Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
T hat evening, upstairs in my flat, I finally unzipped my boots and threw my old jeans and cable knit jumper on top of the bed. The flat was so quiet without Marcus. I missed the scent of his Dior perfume in the bathroom, and the sight of his charcoal tartan scarf hanging up in the hall.
It had been a busy but productive Saturday, what with Heather Moore’s dazzling Christmas light display going into overdrive, because of Santa’s appearance with his reindeer (aka Tony Mullen, a local farmer) and the additional visitors they brought in.
Amber, Rowan, and I had finished the ice palace window display, which had transformed the two windows of Flower Power into a sparkling, white and silver cornucopia of snow, white and blue snowflake lights, and clusters of cream and white winter roses. They surrounded a Disney-style sparkling palace I’d located for sale online. The whole effect was stunning and was attracting customers, particularly families with children, who would press their little red noses against the glass for a closer look.
Slipping into a pair of PJ bottoms and one of my favourite strappy tops, I struggled not to think about earlier, when I made myself look like an utter muppet in front of Zach.
I closed my eyes, again seeing his bemused expression. No bloody wonder. He must’ve thought I was having some sort of episode.
I hoped he hadn’t realised the real reason for my behaviour. I let out a painful groan, hoping I could dislodge the excruciating memory of it and decided to put up my Christmas tree to distract me. The earlier festivities had put me in more of a Christmas mood, despite what was swirling in the background with Zach, Ezra, Marcus, and me.
I slid my new tree out of its box, which was an artificial silver and white affair. I didn’t believe in using the real thing because it always filled me with anger after the festive season, when I would see real pine trees unceremoniously slung out onto the pavement. I erected it in the corner of the sitting room, right by the window, and began trying to drape it with rose-gold lights and matching thick tinsel.
The tinsel wasn’t so much of an issue, but I found myself struggling to wrap the long lights around it. Any moment now and I was going to be trussed up like Harry Houdini! I paused and fetched the new silver star I’d bought to pop on top.
Ah. I hadn’t realised it was as big as it was! I’d bought it in rather a hurry online and had been so captivated by its realism, not to mention the fab reviews, that I hadn’t taken notice of its measurements.
I then made a number of valiant efforts to install the star on top of the tree, but failed.
Growing increasingly frustrated, I set the star down and wandered through to the kitchen, leaving the lights drooping from a few of the lower branches. I knew I had a set of steps stashed somewhere. I’d have to find them.
I glanced down at my watch. It was approaching six-thirty in the evening and I knew I should really make some dinner first.
I opened the fridge and sighed. What did I feel like eating?
I’d just reached for some diced chicken and a box of Chinese vegetables when there was a knock on the door.
I closed the fridge door and paused.
I edged up the hall. It was almost dark and so whoever it was appeared like a long, looming shadow through the glass. “Who is it?”
“It’s your friendly, neighbourhood journalist.”
I could almost hear him roll his eyes on the other side of the door, as I hesitated.
“It’s me, Bailey. It’s Zach.”
Zach?
What was he doing here? Wild-eyed, I flew to the hall mirror. I didn’t feel at my best. Some of my make-up from earlier in the day had vanished and I was slouching around in PJ bottoms that’d seen better days.
“Hang on a second,” I called. “Just getting out of the bath.”
I whirled around in panic, remembering I’d dumped my shoulder bag on top of my bed when I arrived home.
I scooted down the hall and pinched my cheeks, before adding a flick of lipstick. Then I fluffed up my ponytail. That would have to do. I couldn’t keep him standing out there all evening. His eyelids would freeze shut. But then something made me draw up. What was I doing? Sprinting around my flat in a panic? I was like little Red Riding Hood inviting in the wolf.
I stared at his tall, willowy silhouette again through the pane of glass at my front door. I knew what I wanted to do, but whether it was wise or not, I wasn’t sure. No. Scrub that. I knew it wasn’t wise. I could just imagine Marcus’s horror at me even contemplating allowing Zach in.
