Dearest Clementine (32 page)

Jenna doesn’t miss my use of Wheeler’s word. She turns to me, hands on her hips, and lets out a deep sigh. “Good lord, girl. What am I going to do with you?” The more frustrated she gets, the thicker her Southern accent gets. “Go clean up because I’m letting him in, and you are going to talk to him. I don’t understand how you can go to Daren for help, but you leave out Gavin.”

“I didn’t call Daren for help.
You
called my brother, and they’re attached at the damn hip. Since Daren and I talked the other night and cleared the air, he’s been acting like he did before we dated. It was always the three of us since we were little. I can’t help that we have that history. He’s helping me a lot, and before you give me that look, you should know that
nothing
is going on. I’m not interested in him. At all.”

I don’t wait for her reply as I shut myself in the bedroom and change. I pull on jeans and a t-shirt and tie my hair into a messy ponytail. A few minutes later, there’s a tap on my door.

Placing my hand on the handle, I close my eyes.
You have to stop hiding. Let him in.

When Gavin sees me, he looks as uncertain as I feel, which unsettles me more, but he’s here, now, and my heart thuds faster, quickened by his close proximity. I think back to Monday night when I saw him walking into the gym, laughing with his friends. The realization that he isn’t like this with me, not anymore, makes me wonder if I’m even any good for him.

“I guess you heard what happened yesterday.” I want to hug him but don’t.

He takes a few tentative steps into my room. I’m pained by the distance between us that started with Angelique and wormed its way to Daren. The burden of unspoken things is clearly taking its toll. We are three feet apart, but it might as well be a gulf.

“I did, but I wish I’d heard it from you.” His jaw clenches.

The only way to break these barriers, to be close again, is to tell him everything, but he’s yet to disclose his secrets that he started keeping first. Do I really want to do this? To keep tabulations of past insults? This is exhausting. I don’t do angst well.

Maybe I could start by saying something small but honest and see if he reciprocates. I want to take a small step and be vulnerable with Gavin.

“I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to know what I’d written, to see me in that light.”

His eyes soften, and he takes a step closer. “I know what it’s like to be judged for what you write. For every article I publish, I get an inbox full of hate mail.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve read your stuff. You’re a brilliant reporter.”

He shrugs as though uneasy with the compliment. “You’ve had that advantage.” I raise my eyebrows, wondering what he means. He clears his throat. “You know what I’ve written because I don’t use a pen name.”

My eyes turn down to the floor. Of course he’s known I have a pen name. I told him as much when we first started studying together. I just never told him what it was. Nothing was stopping him from asking.
Unless he was waiting for me to offer it.

“I wish you felt like you could talk to me.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“I could say the same thing.” My stupid mouth opens before I realize what I’m saying. He nods slowly, his distance growing.

I think about how he spends time with Angelique. Hell, I saw her walk in with him at the gym only two nights ago, and yet he and I aren’t spending time together. I’ve never thought of myself as a jealous girl, but damn it, I’m pissed.

Gavin exhales and starts for the door, pausing to place a pink square of paper into my palm and kiss my forehead. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Don’t leave.
But I don’t say the words. I can’t. And then he’s gone.

I open my hand to find a Post-It with something scribbled across it. A quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
“That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.”

God, I’m an idiot. He comes here to comfort me and I piss him off. I suck at relationships. I start to go after him but stop at my front door, remembering I have a lawn full of reporters. My situation has garnered enough attention to have a few news trucks parked outside, and yet Gavin didn’t ask to interview me or get a story when his specialty is investigative reporting. He never leveraged me for his own advancement. My vision gets blurry, and I blink back the tears, the ache in my chest overwhelming.

I stare down at his note in my hand and wish I knew what to do.

-
25 -

The best distraction from how screwed up things are with Gavin is to deal with the shitstorm brewing over my book. If I can deal with this myself, maybe I can figure out how to straighten things out with him. Time to make some calls.

The first one is to the dean’s office.

After I’m on hold for about ten minutes, a polite elderly-sounding woman tells me Dean Marshall wants to see me on Monday to discuss the allegations made by Wheeler. Her calm, perky demeanor is better suited for taking my lunch order at a 1950s diner than asking me to attend the Spanish Inquisition.

Daren’s legal firm hooks me up with top-notch representation, a woman named Kate Peterson. I can hear the disgust in her voice for Wheeler, and thank Jesus, Joseph and the Easter bunny that Daren got me an attorney who sounds like she might tear off my former professor’s man parts personally and enjoy it. She says she’ll start working on a slander lawsuit immediately.

Gathering up a little more courage, I call my boss Roger who chews me out for not letting him know about my alter ego sooner so I could do some in-store book signings. After grumbling about how his week is shot to shit because I can’t come in this evening, his voice softens.

“Look, kid, take the week off so you can deal with school, but you have to promise to do a few promotional events when you get back. That book of yours is a hit.”

“Thanks, boss.”

“Don’t call me that. You know it makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” I tease.

He laughs. He’s taking this really well. Guess I need to address the polka-dotted elephant in the room.

“Roger, I want you to know I didn’t plagiarize.”

Before I can say anything else, he cuts me off.

“Of course you didn’t. Any jackass knows that. Now hurry up and figure all this out so you can get back here and do next month’s schedules.”

