Hate to Love Page 13

  She pulls out a pair of jeans, and it's obvious they aren't her size. Reaching into the bag again, she pulls out a folded piece of paper and opens it.

  "What's that?"

  "A note from Sue. 'In case you didn't pack anything, either.' I think this bag is for you."

  She hands the bag and the jeans over to me and places the box on her lap. Lifting off the top, she looks inside.

  "Better?"

  "Definitely. I'm going to go change."

  Julie goes into the bathroom, so I change in the bedroom. She's finished before I even get a chance to put my belt on.

  "How do you do that?" I ask as she comes into the room in a blue sundress and sandals. "Most women take forever to get ready."

  "I have my moments," she says.

  I watch her fold her gown from the night before carefully over one arm, and a thought occurs to me.

  "I thought you said you never wear sundresses," I say.

  "I said I don't spend my weekends in pink sundresses," she responds. "I don't know, though. Maybe I'll add a few more of these into my rotation."

  "You should," I tell her. "They look great on you."

  I take a step toward her, but Julie starts for the door.

  "I'm going to go," she says. "Thank you, again, for everything."

  "You don't have to rush off," I say.

  "These contacts are really bothering me," she says. "And I don't have my glasses here. I just need to get home and start planning our strategy for the next couple of weeks. I'll call you when I figure it out."

  The words rush out of her mouth, as if she's trying to force them out as fast as she can, so she can leave. I walk her to the door, and she smiles up at me for a second.

  "I had fun last night," I tell her.

  "Me, too."

  She slips out of the suite into the hallway, and I reluctantly close the door. Last night wasn't supposed to happen. Not that I haven't been thinking about it. I understand what Julie said about not getting distracted and focusing on the job in front of us. It makes sense, but I don't like it. I can't pretend I don't realize my attraction to her, or that my feelings toward her grow stronger every time I see her, but I also can't deny her resistance. Spending one night with her in my arms will have to be enough.

  For now.

  Julie

  "Don't look at me like that. It's not like I planned it. It just kind of… happened. No, I'm not saying it was an accident. I knew what I was doing. But that doesn't mean it can ever happen again."

  Rubber Duckie continues to stare at me blankly.

  "I already told Shane to pretend last night never happened, and that we need to focus on the job. That's what's important. There's only a month left. That's it. I can get through a month of pretending that nothing has changed between us, and then move on."

  R.D.’s wide-eyed expression mocks me.

  "You have absolutely no faith in me, you know that?"

  Before I can continue accusing a piece of adhesive rubber of being a bad friend, my phone rings. Shaking the bubbles off my hand, I dry it on the towel sitting and waiting for me on the toilet lid and reach for my phone. Shane's name glows on the caller ID, and I don't know if I should answer it. Hearing his voice while I'm naked might not be the best thing for my resolve, even if we're nowhere near each other. Not answering it, though, will make me look like I'm overthinking everything.

  Which I am.

  "Hello?"

  "Did you get a lot done today?" Shane asks.

  "Yes. It was a really productive day."

  If by productive, I mean cleaning my apartment and trying not to think about Shane, while waiting for a brilliant idea to appear in my head.

  "Are you still working?"

  "No. I wrapped it up for the night an hour or so ago."

  "Can I come over?"

  I sit up straighter in the tub, my heart suddenly pounding.

  "Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

  "No. Everything's fine. I just thought if you’re done with work for the evening, and don't have any other plans, we could eat some pizza and try to prove Jessica Fletcher is the one murdering everyone."

  I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it incredulously. Is he trying to hit some sort of reset button? When I said we need to pretend like last night never happened, did he take that literally and decide we should go back to before the flirting began – when Mrs. Livingston butted into our first meeting with cover-pizza and a need for a mystery marathon?

  Suddenly I feel the idea I've been waiting for burst into my mind.

  "Oh, my god," I mutter.

  "It doesn't have to be pizza."

  "No, pizza's fine. I mean, it's not fine. I mean…. I’ll call you back."

  Ending the call, I slide my phone across the floor, so it won't get wet as I scramble out of the bath. I dry off as I run across the hall and dress as fast as I can. On my way back to the bathroom to try to create an only slightly toned-down version of the makeup from the gala, I scoop my phone off the floor and start doing some digging. My social media mining skills have improved dramatically over the last few weeks, which I fully intend to add to the skills section of my resume. Once I get the information I want, I finish my makeup, blast my hair with a blow-dryer, and rush out of the apartment.

  Twenty minutes later, I'm pushing my way through a sea of humanity in a crowded bar filled with flashing lights, multi-layered clouds of smoke, and several hundred drunk people. This might be slightly more difficult than I anticipated. I stop and look around. My eyes fall on a woman with a thick ponytail and half a shirt. Could it be that easy?

  She turns around, and I don't recognize her. Nope. Not that easy.

  I take a few steps, and another familiar-looking girl walks between two of the tables scattered beside the expansive dance floor.

  Yes?

  No.