But my heart was overruling my common sense.
Bracing myself, I unlocked the door.
Zach had changed his clothes from earlier and was now rocking a casual V-neck and black jeans under his long coat. Not only did he look devastating, but there was the delicious, warm aroma of food drifting in.
Zach lifted up his right hand. Dangling from his fingers was a Chinese takeaway. “Egg fried rice, lemon chicken, crispy shredded beef, and a couple of vegetable spring rolls. I tried to play it safe in case you had any food allergies.”
I must’ve looked perplexed.
Zach buried a smile. “It’s food,” he explained. “I thought we might eat it.”
I recovered myself. “Sorry, but…”
What on earth is he doing here?
Zach smiled, almost shyly. “Sorry, I should have checked with you, but I wanted to make up for bothering you with all my questions, lately,” he said. “So, I thought I’d treat you to a takeout after a busy day at work.” He stepped into the hall. “I took a chance on you having no plans.”
“Er … thanks,” I said. “That’s kind of you.”
I hadn’t expected my Saturday night to take such an unexpected and annoyingly perfect direction. I walked into the kitchen to get some plates.
“Did Astrid like the camellia?” I called out, batting away cringeworthy memories from earlier.
Zach materialised behind me. “She loved it. Thanks so much. It was a real winner.”
“No problem.”
“Where do you keep your cutlery?”
I directed him to the second drawer down near my microwave and he set the kitchen table while I fetched glasses and peeled open the cartons.
My stomach let out a desperate grumble at the sight of the rich, scented delicacies.
We dived in with several large serving spoons and delivered the tasty food onto our plates.
As I snatched a look across my kitchen table at Zach, I experienced a confused, excited rush. Why is Zach here on a Saturday night? Isn’t there some glamazon he should be seducing somewhere?
Zach took another spoonful of glistening, crispy shredded beef. He regarded me across the table. “I decided to drop by Joan Webber’s place this afternoon.”
Ah. A swell of disappointment washed over me. So, despite him saying he’d come round with a compensatory takeaway, tonight was clearly all about finding the Bollinger Babe. I should have known.
My fork, piled with fried rice, halted as it reached my mouth. “And how did that go?”
Zach arched a cynical brow. “Put it this way. Joan’s like Clint Eastwood in a blonde wig and so is that eccentric mother of hers.”
I could feel a bubble of laughter rising up in my throat. I jammed my lips together for fear of breaking into a grin. “So, not good, then?”
He folded his arms. “You could say that. Joan Webber threatened to set her two dogs on me. She was marching about with a shotgun.”
I swallowed back a laugh. That sounded like Joan. And well done to Marcus for thinking of sending Zach up to her farmhouse in the first place. I was struggling to keep my face straight. “Do you think she could be who you’re looking for then? This elusive so-called aristo?”
Zach’s lips twitched. “If she is, I’m Tom Cruise.”
I picked up my water glass and buried another grin in it. Then I rearranged my expression. “Oh dear. Well, no harm done then, eh?”
“No harm done,” he echoed. “I do have other stories I’m trying to work on. That was a waste of my time.”
I prodded at the lemon chicken with my fork. “Well, whoever tipped you off must’ve believed Joan Webber could be this woman.”
Zach scooped up more of the shredded beef. “Yeah, sure they did. I think it’s more likely someone was throwing me a deliberate curve ball.” He offered me a loaded look. “Again.”
I hoped my face didn’t betray me. “Why would someone do that?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Any ideas?”
I gave a dismissive shrug. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m saying I told you so, but like I mentioned before, it’s a close-knit, friendly community here in Heather Moore. The locals tend to look out for each other.”
His dark, brooding eyes lasered me across the kitchen table. “Yes. You’ve said that before.” He looked thoughtful. “It could be a friend of Lady Anastasia’s who deliberately set me up with this. A relative maybe.”
I pushed down a shot of alarm, as Zach laid down his fork for a moment. “But the day wasn’t a complete waste of time.”
“Really?” I popped some rice in my mouth.
