Bad Reputation. Melinda Di LorenzoЧитать онлайн книгу.
an easy meeting,” he said.
“I’m not worried,” I lied.
“Relax. This is a sure thing.”
“How do you know?”
“Because going back on their word would make for bad press.”
My heart beat nervously. “The press?”
“Liandra told me how you feel about the spotlight and I’ll respect it, even if I don’t understand it,” he let me know.
I let out a breath, and ignored the lawyer’s briefly curious expression. My mistrust of the media wasn’t without reason. For months after my parents’ deaths, reporters hounded me, begging for the inside scoop. The last thing I wanted was my name aired in public once again. The city officials knew who I was, of course, but the bulk of the fundraising was carefully hidden behind my not-for-profit business, and virtual anonymity suited me just fine.
“Thank you,” I said gratefully.
“But just because I know about your media ban doesn’t mean that they need to know about it.” Keith inclined his head toward the boardroom.
On cue, the door swung open, and a bald man wearing an ill-fitting suit cleared his throat and invited us to join him and his colleagues. I followed Keith into the room with my head down and my stomach churning. I noted in a vague way that there were several men and no women at the long table, and that all of them were dressed in similarly grey suits with similarly unremarkable ties.
I wondered if Keith hadn’t received the memo about the dress code. But he didn’t seem bothered by it all. He nodded at the group and dropped his briefcase onto the table.
One of the men stood up and reached out to shake my hand. I stared at him, thinking of how he was going to react to my sweaty palm wrapped in his. Thankfully, Keith intercepted and gripped the man’s hand firmly.
“Have a seat,” one of the city officials suggested.
I started to pull a chair out, then froze as Keith spoke.
“Thanks, but no,” he said.
It wasn’t his words that held me in place. It was my glimpse of a dark-haired man at the table. My stomach dropped at the sight of the familiar face. I marveled that even after all this time apart, I still felt the residual pain of what he’d done to me. I didn’t love him anymore. I’d been telling myself it was true for a long time. Seeing him sitting there confirmed it. There was no leftover attraction, no spark of hope. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a gaping hole left behind by his betrayal. It was that hole that formed the foundation for the carefully constructed wall around my heart, after all.
“What’s he doing here?”
I didn’t realize that I’d spoken out loud until one of the other men answered. “Mark is our intern.”
He was staring at me, too, with frank curiosity. I looked away first.
“Is there a conflict?” Keith asked with a frown.
“Not at all,” I said quickly, and didn’t meet Mark’s eyes.
My lawyer didn’t look like he believed me, but he just snapped his briefcase open and began presenting my ideas in an authoritative voice.
As he outlined my plans for fundraising and alluded to a potential media hailstorm, he sounded logical, believable and convincing. I was impressed, and I wanted to focus on what he was saying. But most of my energy was used up on keeping my eyes away from the man across the room.
For a crazy minute, I wondered if my sleep-text had somehow brought Mark here.
I looked down at my fingers and tried again to listen to Keith. He was talking about my nonprofit company and asking the room to direct questions to him rather than me. He threw out numbers that made sense and fielded their inquiries confidently.
My mind wandered helplessly, and I hoped no one was watching me.
What are the chances that Mark just happened to show up here, hundreds of miles from home, on the day you’re presenting?
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Keith said, and I realized he was finished. “We’ll come back to you in six weeks with the agreed-upon amount.”
I avoided my ex’s stare and followed my lawyer out into the hall.
“Tucker, are you okay?” Keith asked.
“Fine.”
“Hmm.” He shrugged. “I hope you’re better at raising money than you are at lying. You’ve got forty-five days to come up with the balance. Can you do it?”
I nodded. “I’m already set up to do the student market this afternoon.”
“Good,” Keith said. “You seemed a little unsure in there.”
“Just nerves,” I stated with a tinny laugh.
I cringed as the boardroom door swung open.
“I’m sorry, Keith. I’ve got to go.” I took off before Mark could make his way out.
By the time I got back to my dorm, the unsettled feeling in my stomach had calmed enough for me to begin thinking about my next move.
Joey
I woke up to find myself sitting up. Admittedly, that was a new one. Asleep in my truck, or fully dressed in my bed, or dozing on some girl’s floor—those were to be expected after my monthly night of freedom. This was a new low. The sense of dread wracking my body was all too familiar. I didn’t have to think too hard to recognize the relationship between the three things—the sixth of every month, feeling sick, and the parade of women—but I chose not to acknowledge it. I shoved aside the automatic connection and assessed my situation instead.
I started by trying to recall the events of the evening before.
Everything was an unpleasant blur that started with the Jell-O shooter girl and ended with me waking up with a stiff back and an aching head.
Where was your brain last night, Joey?
The problem wasn’t even the seven watered-down shots. I could drink twice that and keep standing. It was just that it was the same thing every month. I flirted with a few girls, sorted through them like a deck of cards, and went home with whichever one was most likely to kick me out before the night was through. I had getting tastefully out-of-hand down to a damned science.
I stretched my legs across the hallway as I planned my escape from the dorm. I knew I needed to get out before some girl saw me.
That was when I saw the mismatched shoes approaching at breakneck speed. They flashed—green/gold, green/gold—in contrast with the speckled linoleum.
What the—
My thought cut off as I realized that the girl attached to the shoes hadn’t seen me, and wasn’t going to stop.
Green/gold, green/gold, green/gold.
“Hey!” I yelled.
My warning was about two seconds too late, and suddenly a swirl of vanilla-scented hair cascaded across my face. I inhaled, trying to catch a bit more of the pleasant smell.
As she stumbled and reached out for the wall, I caught sight of her face. It was one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. She had a perfect, upturned nose and a mouth that begged to be kissed. An attractive smattering of freckles peppered her nose, and when she stared down at me, I saw her eyes were a gorgeous, deep brown. I took her hand to steady her and a jolt of electric attraction swept through me.
Her eyes held mine for a second longer. Desire played across