Anything but Love (24 page)

“You look fabulous. Hang your coat on the tree and stay awhile. We have some catching up to do.”

Rae raised the logoed bag she’d been carrying. “Brought coffee from Moose-a-lotta.”

“The best in town.” Casey pulled a cushioned stool next to hers. “Mind if we talk here instead of my office? Fran was supposed to be here today but she called out sick.”

“Just happy for the chat.” They’d caught up a little over the phone this morning. Casey now knew about as much as everyone else regarding Rae’s reason for living a one-year ruse and her reasons for coming back. Rae sat next to the bohemian-dressed woman and passed her a cup of hazelnut coffee.

“So tell me about Luke.”

Rae rolled her eyes. “I knew you were going to ask that.”

“Well, come on. It’s the talk of the town. You bagged Sugar Creek’s biggest playboy.”

“I didn’t bag him.”

“He’s gotta be head over heels in love with you, girl. Why else would he go exclusive?”

Why indeed? Rae didn’t doubt Luke felt something for her. They had a physical and emotional connection. But he’d never mentioned love and she was sure a good part of his feelings were wrapped up in the baby and the prospect of being a dad. Something she understood. The moment she’d learned she was pregnant Rae’s world and her priorities shifted.

She tried to relax and enjoy reconnecting with Casey, but the longer Rae dodged mention of her pregnancy, the more uncomfortable she felt. Her reason for keeping the baby secret no longer outweighed her need to be forthright with all the people she’d once deceived. As soon as Luke got back, they’d have to talk.

Just then her phone rang. “I’m sorry, Casey. Just let me see … It’s my lawyer in L.A.”

“Go on and take it.”

“I’ll just see what he wants … Al?”

“A heads-up would have been nice, Reagan.”

He didn’t sound happy. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve had six calls in the last forty minutes from various organizations, all vying for your money.”

“What?”

“When you announce to the world you’re devoting your inheritance to philanthropic needs—”

“I didn’t announce anything. Hold on,” she said when her phone blipped with another incoming call. “Sorry,” she said to Casey then, “Yes?”

“Miss Devereaux? This is Shawna Frost of
Vermont Today
. I understand you’re backing several local charitable organizations. We’d like to interview you—”

“I’m sorry. Could you hold please?” She thumbed call incoming. “Al?”

“It’s Chloe. I’m worried Daisy unleashed a monster.”

Rae’s pulse tripped. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not a Hollywood gossip monger, I swear. But I confess to the guilty pleasure of checking in now on omg! or TMZ.”

“What’s on the Net, Chloe?”

“You.”

Rae blinked, swallowed. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” She looked at the screen, saw one “on hold” and it wasn’t Al. “Miss Frost? Yes. Thank you for your interest. Crazy morning. I’ll be in touch.” She disconnected then redialed Al. “I lost you before. Sorry. About the news blast … I can explain. That’s a lie. I’ll try to explain. Once I’m clear on what’s happening. Stay tuned. And don’t give my money to anyone without my consent. Not that you would. Sorry. I’m … discombobulated.”

“Advise ASAP, Reagan.”

“Will do.” She turned to Casey. “Apparently I’m in the news. Got a laptop handy?”

Ten seconds later a screen was up and singing the praises of one Reagan Devereaux.

“Holy cow,” Casey said.

Rae stared in shock as they tripped upon a few more sites, including a string of mentions on Twitter. The headlines read: TRUST FUND BABY TURNS PHILANTHROPIST!

The articles were short blips. Her father was mentioned. Her mother was mentioned—although not in the most flattering way. Rae’s educational background was applauded and the fact that she was so low-key that she’d been off the media’s radar until now was commended. There was mention of her newly inherited fortune and how she’s devoting her time, money, and effort to worthy causes such as a Vermont-based day care center and a cupcake club that supports troops via cupcakes.

“Talk about coming off as the Mother Theresa of the Me Generation,” Casey said. “Who’s your publicist?’

“I don’t have a publicist. Oh, crap. Maybe I do. May I use your office for a sec?”