“Yes, things took a bit of an intriguing turn with another story.”
“How so?”
“There are rumours of dodgy working practices regarding a family by the name of Temple-Davenport.”
I recognised the name. I didn’t know the family, but I’d heard of them. They owned land not far from Bannock House, which they’d transformed into a fruit market cottage industry, producing strawberries and raspberries. “What’s the issue with them?” I asked, intrigued.
Zach curled his mouth up in disgust. “A whistle-blower who was employed by them contacted me to say they’ve been exploiting their staff. It’s all low wages, long hours, and poor working conditions.”
I shook my head, appalled. “That’s dreadful. Bad enough a couple of hundred years ago, but it’s hard to believe it’s still going on today.” I hesitated. “Sounds like a really worthwhile story for you to get your teeth into.”
And with any luck it would get him off my tail.
Zach retrieved his knife and fork and cut off a chunk of juicy lemon chicken. “ Stargazer won’t be interested, of course. It’s a strong news story that deserves to be told. But I still have contacts at some of the old newspapers I worked for who would be.” His jaw clenched. “There’s no way I’m ignoring the plight of these people. I’ll look into it and write up the story. I’m sure one of my editor friends will jump at the chance to expose that lot.”
I blinked, heartened by his passionate reaction to the story of these poor, exploited workers.
“This sort of thing shouldn’t be happening in twenty-first-century Scotland. It shouldn’t be happening anywhere.”
“I agree. You should expose what they’ve been doing.”
“Oh, I will,” he replied with renewed determination. He eyed me across my kitchen table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
My cheeks blanched. “What do you mean?”
“Like I’ve just told you I’ve got the Koh-I-Noor diamond in my pocket.”
I tried to look nonchalant. “It’s just … you know … a bit of a surprise…”
“What is? Hearing that I actually have a conscience?”
“You said that, not me.”
He gave his dark head a playful shake. “I don’t know. Anyone would think I had no scruples.” Zach’s eyes stayed locked on my face. “They couldn’t be more wrong.”
There was a sizzling silence between us. Then Zach seemed to recover himself. “Some of these entitled families like the Temple-Davenports are only concerned with one thing – themselves – and sod the little people. They make me sick.”
I landed back in reality with a fierce bump. I squirmed in my kitchen chair and made a show of tackling one of the crispy spring rolls. Zach sounded so disgusted, and rightly so, but not every titled family behaved that way. The idea he’d think that kept punching me in the chest. I realised I wanted to prove to him that there are always exceptions.
I decided to change the subject. “You haven’t said much about your background,” I faltered, trying to keep my voice steady. As soon as I said it, I realised with a huge bolt of hypocrisy that I hadn’t either.
I’d read up about Zach online, of course, but hoped I could keep that to myself. I didn’t want him thinking I was checking him out.
Zach’s fork hovered in mid-air. “There isn’t much to tell. I’m from St John’s Wood in London.” He took a sip of his iced water. “My late father was a journalist and my mother writes historical romances, so I suppose writings in my blood.”
I wondered if he was intending on saying more, but he snatched up his glass of water, took a thoughtful gulp, and returned to safer ground. “So, what about you? What’s your life story?”
I stiffened in my seat. “There isn’t much to tell. My parents and brother live in Edinburgh.”
Zach’s expression urged me to reveal more.
I stifled a pang of worry. “My mother undertakes a bit of charity work, my father retired after years being involved in land management, and I’ve just the one brother, who you met.” Again, I didn’t mention Marcus by name. The less personal information I furnished Zach with, the better.
“What does your brother do?” he asked, taking another spoonful of rice.
Oh God. All these questions. “He works in marketing.”
“Oh, whereabouts?”
“Edinburgh,” I answered vaguely, desperate to reroute the line of questioning. I daren’t give Zach any more details, otherwise he could look up my brother online and soon the trail would lead to the Bollinger Babe – and me.
“Does he enjoy it?”
“Oh, he loves it.”
