Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
SAbrINA
B ecause I felt petulant, I debated wearing long sleeves and slacks just to make it look like I might be hiding something, but I really hated assumed-to-be-true narratives and the ethically deprived people who created them. And judging by the number of missed calls and texts I had, many people I knew were buying into it.
So instead I wore a gauzy white sleeveless top and a dark-brown above-the-knee skirt, both showing off a lot of my legs and arms. I put my hair up in a high ponytail to show off my neck as well. I kept my makeup light and my lipstick glossy and natural. Hearing Cal banging around in my kitchen rankled me, so I quietly slipped out of my house to make a quick stop by his car with a liquid chalk marker. I really had thought, when I left yesterday, I wouldn’t see him again.
Fooled you , said the universe.
Then I joined Cal in my kitchen. He’d taken the liberty of making coffee, and his familiarity with my kitchen unnerved me, reminding me of our past and all the times he’d spent here with both me and Dad. I made a mental note to reorganize my cabinets so next time he’d be thrown off.
Ahh. What was I saying? There will not be a next time. We were going to part ways after this press conference, and that would be that. I would go back to my life of pretending Calvin Beckett didn’t exist.
Take that, universe.
“You’re wearing that?” I scanned him up and down.
“Yeah, I thought a suit and tie might make me look like a douche. Not that what I wear will matter. They’ll say what they want.” He pushed a mug of coffee toward me.
My eyes narrowed. He’d dolled it up for me just how I liked it. I wanted to throat-punch him for always subtly reminding me of his familiarity.
I picked up the mug and dumped the coffee into the sink. “I don’t drink it like that anymore.” Liar, liar.
I poured a fresh cup of coffee, leaving it naked, then turned to face him as I leaned against the counter. I took a sip and strained to keep my eye from twitching. Black coffee was bitter and disgusting.
His lips pursed. “I reserved a conference room at the hotel where I’m staying. You want to ride with me or follow?”
“Follow, of course.”
“If you don’t use creamer, why do you have”—he gestured to my fridge—“crème br?lée in your fridge?”
“For company. I’m not a barbarian.” I took another sip and felt my lip curling in disgust. I pressed my lips together tightly. Not only had he ruined my sleep, but now he was ruining my coffee as well. He was a plague on my life.
“If you’re ready, we can leave. After the presser, I want to talk to you about the lack of security at your house.” He stood, gave me a nod, and headed toward the front door.
“Just go away, Cal. Seriously.”
“Don’t tell me I don’t know you, Reenie. I know as soon as I’m outside, you’re gonna dump a ton of creamer in that coffee. Straight black made your eye twitch.” He tossed this over his shoulder and followed it with a chuckle.
I gave him my favorite middle finger and sent angry energy waves in his direction. Cal laughed all the way out the door. I waited until I heard it close before I added the necessary goods to my coffee, then hid the evidence in a dark travel mug.
After grabbing my large black tote that also worked as a purse, I locked my front door and went out to the garage, where my black SUV waited. I didn’t get any farther than backing out when I was forced to stop because both Cal’s rental and his body were blocking my way. His arms were crossed over his chest.
I gave him a finger wave, clicked the button to bring the window down, and stuck my head out. “Is there a problem?” I bit my cheeks to keep from laughing.
“How am I supposed to drive with that written on my windshield?” He jerked his head toward his car.
“I thought it best we come out strong. Make a bold statement.”
“And writing ‘This moron doesn’t beat me,’ and signing your name and drawing an arrow pointing to the driver’s side is your bold statement?”
“Too strong?” I let a chuckle escape.
“Perhaps it implies other morons do.” He snickered. “You and those markers. I’m going to take them away from you.” He was a tall, rigid pole of pent-up… something. Anger was not the word, because laughter was starting to seep out of him.
“Bah.” I waved a hand, dismissing his words. “After today, I’ll be out of your hair, and you’ll never see me and my markers again. The hose is on the side of the house. I’ll wait here.”