I’m relieved not to have to explain more, and he wishes me luck, offering me more time off if I need it. I start to relax now that everyone in my small circle of friends has been so supportive.

My phone rings for the tenth time in the last hour, and although I’ve managed to dodge a couple of reporters so far, I know I have to make a statement soon. As if on cue, a familiar name flashes on my cell. I don’t even get a chance to say hello before Maeve, my publicist, starts in on me.

“I don’t think I need to explain my job to you, Clementine, but I’m your liaison to the media. However, if I don’t know what the fuck is going on, I can’t do my job, which makes me very unhappy.” Her British accent sounds amazingly sophisticated even though she’s telling me off.

“It’s nice to talk to you too, Maeve.” I roll my eyes. She can be so dramatic. Of course, I’ve never made her job easy.

After listening to a few rounds of apologies, she’s quiet. “I hope there is no merit to the charges.”

“No, God, of course not!” I share what my attorney has said, which seems to assuage her ruffled feathers.

“Great. Now get yourself a few nice outfits.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Why?”

“You need to get in front of this. I have a few phone calls out to the Sunday morning news shows. I’d love to get you out there this evening, but the story will resonate more if you issue your statement during a slow news cycle. So pray there isn’t a terrorist attack or natural disaster this weekend that messes with your PR.”

“You want me to do an interview?”

“Interviews. Plural. Or maybe one big one. I’m still working out the details.”

My mind floods with fears, but she’s right. I have to state my side. It’s like being on trial. If I don’t do the interviews, it’ll seem like I have something to hide. And I don’t. Not anymore.

“About that. I have a request.”

* * *

After being on the phone for two hours, I’m in a nearly vegetative state when my cell rings again. I should let it go to voice mail when I see that it’s an unknown caller, but I accidentally hit accept.

At first, all I hear is music. I recognize it as a Beatles tune, but as the lyrics become clearer, my hand starts to shake. It’s called
Run for Your Life
. The evil song about a guy who would rather kill his girl than watch her end up with someone else plays in my ear.

“Did you get that, love?” Wheeler asks with a snicker before he hangs up.

I’m still gripping my phone when I walk out into the living room and find Jenna, Harper and Dani watching an episode of
True Blood
.

“Is it weird that I think Eric Northman was hotter when he was a heartless asshole?” Dani asks.

Harper turns to her with a raised eyebrow, looking like she might launch into a clinical assessment when she spots me. The phone slips from my hand, crashing to the wood floor.

“I… I might need to take off for a few days,” I say before I break down, sobbing.

-
26 -

You’ve got to be kidding me.
The first thing I notice is that my palatial hotel suite smells like lavender and candles. The second is the massive mahogany sleigh bed dressed in a delicate ivory comforter that looks
way
too big for one person. The last detail that sends my wallet into heart-attack mode is that from my balcony—yes, I have a balcony—I have the most stunning view of Copley Square below where dozens of people stroll around the fountain in front of the majestic Trinity Church.

“This can’t be right,” I tell the bellhop, who sets my small suitcase by the door.

“Ma’am, if you’re Mr. Sloan’s guest, this is the room.” He stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say something and itches his collar nervously.
Oh.

“Shit, hold on.” I reach into my bag for my wallet and hand him a five, which I realize is probably a small tip for a five-star hotel, but I’m on a budget.

As soon as the door closes, I dial Daren.

“Are you crazy? This is too much!” I yell the second he answers.

“Do you like it?” he asks with a laugh.

“It’s gorgeous.” Uh, understatement! Try bridal-suite amazing. Wait, that’s bad.

I stop breathing, trying to choose my words carefully. “Daren, I really appreciate your help, but why are you doing this? You know I’m in a relationship, right?” Or kind of in a relationship. Damn it. I don’t know what Gavin and I are anymore, but he’s where my heart is, and I don’t want to give Daren any mixed messages.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I saw how you looked at that guy at the gym, and I’m not trying to throw my hat in the ring here, but I owe you, and we’re friends, right?”

“Yes, we’re friends, but this goes above and beyond—”

“You need a place to stay until Boston PD can get back to you about another restraining order, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Look, I know you don’t see your brother often because he’s been afraid to put us in the same room together, so if we can put this behind us, maybe the three of us can go back to being friends. Besides, I put you through a lot of shit. I know because I read your book, and even
I
think I was a dick, so look at this as my way to put the universe back in order again. You didn’t deserve how I treated you, and if I can do something nice for you once in a while, you should let me. My dad’s hotel has great security, and at least I’ll know you’re safe. Jax has an away game this weekend, and he doesn’t want you to be alone, so unless you want to sleep on my couch, you’re going to have to deal with it.”

“But I’ll barely be able to afford your attorney, much less this suite.”

“Honey, you’re not paying for any of it.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Daren, stop. I won’t let you throw money at all of my problems. I’ll find a way to pay for my attorney, who’s great, by the way. But this suite is too much.”

“Emmie, we grew up together. We played in the same crib. You were my first kiss when I was twelve, the first girl to slap me when I was an ass, and the first girl to break my heart. But I also think you’ve taught me more than anyone I know. You’re not some random woman. Now let me take care of this or you’ll hurt my feelings.”

I roll my eyes at his melodrama. He has this all wrong. I
so
did not break his heart, and I would remind him of this and correct his revisionist history except he keeps yammering on in that Daren-Sloan-rules-the-world kind of way.