What kind of interview? Did he get the hosting job? On autopilot, I reach beside me for my phone then remember I left it upstairs—turned off. I’ve missed Vaughn more than I thought possible, and I’m incredibly antsy for any glimpse of him. Nothing would make me happier than to see he’s the new host of America Rocks and that this whole funeral fiasco hasn’t hurt him.
“I’m going to run upstairs and see if I can catch it.” I hurry out of the room before my parents say anything—or Mom wants to watch it with me.
Once I get to my bedroom, I climb onto my bed, lean against my headboard, and turn on the television. Luck is with me. The show is about to start. The program opens news-style with discussion on different celebrities. I tap my fingers on my leg. Chew on my bottom lip. Finally they preview the interview with Vaughn, coming up after the commercial break.
Which is taking forever. I bring my hand to my mouth, bite my nail. I’ve never bitten my nails in my life, but apparently it’s time to start.
Finally, Vaughn appears on screen with Kit. I like her. She’s always bubbly and sincere and I relax slightly, thinking Vaughn is in sensitive hands. They begin talking.
Oh. My. God.
The interview isn’t about him being the new host. It’s about me. I stop breathing when Kit says my name and what I did to Mason. The crushing blindside has my finger on the remote to turn off the interview. But then the camera cuts to a close-up of Vaughn, and I’d swear he’s also stopped breathing. I watch his lips move, but don’t hear what he’s saying.
I use the remote to rewind the past several seconds.
Vaughn defends me. His voice is calm. Definitive.
A video is mentioned. It plays on the screen. Holy crap. It’s from the night I met him. How in the world…?
Vaughn comments on the recording, shares what happened, and opens himself up to professional damage by not denying much of anything as far as his own behavior that night. He sings my praises. He continues with basically telling everyone I saved him in more ways than one and to back off the funeral speculation.
Then he tells everyone watching he loves me.
I think I maybe levitate off the bed, his words pure magic. I’m lighter than air and ready to float right back to him.
He ends with, “I’m hers for the taking, but the ball’s in her court.”
The program moves to the next segment. I turn off the television and power on my phone. I need to get in touch with him. He could have chosen to ignore the video, to not dignify it with a response, and yet he spoke up. To help me. To reach out to me and do right by me, even when I told him to leave me alone. I’ve been an idiot.
A gazillion notifications fill the screen on my cell. I swipe to open and find four text messages. I check those. They’re all from Amber and Dixie, sent to our group chat.
Holy shit. Did you see Vaughn’s interview?
Helllloooo…where the hell are you? Please tell us you saw Vaughn on national fucking television.
L.A. is two hours earlier so they obviously watched the show live.
Princess, if you don’t text back, I’m going to break something.
Ignore her. She just hates not being in the know.
I text back Just watched it.
My phone rings. It’s Dixie. “Hey,” I say.
“Hi. How are you?”
That she asked speaks volumes, but I’ve learned when it comes to her it’s best to pretend she doesn’t really care. “I’m shocked. Blown away. My heart has never pounded so hard.”
“Well, I thought you might like an update.”
“Okay.”
“Dylan just stopped by. Vaughn got the job as America Rocks host, but when that video hit YouTube, they took back the offer.”
My whole body sags, every muscle aches. He must be devastated. “Who released the video?”
“Nobody knows.”
Except me. I know. Or at least, suspect.
“I’m coming home.” I disconnect with a quick good-bye, my mind a massive highway going in several different directions. Vaughn has continually put me first, and it’s past time I did the same for him.
His getting, then losing, the job as host is bullshit. I need to fix it then claim his heart.
My story is out in the open now. Since last night, I’ve hated that. But I don’t have to. I can welcome it and use it to help others. One comment flits through my mind. The only one I should remember, rather than all the negative ones. Why is it so much easier to let harmful opinions bother us, rather than allow good ones to lift us up? Kendall, @blakedreams had written, you’re not alone. I got a DUI at 17, too, and lost someone. It gets easier, I promise.
