Hate to Love Page 8

  "What if they start dragging things up, and I don't respond correctly? What if I say something wrong, or they bring up something I don't even know about yet? With as much trouble as I've gotten into in public, do you really think this is a good idea? I think I should lay low and start doing some charity work or some shit." He looks at Mrs. Livingston. "I'm sorry."

  Even though it doesn't sound exactly genuine, it's the closest thing I've ever heard to an actual apology come out of his mouth. I wish I'd captured it on my phone, so I could use it as my ringtone for him from now on.

  "Look, Shane," I say. "This might come as a surprise to you, but it's not really your choice. It’s obvious that you are incapable of making these types of decisions for yourself. That's why I'm here. You need to wrap your head around the idea that you're not in charge of this. I am. My job is to make you look good, and hopefully get people to forget how idiotic you've been so you don’t end up unemployed. If either one of us is going to have a chance, you need to do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it."

  He's glaring at me so hard I can feel his eyes burrowing into me, but I won't back down. Not this time. I see Mrs. Livingston stand.

  "You know what? I've seen this one a bunch of times. This is the one where the police think they know who did it, but Jessica proves they didn't know, and she comes up with a creative little farce to get the real killer to confess. You know that one." Of course, I do, considering that’s essentially every episode of the series ever produced. "I'm just going to go ahead and head back to my apartment for a little afternoon nap. Shane, it was lovely to meet you."

  He tells her goodbye, and Mrs. Livingston quietly slips out of my apartment. I hear the door to her apartment close a few seconds later.

  "I'm leaving, too.”

  Without another word, he walks out of the apartment, closing the door slowly behind him. I almost would have preferred if he'd slammed it. A raving, angry man is far easier to deal with than one who's simmering and unpredictable.

  I haven't even gotten into the kitchen with the pizza box when my phone rings.

  "Hi, Joe," I say to my brother after answering the call. "What's up?"

  "Hey, little sister. What are you up to?"

  Hearing Joe's voice is reassuring. I haven't lived here very long, but it feels like I've been away from my brother forever. Until I moved here, we were never apart for more than a couple of days. Rather than going to college out of state, he stayed in town, so he could take care of me after our parents died. If he hadn't, the court would have sent me to some faceless relative I'd met when I was a toddler but hadn't seen or heard of since. I've carried guilt about that with me for years, knowing he might have had the opportunity for so much more if he had enrolled at his first-choice school. Maybe it would have been him who would have gotten the chance at a career instead of Shane. Maybe he wouldn't have relied so much on Shane and been hurt so badly for it.

  "I actually just finished up a meeting with my new client. As of today, I am no longer a secretary. At least, not for the time being."

  "And not a coffee wench, either?"

  I make a face at the phone.

  "I told you, that's not what we're called. And, no."

  I pause halfway through stuffing my shoes into the shoe holder on the back of my bedroom door, thinking about what I just said. "Actually, I'm not sure. I haven't talked to my boss about that yet. But probably not. Maybe, though. It doesn't matter. What matters is I can officially call myself a PR rep."

  "That's fantastic. I'm so proud of you."

  "Thank you."

  "So, who's this new client?"

  Oh, shit.

  I pause again. This isn't where I wanted this conversation to go. I was so excited to tell my brother about my new job I didn't even think about him asking that question.

  "Um," I say, hesitating.

  "What?" Joe asks. "You can't tell me? Is it top secret?"

  What are the chances he'll buy it if I say yes? Probably not good. Besides, he'll find out eventually. It's better for me to go ahead and tell him now, so he doesn't get upset and feel like I was hiding it from him.

  "Well," I start, perching on the edge of my bed to prepare myself for his reaction. "It's Shane."

  "Shane?"

  I nod even though he can't see me.

  "Yes. Shane Lawson."

  There's a brief pause, and I hear Joe let out a long sigh.

  "Why would you take him on as a client?" he finally asks.

  "I didn't really take him as a client. He was forced on me."

  "What do you mean? How can you be forced to take on a client?"

  I tell him the entire story, not sparing a single detail.

  "I hate that you have to represent him," Joe mutters.

  "I know. I'm not too happy about it, either, but it could mean amazing things for me."

  "If he doesn't screw you over, too. If he could do it to me after everything I did for him, and all the years we were friends, don't think he'd hesitate to do it to you. He doesn't even know you."

  "That was pretty clear when he didn't recognize me at first."

  "Good. If he thinks even for a second, he'd be able to gain something by dicking you over, he'll do it."

  Joe doesn't say it, but I know he's just as hurt as he is angry. He's thinking about the friendship that faded, the promises Shane forgot, and the way he took advantage of Joe to chase the success he so desperately wanted.

  "It's going to be fine," I say. "I'm going to be fine. I can take care of myself. Shane Lawson isn't going to get the best of me."

  "Promise me something. Don't fall for him, OK? He might have been with Vanessa for a long time, but don't trust it. Before he met her, and I'm sure after they broke up, he went through women like they were nothing more than bottles of water. And I'm sure you've heard how his relationship with Vanessa ended."

  Cue the PR rep.

  "Yes, I've heard the accusations. But that's all they are. Accusations. There's absolutely no proof, and Shane says it never happened. That's going to be a major focus of my work with him. I'm going to clear his name."

