by Jean Oram
Tristen listened to the man on the other end of the line explain who he was. “Sorry, with which paper?”
“Toronto Star.”
“And what did you need?” He prepared himself for questions regarding why he’d left Toronto. Had someone seen him in drag last night? He swore one of the men in the cluster chatting about golf had recognized him. Were things about to get nasty?
“You are Tristen Bell of TriBell Developments?”
“No, not any longer.”
“You were before you sold your shares to your ex-wife, Cindy, is that correct?”
“Yes, but what is this about? Is she okay?” Scenarios of things going wrong with the company flooded his mind. Media storms were difficult for any business owner and he hated the thought of his ex, who had held the reins for only two years, being in the middle of something that could severely rock her boat as well as her bottom line.
“Your daughter is Dorothy?”
“Yes.”
“And you are dating Melanie Summer?”
“What is this about?”
“You have concerns about a development led by Rubicore in Muskoka?”
“What business is this of yours?”
“That will be all. Thank you.”
“Wait!” Tristen braced himself with a hand against his stainless steel fridge. “What is this about?”
“Just fact checking, sir. Have a nice day.”
Fact checking.
Tristen pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, the dial tone humming.
This meant one thing. War. And the first shot fired by Rubicore was going to be a big one.
* * *
Melanie stood in the heat of the midmorning sunlight bouncing off the window beside her, loving the way it warmed her after the too cool air-conditioning in her Bracebridge office.
“You need to back off,” Tristen said. He’d pulled her away from her desk, where she and Dot had been trying retroactively to get last week back on track—a lovely way to spend a Saturday morning. If he hadn’t seemed so stormy, Melanie would have been a tad excited at his take-charge attitude.
“It’s not safe,” he said.
“Had a side of drama with your morning coffee, I see?”
Tristen snatched her by the arms. “Listen to me, Melanie. I’m dead serious. I got a call from a reporter this morning and they are fact checking personal stuff. This is the beginning of it all. They are already twisting my life into something that is going to look really bad.”
She whipped her arms out of his grasp. “Maybe it is a positive article—ever think of that?”
“There are a thousand ways to interpret the truth, and none of the ones that will hit the papers will be the way I see my life. That I can guarantee.” The lines around his eyes softened before crinkling again with worry.
“How do you know?” she asked. “Maybe they will see you the way I see you.”
“Because. I’ve lived it. Nice stuff doesn’t sell papers, Mel.”
Mel. She liked the way that sounded.
“You’d better not have secrets,” he continued, “because if you do, they will be everywhere.”
“Not this again.”
“They will aim to destroy you and everything that matters to you. They want to hurt you so bad you won’t be able to get out of bed and face the world, the day, yourself. Do you understand? This isn’t a game, it’s war. Psychological, emotional, everything. Nobody gets between them and their buck. Nobody.”
Melanie tipped her chin up, hating that the world had left him so jaded. “I have no secrets, Tristen Bell.”
“Everyone has secrets.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Any embarrassing situations?”
Of course. She was human. And a woman, as well. Who hadn’t had their period start at an inopportune time? But she didn’t expect that to make the news.
“They will pick you apart like crows over roadkill.”
“I can handle it and the exposure will be good. In fact, a war of words could be a positive thing. It will get us some publicity and I can bring up the parking issue. People won’t side with the nasty big corporation that owns all but one of the cottages in Heritage Row, and has no plans to save them or turn them into a museum. And yes, I asked.”
He grabbed his hair in frustration and muttered something under his breath.
“I’m a big girl, Tristen. I can handle whatever they throw at me, and besides, I won’t be alone.”
Tristen took a large breath as though preparing to say something else. She headed him off. “An old friend of mine works with the local paper and he’ll be receptive to spinning some David versus Goliath stuff. Quit worrying.” She gave Tristen’s shoulder a squeeze. Man, he was a big guy. One day, she’d like to feel those big strong arms around her.
She turned to walk back to her office, but Tristen snagged her hand, stopping her, desperation edging his voice. “People are going to get hurt.”
His eyes were fraught with storms again. She stepped forward, tapping his chest with a finger. “You know who is going to get hurt? Rubicore.”
“What about your niece?”
“Totally unrelated to this.”
“Nothing is unrelated. They were asking about Dot, and I can’t have them tearing her up. You know I can’t. They can rip into me, but not her.”
“I understand that and I can see how much you care for her.” Melanie smiled, hoping he wasn’t heading in the direction she feared he was.
He lowered his head and when he looked up again, his eyes were dark with regret. “I have to bow out. I’m sorry.”
“No.” After he’d gone to all the trouble of dressing up in drag, which she’d figured showed great dedication to the cause, all it took was the possibility of a stupid newspaper article to scare him off? It had to be something bigger that was scaring him away. It had to be something about her. In some way, she wasn’t amazing enough to keep him by her side. “You can’t roll over and play dead. Dot wants to be involved in this. It’s important to her. We need you.” Crap, Melanie’s voice was quavering. She couldn’t lose him. When he was around it all felt possible and she felt safe and strong.