All I wanted to do was divert any more questions away from my background. This was getting too close for comfort. I felt like I was skirting around the edges; prodding at a wound that at any time could burst open again. I moved the chat on. “Heather Moore is pretty, isn’t it? The scenery’s so spectacular and dramatic. It seems to change all the time and you always see something new.”
“So, you and your brother are both creative types then?”
Oh shit . We’re back to talking about me. I forced a smile. “Yes, I like to think so.”
Zach appraised me over the Chinese takeaway and I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t probe any further, but he changed the subject.
“Oh, I forgot to say, I’ve had another interesting tip-off about Ezra King, and this time it seems legit.”
Inwardly, my stomach plummeted. I’d thought, or at least hoped, the Ezra saga might be dead in the water.
I forced a pleasant, curious tone. “Oh, yes?”
“Yes.” He flexed his brows. “As it turns out, my visit to Joan Webber’s house wasn’t a complete waste of time.”
A sliver of worry jabbed at me. “What do you mean?”
“She’s given me a pretty good steer on where exactly Ezra King lives.”
“Joan told you this?”
With Joan, if it didn’t have udders, she usually wasn’t interested.
Zach nodded. “Some local lad has been doing some work on her land. He previously worked on Ezra King’s house as a labourer, and Joan overheard him bragging about it to one of her farm hands.”
Shit . I could feel the colour draining from my face.
Zach examined me from under his brows. “Are you ok, Bailey? You’ve gone a bit pale…”
I felt my shoulders go rigid. “No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.” Zach appraised me over the takeaway.
“I’m fine,” I croaked. I snatched my water up and took a big mouthful.
Zach looked unconvinced, but took a very slow sip of his water and moved the subject on. “Anyway. If it’s true about Ezra, it sounds like he’s been hiding in plain sight.” Zach’s face adopted a determined expression. “I’m going to check it out.”
Panic began running through my head. If Zach tracked down Ezra, it’d only be a matter of time before Caroline and Laura were unearthed too. The three of them would be thrust into the media spotlight then. Recollections of my own life splashed across the tabloids and magazines were all too fresh. At first, I’d embraced the attention, maybe even relished it. But after a while, the intrusion became like this living, breathing creature I couldn’t control. I became a caricature of who I was and my family began to get caught up in my stupid press games too. And when everything had imploded with Declan it had become a living nightmare. I hadn’t deserved the constant scrutiny, the violation of my privacy and neither did Ezra and the women who thought they were his daughters. Anxiety was replaced with anger, and I lifted my chin at Zach.
“Why do you do it?” I said. “Why spend so much of your time on grubby stories like this, when you could be exposing more slave labour situations and social issues that affect so many people?”
Zach looked like he’d been attacked with a cattle prod, then arched an eyebrow at me. “Because it’s what the public want. Stories like this. It makes them feel … I don’t know, satisfied that the privileged and rich of this world pay a price for it.”
I maintained eye contact with him. “Is that really what they want, or is that what gossip mags make them think they want, by feeding them endless tittle-tattle?” I leaned forward. “Is it just that you’re trying to justify what you write?”
There was a sudden, icy atmosphere across my kitchen table.
I set my fork down with a decisive rattle on the side of my plate. Should I appeal to Zach’s better nature? I jutted out my chin. I had to do something. Perhaps honesty was the way to go now.
I took a sharp intake of breath and decided to go for it. “I know Ezra King… Well… I kind of know him … a little bit… He came into the shop a couple of weeks ago.”
Zach’s dark-lashed eyes widened. “You do know him? But you said––”
I fidgeted and struggled to make eye contact with him as he stared at me. Then he lowered his knife and fork, frustration flashing in his dark eyes. “I don’t believe this. You stood there, watching me chase my tail over this story. You’ve watched me make an utter tit of myself.”
I threw up my hands. “But it’s none of your business! What’s he ever done to you? I don’t owe you the truth. You’re not the police on the hunt for a murderer!” I shot back.
Zach rolled his eyes, which only spurred me on.
