After they’d talked over the notes she’d collected and the interviews she’d done as she left the coast, Jeff asked, “So who was this guy you were stranded with?”
“No one important,” Allison replied without thinking. “He’s not the interesting part of the story. I think I should focus on the earlier stuff.”
Jeff didn’t argue, and Allison felt relieved. She’d never actually processed the decision. She just knew she wasn’t going to give Michael up like that. She felt bad enough about lying to him. She wasn’t going to betray him.
Michael Martin would make for a juicy story, but Allison realized, no matter how committed she was to her career, there were some things she still wouldn’t do.
She wasn’t going to use him for a story.
She worked for most of the day and was pleased with the results as she submitted her story. She kept an eye on her cell phone the whole afternoon and evening but, whenever it rang, it was just a succession of her friends—who all wanted to hear about her adventures.
Michael didn’t call.
Allison shrugged it off. He was probably busy catching up after two days away from work. There was no reason he had to call her right away.
She did want to hear about the dog, though. After she’d finished working, she started calling up the shelters, veterinarians, and animal control in the area they’d found the dog to see if anyone had reported a lost dog matching his description.
She hung out with friends that evening and had a good time, but the next morning was Saturday and she still hadn’t heard from Michael. So she went over to his townhouse in the middle of the morning.
She felt a little worried about the silence. It had just been a day, but when they’d parted Michael had acted like he was going to get in touch right away. Plus, she wanted to report the results of her research about the dog.
Her stomach fluttered as she knocked on the front door. She told herself not to be nervous. She didn’t have his phone number, and she had every right to check on the dog.
There was no answer to her knock.
Allison stood blankly on the front step, torn about what she should do. Surely he wouldn’t have gone back to New York without telling her.
Then she heard a happy yap from down the block.
She turned to see the dog, pulling on his leash in his eagerness to get to her. The animal looked remarkably better—bathed, brushed, and energetic. Michael was on the other end of the leash, lean and straight in his casual clothes.
Allison stepped down to the sidewalk and grinned as they approached, her heart skipping a little at the sight of Michael’s tall figure and dark hair.
As he drew nearer, however, she saw his expression was cold and stiff. Her smile faltered as she recognized the hardness of his eyes.
Something was definitely wrong.
“Michael?” she asked, her voice cracking as he walked up to her, “What is it?” She leaned down to absently scratch the dog behind the ears.
Michael’s blue eyes were empty, but his brows drew up in an arrogant sneer. “Did you need something?”
She straightened up sharply, fear rushing through her. “I didn’t have your phone number. I wanted to…wanted to check on the dog.”
“He’s fine.”
“It’s nice of you to take care of him.”
“I didn’t have much choice, did I?”
She swallowed hard as his clipped tone but kept trying. “I called around about the dog. No one seems to be missing him.”
“I did my own research.”
“Oh.” She stared at him, feeling a little shaky on her legs. “Michael?”
His mouth curled up, but it wasn’t a smile. “I thought you’d be busy, writing your story.”
It felt like a kick in the gut. “Michael—”
He brushed past her, striding up the walk to the front door. “Excuse me.” He had to drag the dog behind him, since the animal was still trying to greet Allison.
Allison followed. “At least let me explain.”
“Explain what?” He gave a bitter laugh as he unlocked the door. “Don’t worry about it. I had a good time. Even scheming, manipulative bitches can be good fucks.”
Allison jerked back, like she’d been struck. “That’s not what happened. If you’d just let me explain—”
“To what purpose? Did you want to keep the dog?”
“I can’t,” she said, momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. “He wouldn’t be allowed in my building.”
He gave a curt nod in response and stepped into his house. When the dog strained toward Allison, he bit out, “Ingrate. Come.”
The dog responded instinctively to the authority in Michael’s voice and followed him into the house.
Allison stood and stared at the closed door. Her vision blurred as tears of shock and pain filled her eyes.
After a minute, she finally turned to leave.
* * *
That afternoon, Michael sat at his desk and stared blindly at his computer monitor. He’d been trying to work, but it was mostly just a pretense. He couldn’t seem to focus on anything.
He couldn’t believe Allison had the nerve to show up at his door. She'd gotten her story. What else could she possibly want from him?
She’d looked so stunned and upset by his perfectly justified attitude.
A whimper at his feet caused him to glance down. Ingrate lay in a heap on the polished hardwood floor, peering up at him with big brown eyes.
“Don’t look at me that way,” Michael said. “She tried to use me. What else could she expect?”
Another surge of humiliation slammed into him, followed by a wrenching ache in his chest. He’d been a fool far too many times in his life. He’d thought, in the last five years, that he’d built up appropriate barriers and learned to recognize deception in others.
But he couldn’t seem to learn his lesson.
First Gina—something that still embarrassed and angered him. And now Allison. He really should have known to look out for self-serving, deceptive women, no matter how innocent they appeared.
He wasn’t going to lower his guard again.
A story on a D.C. blog about him wasn’t the end of the world—his reputation wouldn’t suffer a serious blow.
