Fresh tears scalded her eyes, and she couldn’t squeeze any words past her tightly constricted vocal chords. Sam had been more than just a fling. She’d envisioned a future with him. But she’d destroyed every chance of that with her stupid lie.
Biting her lower lip, she struggled for enough control to answer her grandfather, who made small, soothing noises on the other end of the phone, almost like he were in the same room with her.
“He’s no one, Grandfather.” Her voice cracked. She squinted her eyes closed and drew a shuddering breath. “His name is Sam. He broke up with me. It’s a long story. He’s not important right now.”
“Ah, but he is important to you, I can tell.”
“No, Grandfather. He doesn’t matter, just like I don’t matter to him now. We can’t get past this. What is important is damage control. I’ll resign. It will be the best thing to do.”
“I will not accept such a resignation from you. I raised you and your brother to be strong in the face of problems.”
“Grandfather—”
“Enough” He spoke over her. “I will be in Granite Pointe tomorrow. Athelstan tells me he is staying with you, so I will be at the bed and breakfast near the harbor, The Bay Breeze Inn. I think your brother will be expecting me to display anger so that he can protect you from the big, bad grandpa. It’s okay, we give him a show, ja?”
Rikki laughed, some of her hurt easing. Knowing Grandfather could shed some of the rigid, terrifying aspects of his personality to rally behind her was a balm for her soul. His choice to ignore the very public humiliation of the foundation he’d worked to build, and stand behind her, inspiring laughter in these dire circumstances, cloaked her in the sweet glow of affection. Admiration and love for her grandfather surged through her like waves lapping at the shore of a small lake. A welcome side effect of her grandfather’s support was the miniscule relief from the sting of Sam’s words.
After hanging up, she slumped back into the desk chair, staring at the computer screen. Her thoughts raced. Focusing on the words and—shudder—the pictures was an impossible task. She slammed the lid shut and bolted up. The chair skidded across the floor to slap into the fabric side of the portable darkroom Grandfather had sent.
Rikki glanced at the wall clock, then out the front window, trying to decide if it was too late to go for a stress-relieving, mind-clearing run. The late spring sun had finished setting hours ago, and she cast off the idea as too dangerous. Low visibility could be a killer.
Frustrated, she tapped her toe. It was crazy, but the staccato beat calmed her. She could always edit her pictures. Lord knows she had plenty, but hadn’t tried to find the time to work on them.
The idea of sitting still for hours at her computer boggled her mind. She doubted she could do it. There was always house-cleaning. At least vacuuming was a physical activity. Something she desperately needed. Striding across the dining room, she grasped the chair, intending to pull it back to the desk and shut the computer down for the night.
She brushed against the black canvas of the darkroom. Two days ago she’d unpacked the film she’d shot on the field trip, planning to develop it. Sam had other ideas, distracting her when he’d tackled her in front of the entry to the tent. The film canister had flown from her hand when she’d landed on top of him on the floor and he’d kissed her. He hadn’t stopped until she was breathless and he had buried himself deeply inside her, driving her over the edge of sanity.
She lost her breath again, remembering how they’d both exploded together, then giggled like little children, sprawled on the floor in front of the darkroom, circling lazily back to earth.
She was not going there again. She couldn’t. Thinking about Sam would be counterproductive now.
Turning in a circle, she scanned the dining room floor for the small colorful cylinder of film she’d lost that night. There you are! Spying it under the sideboard in the corner of the room, she dropped to her knees and reached for it, interrupted by the ringing of her cell. Resting on her hands and knees, she considered letting the call go to voice mail. It took only a split second to toss the idea out and she jumped up to grab her phone from the top of the desk. Okay, still not Sam, but she hadn’t believed it would be. She needed to give him some time to come to his senses. If he ever did.
She put the film canister next to the laptop and swiped the answer button connecting her to Jenni. “Please tell me Tony broke the code and the site is down.”