  A few minutes later, it happens again. This is turning into the hardest Easter egg hunt ever. Finally, I hear an unmistakable voice. I've had to listen to it in sound clips since I first started working with Shane. I make my way through a wall of people toward the bar and see Vanessa perched on a stool like she's holding court. The smug smile on her face tells me she is delighted with herself like she's already won against Shane.

  Not on my watch.

  Reaching back into my high school days, I muster up all the emotion I can, dust off the improv skills I learned in two semesters of theater and approach her.

  "Vanessa?" I say in a shy, teary voice.

  Her expression fades slightly as she turns to look at me.

  "Yes," she says. "Do I know you?"

  I don't know how her relationship with Shane didn't work out. She's such a peach.

  "No," I say, managing a sniff. "But I really need to talk to you."

  "Why?" she asks.

  I look around dramatically, then lean closer to her.

  "It's really personal," I say.

  "I'm sorry, but I'm here with my friends. I'm a little busy."

  "Please," I say. "It's really important. It's about Shane."

  "Shane? Shane Lawson?"

  I nod. My gaze flickers over to the other side of the bar, and I consider the feasibility of grabbing one of the slices of lemon out of the garnish bucket and flicking a little juice in my eye to work up some tears. That might be a bit too much dedication to my ruse. Fortunately, it doesn't seem like it's necessary. Vanessa hesitates for a moment, then nods.

  "Fine," she says. "But I only have a few minutes."

  "That's plenty," I say. "Thank you."

  I step back, so she can get off her stool, then follow her through the bar toward the bathroom. Once inside, the blaring of the music is somewhat muffled by the door, and I feel like I can speak at a normal tone.

  "What did you need to talk to me about?" she asks. "I've already made my statement about Shane to the media."

  I nod again.

  "I know," I say. "That's why I'm here. I want to talk about what happened to yo
u."

  "I'm not interested in doing any other interviews. Especially in the bathroom of a bar while I have friends waiting for me."

  "No," I say. "I'm not here for that. I just want to talk to you about what happened, because he did the same thing to me."

  I wait for her reaction. It doesn't take long. All the color from her face drains away.

  "What? What did he do?" she asks.

  "He was so sweet at first," I say, the story already unfolding in my head. "We've only been dating for a few weeks, and I thought I'd found this amazing man. Recently, though, I started to notice he's changing. He's so angry and yelling all the time. It seems like everything I do is wrong, and no matter how hard I try I can't make him happy. Then one night he got upset because I made him the wrong chicken for supper, and he hit me. I couldn't believe it. I didn't think something like that could ever happen. I didn't even want to tell anybody, I was so embarrassed. I felt like it was definitely my fault. But then I heard more and more about what you went through with him. I felt like I'm not alone. There's someone else who really understands what I've gone through."

  "Well, I'm really sorry you had to deal with all that," Vanessa said, sounding about a thousand miles away from actual sincerity.

  I crank up the desperation.

  "I know you are," I say, reaching out for her. "That's why I came here to talk to you. I wanted to know how you're getting through it, and how you're able to just live a normal life. It's just so hard."

  "I guess you just have to put it behind you and move on."

  She tries to take a step around me to get out of the bathroom, but I shift to block her way.

  "But you didn't put it behind you," I say. "You didn't just ignore it or try to pretend like it didn't happen. The two of you hadn’t dated in a really long time, but you were strong enough to come forward. I think that's what I need to do. I thought maybe the two of us could stay in touch. Maybe we could even work together to help each other heal and help others."

  "Work together?" she asks.

  "Yes," I explain. "The two of us together would be so much stronger than either one of us alone. We could start a blog or go on talk shows and talk about our experiences. Maybe we could even write a book. I've been thinking about talking to the police."

  "The police?"

  "Yes. What he did is a crime. He doesn't have the right to treat us this way, and if we let him get away with it, he's going to do it to other people. Can we live with ourselves if we let that happen?"

  Vanessa takes a step back from me, shaking her head and holding her hands up to her sides.

  "Look, I don't want any part of that."

  "You don't have to be afraid," I tell her. "We're in this together. He can't get you anymore."

  "No. We're not in this together. If you want to go through with all this, you're going to have to do it on your own."

  "Why would you say that?"

  I can see she's about to crack.

  "Because I made it up," Vanessa finally snaps.

  "You made it up?" I ask.

  "Yes. OK? Yes. I made it all up. I lied about Shane mistreating me. So, you can't fucking lean on me. I don't have anything to do with this. I didn't actually think he was like that. He's an ass, but he's never been violent toward me or any other woman I knew about."

  "Why would you do something like that?"

  "Like I said, he can be a real asshole. And he's been making things hard for my new boyfriend. I wanted to make him miserable for a while, and maybe get him cut from the team. But I'm not about to get myself wrapped up in anything legal. You need to just back off and pretend you never talked to me."

  "So, you made everything up?" I ask. "Shane never hurt you in any way?"

  "No. He never hit me, and if you tried to drag me to court with you, I'd swear to that. Now it's time to leave me alone."

  I can barely contain my smile.

  "Gladly."

  Chapter Twelve

  Shane

  "No. He never hit me, and if you tried to drag me to court with you, I'd swear to that. Now it's time to leave me alone."

