Chapter 33
When I came home last night with my idea to have the paper write our true story, Emerson was on board and even suggested coming down to Prescott Media with me to help.
Emerson gets out of my Jeep and looks up at the Prescott Media building in downtown Savannah. It’s the tallest building around, modern and sleek, a stark contrast to the surrounding more traditional-looking office buildings in this part of town. I notice a shift in her posture; she straightens her shoulders, and there is a look of determination on her face that tells me she means business. She’s ready to go into battle for The Alexander and her brother and me, and I love her for it.
“Are you alright? You look...” I trail off, not sure how to put it. She looks fierce, not at all like her normally easygoing self.
She straightens out her skirt and brushes at an imaginary spot of lint on her blouse. “It’s no secret that my family and the Prescotts don’t get along,” she says with more strain in her voice than I expected. “Have you got those testimonials?”
“Sure do.” I offer a friendly smile, hoping to soften her a little. We’re on the same team here, and we really need them to help us out. A little sugar couldn’t hurt.
She attempts a smile back. “Let’s do this then,” she says, striding toward the building.
I take off after her, and we walk to the reception desk side by side. A well-dressed lady in her mid-forties pushes her glass up her nose and eyes us both. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I need to see Hamilton Prescott immediately.” Emerson takes charge with a no-shit edge to her tone.
The receptionist scans over her computer screen. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, sorry, we don’t,” I offer. “We were hoping…’
She cuts me off. “No one sees Mr. Prescott without an appointment,” she says, pushing her chair back, giving us her best resting bitch face.
My heart sinks. That’s it then, I guess. We will work out another way to fix our reputation.
Emerson takes a step closer to the counter, glaring at the woman. “Call him and tell him it’s Emerson Alexander. I think he will make time in his busy day for me,” she demands. Her voice is scary direct, no sweet Southern belle in sight, but it’s the look on her pretty face that has the receptionist flustered. She means business.
The poor woman goes to say something, but seeing the death glare on Emerson’s face, she changes her mind, and instead, she picks up the phone.
“I have an Emerson Alexander here to see you. I told her without an appointment she can’t come in.” She listens to the person on the other end of the line. “Oh. If that’s what you want. S-sorry, Mr. Prescott,” she stutters out then disconnects the call, her attention returning to us. “Mr. Prescott will see you now. Floor ten.” She points toward the elevator.
I see the hint of a smile on Emersons lips, but she doesn’t give it away to the receptionist, just a curt nod for her as we head for the elevator.
As soon as the doors close, I ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue. I know their families don’t get along, but there is so much more to all of this. “What did he do to you?”
Her attention shifts to me. “What?” she snaps, then looks me over cautiously. “Nothing. Sorry, nothing. I don’t even know the guy, I just don’t like the way his family portrays mine. It’s not fair that they have this paper spitting out constant rumors about us, and we have no way of retaliating or even telling the truth. Well, I’m sick of it. And this idea of yours was perfect. Today we take back a little control.” Her hands ball into fists, ready for battle.
“I’m not buying that speech for a second, but I’ll play along because youre fierce like this, girl, it’s impressive to watch.” I smirk in her direction, kind of excited to watch the showdown.
She throws me a look, and I see the hurt behind her eyes. She’s putting on a good, strong front for me, and maybe for the business, but there is a whole lot more going on here. “I’m just trying to make sure you and Brody get the retribution you deserve for being treated so badly.” She stares at the elevator door, her expression steely, and I decide not to press her on it. We all have our secrets, and they are that for a reason. We wouldnt be in this mess right now if mine and Brody’s was kept.
When we get out on the tenth floor, we’re escorted off the elevator by another pretty young girl in a pale blue pant suit. She takes us through the office right to the center where a couple of white leather chairs sit just outside a dark mahogany door. “Take a seat. Mr. Prescott will see you when he’s ready.” She looks down her nose at us like we are a massive inconvenience to her day. I make sure to smile extra sweetly toward her. She must be having a bad day; the whole office seems to be.
Five minutes of us waiting patiently like the bad kids outside the principal’s office, and I can see Emersons nostrils flare in annoyance. “We good?” I ask, worried about how this is all going to go. For all our sakes, we need this to go smoothly and leave as allies in business, not enemies. It’s the only way of saving our reputations.
“Just peachy.” She smiles a fake smile that’s all teeth and clamps her hands together on her lap so hard it looks painful.
Just when I think Em will not wait a second longer, the door beside us opens and a handsome man in a charcoal suit and a pale blue shirt stands in the opening. He looks intelligent and distinguished. His eyes rake over us both, and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Emerson Alexander, what can I do for you?” he purrs in her direction, his voice smooth as silk. This guy knows he’s charming. He also knows Emerson better than she would like to admit.
