by Juniper Bell
"I'm fine," I kept telling them. "Got kicked in the gut, that's all."
"Woman troubles?" the perky brunette cooed.
"What else?"
"Whoever she is, she's a fool," the redhead assured me.
Calling my coolheaded, intelligent, wary, volcanically passionate Lauren a fool didn't sit right. If she'd been a fool about anything, it was getting involved with me.
But what choice had I given her? I'd backed her into this corner. If not for me, she never would have been at the park that day. She would have been shopping or lunching or doing other fiancée-appropriate things.
I wondered if she'd seen Gonzo yet, and if my little message had hit the right note. I'd seen how she cuddled that kitten. He belonged with her. When she stroked his silky head, her armor softened. And yet she wouldn't allow herself something as ordinary and comforting as a fluffy little feline. Lauren deserved love, just like anyone else.
That was the message Gonzo was supposed to deliver. But I had no idea if she saw it that way. I hadn't gotten any communication from her before I'd switched off my phone at the airport.
Then again, she probably had more important things to deal with, like the entire gossip contingent of the Washington press corps.
Perky Brunette returned with the glass of Macallan I'd ordered. I accepted it, then gave a double-take at the odd expression on her face.
"What's the matter? Am I over my limit?" I hoped not. It would take a few more of these to take the edge of my regret.
"We … uh …" She gestured with her head toward the other flight attendant, who was hanging back in the little kitchen. "We just figured out why you look familiar." She giggled, then put a hand over her mouth. A flush rose along her cheekbones. She glanced at me up and down.
"Some people think I look just like Brad Pitt." That was a joke. My face was the opposite of pretty.
"No, we're almost a hundred percent positive it's you. We weren't sure at first because you aren't wearing a suit now."
"A suit?" A cold sensation settled into my gut. The last—only—time I'd worn a suit was at the Redwood Club. When Lauren and I had …
Oh shit.
"Did you see a photo of me somewhere?" I asked as calmly as I could.
"Well, sure. It's all over the Internet. You and the girl with the senator."
I cleared my throat. "It's probably not me. Must be a lookalike out there. Can I … uh … see the photo?"
She said asked coyly, "What's it worth to you?"
My serious expression put a stop to her flirting. With a tiny pout, she pulled a phone out of her pocket. It was switched to airplane mode, but the photo was already pulled up.
It was scorching hot. Intensely sensual. It looked like a still from some kind of foreign sex movie. The two people in the photo—unmistakably me and Lauren—looked completely lost in each other, or in some kind of erotic dream world. The angle of the shot was not quite level and its grainy nature meant the colors had leached out of it. My black suit, Lauren's white skin, the decadent bronze of the jacket crumpled on the counter.
The dark swell of her nipples behind the blurring.
Jesus.
Feeling suddenly steamed up, I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead. "Not me," I told the flight attendant, handing back the phone. "Do I look like a suit guy?"
She pursed her lips. "You look like you could be if you wanted to. I bet you can be all kinds of things if you want to." The gleam in her eye made it clear she wouldn't mind testing out her theory—in bed.
"So what's the Internet saying about this? About the girl?"
"Oh, it's a huge scandal. I guess she's engaged to a senator or something. It's been on TV non-stop. They blur out the naughty bits for TV, but you still get the idea. I kind of feel bad for her, but she should really know better. There's no privacy anymore, you know? Cameras are everywhere!" She waved her iPhone then slid it back into her pocket.
"Even in restrooms, huh? Good to know." Bullshit. Guaranteed, the Redwood Club didn't have a camera in their ladies' room. Someone had engineered this.
"You know, some people are saying it might have been a political thing. Like someone paid the man to set her up, you know, like the senator's opponents. But I don't know about that. If you ask me, that's the real thing. That man's in love with her."
I snorted, then hid it behind a cough. "If you say so."
"Definitely. I wish a man would look at me the way the guy in the photo looks at her." She sighed, shooting me one last hopeful glance.
