

  “This is exactly where I want to be.”

  “I screwed up so badly.”

  He couldn’t work out if she was crying or not, so he eased her away from the cushions and pulled her into his arms. “You didn’t screw up. None of that was your fault. And I’m impressed that you not only survived, but thrived. That’s an experience plenty of people wouldn’t have recovered from.”

  “I ran away.”

  “No. You removed yourself from the line of fire. That’s sensible, not cowardly. Clever tactics. When your enemy attacks, you make yourself small.”

  “Sun Tzu?”

  He smiled into her hair. “I’ll make a disciple of you yet.”

  “Earlier tonight, you were angry. You said I’d given bad advice to one of your clients. What did you mean?”

  “I was wrong. After we talked this evening, I went back over some of your older blogs and I found his letter and your answer.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “How? It’s anonymous.”

  “I know this person. I recognize the way he writes. The way he thinks. And you were right, your advice was general, not specific.”

  “But he took it to be specific?”

  “He took it in a way that suited him and used it to manipulate his wife into staying with him.”

  “Oh no.” She looked wor
ried. “I know you can’t talk about your clients, but just tell me—did you fix it?”

  “She fixed it. She called him on his very bad behavior. She kept documentation. There won’t be a problem.”

  “Good. Did you say you came here to apologize? I’m guessing you’re not a man who often apologizes.”

  “I always apologize when I’m wrong.”

  “You didn’t apologize for borrowing Brutus.”

  “That wasn’t wrong. If I hadn’t done that I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t done it.”

  “That’s not what I’m wishing.” He stood up and held out his hand.

  She stared at it. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to bed so that I can be sure of you getting there without falling over and banging your head.”

  “After everything you’ve just learned about me, you want to go to bed with me?”

  “I’m not going with you, but that has nothing to do with what I learned and everything to do with the fact that you’ve had too much to drink. You need to sleep off that champagne or you’ll feel terrible tomorrow.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Sadly I’m not so drunk that I’m not going to remember all this. I already know I’ll feel terrible tomorrow, and you don’t need to make excuses. I totally understand why you wouldn’t want to hang around after everything I told you tonight.”

  Was that really what she thought? “Molly—”

  “It’s fine. Totally fine. No explanations necessary, but just tell me one thing—” She looked up at him anxiously. “Are you going to post my real identity on social media?”

  “You really think I’d do that?”

  She stared at him for a long moment and then shook her head. “No, I don’t. And I suppose one other person knowing isn’t the end of the world. My secret is still safe.”

  It was more than one other person, but since both Max and his sources were bound by confidentiality there was no point in worrying her by telling her that.

  “Your secret is safe.”

  Sixteen

  Molly woke to hammering inside her head, and then Valentine barked and she realized the hammering wasn’t coming from her head, but from the door.

  With a groan of denial she slid out of bed, clutched the wall to balance herself and fumbled her way to the door. The whole of the night before came back to her in a flash. The party. Daniel’s anger. Drinking champagne with Mark and then everything that had happened afterward. Spilling her guts to Daniel.

  Oh God, had she really done that? Told him everything? Yes, she really had. She’d been like a waterfall in full flood. No wonder he’d left in the early hours.

  She gave a moan of regret.

  She was never, ever drinking again.

  Valentine was barking frantically and she put her hand on his head.

  “Please, please don’t bark.” She opened the door and a dog that looked exactly like Brutus barged his way into her apartment. He greeted Valentine like a long-lost brother, proving that he was in fact Brutus. The two dogs growled and rolled on the floor and Molly stared at them, wondering if she was still suffering from the effects of too much champagne.

  “Brutus?” She rubbed her eyes but the dog still looked the same. And there, standing in her doorway, was Daniel. She felt a thrill of relief and delight. After what had happened the night before she’d thought he wouldn’t want to come within a million miles of her. “I thought a family had taken him.”

  “They didn’t like his temperament.” There was an edge to Daniel’s voice. “Turns out he isn’t easy to rehome so he’s still with Fliss and Harriet.”

  “So you’re walking him?”

  “Yes, but don’t read anything into it. I’m just helping my sisters.”

  “Because you’re not a dog person.” She watched as Brutus charged back to Daniel, checking he wasn’t leaving. She felt like doing the same thing. She watched as he gently scratched the back of Brutus’s neck, reassuring him. “I don’t think you used Brutus to get close to me. I think you’re using me to get closer to Brutus. Do you know that some people call you the Rottweiler?”

  “You’ve been reading my press again.”

  “Seemed only fair as you read mine. Is that coffee?”