“Sure.”

“Be right back.”

Rae moved to the back of the store and instead of calling Daisy direct, opted for a more direct answer from Sam. It would be the first time they’d spoken since he’d learned about her and Luke, but Rae was too focused on this media glitch to worry about the potential awkwardness.

He answered on the first ring.

“Sorry to bother you, Sam.”

“No, bother. What’s up?”

“Daisy sent you a text yesterday, right?”

“About you and your offer to throw your money behind the CL recipe book project. Generous.”

“My pleasure. Except, we’re still under contract with Highlife and it hasn’t been discussed or voted on either way by the club. Nothing is settled, yet word is out.”

“You know the Sugar Creek grapevine.”

“No, I mean, word is
out,
Sam. In a big way. On major entertainment venues on the Internet. Daisy said she was going to ask you to pick Harper Day’s brain regarding potential publicity opportunities. What did Daisy say exactly and did you share it with Harper? What did she do? Who did she contact? This morning I received a call from a reporter at
Vermont Today
. Should I brace for
Good Morning America
? I need to know what to prepare for.”

“Give me time to sort this out. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Just caught off guard. Speaking of.” She ignored her unease, needing to get this out of the way. Wanting to smooth things over with Sam. “I’m sorry I haven’t called before now. I know you were blindsided when Luke told you we were involved and—”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Enough said.”

Rae collapsed on the one cushy chair in Casey’s office. Why did she keep blurting that? Before long, Luke would be the only one in town who didn’t know the extent of her feelings. “I haven’t told him yet. I haven’t said the words. I don’t know why I told you, except you asked and I … I don’t want there to be hard feelings between us.”

“No hard feelings,” he said in his ever calm tone. “We can’t choose who we love, Rae. Let me talk to Harper. I’ll get back to you when I have answers.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Rae disconnected, her mind spinning in a dozen directions when Casey cried out, “Oh my God! Someone wrote about you on
Huffington Post
!”

Sam reread Daisy’s text from the day before, slowly, word for word.

Just as he’d feared, he’d screwed up.

The text had been so damn lengthy and convoluted and Sam had been distracted. By Harper. Sex with Harper. Kinky sex with Harper.

The roll in the sheets (and a few other places) had been amazing. The moment after, not so much. Harper and her damned rules. He wasn’t supposed to linger. Conversation pertaining to their sex-a-pade, including the sexting, was off-limits. Considering they had nothing in common, aside from an animal attraction and an appreciation for the Rothwell Farm, Sam had been at a loss for words. In fact he couldn’t seem to grasp one cohesive thought. Celibate for two years, Sam had overdosed on Harper’s uninhibited approach to sex.

Sensory overload.

He knew now that he’d definitely experienced some sort of brain freeze because he sure as hell hadn’t been thinking straight when he’d forwarded Daisy’s text to Harper.

He’d felt awkward leaving her bed without a word and as he’d dressed he’d been keenly aware of his surroundings. The room in which an original Cupcake Lover had pined away for her love. Which made him flash on the club and the recipe book and Daisy’s text.

After he’d climbed into his cab, he zipped off a text to Harper, their only comfortable means of communication.

NEED A FAVOR

INTRIGUED

He’d then forwarded Daisy’s text following up with his own message, telling Harper that the Cupcake Lovers would be grateful for any help. He hadn’t expanded beyond that. He hadn’t expected her to act without checking with him first. Honestly he hadn’t thought she’d give the CLs the time of day. It’s not like they were Hollywood celebrities.

She’d texted back: WILL DO. And Sam had pulled away from the farm feeling as though they’d at least had some sort closure on the night and that it wasn’t just some twisted rendezvous. It helped to put him in a better place as he drove to pick up his kids. He’d put the liaison out of his head as best he could, including the bit about Daisy’s text, as he segued back to real life. His life as a single father. He’d managed through the night and morning by focusing on the kids. Not to mention being in his own house, a house filled with memories of his sweet wife had pretty much snuffed erotic thoughts about Harper.