I offered her nothing but a stony stare, and she finally gave up.
I pulled out my phone and logged onto the Wi-Fi that came with my first-class ticket. The headlines sickened me. I scrolled through the stories, although each one made me more furious than the next. "Sex Scandal Rocks Senator's Campaign." "Lauren Exposed!" "Senator Sex Toy." "What's Next for BriLo?"
The official comment from Senator Clayton was "no comment." Hordes of reporters were following Brian through his day. He'd done nothing more than wave at the cameras, although some commentators pointed out that he seemed to be favoring his middle finger as he did so.
I had new respect for the dude.
But I couldn't find what I wanted most—a glimpse of Lauren. Was she okay? Where was she? What was she thinking? Was she blaming me?
She had to know I wouldn't do something like this on purpose. Oh, I deserved plenty of blame. If not for my idiotic quest for revenge, none of this would have happened. But to set her up like this? Get her half-naked body splashed across computer screens, not to mention phones, tablets, TVs? Good God, the list was endless. That photo would be around forever. I would never want that to happen.
She wouldn't believe that, would she? I'd done what she wanted. I'd left town. But now it felt like the biggest mistake I'd ever made. I needed to see her. I needed to shield her, be by her side. My need to protect her shook me to my core.
What was going on here? Did I … have feelings for Lauren?
Fuck it. I'd worry about that later. I pulled up a travel site and found the first flight that would get me back to Washington. It would give me only half an hour in the Houston airport, but so the fuck what? I had to get back to her.
I had to turn my laptop off as we approached for landing. It was a relief to shut the lid on any more screaming headlines. I just hoped I didn't miss anything important while we landed and I scrambled to catch my flight back to DC.
16
Lauren
"We're going live in thirty seconds, Lauren." Candy Davis, the only reporter I'd ever liked, patted me on the knee. "You okay?"
"I'm good. Just want to get this over with."
"Listen, doll. I won't lie. This is a huge scoop for me. But if you don't want to do this, we can still back out. I told them no promo, just in case."
I knew I liked her for a reason. "I want to do this. I have to do this." For everyone's sake. Rye's, Brian's, and most of all, mine. "Is the car ready?"
"Yup. Town car to the airport, security in place. Your mother left a message that she's leaving a ticket for you."
Of course she was. She and her ticket could rot in hell.
"Good. Thank you for doing this, Candy. I couldn't face all those cameras at once." I glanced at the camera trained on me. I didn't like that one either, but I'd make the best of it.
"Here we go," said Candy, with one last squeeze of my knee. She assumed her Oprah-style interview position as someone began counting down. Her introduction passed in a blur—I caught words like "Senator Clayton," "engaged," “sex toy,” "spectacle." I heard my name—oh God, there went my last shred of privacy. That name was dead to me forever. RIP Lauren Gallatin. After this, I might have to deep-six the name "Lauren" as well.
Finally Candy turned and fixed me with a sympathetic gaze. "Here to tell her side of the story is Lauren Gallatin herself. Lauren, what would you like our viewers to know about this incident?"
She had agreed to let me make a statement before she asked
me questions. That's what I wanted most of all—a chance to say my piece, in my own words. After that, I'd deal with whatever questions she chose to throw at me, knowing that soon I'd be in that limo on my way to the airport.
"I'd like to say, first of all, that Brian Clayton is a wonderful man. I will always love him. I hope he can forgive me. He will make some lucky woman the best husband in the world. I wish that woman could be me, and I thought it was going to be me. But sometimes life throws you a curve, and that's what happened." I paused, swallowing over the lump in my throat.
Candy nudged me. Dead air was never good. "The curve you mention, that would be …?"