“I’m sorry, Melanie. I want to do this for you, but I can’t reconcile the two sides right now. I have to protect my family.”
“Is this about Toronto and your ex-wife?”
“This is about being a good father.” His jaw was set, the muscle below his ear bulging.
“But their garbage hurt Dot.”
“They’re cleaning up the bay. I talked to council this morning.”
“She’s dedicated to this. She can handle some lying newspaper articles.”
“It’s my job as her father to protect her. I haven’t always, but this time I can.”
“Have you thought about asking her what she wants?”
“She’s a kid. I’m her dad.” His voice was getting louder, his cheeks flushed. “I’ve been through this before and I’m not doing it again.”
“I thought you were a man who cared about more than yourself.” Melanie chin wobbled as she fought back tears. She was so worn-out from keeping her chin up, shoulders back. Pretending to be the confident woman she had never been on the inside. And for whatever reason, Tristen just made her want to curl up in his arms and let it all out, which was so completely infuriating. She’d been doing just fine until she’d met him, but now that he was around, her life felt empty when he wasn’t there.
Which was stupid. The big jerk.
“I thought you were a man who was strong enough to stand by me when the going got tough. Apparently I was wrong.”
* * *
Back in her office, Melanie pushed her trembling fingers through her hair. How had she let Tristen become so important in her battle? It felt as though he had pulled the rug out from under her by quitting, even though he’d barely done anything other than nag at her about hitting Rubicore in the wallet, and pointing out the obvious parking thing. But
it had felt nice knowing he was on her side. And now she was alone again, to battle a company so much bigger than she was.
Sitting, she tapped a pen on the stack of waiting case folders. She needed help from someone who could get the word out about what Rubicore was planning.
“Was that my dad?” Dot asked from the doorway.
Melanie adopted a smile that fell flat. “Yeah.”
“Why was he wearing his you’re-in-trouble face?”
“He’s out.”
“Of what?” Dot caught on a second later. “What? He’s giving up? He’s going to let Rubicore win?” The teen fell into the chair across from Melanie, her face lined with anger, followed by disappointment. “But why? I thought the parking thing was a killer.”
“He’s spooked.”
“Are you sure? My dad eats companies like Rubicore for breakfast.”
“The papers called him this morning to fact check some stuff, and I guess he’s just worried that things are going to get messy. He’s trying to protect you.”
Dot let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t need protecting and why does he always leave when things get tough?”
Melanie had already heard the story of Tristen leaving his family, his company, his city. It had seemed so odd before. A strong man like him taking off? But now, after seeing the haunted look in his eye, she understood that there was something in Tristen’s past that was big enough to scare him into making a run for it even now.
She sighed. “He’s trying to protect you.” Melanie wished he was interested in protecting her, too. But she knew if their positions were reversed she’d do the same thing and pull out in order to protect Dot. “But messy doesn’t bother me. I’m going to figure out a way through this. They aren’t going to destroy a beautiful island on my watch. Are you still in?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, because I could use the help.” Melanie stood. “What do you say to an extended lunch and then working a bit later to make up for it? Think your dad would be okay with that?”
Dot’s eyes shone with excitement as she followed Melanie to the door. “Are we going to go kick some butt, Ms. Summer?”
“We sure are. With or without your father. And the first place we are going to start is with someone who can give us a voice. If Rubicore’s getting the papers involved, then we need to fight fire with fire, right?”
They walked through Bracebridge, turning into the office where Rick Steinfeld, a reporter friend of Hailey’s, worked.
Melanie strode across the room, stopping to place her hands on Rick’s desk, leaning forward. “How would you like to be in the middle of a media storm?”
He dropped his pen and tipped his chair back, all ears. “You know I would.”
“Is Austin Smith still in town?”
“Whoa. Mellie, are you sure?”
“Why? Who’s Austin?” Dot asked, practically bouncing at her side.
“Paparazzi. Major snoop,” Melanie said.
“Awesome.”
“And who is this?” Rick asked, sizing up the teen.
“Dot Bell.”
Rick’s head quirked. “Daughter of Tristen Bell?”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms as if to say I’m not him.
“Someone was asking about you.”
“Who?” Melanie demanded, feeling fingers of dread working up her spine.
“Not sure. I overheard another reporter talking to someone.” He scanned the open office. “He’s off today. So, what are you two up to?”
“Rubicore is going around telling everyone that their big resort is going to create jobs in the area, but I happen to know for a fact that they don’t plan to hire local, nor shop local. And preserving Heritage Row is not in their plans for their resort on Baby Horseshoe Island. They own Camp Adaker—which is also not in their development plans. They want to turn Port Carling’s island park into a parking lot, and have the go-ahead, since the municipality didn’t perform due diligence before approving Rubicore’s proposals. They’re ruining the environment. Noise, light, air, water, garbage—”
Rick, who had been taking notes, paused, hand held up. “Whoa. Back up a tad. These are a lot of serious accusations.”
“They are ruining everything that makes this Muskoka.”