“Like I said, this isn’t storytelling. It’s not journalism. It’s grubby and invasive when people are just trying to live their lives. All you care about is circulation figures.”
Zach didn’t say anything for a minute. He examined me with an indecipherable look in his eyes. “So that’s why you didn’t tell me the truth about Ezra King? Because of your principles?”
I nodded. “Ezra’s right to privacy is more important than your search for a story! To be honest, I still feel that way.” I swallowed. “But I’ve got to know you a little and you seem like a decent person. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll do the right thing. I’m trusting that you won’t splash his private life over the pages of Stargazer .” I paused. “Don’t you think trust is important?”
Zach let out a grunt. “Of course, I do. Finding out the truth and being able to trust people is my job.” He flashed me a long look that ripped into my chest. “Speaking of which…”
I flinched in my kitchen chair and felt heat rising up my neck.
“Speaking of what?” I said, as calmly as I could.
Zach continued to appraise me. He seemed to be struggling to decide whether to say something else. In the end, he threw his head back, stared at my kitchen ceiling and then back at me.
“Well… You clearly know far more about what goes on around round here than you’ve led me to believe.”
I frowned over at him. “What do I know exactly?”
Zach lowered his voice, even though it was just the two of us and debris of the takeaway. “The tip I received about Ezra having two grown-up daughters he didn’t know about.”
The blood leeched from my face, like a watercolour left out in the rain.
Zach hauled a frustrated hand through his dark hair. He looked momentarily wounded. “So, my instinct was right then?” His broad shoulders slumped.
“What are you so afraid of, Bailey? Why won’t you let me in?”
“Let you in?” I scoffed. “Zach, you work for a gossip magazine!”
The sudden, almost vulnerable softening of his face took me by surprise.
“I thought … we were getting on,” he said. “I’ve shared things with you, haven’t I?”
Yes, about Astrid , I thought. And as endearing as that had been, he’d hardly divulged truly personal information. I battled my conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, there was nothing I wanted more than to feel I could confide in this tall, drop-dead gorgeous man. On the other, I still couldn’t be sure he was playing up the chemistry, the connection between us, so that he could get the information out of me he wanted. Not to mention him finding out who I really was. I decided to turn the tables on him.
“It’s a bit rich of you,” I said. “Wanting me to open up to you. Because every time I ask about your background, you shut me down.” I shook my head. “You’re fine delving into other people’s lives and exposing private things, but you won’t talk about your own. Hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?” I fiddled with my water glass. “There are two women here who could find themselves thrown into the spotlight and they didn’t ask for it. They don’t want that. Why are you so determined to expose them when they’ve done nothing wrong?”
Zach’s chiselled expression was serious. “Listen. You have my word. Whatever you tell me right now, is strictly off the record.”
I stared across at him. I wanted to believe him. More than anything. “Yeah. Right. How often have you said that?”
“Bailey, I promise you that whatever you tell me, stays between us.” His warm, autumnal eyes never left my face. “I couldn’t… I wouldn’t betray you like that…”
The atmosphere in my flat had shifted. It was crackling. What was going on here?
I bit my lip. Could I trust him? Maybe it would be a relief to unburden myself of the secrets?
I heaved a sigh, then pinned him with my gaze. “If any of what I tell you gets published, I will hold you personally responsible.”
Zach nodded. A soft, understanding smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Understood.”
I clasped my hands together on top of the kitchen table. I felt like I had one foot over a precipice. I swore I’d never trust anyone again after what Declan did to me. And yet, here I was, about to open up to Zach.
“Bailey. I promise you. Whatever you tell me right now, stays in this room.”
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and leapt. “All right. Yes. Ezra King did decide to escape from London.” My fingers laced and unlaced themselves. “We became friendly and he offered me a floristry commission to create flower arrangements for his home.”
Zach’s brows waggled up and down. “Ok. I sense there’s a but coming?”
I rubbed at my face.
“Bailey?”