“Bingo!” Jenni’s voice was giddy. “He pulled the Foundation website completely down because he thinks there may have been some changes on the back-office part of the donation page.”
“What?” This day just kept getting shittier by the moment. The chair squeaked when she sat down. “God, Jenni. People trust us with their financial information. If those hellish pictures didn’t turn patrons off, knowing their credit cards might be jeopardized will completely dry up contributions.”
“Rik, do you remember how Tony balked when you insisted on passing donor payment information from our site directly to our bank without capturing any details? Well, if you were in the same room with him right now, he’d kiss you. No way could they crack the bank’s security.”
“So what did the hackers do? Besides destroy my reputation.”
“Oh, fiddle on that. Your reputation is fine. What the stupid shits did was try to set something up to channel in-bound funds to a different account. Not our bank’s.”
“Isn’t that wire fraud?”
“Or embezzlement, or something else that will compound hacking charges. Everything theses idiots have done is a federal offense. Tony has already contacted the authorities. He’s captured screen shots of every page of the site, plus the code the hacker used. Whoever the son of a bitch is, sucker’s going away for years.”
“What about our social media sites?”
“Done. It took a while because they changed those passwords, too. He managed to pull those down about fifteen minutes ago.” Regret and anger rang in Jenni’s tone.
“So they were up, what? Nearly three hours?” More than enough time for the public to crucify the Foundation and Rikki. “Jenni, do you remember the public relations firm we used when we acquired some of Ansel Adams’s work?”
“PR Pronto?”
“That’s it. Can you email me their contact details, along with your schedule for tomorrow?”
“Sure thing, boss. But since the website’s down our business email is offline, too. I’ll send it to your personal account. What do you have in mind?”
“Damage control. We need an immediate press release tonight and a conference call tomorrow to assess our situation and determine a course of action. Silas will be in Granite Pointe tomorrow, and we’ll both be on the phone from here. Tell Tony he needs to be available, too.”
“You’ve got it. Check your email. I just sent the info.”
“Thanks, Jenni. I owe you a huge bottle of Bordeaux.”
“Nah, you can just reward me with a box of red wine. One bottle won’t cover it.” Jenni laughed. “Oh, hey, do you want the good news?”
“Christ, yes!”
“Tony did find that grant application you were looking for. From Sam Kerrigan.”
The sound of his name pierced her heart like a knife blade, stinging and swift. Rikki gasped, absorbing the pain of the blow without saying anything.
“Rik? Are you still there?” Jenni’s voice sounded far away. “Oh, shit! That’s him, isn’t it? In the pictures. Oh, hell, Rikki. Does he know?”
She swallowed hard. “Yeah, he knows. This is really bad for him. Especially since he is a teacher. On top of this crap, he’s made an enemy of the mother of one of his students. She threatened to expose his evil wrong-doings to the world since he wouldn’t go out with her.”
“Do you think this woman is responsible for the hacking?”
“No. I’m not her favorite at the moment because of Sam, but I don’t think she has the ability or connections to do something on this sca
le. She’s so wrapped up in her world, she wouldn’t think globally.” Depression resonated in her voice. “He also knows I’m Marguerite, thanks to the captions on the pictures. We had a good thing going, but I never found the right time to tell him my legal name.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
The misplaced hope in her assistant’s voice sliced another fine layer off her filleted heart. Shaking her head, Rikki said, “No, he won’t. He believes I lied to him. I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again. And…oh, dammit, Jenni. I’ve fallen in love with him, but my lies hurt him so much, he’ll never forgive me.”
The anguished tone of her voice and Jenni’s startled and sympathetic murmuring unleashed the tears again. No, Sam would never forgive her, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t do everything humanly possible to clear his name of any charges leveled against him. Or do her damnedest to help Katie.
She sat up from her slouched position on the desk chair, squaring her shoulders in resolve. Sam might never forgive her, or speak to her again. But that wouldn’t stop her from speaking for him and Katie.