  “It is.” Daniel thrust a cup into her hand and followed Brutus into the apartment.

  “I was planning on going back to bed.”

  “Forget it. We’re going for a run. It’ll wake you up.”

  “Run? Do you know how hard it was to walk from the bed to the door? I couldn’t run if you threatened my naked body with a cactus.” She glanced at the sofa and saw a pillow. “What’s that doing there?”

  “I slept there. You need a bigger sofa.”

  “You slept on my sofa?” She looked at his running gear and the coffee in his hand. “But—”

  “I went home an hour ago. Took a shower, changed, bought coffee and then picked up Brutus.”

  He hadn’t left her? He’d been here almost the whole time she’d been asleep?

  “Why would you sleep on my sofa? And why didn’t I know?”

  “I put you to bed and you passed out. Valentine was so worried about you he didn’t want me to leave. Every time I walked to the door he blocked it and dragged me back. Generally I’m good at arguing, but I have no idea how to argue with a dog, so in the end it seemed easier to stay. But that was before I knew how uncomfortable your sofa is.”

  “It’s comfortable.” The knowledge that he’d stayed the night made her feel strange. Vulnerable, yes, because she had no secrets left from him, but also a little touched that he’d cared enough to sleep on her sofa.

  “Maybe it’s comfortable for people under six foot two.” He seemed supremely energetic for someone who had been up for most of the night.

  “About last night—I apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For all of it. For drowning you in the floodwaters of my very messy past. It was the champagne.” She told herself it was definitely that, and not the fact that Daniel Knight was an exceptionally good listener. “Let’s go to the park. I can’t promise to run, but I can crawl behind you and moan.”

  In the end she managed a gentle jog and being in the park made her feel better. The air was fresh and cool, and seeing Valentine back with his friend made her smile.

  “I don’t understand why that family didn’t snap Brutus up.”

  “I don’t understand either.” He threw the ball for Brutus, who charged after it, grabbing it with a tumble and a roll.

  It was all so normal, he was so normal, that she gradually stopped feeling self-conscious.

  “So are you going to write a book for Phoenix?”

  “I don’t know. They first approached me two years ago. They wanted a book on divorce written by a lawyer. They wanted it to be the equivalent of a free consultation, giving you just enough information to understand the process. At the time I was too busy.”

  “But now?”

  “I’m considering it. I have another meeting with Brett in a few weeks. How about you? You’re working on something new?”

  “Mate for Life sold really well, but it’s mostly about choosing a partner, evaluating what makes you happy in a relationship, identifying what you won’t compromise on so you don’t make a mistake. My next book tackles how to maintain a relationship. How to keep it going when life gets tough.” Still sensitive, she sent him a glance. “That’s your cue to laugh.”

  “Why would I laugh?”

  “Perhaps because I’ve never maintained a relationship of my own? I don’t exactly speak from personal experience.”

  “But you do speak from professional experience, which is what people want. Anything else is just someone’s opinion.”

  His comment lifted her mood.

  After her life had exploded one of the hardest things to cope with was the feeling that she was a fraud. An impostor. Someone who shouldn’t be advising pe
ople on relationships.

  “Tell me something.” Daniel pulled her toward him and took her face in his hands. “Do you believe in the advice you give?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “There is no but. As professionals, we give the advice we believe to be correct. If someone chooses not to take it, that doesn’t make us wrong. It’s crazy to say you shouldn’t be offering advice on relationships, and the fact that your book sold so many copies suggests that there were plenty of people who respect what you have to say and value your professional opinion.”

  “But people buying that book wouldn’t know that I haven’t ever had a long-term relationship.”

  “I’ve never been married and I spend my days advising people on divorce. I have no personal experience of either of those things. Brutus!” He called, and the dog hesitated and then came charging back to him, skidding to a halt at Daniel’s feet.

  Molly stared at him, openmouthed. “Well—wow.”

  “We’ve been working on it.”

  She heard the pride in his voice and watched the way he made a fuss over Brutus before throwing the ball again. “He’s going to miss you.”

  Daniel frowned, as if that possibility hadn’t occurred to him. “I should get to work. Will you be all right?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I opened wounds.” He lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Made you talk about things.”

  “I think I managed that part by myself.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “Telling you? No.” She hesitated. “I suppose if I’m honest I feel a little exposed.”

  “Exposed?” He gave a slow smile, leaned forward and said something into her ear.

  She felt heat pour into her cheeks. “Did you seriously just say that?”

  “Yeah, I seriously did. I’ll see you at eight, Dr. Parker. Bring your whole bad self over to my place so I can expose parts of you I’ve never exposed before.”