"That would be the man in the photo. I fell in love with him when I was thirteen. I thought he was part of my distant past. But when he recently reappeared in my life, I realized that those feelings had never gone away. I never thought I'd see him again. When I did, I guess it just knocked the sense right out of me." I smiled, bittersweet. "I love him. I've always loved him. I guess I just didn't know it. So this situation is, of course, entirely my fault. I had no idea these feelings from the past still existed. I apologize to Brian, to the Clayton family, and to everyone I've disappointed."
That about covered it, right? If only I could stand up right now and walk out of there. But Candy had to get her pound of flesh.
"Who is this mystery man? No one in Washington seems to know him."
"I'd rather not say. If he wants to come forward, he can do so. I leave that up to him."
"Have you spoken to Brian yet?"
"No." Tears blurred my vision. "I haven't had a chance to. But I hope he understands that I love him very much. I'm releasing him from our engagement, of course. He deserves someone impeccable, and I'm afraid that's not me."
"You said you fell in love with this mystery man when you were thirteen. Can you say more about that?"
He was briefly my stepbrother. My pretend mother may have done something to his family. "No, I'm sorry."
More questions came, fast and furious. "Will you be continuing your relationship with this man?"
"I don't know if he'll ever speak to me again," I said frankly. "I'm sure he didn't expect this any more than I did."
"What does the future hold for you, Lauren?"
"I honestly have no idea."
And that was the damn truth. Ever since I was little, my future had always been a question mark. I'd never know where Bliss was going to take us next. I never knew what name I'd be using or what role I'd be playing.
And now?
I blanked for a weird, surreal moment. Candy kept asking me questions, and I kept answering them as if on autopilot. I hoped I hadn't betrayed any crucial secrets or said anything I'd later regret. I didn't care about the senator—heck, I wouldn't even vote for that weasel—but Brian deserved better. Had I shielded him enough from the gossips? Or had my actions put him in an even bigger spotlight? Would the whispers about his chronically single state return? Or would people grow up and realize that his sexual preference was nothing to be ashamed of? Nothing for his family to be ashamed of?
I flashed on that image of me in Rye's arms. The connection between us, the intense chemistry, practically vibrated off the screen. If Brian had nothing to be ashamed of, neither did I. I loved every second I'd spent with Rye. The hell if I'd apologize for that—to anyone.
The interview wrapped. Candy gave me a hug and a whispered "good luck." I made my surreptitious escape through a back corridor that opened onto a private parking lot. The car whisked me off to Dulles. I performed a quick change in the back seat. I put on patchwork jeans and an embroidered hoodie, crammed my hair under a hipster beanie. Added some feather earrings and a crap ton of beaded bracelets and necklaces. I was going for hippie chick, the kind of girl no one took seriously.
I made it to the ticket counter without being noticed and picked up the ticket to Morocco Bliss had left. With my bag slung over my shoulder, ticket in hand, I stopped in the middle of the international terminal. I craned my neck to gaze at the gigantic monitor that listed all the places in the world airplanes were headed to within the next two hours.
Talk about a crossroads.
What was I? What did I want?
The questions pounded through my head in a kind of chant. I closed my eyes, trying to envision my future. Rye's face swam to the surface of my thoughts. His hard, rugged, fierce, tender face. Rye had gotten a raw deal at the age of sixteen. A spoiled teenage prince knocked off his throne. But he'd seized the moment and forged his own way. And he'd done it spectacularly.
Without thinking any more about it, I wheeled around and hurried back to the ticket counter. "Hi. I'd like to change this ticket so it goes to another destination."
"Sure. You'll have to pay a change fee, of course. And there will be a fare difference, depending on your new destination."
"That's fine."
"So …" She paused, fingers poised over her keyboard. "Where would you like to go?"
17
Rye
My cell phone started buzzing like crazy as soon as I turned it on. Levi had sent a bunch of texts. I hurried through the terminal, reading as I went.
Lauren just gave an interview. You have to watch. Click the link.
Everyone wants to know who you are. I'm sitting on the biggest fucking scoop of the month. You owe me, dude. Throw me a bone, would you?
Where the fuck are you?