I felt like I was teetering on the brink. I took a long breath. “Then two young women showed up here at Flower Power. They told me they believed they were Ezra’s daughters, but that he had no idea they existed. They managed to track him down to the area.” I paused and carried on talking. “I said I didn’t know him but if he were to come into the shop, I would pass on their details to him. Then I went to see Ezra and told him about his two daughters. He was furious and pulled the plug on my commission. He’d been planning to hire me to arrange the flowers for a private party as well, but that’s now dead in the water too. I haven’t seen him since.”
Zach sat and listened, his arched brows lifting higher.
I sank back in my kitchen chair. “Caroline and Laura only discovered that Ezra might be their father recently.” I left out the detail about their mothers and the affairs Ezra had had with them. “It was in Ezra’s autobiography.”
Zach listened and gave a brief nod of understanding.
“Ezra thought I was meddling and I guess I was. Perhaps I deserved it.” I shut my eyes for a few seconds. “I should’ve left well alone, but I only wanted to help. I didn’t want word getting out about his daughters.” A wry smile flashed across my mouth. “Things haven’t turned out well.”
Zach digested what I’d just told him. He leant forward, scanning my face. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. I don’t think you interfered.”
“You don’t?”
He shook his luscious, dark sweep of hair. “What else were you supposed to do? Ignore them? Like you just said, you did what you felt was right at the time.” He offered a small smile that made my heart zing. “If you hadn’t made an effort to speak to Ezra about Caroline and Laura, you might have been denying a family the opportunity to reunite.” Zach leant both arms on the edge of the table. They carried a smattering of dark, wiry hair. “Just imagine how you’d have felt if something had happened to Ezra and you hadn’t done anything? You would’ve regretted it.”
My mouth flipped into a quirky smile. “Blimey. If I didn’t know you, I might start to think you’re trying to make me feel better.”
Zach gave me a look. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m still irritated at you for not coming clean about Ezra at the beginning. It would’ve saved me so much time and hassle.” He hesitated. “But I understand why you did it.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I was perfectly within my rights not to tell you. It’s your problem if it annoyed you.”
Zach laughed. “Fair enough.”
I gazed across at him, dumbfounded. There was another side to this man that I had no idea existed. But in a way, I felt even more wretched. What would Zach say if he found out who I really was?
While we cleared away the debris from our meal, Zach told me he’d heard Ezra’s autobiography was a juicy read. “Apparently, Ezra King started off as a successful fashion model before breaking into acting.”
“Really?” A picture of Ezra, all cheese grater cheekbones and cut-glass English accent, swaggering down the runway in his youth, jumped into my mind. I could see him doing that.
“Yep. And from what I’ve been told through my contacts,” he continued, “His revelations have got certain TV and film executives worried.”
I hesitated, a dirty plate in one hand above the open dishwasher. “So, what do we do now? I mean, you want the story about him moving here and your editor is expecting you to come up with the goods.” I offered Zach a glance. “But at what expense?”
Zach gazed at me. “I’m not the ogre you think I am, Bailey. Please believe me.”
I fiddled with my hair. “And I’m not trying to make your search for news difficult. I’m just trying to let you see what impact these stories can have on people.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
There was a sudden softening in his eyes and we continued to clear up in comparative silence.
Once we finished despatching the takeaway debris, Zach sauntered into my sitting room and spotted my Christmas tree. His attention fell on the star I’d set down on my coffee table. “Your tree looks great – or at least it would do if the lights were on it as well.”
“I was struggling with wrapping the lights around it and with putting the star on top.” I felt myself blush. “I hadn’t realised the tree was so tall.”
He flashed a grin, picked up the star, and in one long stride, was over by the glittering white and silver tree.
I watched him attach the star to the top of the tree with ease. He took a step back to admire his handiwork. Then his attention drifted to the messy lights.
His face softened. “Let’s do it together.”
My stomach tangled itself up in more knots than my tree lights.
Zach gathered up the delicate lights at one end, I took the other, and we eased them around the tree, lacing them this way and that. It was much easier having another pair of hands to help me.