Chapter 22
After hanging up with Jenni, she’d texted Katie last night to make sure the girl was all right. Katie’s immediate and upbeat response was heartening, dispelling some of her fear the teen might do something awful and irreversible.
Despite that, and the positive news Jenni had reported, Rikki had been unable to focus on anything important after her calls with Grandfather and her assistant. Attempting to sleep would have been futile, so she opted to rearrange her furniture. She’d hoped the strenuous physical work would wear her out enough to distract her from thinking about Sam or the foundation.
It had worked until she stubbed her toe on the hard wooden leg of the couch. The sudden pain reminded her of how Sam had eased the ache when she’d kicked the wooden crate. The first night they’d slept together. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She fell to the floor and cradled the offended foot in her lap, fighting the memory of how beautiful that night had been.
How had it gone to hell so fast? He’d thrown her confession of love back in her face without a second thought. How could Sam believe she’d set out to deceive him? Granted, he’d only found out mere hours ago that she was a woman he despised. But still, he knew Rikki. That should count for something.
Sam’s hateful last words echoed through her soul—that she’d never been more than a distraction for him. The pain in her toe ebbed away as anger surged through her. She couldn’t believe the son of a bitch had said that to her. Yes, he was hurt, but that didn’t absolve him from being a complete and utter bastard. As if he were the only one in this relationship with a soul-searing wound.
She pushed and shoved furniture around her small rental house until most of her hurt and anger burned away, leaving emptiness and desolation in its wake. Unfortunately, despite the hard labor, when she finally lay down, she tossed and turned, fretting over all the shit that had hit the fan yesterday. She finally slipped into blessed oblivion close to four in the morning, just as the larks began their daily chorus.
* * * *
Harsh pounding on Rikki’s front door jolted her awake as the sun graced the horizon.
Her eyes were grittier than the Granite Pointe harbor, and muscles she’d forgotten existed protested in agony when she pushed the pillow off her head and rolled over. Faint traces of queasiness gnawed at her gut, reminding her that the handful of almonds that had served as dinner last night hadn’t lasted. This is what it feels like to be a million years old.
The banging sounded again, and Rikki pushed the covers off and grimaced as she swung her feet over the side of the bed. The hammering in her head was louder than the noise on the front door.
“Rikki! Answer the freaking door.” Her brother’s voice, yelling from the front porch, was loud enough to wake the neighbors two streets over.
Grabbing a sweater from the chair in the corner, she shrugged into it and shuffled down the hallway to the living room. “I know he’s doing me a favor, but why does he need to be an ass about it?” she mumbled.
Gunnar waited on the porch, an impatient expression on his haggard face. Sympathy flooded through her, knowing he’d driven through the night to get to her side. She couldn’t possibly stay mad at him for pounding on her door at oh-dark-thirty. Rubbing her eyes, in part to remove the grit, in part to scrub away threatening tears, she twisted the deadbolt and worked the handle to admit her brother.
Swooping through the open door, Gunnar dropped his duffel bag to the floor with a thud and pulled her into his arms, holding her close. His heart beat softly under her cheek, comforting, safe. He gently massaged the back of her head, the way he had whenever he’d found her crying, crushed by stupid taunts from the mean girls in middle school. And again when Aron had been an utter bastard.
A sigh swelled within her, loosening the agitation that had bonded to her soul like superglue when Sam had first arrived at her house late yesterday afternoon.
The bristles of Gunnar’s overnight beard snagged in her hair as she pulled away from him and offered a smile. “Thank you for coming, Gun. Jesus, it’s good to have you here.”
“Yeah?” He mock scowled at her. “Well, you’ll like it even better after you’ve made me a pot of coffee the size of Rhode Island. Please tell me you have some here. I refuse to get back in the car to go get one. My ass hurts from sitting so long.”
“Hey, there’s a café within walking distance.” She leaned back and looked up at him somberly. “But I do have coffee. Why don’t you take your stuff to the second bedroom and then wash up? I’ll put a pot on and fix some oatmeal.”