I wish none of my past leaked, but it has. And if I don’t tell—or better yet, show—Vaughn how I feel about him, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
I quickly change out of my pajamas, text Dixie an apology for hanging up on her, and hurry downstairs. I have a plane to catch.
…
The next morning I wake up back at my aunt and uncle’s house, the bedsheets in restless disarray. It took some deep thinking, but I’ve got a plan. Operation Vaughn Rocks is set in my mind despite the false components to it. I’m not comfortable lying, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ll apologize to everyone later.
“Knock, knock,” Dixie says, entering my room.
“Morning,” Amber says from behind her.
“Hi.” I sit up, unsure why tears are tickling the corners of my eyes. “I’m happy to see you.” That’s probably why. I’m home. These girls and this city are my home now.
They sit on my bed. “Don’t go getting all sappy on us,” Dixie says, observant and unsentimental as ever.
“I’m not.” I so am. Talk about an emotional few days.
Dixie leans back like my feelings are contagious, but I see the truth in her eyes. She’s glad to see me, too. “We came in here for an update, not a heart-to-heart.”
“I can do both,” I say, and launch into discussion on the funeral, the media, my parents, and Vaughn. “Am I making a mistake?”
“No,” Amber is quick to say.
I bring my legs up and cross them, waiting for Dixie to weigh in. It hasn’t always mattered to me what my sisters think, but this summer has brought us closer; their opinions mean more now. And whether Dixie admits it or not, I know she cares about me.
“I’m the Queen of Mistakes,” she says.
“Meaning?” I ask.
“Meaning where would we be without making them?”
I certainly wouldn’t be here. Things happen for a reason may be a cliché, but I’m a believer. I like the person I am sitting on this bed with the two girls who mean so much to me. Saying good-bye to Mason, forgiving myself, telling my dad my truth, all major steps to helping me move toward the future I’m meant to have.
“Not that I think you’re making one now,” she adds.
“Thank you,” I say with a sigh before spilling my plan to help Vaughn.
“That is badass,” Dixie says.
“Ditto.” Amber nods her head.
I’m relieved they don’t think me crazy or out of line. I eye the alarm clock. It’s only eight. I’ve got a few hours before it’s showtime.
“In other news,” Dixie, says. “Dylan told Amber she looked uptight and offered to loosen her up.”
“He was trashed,” Amber points out. “And despite the charming offer, a hard-partying club owner is the last thing I need in my life right now.”
I drop my gaze to her tummy. “How are you feeling?”
Amber scrunches her nose. “A little better.”
“Well enough to sit on a dick? Or has that not kicked in yet?” Dixie smirks. “A girl I worked with back home got knocked up and I shit you not, she was horny all the time.”
“Great. Can’t wait.” Amber sinks into the comforter and closes her eyes.
“I know what we’re getting her for her birthday,” I say to Dixie.
Dixie fist-bumps me. “Wi
th extra batteries.”
“On that note, I’m going downstairs for breakfast,” Amber says.
“Right behind you.” Dixie stands, looks over her shoulder at me. “You coming?”
“A little later. I’ve got to shower and practice my accent.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kendall
I give a silent prayer for success and forgiveness as I dial my phone. It rings once. Twice…
“Nigel Cowie’s office,” a woman with a sharp British accent says.
Please let this work.
“Hello, this is Laney Albright. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I forgot where Nigel and I are having lunch today?” I deliver the words in my best Laney impersonation. I’ve drawn out my vowels, dropped my Rs and pronounced Ds instead of Ts.
“I don’t have you on his calendar.”
“It was last minute. I’m…heading out of town this afternoon, so he told me to swing by and join him, but I forgot the name of the restaurant.”
“Did you try his cell?”
“He didn’t pick up.” Please, please, please just give it up, lady. I sound exactly like Laney, if I do say so myself.