Rae’s phone call had put an end to that.

Sam texted Harper. YOU HOME?

ON A CONFERENCE CALL

COMING OVER

BAD TIME

MAKE TIME

Sam was learning that the only way he got anywhere with Harper was by bulldozing his way in and over. She was always busy, always headstrong, and always taking control. Yes, sir, he’d gotten a good dose of her domineering ways last night. Sam had allowed so much of it because, hell, it was stimulating, before he reversed roles—even more stimulating.

Five minutes into his drive and he had an erection. What would she be wearing? Skintight jeans or clingy workout clothes? Red lipstick? Pink? Hair loose and wild or swept off that beautiful face? Now that he was out of his house and away from his kids, one erotic thought after another slithered through his brain.

The first thing he noticed when he pulled up to the house was that Leo had repaired and returned her car, which, turns out, she’d rented from the local mechanic and garage owner to begin with. The second was that whoever had shoveled her walk after last night’s late snow had done a poor job. Surely not Leo. Maybe Harper herself. Sam could imagine her hurriedly scraping a path just wide enough to navigate while she yakked on that damn phone. He made a mental note to clear a better path, throw down some salt. He didn’t want her, or anyone else, to slip and fall.

He knocked on the door. Wasn’t surprised she greeted him with a phone pressed to her ear, or when she held up a finger to bid him silent. She waved him inside, engrossed in conversation with someone named Gabby. From what Sam could make out, the woman, girl, whatever, had spent a wild, drunken night in Vegas and someone had snapped compromising shots that showed up on Twitter. Sam wasn’t into the social networking scene but he knew a lot of people who were and he knew that once something was on the Internet it was there forever. If something went viral it was either a blessing or, in this Gabby girl’s instance, a curse.

“Where was your bodyguard when this wild bunch talked you into playing strip pool in their suite?” Harper asked. A beat later she rolled her eyes. “I was afraid you were going to say that. First thing you need to do is to fire that irresponsible reprobate. His job is to keep you out of trouble, not to incite it or, in this case, play along. I don’t care if you begged him to. I don’t care if you’d been dying to see him naked. Yes, I know. Most bodyguards
are
built. Listen to me Gabby.
Gabby!
We need to concentrate on damage control. I’ll handle the bulk of it, but here’s what you’re going to do.”

Sam slipped off his coat and sat on the edge of the same red chair Mina had settled into yesterday. Rather than lose patience, he listened while Harper took calm control of a disastrous situation. Apparently Gabby was an up-and-coming star, a featured actress on a show being touted as the next
Glee
. She played a bubbly cheerleader type, a good girl, and that’s how her fans perceived her to be in real life. Salvaging her now-tarnished reputation struck Sam as a PR nightmare. Yet Harper was on fire, looking as though she were eating up every second of the challenge.

He didn’t get her. At. All.

When she finally signed off, her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. “What’s up, Rambo? I’ve got a crisis to spin.”

Sam rose, not quite towering over her, but making his presence known. Holding Harper’s attention was a challenge in itself. “That text I sent you last night.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It was nothing. Seriously. I sent a couple of e-mails and texts, pitched the story with an heiress-turned-philanthropist angle. Cake. Caught on like wildfire. Did you see the flurry on TMZ?”

“What the hell is TMZ?” Every time she mentioned it his brain went to DMZ (demilitarized zone). He was pretty sure they weren’t connected.

She scrunched her brow. “What world do you live in?”

“The real world?”

She snorted then took off toward the kitchen. “Did the kids enjoy my cupcakes?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Did you try one?”

“No.”

She tossed a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulder. “Why not?”

“About this media hype revolving around Rae. I need you to snuff it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the Cupcake Lovers are contracted to release that recipe book with a New York publisher.”

“The text specified self-publishing.”

“I know. This isn’t your fault, precisely. It’s mine.”

She whirled then, hands on hips. “What do you mean
precisely
?”

“Why didn’t you check with me before you took action?’

“Why would I? You said you needed a favor. The text you forwarded me was pretty clear.”