I pointed to the side I was talking about, then closed my window. I hoped he would spray himself accidentally. I was looking for proof that the universe was on my side.
As usual, the universe let me down. He wet the window, then put the wipers on as he continued to spray the windshield. My words were erased in mere seconds. I shrugged. At least I’d had a good five minutes of irritating him.
I followed him to a popular five-star hotel in downtown Dallas. After leaving my car with the valet, I met him in the foyer and followed him to a small conference space where Paul Not-a-Lumberjack Runyon waited for us.
“The room is full. We start in five minutes.” He turned to me. “It’s nice to see you again. Thank you for coming.”
I asked the question that had been on my mind. “Why do a conference here and not in Seattle?”
“We’ve done security teaching at all the colleges here, as well as for the pro sports teams, and personal security for many of the billionaires who live here—even the well-known political ones. In Dallas, we have a lot of allies but also a lot of people who want answers. This is the quickest way to get those answers to them.”
He was talking about presidents and presidential candidates. No wonder Cal was worried about their reputation. Anonymity was power. Keeping secrets from the enemy was instrumental in providing protection and safety countermeasures to attacks. This smear campaign was ripping the anonymity away and, therefore, scaring potential clients and was lobbing financial hits, all while discrediting Cal’s company.
I got hung up on another tidbit. Cal had been in Dallas several times over the last decade. I’d never heard about it, and we’d never accidentally come across each other. I should have been glad about that, but I was disappointed. And that made me a ginormous moron. All these years, I’d purposefully kept any mention of him from crossing my screen, and I was sad that had worked? I wanted to slap myself in the face and knock some good sense into myself.
Good luck with that, my inner voice said.
Oh, shut up.
Cal went to check on the attendance while Paul reviewed some of the stock questions they anticipated would be asked and his suggested responses. I gave my nod of approval to all but the last one. That I had declined working with them because it didn’t align with my plans.
“Yes, when Morgan initially offered me the job, I turned her down. Yet, when she told me how much it paid, I reconsidered. I’m working toward a goal, and that money would have taken me far. And truthfully, if the job was still available, I would likely take it. I can’t lie out there and say I didn’t want the job, because I did. I can’t say it doesn’t align because I’m branching out to do a documentary. But I can say that the timing isn’t best for me right now because there’s truth to that. Semantics, ya know.”
Paul nodded, studying me. I could tell the gears in his head were grinding, and I was curious as to what they might be coming up with.
Cal interrupted us. “Come with me.” He held out a hand. “Paul’s going in ahead of us.”
I smacked his hand away. “Just go. I’ll be behind you.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say “follow,” because it was like saying I’d follow him anywhere. Being around Cal was messing with my good sense, and the sooner this presser was over, the sooner he would get out of my life, and I could go back to pretending he never existed. I could get back to me.
He led me to a side door, then turned to me. “Since you won’t walk in with me, how about ahead of me? Certainly not behind me.”
Why does that stupid sentence make me think of sex? Clearly, I was sleep-deprived. Nothing about that sentence was sexy. I smacked myself in the chest, hoping to knock the horny right out of me.
“You okay?” He quirked a brow.
“You give me indigestion.” I waved for him to open the door.
He did and, with great flair, held out an arm for me to precede him.
I rolled my eyes and walked in, chin held high. The clicking of cameras filled the space as soon as we entered.
CAL
She walked across the room like a queen. There was a confidence about her that made others curious to know her. Goddammit, she was heady stuff.
I took a seat at the table Paul had set up and expected Sabrina to sit next to me, but she didn’t. She stood beside me. It was a power move, and I liked it.
I cleared my throat. “Well, you know me. You know Ms. Holloway here.” I gestured to Sabrina, who nodded at the crowd, a glowing smile on her face. “I’m not going to make a statement, because we’ve already done that. Like we said, Ms. Holloway and I have known each other since college. Those pictures can be interpreted a million different ways, and apparently, the photographer didn’t eavesdrop on the conversation, or they would have had context. I’ll open the floor to questions.”