She sucks in a labored breath, and I do the same. The air is charged with tension. She stands, smoothing out her skirt, and I follow her lead. “This is Gisele Kelley, and we need just a moment of your time to straighten out a mix-up.” Her words are clipped and cold, and while there is some eye contact, it’s that same death stare I saw in the lobby. She really hates this guy.
Remembering my manners, I hold out my hand and plaster on my best showstopping smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Prescott,” I offer, hoping to ease some of the friction.
He smiles warmly, his handshake firm. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Kelley. I hear youre quite the celebrity, come straight to our little town from the Big Apple.” He keeps his hand in mine while he takes me in. He has a commanding presence, a kind of cockiness about him that tells you the world falls at his feet, but I don’t immediately hate him like I thought I might. He’s charming.
I can feel Emersons anger radiating off her, so I slip my hand from his. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m just a regular girl, trying to live my life.”
“Are you going to show us in? I don’t have all day,” Emerson snaps, glaring at him in disgust. She must be immune to his magnetism.
“Miss Alexander, it’s always such a pleasure.” He stands back so we can pass him and take a seat in his office. He closes the door. I think he’s going to take a seat but instead he leans against his desk. Folding one arm over the other, he studies us. And the way he looks at Emerson—holy fuck.
I feel like the third wheel in some sort of messed-up fantasy where you don’t know if the heroine will fuck or kill the leading man. At this point I think it’s kill, but he definitely wants to fuck her. I clear my throat so they both remember I’m sitting right here.
He cocks a brow. “I take it this isn’t a friendly visit.”
She shoves the folder she brought toward him. “Since your paper seems to be so obsessed with writing articles about my family business and its employees, I have a new one for you.” He takes the folder from her hand, and she falters momentarily. Her confidence slipping.
“What Emerson is trying to say…” I take over for her, and his attention returns to me. “Is that your paper has said some not very nice things about me and my boyfriend this week. And I, for one, don’t appreciate it. I also don’t feel I deserve it. From the moment I moved here I have fallen in love with this sweet town and its people. I want it to be my home, but I just don’t see how I can stay knowing this type of trash is being spat out about me. It’s quite devastating. I know you’re a reasonable man, and I also know you weren’t the one who wrote the article. So Emerson and I are here to ask if you could possibly do a follow-up story that is the correct version.” I keep my composure, trying to keep things light and pleasant, hoping I can appeal to his sense of decency.
His assessing gaze meets mine, and I can see him thinking over my request. He runs a hand over his sharp jawline. “Are you saying my journalist didn’t check her facts before publishing this story?”
“What we’re saying is your journalist is full of shit and wants nothing more than to destroy my family,” Emerson snaps back, full of venom.
I smile at her, trying to tell her to keep it kind. “The story simply wasn’t true, Mr. Prescott. I didn’t meet Mr. Alexander when I came to this town. We met back in New York, and that’s when our story started. He is also not my boss at all. That is Emerson’s job title. So, you can see how some of the information published is misleading.” I try to backtrack, hoping to stay on his good side and appeal to his better nature. “Brody is not his father, and he shouldn’t be punished for his crimes. You and Brody share a lot in common, as both of you have taken over family businesses from your fathers. Im sure you would prefer to establish your reputation based on your own merits, rather than that of your father’s. Shouldnt Brody be entitled to the same?”
His rehearsed demeanor falters as soon as I bring up the last part. He didn’t expect me to know they have a history, and right now, he’s wondering exactly how much I know about his family and the Alexanders. I know it all, buddy. Your mother played her part as well as their father did. And right now, the only ones being punished are the Alexander children.
Emerson glances my way and nods, seeming to find herself. “We want to tell a story of truth about our new coordinator. Gisele has collected testimonials from some brides she has worked with, and I’ve had Brody write you a statement addressing his relationship status. Gisele is also happy to talk with your journalist and tell her side of the story. You know this story went too far.” She glares at him, her temper simmering dangerously close to boiling point. “Fix it.”
He looks us both over, scratching his fingers through his stubble. “I could have one of my journalists put that together for you.” His eyes fix on Emerson. “But it’s going to cost you something.”
“What?” she snips, but I see her armor faltering. This guy really rattles her.
A cheeky smile breaks onto his face, dimples and all. He moves, crossing the room to stand in front of her, his eyes locked with hers. “A date with me.” He beams.
Abruptly she stands from her chair, outraged. The chair flies back, falling to the carpeted floor. “You must be kidding me. I wouldn’t go on a date with you if you were the last man on earth.” Her hands go to her hips, and she stares him down, angrier than I have ever seen her.
“Then you don’t get your article,” he singsongs, like he could care either way and is having way too much fun at Emersons expense.
If I thought the tension was bad in here before, now it’s so uncomfortable. I want to just disappear through the door. I’m sure neither of them would even notice me do it.
