by Anna Paige
"Jesus. How did you respond?"
"I didn't. I decided people were going to believe what they wanted, and nothing I could say would change that. To vehemently deny a rumor just lends it credibility in the eyes of gossips. I kept my mouth shut and figured it didn't matter what they thought. It was just bullshit rumors."
Somehow I knew it was more than that. "Did the rumors stop?"
"Eventually. It was like he just gave up his stupid vendetta. For a while, I was perfectly happy in my new position at work and with my newfound freedom from Keith. Talia and I were sharing an apartment, just like we planned when we were little girls. It was perfect. But you know what they say..."
"Let me guess, 'All good things must come to an end'?"
"Well, I was going to say 'life's a bitch', but yours works too. I came into my office after lunch one afternoon to find all three of the partners standing over my desk, scowling at something on my computer screen. The screen I distinctly remember turning off before I left."
"What was on the screen?" She definitely had my attention. A feeling of dread had slowly crept in and took up residence in my gut.
"One of the secretaries called the partners after she says she came in to put something on my desk and noticed an open email on my screen, one that divulged confidential information about our client list and contracts. It was addressed to one of GFS's competitors."
"That son of a bitch," I muttered, instantly pissed the fuck off. That pretty much explained her suspension. Calling it administrative leave didn't change what it was. It was an accusation, plain and simple.
She was quiet for a while, looking out over the water with an unreadable expression. She was probably upset even thinking about it. When she spoke, I was proved wrong. "You automatically knew it wasn't me." She said thickly, almost in a whisper as she put a hand on my arm to turn me toward her. "You barely know me. How do you know I'm not lying, trying to blame Keith as punishment?"
"Because that's not who you are," I said simply, knowing I was right.
Letting go of my arm, she shifted, dropping her head and looking at the ground. "You can't possibly know that. Even the people closest to me had their doubts... wondered if I was guilty." Her voice cracked.
I stepped closer, placing a hand under her chin and lifting it so that she met my eye, my body mere inches from hers. "Then they're the ones who don't know you." I pointed at her chest. "No one with as big a heart as yours would lower themselves to revenge. You've got too much backbone to rely on scheming to make a point." I dropped my hand but held her gaze. "Sneak attacks are for fucking cowards, Ali. You're not a coward."
"Thank you for that," she said quietly as she backed away and stepped into the grass, making her way over to the willow.
"So, it's not the gala you want to avoid, it's him." I asserted. "Understandable."
"It's not just him. It's all of them. It's the partners, whose only reason for not firing me outright is fear of my stepfather, who I'd never even tell about the situation much less ask for help. They think I'm some pitiful wretch who needs to be saved by my mother's rich, powerful knight in Prada armor."
During one of our Sunday dinners, I'd learned that Ali's mother had left her and her father when Ali was barely a teenager. The woman was more interested in money than family, and she knew her blue-collar husband and small town life weren't about to land her where she wanted to be. She'd eventually remarried, repeatedly, and was currently on husband number four. Ali said she didn't even bother to get to know them anymore because they had a short shelf life.
I laughed my ass off when she told me she'd taken to calling them all "Benjamins" because all her mother saw when she looked at them was hundred-dollar bills. Ali didn't want their money or use their connections because she wanted to make it on her own.
I admired the hell out of that.
From the way she described her father, I'd say she was more like him. Grounded, generous, content, and kind-hearted. My favorite story of hers was the one where she admitted her dad's version of 'hunting' involved a camera rather than a gun. It was his odd hunting practice that inspired Ali to paint. She started out using his wildlife photos as her inspiration.
I installed wildlife cameras all over the property the week after hearing that story.
I wondered if her father would have rethought his 'no guns' policy if he'd been privy to Keith's machinations, which I was sure he wasn't.
Ali was starting to pace as she listed all the reasons she didn't want to attend the gala.