“I have something to say.” Sabrina approached the table and leaned down close to the mic.
Her shoulder brushed up against my arm, and I could smell her perfume, a scent that was unfamiliar. She’d always been a vanilla-and-sweet-pea girl, innocence and sweetness. But now she smelled… spicy. Warm and sexy with a hint of pepper. Which fit perfectly with her sharp mouth and marker words.
“Hi,” she said. “Even if the photographer, shame on that person, did hear what we were saying, they chose to disregard it for clickbait. And now, because of their lack of ethics and morals, I am wasting my day proving to you all that Calvin Beckett here is a good man. Something that does not need proof, considering all the good work he’s done. But I’m a Texan and hospitable, if nothing else, so let’s get down to making you all feel better about someone else’s lies.” She patted me twice on the shoulder as she straightened and moved back.
Instantly, hands shot up, and questions were blurted out.
“You went to college together?” And variants of that question on repeat.
“When you say you knew each other in college, what does that look like?” asked a tall man in the back.
“Studying, drinking, laughing, and hanging out,” I said.
Some other versions were “How intimate were you?” “How long did you know each other in college?” and “How did you meet?”
“I heard you dated,” said a woman in the front.
“Who asked out whom?”
“How long did you date?”
“How did you meet?”
Again, I responded, keeping my answers simple. “Yes, we dated.”
There were some questions designed specifically for Sabrina. She came to stand close to me to answer, draping her arm around the back of my chair, her hand on my shoulder. Her body language said she wasn’t afraid of me.
“What does a professional matchmaker really do?”
“Can you tell us of any celebrity matches you’ve made?”
“Aren’t you dating Nick Trask, the actor?”
Jace had paired Sabrina’s name with the A-list actor a few times. He’d said they were just friends. I’d never had the balls to ask if there was more. I had no right to know. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious. I held my breath and waited for her to answer.
“If I told you Nick and I were simply the closest of friends, would you believe me?” Sabrina followed it with a lighthearted laugh. “Because that’s the truth.”
I let out a slow exhalation, berating myself for even caring.
“Back to your relationship in college. Is it because the two of you broke up—didn’t have an amicable split—that you were aggressive with Ms. Holloway? How does that look for a man who wants to teach women self-defense, who wants to help people find a safe space with dating? Can you be trusted to do that?” This came from a beady-eyed jackass right up front.
Sabrina stiffened beside me. Only I could hear the sharp intake of breath, and I knew, because I knew her, that she was ticked. A glance in her direction showed she was staring down the reporter. I swore the scent of her perfume got spicier from her quick flash of anger. Like me, Sabrina knew this guy was here to cause more trouble. Chances were he was the source of this article or knew who was.
I leaned forward to respond, but Sabrina stopped me by putting a hand over the mic. “I’ve got this one.” She angled her body toward the reporter and, instead of sitting next to me, perched a hip on the table and rested, one leg swinging casually, the hem of her skirt rising just a bit. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Look again, Mr.—”
“Smith.”
“Yes, of course. ‘Smith.’” The way she drew out his name had a few of the people in the room laughing. “Take another look at those pictures, Mr. Smith. Anyone can add their own narrative to an image. I think there are even contests called ‘caption this image’ where people win prize money. The caption to our image is a bad one. Unimaginative. Given by someone with a negative outlook. Likely a lonely person who goes home to an empty house with a take-out bag and sits in front of the TV, dripping mustard on their tie, mad at the world because they don’t have what others do.”
The way she stared at Mr. Smith’s tie had others craning to see if there was a mustard stain. Even Smith looked down. Her fingers lightly rested on my shoulder, her thumb caressing it slowly.
“Look at it again,” she continued. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Many looked at their phones, presumably to review the image.
“That’s not aggression, Mr. Smith. That’s restrained passion.”
I stiffened, and she squeezed my shoulder in response.
“Restrained?” someone in the gallery called out.