Gunnar reached out and ruffled her hair affectionately. “The overnight journey from hell will have been entirely worth it if you throw some maple syrup and brown sugar in mine.”
He bent over, picked up his bag, and started down the hall. Pausing, he twisted around and tilted his head, glancing at her sideways. “You look like hell, Rik. But I’m here now and we’ll get through this together.”
She tossed him a slight smile and nodded. Her confidence rebounded in the face of her brother’s resolve to stand by her. It meant the world to her.
Left alone, the nagging headache thundered to life again, throbbing and persistent. Damn stupid tears. Rikki dragged herself into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of pain reliever from a cabinet, and shook two into her hand. Because the ache in her shoulders was too severe to reach up to the cabinet again for a glass, and dry-swallowing the pills would suck, she turned on the tap and drank straight from the spout.
She jerked the glass coffee pot from the dish drainer and grabbed the canister of the special dark roast she preferred. Pulling the lid off, the rich, heady aroma invaded the space around her in the cool kitchen. Her stomach roiled as the scent wafted out of the airtight container. Black dots floated in her vision as waves of nausea and dizziness swelled through her. Clutching her stomach, she pushed the cylinder away and breathed through her mouth to ease her lightheadedness. The pot clattered on the counter and she stepped backward to a seat at the kitchen table.
Carefully, lowering her head to the tabletop, she sucked several deep breaths into her lungs. The symptoms of dehydration nagged her, lack of enough liquid after her longer-than-usual run yesterday morning, inadequate meals throughout the day from hell. Too many tears shed didn’t help. She clenched her fists and willed her tears away.
Dammit, I never cry. It’s like the gods of lost causes turned on a freaking faucet and forgot to turn it off.
The shower in the bathroom turned on, and her brother’s deep bass voice rose above the noisy pipes. The singing in the shower thing really was a family trait. She stood, hesitating long enough to test the reliability of her knees. She edged over to the refrigerator and grabbed a large bottle of Powerade. Taking a long drink, the liquid stayed cold as it slid all the way down into her stomach. So far so good—the introduction of cool drink hadn’t reacted negatively with her warm
belly.
The coffee was brewing and the oatmeal simmering on the stove by the time the water shut off and Rikki heard the buzz of Gunnar’s electric razor. It might be the first time today he shaved, but it wouldn’t be the last. His scruff came in heavily by three in the afternoon and even though he knew the ladies loved it, he’d always hated it.
She grabbed a handful of almonds and munched on them while she piddled around the kitchen, pouring juice and setting a bowl of brown sugar next to the Vermont maple syrup on the table. The coffee had finished brewing, but the odor still didn’t sit right on her senses, so she refilled her bottle with water, grateful for each cool, calming sip.
Gunnar walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, pulling a Dartmouth sweatshirt over his head. He’d graduated first in his class from New England College with a degree in kinesiology and then gone to an Ivy League school for his Masters in business management. On his way past to pour himself a cup of coffee, he yanked on the ponytail she’d hastily pulled her hair into.
Gunnar’s gesture, normally irritating, seemed soothing, as if now that her big brother was there, he’d make everything magically better. If only it were that easy.
She squinted against the tears gathering behind her eyes. “It’s all my fault, Gunnar. I’ve made a mess of everything. Absolutely everything.”
“You know I’m going to call BS on that, right? Did you take those pictures?”
“God, no!”
“Did you just happen to find them and decide, well, hell, I don’t have enough bad shit going on in my life right now, I think I’ll make my love affair public in the most lurid way possible?”
“Jerk, you know better than that.”
In spite of herself, she grinned. She bounced out of her chair to ladle oatmeal into two bowls and brought them to the table, setting one in front of her brother. He seized it and shoved his spoon into the brown sugar as she took her seat.
Exposed to Passion (Five Senses series Book 3) Page 20