"And it's all those bastards who bought into Keith's lies, who think I'm guilty, that I'm some monster who stomped him into the ground on my way to the top." She scoffed. "Imagine how much fun I'll have all night hearing the whispers as I pass by."
"Who gives a damn what they think, Ali? You know who you are. If they can't see how amazing you are, fuck them."
She looked at me and laughed. "You don't understand. I'm not afraid of them, I'm not afraid of Keith either. I'm afraid of my reaction to the whole situation. I've fantasized about bashing Keith's face in for almost a year now, and I know he's going to try to goad me into causing a scene, it's how he operates. If I can't keep my cool, I'm definitely out of a job. Never mind that I will have embarrassed the charity I've worked so hard to support. The children at Outreach Hospice deserve better than to have me ruin their benefit." She shook her head. "That's what I'm afraid of."
From the look on her face as she described kicking Keith's ass, I had no doubt she meant it. So she had a fiery temper? Good. One more item on the list of things that turned me on about her. "Are you taking Talia with you? Maybe she can diffuse the situation."
This time, Ali's laugh was genuine and loud. "Talia? She'd be the one to throw the first punch. No way can I take her along, we'd end up in handcuffs for sure." She wiped her eyes, having laughed so hard they started to water. "I needed that laugh, though. Thanks."
"How about if I take you?" She looked shocked at my offer, but there was no way she was as surprised as me. I hadn't meant to say it. The idea popped into my mind and then shot right out of my mouth. Fuck.
I may not have meant to say it, but the idea instantly struck me as a good one.
She sputtered a bit before finding her voice. "You?" She shook her head. "I couldn't ask you to do that. This is my drama. I appreciate the offer, but I didn't tell you about it so you'd try to fix things. I'll be fine. I just needed to vent."
Shit. I forgot she was so stubborn. I'd need a different approach. "I wasn't offering to fix anything, slugger. I just thought that you could use some moral support. It also wouldn't hurt to bring along a potential contributor as your date. Maybe your bosses would see it as ambitious."
She raised her brow. "Potential contributor?"
"Yeah. Spencer, Brant, and I have been looking into new opportunities to support. We have funds earmarked for it but haven't settled on anything yet. With the year half over, we need to find a charity soon." I tried to be nonchalant, but she was having none of it. Before I knew it, she had jumped up and launched herself into my arms.
She squeezed so tightly I was afraid she'd break a fucking rib but I was enjoying every second. "Thank you so much! I can't believe you'd do that for me." She let go and stepped back. "You don't even know anything about the charity. Are you sure you don't want to gather some info first?"
She'd used the words 'children' and 'hospice' when discussing the charity... hell no, I didn't need to hear any more. I was in.
"I don't see the need, but you might want to put together something for Spencer to look over. Not that he would rescind the offer, but it would assuage his OCD tendencies to have all the specifics on paper."
She was practically jumping up and down. "Lucky for him, I'm obsessed with details." Her smile was radiant. I had done that. I'd put someone else's problems first, taking her from desolate to elated in the span of one conversation. I'd wanted to help her and I did. Not because there was anything in it for me, not because I was attract
ed to her, but because she was someone I cared about, and I didn't like seeing her upset.
Looked like I was capable of being a good friend after all.
D.C.
Present Day
The Evening of the Gala
I STEPPED OUT of the limo in front of the address Ali had given me. The apartment she shared with Talia was in a middle-class area of D.C., surrounded by small businesses that looked both new and trendy. Coffee shops, tiny art galleries, and bookstores peppered the storefronts across the street. It was the perfect location for Ali. Like the whole block had been built to suit her.
Tugging slightly at my collar, I made my way to the entrance. The doorman stood sentry and didn't smile as I approached. "May I buzz you in, sir?" He sounded so bored I nearly yawned in sympathy. For someone his age, which I guessed to be early twenties, standing there all day probably wasn't the most stimulating of jobs.
"Yes, please. Apartment 7B."