“Lunch today is at Tesse Restaurant.”
“Right. Tesse,” I repeat just to be sure I understood her. She hmms her agreement. I thank her, hang up, and quickly Google the restaurant. It’s on Sunset, not too far away. Yes!
This may be considered stalking, but it’s purely selfless, so that has to wipe out any inappropriateness. At least that’s what I tell myself as I drive to the restaurant. When I get there, I take a peek inside. Mr. Cowie is seated at a table with two other men.
Rather than bother them—I do have some scruples about this—I wait outside on the sidewalk. There’s no shade, so within minutes, sweat trickles down my sides and I wipe at my forehead. Lift my arm to shield my face from the bright sun. I hope my perspiration isn’t visible through my yellow sundress.
It feels like forever, but is probably more like twenty minutes, when the three businessmen exit the restaurant and step under the umbrella for the valet.
“Mr. Cowie?” I say on my approach. When his attention turns to me, I continue. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you had a minute?”
“Kendall, is it?”
“Yes.” I’m relieved he remembers me. Or maybe I should be mortified because of all the recent media attention. Either way, I’ve got some things to say to him.
“Excuse me, gents,” he says to his companions.
“Thank you so much,” I tell him, grateful when he gestures for me to follow him back into the restaurant. I’m really doing this.
We’re immediately seated at a table for two. Nigel makes a motion with his hand to indicate we shouldn’t be bothered. “I expect you’ve got something on your mind,” he says.
“I think you made a mistake.”
“In regards to?”
“Vaughn Shaughnessy should be the next host of America Rocks. As you may remember, I’m a huge fan of the show and have watched it since the beginning. When Vaughn told me”—Nigel’s thick brows reach his hairline—“confidentially that he was being considered for the new host, I couldn’t have imagined anyone better. I don’t know if you saw his interview…” I trail off, hoping to collect some intel before I keep going.
“I didn’t see it live, but have since received and viewed a copy from his publicist. I’m bloody sorry, by the way. For your loss.”
“Thank you.” I look away for a moment in order to keep my composure. “I need to tell you Vaughn wasn’t completely honest in that interview.”
Nigel’s eyebrows rise again. “Is that so?”
I nod. “He blamed an ‘unknown person’ for driving his car that night.”
“Yeah, the old ‘unknown person’ culprit. Unfortunately, that’s not terribly convincing, given there’s nobody else in the vehicle. What’s shown is you taking his keys and leading him away. If you’re here to tell me it was him after all—”
“It wasn’t him,” I interject. “That’s not what he lied about. He lied when he said he didn’t know the driver. I can’t say why he chose to keep her name out of it, but a woman named Rebecca Bismark took his car without his permission, and after nearly running us down in the driveway, she laughed like it was a big joke and walked away scot-free. I’d lay odds she’s the source of the video, but that part I didn’t witness firsthand.”
Nigel regards me with an unreadable expression. Am I making any headway? I’m not sure, but I’ve got to keep trying.
“What I do know is Vaughn isn’t a risk or a liability. He’s one of the strongest, most reliable people I’ve ever met. The person who released that video wanted to portray him in a false light to hurt him, and if you don’t give him back the job, then she wins. I don’t want her to win, Mr. Cowie. She’s not a nice person.”
He holds his jaw in his hand. “No, I reckon she isn’t.”
“She’s rubbish.”
That earns me a grin. He reaches his arm across the table to shake my hand. “I’m delighted you came to see me, Kendall.”
“Thank you for hearing me out.”
“The pleasure was mine.”
“I, uh, need to tell you I called your office and pretended to be Laney Albright so I could trick your secretary into telling me where you were having lunch today.”
He throws his head back and laughs before getting to his feet. I stand as well. “Brilliant strategy,” he says.
“I’m glad you’re not mad.”
We walk toward the front of the restaurant. He opens the door for me. “As long as no one is hurt, the things we do for love should never be criticized.”