  Julie grins as she pauses the recording on her phone.

  "How did you get that?" I ask in amazement.

  "Jessica Fletcher," she says.

  "Jessica Fletcher?" I ask, confused. "A fictional character helped you?"

  "No. She didn't actually help me but watching her did. You reminded me of it when we were on the phone last night."

  "So, because I mentioned watching a show with you, you went to a bar and manipulated my ex into admitting she lied about me by pretending I was abusing you?"

  "Yes. Jessica's done it like five times. Not that, specifically, but she tricks people into admitting to murders using recordings all the time. I thought I'd give it a try. And it worked."

  "It definitely did. Holy shit. I can't believe she just spilled like that. So, what do we do now?"

  "I think we need to go talk to Vanessa. Maybe give Kilmer a call, too."

  Three days later…

  "I'm impressed by your willingness to go above and beyond," Mr. Slidell says to Julie. "It's not every rep who will put themselves out there that like that just to help clear a client's name."

  She beams. "Well, like you said, the stakes are pretty high. I want to do everything I can to be as successful with this project as I can be. The accusations against Shane were a big part of the reason his reputation suffered recently. I figured if I could find a way to get rid of those, it would be easier to solve the rest of his issues."

  "Those are really good instincts," Mr. Slidell says. "And it seems to have really paid off. Vanessa made a statement to the media retracting everything she said about Shane, and even apologized for making the statements to begin with."

  "Yeah," I say. "It seems playing that recording of her and threatening to release it to the media ourselves lit a fire under her ass."

  "This is really good for us," he continues. "But it's not enough."

  "What do you mean it's not enough?" I ask. "Like you said, Vanessa made that statement. The heat is off me."

  "In that situation, yes," he says. "But you were having trouble well before she ever said anything. Her accusations made the entire situation worse, but your reputation and ability were already suffering. You can't expect to fix just one thing and have everything else fall into place. There are a few endorsements that still went to other players when you would have been a better fit for, and the coach told me he's been monitoring the team's social media. Apparently, there are still people making comments about you, they think you got to Vanessa, or still believe you are untrustworthy. You've made some big strides, but it's not enough."

  "What are we supposed to do?" I ask. I'm angry, and frustrated. "I've been working my ass off on that field, and when I'm not practicing, Julie and I are trying to figure out ways I can turn around the public’s opinion of me. What else am I supposed to do?”

  "I don't know," Mr. Slidell says, "but there's not much time left. You either need to figure something out or accept that this is the best you can do, and hope it works out."

  "You want me to just give up? Do you want me to just lay down and admit defeat?"

  "That's not what I'm saying," Mr. Slidell says. "I'm not telling you to give up, and that there's nothing that can be done. What I'm saying is that, as of right now, you have some work to do to convince your team that you’re worth the money and effort, and show fans you're worth supporting."

  "I think I have an idea," Julie says.

  She doesn't sound as enthusiastic as she has with her other ideas. In fact, her eyes flicker to me, almost nervously, when she says it.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  She shifts in her seat, clasping her hands together on her lap. She's wearing another dress, this one a soft green, with a light sweater over it. She looks confident and poised.

  "I don't think I should talk about it yet," she says. "I need to make a few phone calls to make sure it’s even possible. A
s soon as I know more, I'll let both of you know."

  That explanation doesn't inspire the most confidence in me, but she's been right so far. I don't have much of a choice other than to go along with her.

  "It will work out," I assure Mr. Slidell. "I still have a few weeks. I'm not giving up until the end."

  "I'm glad to hear that. I look forward to hearing about the next step in this process."

  Julie and I stand to leave, and I pause to let her go in front of me. Our eyes meet as she passes, and I feel my body begin to respond to her. When we reach the lobby, I take a step closer to her. I want to reach out and take her into my arms. I want to hold her and feel her lush little body up against me again. Not being able to do so is driving me crazy. I have to keep my mind focused, and not let it wander to how she looked stretched out on the bed in the hotel, as she gave herself completely to me, allowing me to touch and discover her in ways no one ever has.

  "What do you have in mind?" I ask.

  "I told you, I can't talk about it yet. I'm not sure it's even going to work out. I hope it does, but there's a chance I won't get the cooperation I need, so I don't want to give you any details until I know it's what we're going to do next."

  "Do you really think it will work?"

  She nods, biting down slightly on her bottom lip.

  "If it works out, yes, I really think it will. I'm just not sure I can pull it off."

  "Do you want to stop and get some coffee?"

  "I can't. I need to make this phone call. This is going to take some convincing."

  "That doesn't sound very optimistic."

  "I promise, I’ll do the best I can," she says.

  "And what happens if it doesn't work out? What are we going to do then?"

  Her shoulders drop slightly as she lets out a long breath.

  "I don't know, Shane. I'm really not sure. I'll call you later."

  She turns and walks out of the building, leaving me standing alone in the lobby. I started this process thinking it was ridiculous, positive it would only be a matter of days before Julie gave up on me, and everything blew over with the team. Now I realize even more than before how serious the situation is. I've watched Julie put everything into this project. I won’t let her fail.