Using just the thumb of one hand, I texted him back. Just landed back in DC. Need to find Lauren. Any clues?
Nada. Watch the interview, then ping me back. Or I'll hunt you down, mo-fo.
Nice. Is that the language they teach in journalism school these days?
I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of Lauren's townhouse. I didn't expect her to be there, but I had to start somewhere. On the way, I clicked the link Levi had sent.
"I love him. I guess I've always loved him. I just didn't know it. … I never expected to see him again. … knocked the sense right out of me … What's next for me? I honestly don't know."
Those eyes, big and vulnerable. That lovely face, the one I saw every time I closed my eyes. Instead of dazed with passion, it was set in stoic, determined lines. She was doing what had to be done, even if it meant exposing her heart to a world of prying eyes.
God, she was incredible.
Or was she lying? Playing another role?
I had to find her.
I dialed her number for the hundredth time. She must have abandoned her phone at some point. Desperate to find some connection, I looked her up on Facebook. Her name came up many times, but she hadn't posted anything recently. I did see a thousand shots of her boobs populating my little screen.
Fucking assholes.
I had to get to her townhouse and hope to some kind of clue.
Bliss. Maybe Bliss would be there. Ironic. The woman I despised most in the world might now be my only shot at finding Lauren.
At their townhouse, I found no sign of Bliss or Lauren. The only clue came in the form of litter on the normally tidy lawn in front of their townhouse. Cigarette butts, fast-food wrappers, the detritus of a media horde. I pounded on the door, but got no response.
"Lauren," I called. "It's Rye. I have to talk to you. Please, if you're there, let me in."
Nothing. I peered in the windows, hoping no one busted me for trespassing or behaving like a stalker. The living room looked just as it had when I'd last seen it, when I'd helped Gonzo scramble through the mail slot. All the furniture was still there. But other than that, no trace of human occupation.
Lauren was gone.
Of course she was gone. Why would she stay in the white-hot center of all the craziness? I hoped she was long gone from here. I hoped she was safe and okay. But damn it all, I needed to communicate with her.
I headed down the sidewalk and pulled out my phone. I called Levi. "I want to make a statement."
"Rye! Jesus, dude. Do you know how hard it's been to keep my mouth shut?"
> "You're the best, and I owe you. How about an exclusive interview with the 'mystery man'?"
"That would do it. Where can I meet you? Do you want to come into the office?"
"Yes, that's fine." Whatever. I didn't care about any of that. "In the meantime, can you issue a statement for me? Like a teaser or a headline? Something that Lauren might see?" I had no idea where she was, or if she was monitoring the media. But I didn't want to waste any time.
"I'm not a message service, but what do you want to say?"
"How about this. Rye McAllister, the so-called mystery man, speaks out for the first time about meeting Lauren Gallatin."
"That's it? That's the message?"
"Make sure to include the first time. That's the important part."
If Lauren was still in town, maybe she'd understand. Her "first time" had been at Ye Olde Meeting House, where I intended to camp out for the next few days.
But my attention had just been caught by something completely unexpected.
Across the street, I spotted a slim, petite girl in an olive-drab jacket. Short hair, big black-rimmed glasses, no one who would normally catch my attention.
Except for the tiny white ball of fluff climbing out of her jacket.
I'd recognize that mischievous little Gonzo face anywhere.
"Gotta go." I dropped my phone in my pocket and ran after her.
She heard me coming and shifted into a speed-walking pace. But Gonzo was crawling all over her shoulder and she was trying to keep him contained, which made her progress difficult. It didn't take long for me to catch up to her and clamp a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, there. I mean you no harm. But I know that kitten and I'm looking for his owner."
She spun around to meet my eyes. Gonzo gave a little yelping mew as he tried to keep his footing. I took an involuntary step back. She had wide, blue eyes, clear as a lake, challenging as a gauntlet. "Get your hands off me."
I held up my hands in surrender. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to scare you."