Chapter 7 #2
“Bring me with you,” he said.
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Clearly, you don’t want to be painted as a closet gay with a hit-it-and-quit-it persona. She outed you, but that doesn’t mean you have to let her story be the only one.”
“I still don’t see what taking you to Florida will do.”
“Instead of fucking a random at a bar, you were visiting your boyfriend, a successful and, dare I say, sexy business owner.”
“Boyfriend,” I repeated warily.
“I’m really not sure how much clearer I can make this.”
“I don’t want to date you.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to date you either.” He wrinkled his nose as he looked me up and down. “You’re too put together.”
“I assure you, I’m not.”
“‘I assure you, I’m not,’” he repeated mockingly.
“Your plan is stupid. I’d rather accept the fallout than deal with whatever’s wrong with you.”
There was a smirk on his face when he lifted one shoulder. “Sorry you wasted a trip.”
“Good thing it’s only a few miles.”
His lips parted and his brows went up. “I thought you lived in Boston.”
“Of course not. Who wants to live there?”
“Guys who play for the Red Sox. Not cryptic, secretive guys, I guess.”
“You didn’t tell me much either. Like where you’re from.”
“Not important.”
“It is if you want to do this.”
Even as I said it, I wanted to take it back.
He was right, though. I could let things simmer down on their own, which probably also meant allowing him to continue with the interview once I left, or I could take control of the narrative.
Maybe it didn’t matter all that much, but I was pissed that my decisions had been taken from me.
Smear campaigns weren’t all that rare; I just never thought I’d be a target for one.
It was part of why I’d been careful in planning how to go about revealing things in my life.
It was why I’d refused to make comments about my divorce, and it was why I kept Mal out of the public eye as much as possible.
The world was cruel. The press was crueler.
Jaywalk once, and suddenly you were the poster boy for vehicular homicide.
Sure, I wouldn’t be ruined if I let Clara run with her ridiculous articles. But why should I?
“Damnit, I shouldn’t have offered,” Remi grumbled.
“What, now you don’t want to?”
“I did. But now you want to.”
“That’s ridiculously childish.”
He examined his nails with a contemplative expression. “Who says? You and your Maserati?”
“Definitely not you and your fake marble floors.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look up at me. “I liked you better after dark.”
“Believe me; the feeling is mutual.”
“Cool. Better get this shit over with.”
Before I could stop him, he flung open the door and left the office. I hurried after him, but he was already marching up to Clara. With her attention on both of us, I was right back where we’d started: no plan, no clue what was about to happen, and no positive thoughts about the whole thing.
“Mrs. Kessler, darling,” Remi drawled with more fake nicety than I’d ever been witness to. He took both of her hands, which made her nose wrinkle. “I’m so sorry to have to do this, but we’ll need to reschedule.”
Her eyes went behind him and locked with mine. I lifted a challenging brow as a bit of petty anger rose to the surface.
“Oh, that’s terrible news,” she returned with a similar artificiality. “There must be some emergency.”
“You could say that.” Remi let out a sigh, then played off his implied disappointment with an airy laugh.
“I forgot about our date.” He nudged his chin in my direction.
“He’s taking me somewhere really nice. Really expensive.
I’m sure you understand that time with my man trumps this interview for now. ”
“Your . . . man.”
I could see the gears turning. It would probably take a matter of hours before she published some spin on this. I’d have to take control of it soon, probably by bending my own sense of pride and sitting down with her for an exclusive. But I wasn’t going to do that unprepared.
Coming up beside Remi, I offered Clara a tight smile. “You know how strict reservations can be. If he would’ve told me about this earlier, I could’ve saved you the trip, but he’s forgetful.”
“I must’ve fried my brain too much in my youth,” he agreed.
“He’s kidding.” Taking his hand, I squeezed it hard enough for him to try pulling away, but I held on. “Remi, we should stop at your place on the way, so we really need to get going.”
“We’re already at my place.” He tutted and nudged my shoulder with his as he focused on Clara. “Silly man, acting like everything I own isn’t in this bar.”
Her eyes sparked with interest. “You live here?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” I laughed. “Maybe we should cool it with the jokes. What do you say?”
Remi shrugged. The expression on his face didn’t make me feel confident he’d listen to me. If anything, he was far too amused by the whole thing.
“Are you sure you can’t spare a few minutes?” Clara pressed.
Remi grabbed a pen off the counter, then took her hand. She tried to protest, but he was already writing something on her palm. “My personal number. We can get something set up another time. Scout’s honor.”
She clearly wanted to push the issue, but with both of us standing there, resolute, she eventually backed off. Once her crew had cleared from the bar, I let out a breath.
“Can you not make shit up to stir the pot?”
“What’d I make up?” he asked. “Well, I was never in the Boy Scouts, so I’ll give you that. Let’s go. We have a lot to discuss.”
“Go where?”
He lifted a brow. “That date you owe me. And I wasn’t kidding about somewhere expensive.”
“Seriously? You’re taking advantage of me already?”
“Hey, I’m helping you out, man. I don’t give a rat’s dingaling what some reporters say about me. Besides, you said she’ll be trying to catch any info she can about you, so if we don’t follow through with the narrative, she’ll probably add ‘fibber’ to your laundry list of faults.”
“I don’t have a laundry list,” I muttered.
“Maybe not, but she’s sure creating one for you as we speak.”
The phone rang, and he came to an abrupt stop, then he snatched it from the counter. I stared with my mouth open as he slammed it against the edge. When it didn’t quiet, he did it again. With a growl, he tried to bend it in half.
“Hey,” I said. When I reached for it, he let me take it. Using the pen from the counter, I popped off the back and took out the battery. Remi’s breaths were still coming quickly, even after it fell silent. “What’s your beef with the phone?”
“Let’s just go.”
With that, he walked toward the back, and I wondered if this decision would actually make everything ten times worse.