Rick fiddled with his pen. Finally, he rubbed his eyes and let out a sigh. “Look, I don’t mind helping you guys with your battles. I really don’t. I’ve helped Daphne bring a lot of things to light, but my boss is getting tired of me always taking the environmental slant.”
“Then focus on the other stuff. The parking lot issue is something that everyone can get behind.”
“What did Rubicore do to you, Melanie?” he asked quietly.
“This isn’t a vendetta. They’re just…ruining things.”
“Look, I know it must be difficult watching them change everything on the island across from you, when you guys are having a tough time. But making these sorts of accusations publicly could get you in a lot of trouble.”
“It’s not that.” Her throat was filling with tears. First Tristen and now Rick? He was supposed to love crazy stories like this.
Someone in the office behind Rick called his name and he held up a finger, excusing himself. He entered the office and closed the door. A moment later he reappeared, unable to meet Melanie’s eye.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help with this.”
“What? Why?” she protested.
Rick glanced toward the office behind him, then scrawled something on a scrap of paper. He spun it around so she and Dot could read it.
Major advertiser.
“No,” Melanie whispered. “You have got to be kidding.”
Rick slowly shook his head.
Tears of frustration welled up, blocking Melanie’s ability to speak. Grabbing Dot by the arm, she led her onto the street.
“I don’t get it. What does that mean?” the teen asked.
“The developer is advertising with the paper, so they can’t say anything untoward, as it might sever their financial ties.”
“That’s so stupid!” Dot exclaimed.
“I know.” Melanie paused, thinking. “But it might also explain why the public meeting’s date change never made it into the paper.”
Dot’s shoulders had slouched forward. “Now what?”
“We have a case, but no help. I think it’s time to get creative.”
* * *
Tristen’s tablet clattered onto the countertop and he thrust a hand out to steady it. He froze for a second, then let out a breath.
This was not good.
He’d warned Melanie that her secrets would be exposed. He’d warned her and she hadn’t listened. She’d ignored him and now everything was starting to crumble.
And it wasn’t just her family secrets, it was his, too. His was the name people knew. He made the story juicy. Rubicore had taken a preemptive shot across their bow. They’d slammed her. Slammed him. Slammed everyone they could get their hands on who might be connected to the Summers.
He clutched the counter and lowered his head. His cell rang and, seeing that it was Cindy, he figured he might as well get it all over with now.
“Dot is gay?” his ex-wife yelled, before Tristen had a chance to say a word.
“Yeah, she is.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even consider that Cindy might not know that little tidbit.
“And I have to read it in the Sunday news? My mother called me this morning. I was enjoying a nice relaxing moment and now this. What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her.”
“I’m coming to get her. You’re a lousy father and you’re destroying her.”
“Some studies suggest that three percent of the population is considered homosexual or bisexual.”
“What?”
“Three percent of—”
“Don’t you see, Tristen? You’re going to destroy her. This is just like when I kicked you out. Everything was in the news. I cou
ldn’t trust anyone.”
“I know.”
“How do you think she feels, being publicly outted? She’s just a kid.”
Tristen’s jaw popped as he ground his teeth together.
“How is she? Does she know?” Cindy asked, her voice wobbling.
“I haven’t talked to her yet.” Tristen’s ribs hurt from holding in the rage, the urge to slaughter whoever had revealed his daughter’s sexual preferences to the media.
“And who is Melanie? Is she the other woman?”
“She is not the other woman.” He could handle the allegations that he and Melanie were together and about to take down Rubicore. That wasn’t a problem. The other stuff, however, went deep and would only get worse.
“She’s the lawyer Dot has been working with, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Is she gay? Did she turn Dot?”
“I don’t really think it works that way, Cindy.” Tristen sagged against the counter, absently rubbing Max’s ears as he nudged his snout against Tristen’s thigh. “Take a deep breath.”
“Don’t tell me to take a deep breath. This is my daughter. You need to stop this, Tristen. You need to pull the plug. That woman is unstable.”
“Melanie is one of the most stable people I know.”
“That woman had to go to a troubled teens camp.”
“She worked there, Cindy.”
“She was a camper, Tristen.”
He paused, thinking, but failed to see Melanie as a troublemaking youth. “I think the camp helps kids who have been through a trauma, too, Cindy.” Melanie had mentioned that her father had died. Maybe there’d been a bad accident.
“Don’t make excuses for her, because I don’t care. I don’t want Dot around her.”
“Have you considered that the papers might be wrong about some things? Were they right when they said I left you because you were more concerned about getting manicures than helping out with the business?”
Silence.
“Tristen, I don’t like Dot being in the media. She’s our child. We need to protect her.”
The room felt too quiet. His world too narrow. Tristen braced himself against the fridge, pressing his forehead to the cool stainless steel. She was right. He’d failed Dot once again.
“You do whatever you need to do to get her out of the spotlight. You hear me? I’m running a reputation-based business and your name is still associated with it even though you obviously don’t give a shit. We’re still connected, Tristen, and I don’t want my name in the news unless it’s about me storming the business world.”