That didn’t mean he’d forgive the woman who wrote it.
When his phone rang, he glanced down at the caller ID and didn’t pick it up. When the voice mail picked up, he slid his fingertip across the screen to adjust the setting so he could hear Allison’s voice in his silent office.
“Michael, it’s me. Allison. I had to find your number because I need to explain. I don’t think you understand what happened.”
Ingrate sat up, his ears perking at the sound of her voice. Michael didn’t move.
“It’s true I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I even tried to tell you the truth the second day, but I…I didn’t. You’d said how much you hate reporters, and I was afraid you wouldn’t cooperate with me in staying safe if you knew what I do for a living. Plus, I admit, it did occur to me at first that there might be a story in it. Remember, I hardly knew you anymore, and my opinion of you wasn’t the best. It wasn’t really calculated, but I did consider it. But that was only at first. Nothing I did—”
There was a beep, as the allotted message time ran out. Michael waited. The phone rang again, and Allison continued her message where she left off.
“Me again. Anyway, nothing I did other than that first lie was part of a plan or intended to trick you. I like and respect you. I really do. I enjoyed the nights we spent together a lot. I’m not trying to use you. I’m just not. My editor was hinting around for a story, but I didn’t tell him who I was with. I’m not going to write about you. I know you’re angry, but I hope you can forgive the one lie I told you. And that’s…that’s it.” There was a slight pause until she added, “I can’t believe you named the dog Ingrate.”
The message clicked off. Michael sat in frozen silence for a lon
g time. Then he reached over and erased the two messages.
He called up Julie and asked her to make arrangements for him to fly back to New York the following morning.
* * *
Allison got into bed that night knowing Michael wasn’t going to call her back.
It had been a slim hope anyway. He wasn’t the kind of man who would forgive easily once he’d been used or deceived. His defenses were simply too strong and his pride too unyielding.
She told herself it was fine. She wasn’t about to beg or keep asking Michael to forgive her. She didn’t have a future with him anyway. It would have been nice to end things amicably, but at least this way she wouldn’t be left with silly, lingering dreams of something that could never happen.
She was a grown-up, not an eighteen-year-old girl. She felt bad, but this wasn’t the end of the world.
After she’d turned off her bedside lamp, however, she buried her face in a pillow and cried.
Chapter Eight
Allison had no idea what to expect when Jeff called her into his office that morning.
She’d been busy for the last three weeks, which was a relief since it helped to keep her mind off of Michael. The three articles she’d written based on her experiences with Tropical Storm Lydia had been unexpected successes, and Allison was hoping their popularity would be advantageous to her career.
So her best guess at the moment was that Jeff had a particular assignment for her, one he wanted to discuss in person.
She had no idea what it might be.
“Try not to be too grateful,” he began, without greeting or preamble.
“Okay,” Allison replied with a confused smile. She lowered herself into a chair and felt her heart starting to race in expectation. “I’ll do my best to restrain my gratitude.”
“I mean it,” he continued gruffly. He was a grizzled middle-aged man who was fighting an increasing waistline thanks to his fondness for donuts and Danishes. “Don’t get weepy on me or offer me any inappropriate favors.”
With a chuckle, Allison said, “I promise I’ll repress any inappropriate urges.”
Jeff almost never smiled, but she recognized dry humor in his tone. “I’ve got an assignment for you. Since you’re our voice for Lydia, I thought I’d send you—even though you’re not nearly important enough for this assignment.”
Allison was literally holding her breath now, excited jitters running up and down her spine. “What is it?”
“I want you to cover a benefit for the victims of Lydia next weekend. It’s a big deal. It’s not in our normal area, but since it’s connected to the storm, someone should cover it. It’s—”
Her heart dropped into her gut. “Not the one that Michael Martin is—”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Jeff said, lifting his eyebrows. “So you’ve heard of it, have you? It's supposed to be a big hoopla. Art show, gala, all kinds of big-wigs coming in. I know you’re elated at the opportunity, but try not to faint or anything.”
Allison did kind of feel like passing out, but it wasn’t from joy or gratitude. She’d heard that Michael was planning the huge benefit, and she hadn’t been sure what to think of it. Several communities on the coastline had been devastated—including Sunset Cape Island—and the money raised through the benefit would be used to help rebuild the towns.
She wasn’t sure if it was a generous gesture on the Michael’s part or just a publicity stunt.
“Jeff,” she began, her voice cracking, “I’m not sure I’m the best—”
“Don’t get skittish on me. You’ve never been chicken about anything before—even stories that were way over your head.”
“I’m not skittish. It’s just that I know Michael…I mean, I knew him…a little. We grew up in the same little town and—”
“What?” Jeff’s bushy eyebrows shot sky-high. “You’ve known Martin all this time and never told me? Why the hell were you clamming up, girl? Perfect. Get an interview with him, and I mean more than just the press conference.”
Allison gulped. “I’m not sure—”
In his brusque way, Jeff simply talked over her, dismissing her attempt at explanation. “You’re welcome. I know you’ve wanted better stories to cover. Do a good job with this one and then we’ll see.”