He moved at the pace of a sloth on fucking tranquilizers, taking his time locating the correct button, which I could see from five feet away. I reconsidered my earlier assessment, maybe he wasn't bored. It looked like he was fucking stoned. I bet he could find 7B if he was standing in front of a vending machine with a case of the munchies.
Just as I was about to step around him and hit the button myself, he found the damn thing and pressed. A moment later, as I confirmed my suspicion with a good look at his bloodshot eyes, Ali's voice crackled through the speaker. "Yes?"
Stony the Sloth cleared his throat. "Ma'am, you have a guest." He looked at me. "Your name, sir?"
"Clay McGavran," I told him in a clipped tone.
He passed the information on to Ali, and she asked that I come on up.
She buzzed to unlock the door, and Stony shuffled over to hold it open. The idea that he was in charge of keeping unwanted guests out pissed me off. He couldn't fend off a couple of girl scouts in his condition.
Though he'd welcome the cookies, I was sure.
When I exited the elevator on seven, I was surprised to see only two doors. Their apartment accounted for half the floor. Not bad. Square footage was a premium in D.C., and they looked to have plenty. Hell, the ceilings in the hallway were easily nine feet high, as would be the ceilings inside. I couldn't imagine going from an apartment that size to that tiny place above the old dry cleaner in Denson.
The door to 7B opened as I approached, and Ali stuck her head out into the hallway. "Hey, sorry I'm running a little behind. Come on in." She disappeared back inside.
I stepped into the spacious apartment and closed the door behind me. Yep, high ceilings and an open floor plan with lots of room. The furnishings were modern and attractive, mostly muted colors with a few bright accents. Everything was spotlessly clean and organized, including the two mammoth bookcases that sat on either side of the television. The TV was probably large, but it was dwarfed by the dark cherry pieces flanking it.
I smiled as I took in the apartment, seeing little hints of her everywhere. Spying a large bureau covered in framed photos, I couldn't help myself. I walked over and examined the pictures, most of which were probably of family. Ali with an older man whose hair and eyes matched her own, Ali and Talia at their college graduation, Talia and a middle-aged couple who I assumed to be her parents, though neither had her golden blond hair. Two little girls probably less than ten years old playing at the beach, one dark-haired and one blond. The two of them really had been close all their lives. Farther back, nearly hidden behind the other frames was a picture of Talia standing in the kitchen behind a beautiful blond moppet who couldn't have been more than two or three. They were making cookies, from the looks of the counter in front of them, smiling and sticking their tongues out for the camera.
I heard Ali enter the room behind me, her heels clicking on the hard floor. I turned, photo still in hand, with the intention of asking about the little girl.
As soon as I saw Ali, the question flew right out of my mind. I blindly sat the frame back on the table, only half aware of where I placed it. When my eyes fell on her again, I was instantly mesmerized. She was stunning. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. So much so that my mouth dried up and I lost the ability to speak. I just stood there like a jackass, gawking at the most beautiful creature I'd ever laid eyes on.
Her dress was a dark charcoal gray that shimmered in the light. The thin straps left her smooth shoulders exposed, and the fabric hugged her figure down to mid-thigh where it loosely fell to the floor, with a deep split up one side. She'd traded her usual locket for a diamond bar necklace. The vertical pendant nestled into her cleavage, pleasantly accentuating the full swell of her breasts.
Fuck the gala, I was content to just stand there all night and stare.
She cleared her throat and smiled when I met her gaze. "You look quite handsome, Mr. McGavran." She nodded to my tux, which was feeling a bit snug in the crotch area all of a sudden.
With much effort, I managed to corral enough saliva to allow speech. "You... um," Shit, get it together. "You're breathtaking." There, that was better. Not nearly enough to describe her but it would have to do.
Her cheeks reddened. "Thank you. I'd take credit for it, but it was all Talia's doing. She's the one with all the fashion sense. I'm more of a jeans and tee shirts kind of girl." She grinned. "It drives her crazy, too. She hated having to go to work tonight because she was worried I'd try to sneak out of here in flats. I had to send her a pic of me wearing the heels so she'd relax."