Sabrina moved her hand from my shoulder to pick up the pad of paper in front of me. She began to fan herself even though the room was a comfortable temperature. “We have a history, and try as we might, there’s no denying what’s between us. In that picture”—she nodded to the group—“you see two adults struggling to not engage in what could have been described as a very heated public display of affection.”
Many in the crowd laughed, and more pictures were taken.
“I see it,” someone said. Others murmured their agreement.
What had Sabrina just done? Now we were connected romantically. A new rekindling of our past. This was not going to be good. This was going to be worse than bad. I had not spent the last ten years in a lonely personal hell just to have all of it to unravel now.
I stood suddenly and met her gaze. I sucked in a breath. Dear Lord. She was giving me that look—the one I still saw in my mind’s eye—and it drove me mad. It was a look of hot need, and if we’d been anyone else and in a different time, I would have seen her hot need and raised it by one intense longing, which would only lead to me showing the crowd what a real public display of affection looked like right there on the cloth-covered conference table. The heat of her body and lure of her perfume were intoxicating. I was drunk from her nearness. I knew my face showed it. Add that to the coyness in her words, and this moment painted a story that the press would run with: that we were hot for each other.
The press would dig into our past. They would look for anything they could spin negatively to drag her down. She might have bested Mr. Smith just now, but his employer, likely someone with connections to my dad, would strike back with a vengeance. This I knew for certain because for all the people who loved a love story, many others liked a dumpster fire. My father was still out there trying to destroy me. And he most definitely did not want a Sabrina-and-Cal love story.
I needed to end this now and get her as far away from me as I could.
I took the pad from her and tossed it onto the table, which bumped the mic. It made a short but uncomfortable pitchy squeal that I ignored as I snatched up her hand in mine. I pulled her toward the exit. I needed to get away and regroup. I needed her to not say another word.
“Thanks for coming,” I said as I nearly dragged her out of the room.
A few people hooted.
Once outside the door, I looked for another room to go to, one that would give us privacy.
“Cal, what are you doing?”
I found the door to a closet and pushed her in, closing it behind us. Fortunately, the light was on, dim though it was.
“What have you just done, Reenie? I was trying to separate your name from mine.”
“That smug little weasel was there just to bring you down.”
“So let him try. But you just gave him more to talk about. You did the opposite of what I wanted.”
“Too late now, and who cares?” She planted her fists on her hips. “You’re acting like a tool right now. You bust into my house, you drag me down here to prove you’re not a wife beater, and when I give them something juicy to bite into, you freak out and pull me out of the room.”
She was toe to toe with me and not backing down. This was a new version of Sabrina. She was strong, confident, and deadly. She would lay waste to a man with that beautiful, bewitching smile of hers, those sparking blue eyes, and her sharp words. I stared at her mouth.
“Which, by the way, just made what I said look factual. Now they think you’ve dragged me off, caveman style, to have your way with me.” She tapped me in the chest to make her point, drawing my attention away from my randy thoughts and her delectable mouth.
Jeez, I’d missed her. No one had held a candle to this woman in front of me. Even her flaws were perfect.
But I knew she had a point. “I care about you being dragged into this.”
“So you said. Well, I don’t, so let’s move on.”
“You should care,” I said in a low voice. She was so near I could taste her breath, coffee and crème br?lée creamer.
“Why should I care? Is there something about you I don’t know? Are you a murderer? A serial rapist? Do you kick kittens and run dogfighting rings?”
“If I said yes, would you go out there and tell them you were joking?”
She snorted.
“Tell them I hit you. Tell them anything to separate us.”
She reared back. “I don’t understand you. I’m sorry that being associated with me is such a dire situation for you.”
“You just had to show them they were wrong, not give them more to feast on.”
She stared up at me, searching my face for answers I wasn’t about to give her. Then she shook her head as she pushed me to the side and rushed out of the closet.
I wiped a hand down my face. Fuck. How am I supposed to protect her from my father now?