A couple of times, we inadvertently bumped into each other. The brush of Zach’s body against mine sent my breath into a spin.
We finished decorating the tree in silence, with electrified glances exchanged between us. I noticed how the rose-gold lights emphasised the cut of his jaw and the sweep of his nose as they flashed against his face.
A few times, he looked like he wanted to say something, but then he switched his attention back to decorating the tree so fast that I wondered if it was my imagination playing tricks on me.
Zach lingered by my front door at the end of the evening.
“Thank you for the takeaway. I really enjoyed it.”
“Me too.”
There was a pregnant pause. “And thank you so much for helping me decorate the tree. I dread to think what state it would be in right now, if you hadn’t been here.”
Zach towered over me, his magnificent eyes trailing across my face. They came to rest on my lips. Rasps of excited breath knotted at the base of my throat.
“You’re welcome, Bailey.”
But just as a corner of my mind wondered whether he was going to kiss me, he seemed to collect himself. He took a step backwards, flipping into professional journalist mode again. “I’m going to contact Ezra King’s management team and see if they’ll talk to me.”
The spell broken; I wrapped my arms around myself.
My God! Hasn’t he listened to a word I’d told him?
Did the intimate looks between us while we decorated my Christmas tree mean nothing? The dinner we shared…! My eyes hardened.
“So, you still plan to expose him and chase after his daughters, after all I said?”
Zach hesitated. “Bailey, it’s not what you think. Things have moved on. It’s complicated…”
Stupidity rained down on me. Shit! When would I ever learn? I’d sat there, torturing myself over what to tell Zach – if anything – and now he was turning the tables again. I let out a bark of sarcastic laughter. “Why the hell did I think I could trust you? Jesus, what was I thinking? Me of all people should’ve realised?—”
I clamped my mouth shut.
Zach studied me. “If you could just stop talking for a moment and let me explain please.”
I glowered at him, as the sparkly late November stars danced across the sky behind him through the open door.
Zach shook his head in frustration. “You have my word that I’m not here to needlessly invade Ezra’s privacy, or his two daughters.” His voice was deep and earnest. “If someone does that, it certainly won’t be me.”
I blinked up at Zach. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “You have my word.”
“But then … what?” I stumbled. “Why are you approaching Ezra King’s management?”
Zach jerked up the collar of his coat. “There’s been a development… Something genuinely of public interest. You know I’m interested in the truth, that’s all.” His attention drifted from my eyes to my mouth again, making my legs turn to jelly and my stomach churn at the word “truth”.
We stood there, staring at one another, unaware of the brisk cold.
I gazed at a small scar on his chin hidden amongst his shadowy stubble.
“I can’t tell you what’s going on yet, but I will.” He hesitated. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could speak to Ezra King on my behalf and persuade him to talk to me?”
I sighed. “I highly doubt it. He was absolutely furious when I talked to him about Caroline and Laura. I’d be surprised if he ever speaks to me again.”
Zach reached out one hand and squeezed my shoulder. The sensation of his fingertips skimming against my skin made me bite back a gasp.
He stood over me, a kaleidoscope of emotions travelling across his face. “Bailey…” Then he blinked and snatched his hand away. It was like touching me had scorched him. “You were trying to help. It’s a shame he couldn’t see that.”
I was silent for a moment. Zach was right. I had only been trying to help. But Ezra hadn’t seemed too interested in finding out the truth. Like his denial was more important than connecting with his own flesh and blood.
“Why do you need to speak to him if you’re not doing an article on him?” I asked then.
Zach cocked his head at me. “Trust me, Bailey. Please.”
I felt like I was in free-fall whenever I looked at him. I nodded after a few more seconds. “Ok, I will.”
Zach gave a brief smile. “If Adam finds out about me dicking around and hesitating over writing up about Ezra’s daughters, my P45 will be in the post.” He started to move away and then turned around again. “I’ll let you know how I get on.”
I began to close the door.
“Bailey.” His eyes glinted back at me.
“What?”
“Trust me. Please.”