I chuckled. "Well, as long as we're confessing, I'm in no way responsible for this either." I indicated my appearance. "Spencer sicced the office staff on me, the bastard. Next thing I knew, some old guy was running a measuring tape up my thigh and asking whether I dress left or right while my assistant watched. I felt a little violated, to be honest."
Ali thought that was hysterical.
I plastered an affronted look on my face. "I guess it could have been worse. At least Gran and Vanessa didn't get their hands on me. They both tried, though. Caroline, my Richmond assistant, is a friend of Gran's, and she spilled the beans about tonight. It was pandemonium for a while there, trying to fend them all off. Sometimes I think Vanessa is just as bad as Gran, maybe worse since she's still young enough to chase me down if I try to run." They were the mother-daughter tag team from hell, so Spencer sort of bailed me out by having the assistants handle things.
Ali's laughter hadn't slowed one bit, and that was my objective. I planned to keep the tension at bay and Keith if necessary, though she wouldn't want me to step in.
A damsel in distress she was not.
Once she calmed down and ran to check that her make-up hadn't smudged, she plucked a small clutch purse from the coffee table and motioned toward the door. "You ready for this, Mr. McGavran?" She teased.
"I was born ready, Miss Walker." I winked at her and offered my arm, escorting her to the elevator.
The event was being held at one of the largest and most popular convention centers in D.C., according to Ali, whose word I would take since I had no idea about such things.
I stepped from the limo and turned to offer a hand to her as she exited, her eyes locked on the brightly lit entrance at the top of the stairs. I released her arm to close the door, signaling to the driver that he could park.
As I turned back to her, I saw the tension in her stance and in the rigid angle of her jaw. She was nervous but doing all she could to appear unaffected. When she turned to me, her smile was practiced, functional, and it didn't reach her eyes. Before she could take a step in the direction of the building, I reached for her hand, pulling her a step closer so only she would hear my words. "You'll do great, slugger. And I'll be right by your side all night. Have as much faith in yourself as I have in you, okay?"
Her green eyes searched my face for something though I didn't know what. Then she shifted her hand in mine and laced our fingers together the way one would with a lover. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze before lifting it to brush the back
briefly with my lips. Something passed between us, some new strand added to whatever tether had been pulling us together all these weeks.
Without another word, and with much more confidence, we approached the entrance. Ali with her shoulders back and head held high, and me with her tiny hand tingling in mine.
THE ROOM WAS enormous and so elegantly decorated that I was half afraid to touch anything. It made me slightly uncomfortable. I kept checking my hands to be sure there was no dirt on them. I had to keep reminding myself that I belonged there. I may have ended my days with dirt under my fingernails and sweat down my back, but I still matched the incomes of half the people there. I just wasn't one to show it. It seemed crass, somehow.
We made our way around the room slowly, having to stop and plaster on interested expressions and fake smiles every few feet when Ali was stopped by some acquaintance. Each time we excused ourselves, she muttered, "Keith's minion," letting me know just how duplicitous most of her colleagues were.
Or just how smooth Keith was.
Last week, Brant called to tell me about a strange email he'd gotten. Apparently, he'd received anonymous tip about Ali's suspension from GFS. Spencer hadn't mentioned getting the email, so I assumed it was only sent to Brant.
And I'd bet my left nut that Keith was the source.
We finished our initial lap around the room and were headed to the bar for a much needed drink when she stiffened, going completely rigid against the hand I'd placed at her back. I looked down at her, poised to ask what was wrong.
The hatred I saw on her face was jarring. She breathed slowly, deliberately through flared nostrils, teeth clamped together as her jaw worked, and her eyes, god her eyes were the brightest most penetrating shade of green I'd ever seen. They practically glowed, and not in a good way. I didn't need to raise my head to know who she had just seen.