I look down at the sidewalk in an attempt to hide my blush.
“Valet ticket?” he asks me.
“I’m around the corner.”
“Until we meet again, then.”
What does that mean? I hope it’s that he’s changed his mind about Vaughn. “Okay. Enjoy the rest of your day.” I spin, put one foot in front of the other. When I round the block, I let out a breath so big it could probably knock someone over. Thankfully, no one is close enough.
I’m not sure my Hail Mary plan has worked, but I’m pretty positive it didn’t do any further damage.
Rather than head straight home, I drive to Art in Progress to tell Candace I’d like to accept her job offer.
“I’m thrilled,” she says, giving me a hug.
“Me, too. I was worried with all the recent attention that you may have changed your mind.”
“I put very little stock in crap like that. What matters to me is the person who looks me in the eye and is brave enough to tell me her truths. Our students are going to learn a great deal from you.”
“Yes, they will.” I can’t wait to learn from them as well.
“We’ll talk job specifics tomorrow morning. Be here at ten sharp.”
“I can’t wait. Thank you.”
My stomach grumbles as I leave the gallery, so I stop at Pink’s Hot Dogs. The line is a dozen or so people deep, but a hot dog smothered in onions and relish sounds too good to pass up. I eat it in the car with the air conditioning blasting.
I return home midafternoon, noting with a mix of nervousness and joy that Vaughn’s car is parked in his driveway. I hurry into the house to brush my teeth—no girl in her right mind should profess her love to the guy of her dreams with onion breath—and change into my gray V-neck T-shirt dress and washed denim chucks. The outfit says cute but not trying too hard.
“Hey!” Amber catches me before I rush out the front door. She’s wearing a bathing suit. Her sunglasses sit on top of her head. Snowflake rushes past her to say hello.
Darn it. So much for a stealthy enter and exit while my sisters and Snow were out in the backyard. Not that this is a secret. It’s just I can’t wait another minute to see Vaughn.
“How’d it go?” she asks. “Did you get to speak to the producer guy?”
I bend to pet Snow
. “I did. I think it went well.” Rising, I thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going next door to talk to Vaughn. Catch up with you later?”
“Yes. And good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Snow tries to leave with me. “Not right now,” I tell her, gently nudging her away from the door with my foot. She doesn’t take the hint. “Amber! Will you call for Snowflake?”
“Snowflake! Come get a treat!” she shouts from the kitchen.
At the word “treat” Snow darts off so fast she practically leaves her little pink hair bow floating in the air behind her. I disappear just as quickly, striding toward Vaughn’s house. I slow to a walk as I start up his driveway. Goose bumps pop up on my arms in anticipation of seeing him. I think about all the things I want to say. But then an engine turns over, taillights blaze bright red then white, and his car starts to move.
For a split second I’m transported back to the first night we met. The memory is short-lived, though, because this time the car is carefully backing out, and when I wave my arms in the air and shout, “Hey!” the Rover immediately stops. The engine clicks off. The driver’s side door opens. And the hottest guy I’ve ever seen climbs out. His come-closer-if-you-dare eyes latch onto mine as we slowly walk toward each other.
I dare. From this moment on, I will always dare with him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says. “I heard you were back.” His gaze touches on every part of me, lighting a fire in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m glad I caught you, but do you need to be somewhere? I can come back—”
“Now’s good.” The gap between us shrinks further. “I was just going to the florist.”
“The florist?”
“To buy you flowers before I walked over to see you.”
We’re maybe five feet apart now. Four feet…three feet…two. We stop, arms at our sides, and stare at each other. The way he looks at me steals my breath.
“You wanted to see me?” I manage to ask. The little speech I had planned drifts right out of my head. I try to hang on to the threads, but it’s hard to think straight when Vaughn takes my hand in his. I glance down at our entwined fingers. His hand is so much bigger than mine, yet we fit like we were molded for each other.
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