Allison didn’t try to object again. This was her job, and she wasn’t going to blow it.
She just hoped Michael wouldn’t throw her out of his art show and gala the moment he caught sight of her.
* * *
“Think on the bright side,” Lori said, sipping her pink mixed drink and arching her back in a way that highlighted her figure in an automatic attempt to attract any eligible men at the trendy bar. “Maybe this will give you and Michael the chance to work things out and realize you’ve been in love all along.”
Allison rolled her eyes, and Elizabeth cackled mockingly.
Elizabeth was as cynical as Lori was romantic. Elizabeth had short black hair and Lori had waist-length red curls. The two were as different as possible, and they’d both been Allison’s best friends since college.
“Maybe at least you’ll get laid again,” Elizabeth put in.
“Stop it.” Allison was mortified by the knowledge she was blushing. “Nothing is going to happen. I’m just hoping he won’t have his security throw me out on the street.”
“Of course, he won’t do that. He wouldn’t have been so mad at you if he hadn’t developed strong feelings.” Lori nodded her pretty head resolutely. “You know it as well as I do.”
“He’s an ass,” Elizabeth added.
“I’m siding with Elizabeth on this one,” Allison said. “He had a right to be mad at me, but I did apologize.” She’d had three weeks to get over the knowledge that Michael wasn’t going to forgive her or even speak to her again.
It hurt, but she’d concluded it was probably for the best. She didn’t have a chance with him anyway, so at least this way she wouldn’t hold out any hope. She certainly wasn’t going to mope or pine over him.
And she was still annoyed that he’d taken the dog that was hers as much as his.
“He was heartbroken,” Lori insisted. “Give him some time. I bet anything that he’ll see you at the gala, and he won’t be able to resist his feelings anymore. We have to find you a great dress.”
Allison groaned.
“We do need to find you a dress,” Elizabeth agreed. Before Allison could object to this traitorous sentiment, her friend went on, “So you can be cool, collected, and gorgeous and show him what he can no longer have.”
“I think you’re both blowing this out of proportion. I’ll just be there as a journalist. I'm not going to be filling up my dance card. He’ll probably barely notice me. He certainly won’t notice what I’m wearing.”
“Did he or did he not give you one of the best nights of lovin’ you’ve ever had,” Elizabeth demanded.
To her dismay, Allison felt her cheeks redden again. She was rarely embarrassed with her friends anymore, so she didn’t like the fact that she felt so self-conscious now. Over Michael. “Yes,” she admitted.
Elizabeth and Lori spoke at once, as if they’d planned it beforehand. “He’ll notice you!”
* * *
The benefit was taking place on Saturday, but Allison took the train into New York on Thursday afternoon. She needed to spend Friday doing some background research on the preparations and the people involved.
If things had ended reasonably well with Michael, she would be excited about the opportunity to write this story. As it was, though, she felt heavy and anxious, and she was dreading seeing Michael again.
Maybe he wouldn’t be around for the preparations. Maybe she wouldn’t have to see him until the press conference he was holding on Friday afternoon.
Maybe he wouldn’t even notice she was there.
She didn’t believe it for a moment. Michael had always been scarily observant. He’d see her for sure. She could only assume he was still furious with her. He’d be suspi
cious and angry at her presence. He might have her thrown out.
It was a significant fear, and it went beyond her lingering feelings for him. She had to do a good job on this story. Her career was at stake.
On Friday morning, she dressed in a vintage jacket and a stylish pair of slacks. She wore her favorite ankle boots and pulled her hair back with a clip in an attempt to look professional.
She looked fine. Attractive. Like the reporter she was.
Michael would have nothing to sneer at.
Not that it would keep him from sneering.
She called Elizabeth on her way to the downtown building where the benefit was taking place. She needed a pep-talk, and Lori would just put ridiculous, romantic notions in her head.
What she needed was Elizabeth’s no-nonsense cynicism.
That was exactly what she got.
By the time Allison arrived, she was ready to handle anything that occurred.
As it happened, nothing occurred.
She should have known she was working herself up over nothing. Michael wasn’t even around. The galleries that were housing the charity art show and the huge ballroom where the gala would take place were bustling with activity.
She and the other journalists were given a boring tour by someone in the PR department, and the woman explained the plans for the next day in clipped, business-like tones. Allison took notes, but nothing she heard was actually interesting enough to write about.
She tried to snoop around on her own, but there was too much security, and she wasn’t able to get to the places she wanted to see. The art show was featuring Virginia artists and landscapes of the Virginia coast. Allison wanted to get some more information about how Michael had made the choices of what to include, but she couldn’t seem to get any information beyond the canned platitudes.
She talked to a few people—one of the caterers, an electrician, and a friendly elderly man who was wandering the halls. Allison didn’t really know who the man was, but they had a long conversation about Virginia, the storm, and his eccentric opinions about the activities planned for the next day. He said his name was Ray, and talking to him was the highlight of Allison’s day.
Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) Page 8