“Come on, Hamilton. You owe me, you know you do,” she pleads with him. Silence hangs heavy as neither of them gives in.
And something inside of me snaps. I’ve had about enough of their staring contest, and I’m sick of being nice. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but the way I see it you have two choices, Mr. Prescott.” I can’t leave here until this problem is fixed, so I know I need to sort it out. “You either help us and get the journalists who wrote the story to retract it and re-write it correctly, or Brody and I sue you for slander.”
Hamilton looks impressed, and I can see why he pisses off the Alexanders so much. He’s a cocky asshole. Rich and entitled, he reminds me of my father, and the only way to get what you want with him is to be strong and direct. “I can see what Brody sees in you, Gisele, so feisty. You would have to be to put up with him. Okay, ladies, I’ll play. Go down to the fourth floor and ask for Sophie Hilliar. She can help you.”
“What about the woman who wrote the article? Annabelle Grace Turner,” I ask, confused.
He smirks. “She’s a freelance writer. I’ve never met her personally, and she most certainly doesn’t write the stories she’s told to.”
Emerson’s lip curls. “So what youre saying is you don’t even know who this bitch is who writes these gossip stories about my family.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Either way, you’re not privy to that information. Miss Turner likes to keep her identity hidden for good reason.”
“Because she’s making up lies to destroy peoples lives,” Emerson snaps.
Hamiltons lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Because she’s not afraid to push the boundaries and report on stories others wouldn’t touch.”
“You’re protecting her because she makes this business a lot of money.”
“I’m not going to lie, Emerson. Since she jumped on board, I’m certainly enjoying the newfound profits she’s bringing in. It’s business, I’m sure you can understand that. It’s why you’re here, after all. Unless you came all this way downtown just to see me.”
I stand, knowing I need to get Em out of here. She’s so angry, and going back and forth with him when he’s already agreed to help us isn’t going to change anything. “Thank you, Mr. Prescott.” I hold my hand out for him to shake, and he obliges. I offer a smile because I’m polite, not because I like the man.
“Nice seeing you again, Miss Alexander. I guess now I know how to get your attention.” He winks at her. Actually winks. I shake my head, not even able to comprehend what I’m seeing.
She scowls. “Don’t try it again. Gisele’s right, next time we get the lawyers involved.”
“If I were you, I would be asking myself who’s out to get you, because I can assure you, sweetheart, it’s not me. Someone within your organization is enlisting the help of Miss Turner to report on what they see. Might want to work out who.” His words are laced with poison, but both Emerson and I acknowledge that hes right. Someone wants to hurt the Alexanders.
Emerson seethes. “You must know exactly who she’s talking to. You could help us if you wanted to.”
If you change your mind on that date, sugar, Im sure I can jog my memory, he says with a devilish smirk, and even I want to slap him. What the hell is this guy playing at? Can’t he read the room? She hates his guts.
By the look on Emersons face and the way her hands tremble as she snatches the folder back from him, I can see she’s about to throw a hissy fit, as Paisley would say. So, I grab her arm and pull her toward the door with me. “Thank you for your help,” I say over my shoulder as we march out the door and back to the elevator.
Once safely inside, I turn to her, taking her by each shoulder. “What the hell was that, Em?”
She’s furious, her breathing ragged, her hands balled into fists. “You can’t ever tell anyone what happened in that room today. Especially not Brody.”
I look her over. I don’t like keeping things from him, but that’s not my story to tell. “I won’t, I swear. I don’t think I even understand what happened.”
“We have history, and it’s not a good one. He was trying to get under my skin. Thank you for keeping a level head when I couldn’t,” she says, her words clipped she’s so worked up.
I take her hand. “Any time. Thank you for coming down here and helping me when it caused you so much stress. I’m so sorry we put you in this position. It wasn’t fair.”
“I did what I had to.” She squeezes my hand back, and I can see by the look on her face she knew he wouldn’t listen to anyone else. He’s doing this for her and her only.
“Do you need a hug?” I ask her, not sure how to broach this. She’s not touchy-feely like Mae, and even though I have confided in her as more than just my boss over the last few weeks, I’m still not sure if she’s the hugging type when she’s upset.
“Yes,” she whispers, sounding close to tears, and I wrap my arms around her, trying to offer some comfort.
The elevator comes to a stop, and she pulls back from me. “I’m so happy for you and Brody. He deserves an awesome girl like you in his life, and I’m pretty excited about the prospect of us being sisters one day,” she says, blinking away her tears.
I smile, so grateful for her support. She could have been awful about all of this since it affects her so much, but she’s been amazing. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, but I hope so. I really like him; he gives me butterflies.”
And he really does. I wouldn’t be going through all of this for some fling. He’s the real deal, I know it. He’s worth all the looks I got today and whatever comments I will have to deal with when I return to work tomorrow. Because what we have is something special.