  "Even if it's not true, I don't want him manipulating you."

  "I don't think he even fully processes that I'm a woman, much less that I might merit any sort of romantic interest."

  I decide to leave out that I've never put a lot of stock in dating, have never had a boyfriend, and am still a virgin. I don't really think those are things I need to share with my brother.

  "Just be careful."

  "I will," I reassure him. "Speaking of all this. Can you think of any way I might be able to prove Vanessa is lying about the abuse? Shane won't say it, but I’m worried the rumors could escalate to actual charges if we don't figure out how to get her to retract what she said soon."

  "No," Joe says. "I don't know how you're going to do that."

  "You're not just saying that because you want him to get hurt, are you?"

  "No. I don't want him to get hurt, Julie. Humiliated is fine. Knocked off his pedestal and forced to live a normal life would even be great. But I don't want him in jail – especially if he didn’t do it. I'm not that vindictive."

  "OK. If you think of anything, let me know, will you?"

  "I will. So, other than the whole Shane situation, are you doing alright?"

  "I'm fine."

  We fall into a more comfortable conversation about Mrs. Livingston, the pastries I've eaten in the last week, and Bindi's recent and brief foray into the world of temporary neon hair dye, while he fills me in on what’s happening back home. By the end of the conversation I'm homesick and feeling discouraged. I know I need to push as hard as I can and get through this. I can't let this opportunity pass me by. I owe more than that to myself. I owe it to Joe.

  Chapter Seven

  Shane

  Three days later…

  "So, what you're saying is not everything your former girlfriend accused you of is a lie?"

  My teeth tighten against the wor
ding the reporter used. He's smirking at me from behind black-rimmed hipster glasses I can almost guarantee have no prescription, and that go perfectly with his greasy pompadour. I know they are just trying to trip me up and make me say something they can twist and manipulate into a confession.

  "She isn't accusing me of anything. I'm not interested in sitting here and besmirching Vanessa’s reputation. That's not the reason I decided to do this press conference."

  I can't believe I just used 'besmirching' in a sentence. It's one of the go-to phrases Julie gave me when we were preparing for the conference. I've been unsure about doing this from the moment it was first mentioned. The last place I want to be is sitting here, talking about Vanessa, in front of every reporter, blogger, and sports expert the team could fit into the room. Despite my reservations, I eventually decided to just go along with it. If Julie really thinks it will make a difference, I'll sit here and let them lob questions, and accusations masquerading as questions, at me. I'm doing my best to stay calm and answer them how Julie told me to. Over the last three days, we've spent hours watching similar conferences and practicing the types of responses I should give.

  "What is the reason you came here to do this press conference?" another reporter asks.

  "As I've said before," I say, "I'm here to acknowledge the accusations, and give my official statement."

  "But why now?" Hipster Glasses asks. "Your reputation hasn't exactly been glowing in the past year or more, yet you've never made any attempt to set the record straight or defend yourself. Why are you coming forward this time? It seems to me this is an attempt to distract us or cover up something else you feel guilty about."

  I feel my heart pound violently in my chest. This has quickly escalated from denying Vanessa's accusations to defending my life choices. This is exactly why I didn't want to do this in the first place, but there's no turning back now.

  "You're entitled to your own opinion about me," I say. "That's one of the best things about living in this great country. You can think anything you want, but you don't get to perpetuate lies about me. Until there is concrete evidence to anything she's said about me, or about our relationship, I am innocent. And I'll tell you right now, there is no evidence. I am innocent. I regret many of the choices I've made. I believe I started this conversation by saying that. I did wait too long to open up this type of discussion, but I'm only human. I strive to be the best I can be, but sometimes I make decisions I shouldn't. I admit I haven't been a good role model lately. I'm coming forward now in light of false accusations that could not only damage my personal reputation and my professional life, but also the way children look at me. I want to reassure the public that I'm on a path of personal healing, and change."

  I quickly go back over what I just said, making sure I recited every word Julie had me memorize. I hate feeling like a puppet, and I'm not even sure it's working. Most of the faces in front of me are just as stern as when I first started talking.

  "The public?" Glasses asks with a mirthless laugh. "Is that really how you refer to the countless fans who have supported you throughout your career? I think they deserve better than that.”

  My hands clench, and I can feel my blood boiling. I try to keep myself calm, and not express how furious he's made me. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I also know that if I let out even a fraction of the frustration I’m feeling, this will result in the opposite of what Julie's trying to accomplish. If I let even one sentence out, this press conference will essentially turn into my retirement party. I draw in a deep breath and try to formulate the right words. My eyes slide over to where Julie's standing. She hovers near the door, watching me carefully. I can see the desperation in her eyes, her hands clenched right under her chin. A slight, almost imperceptible nod from her gives me the nudge I need.

  "I didn't say that. I would never suggest something like that. I said the public because for now, that's all I have the right to call the amazing people who have followed me, supported me, and welcomed me into their home during every game and appearance of my career. They are the real reason I'm here today, and I will continue to do everything I can to prove myself innocent and once again earn the right to call them my fans."

  An audible sigh ripples through the crowd, and Julie's shoulders relax as a smile breaks across her face. The mood of the conference takes an upswing from there, and soon I'm able to steer the questions and conversation to a satisfactory conclusion. When it finally ends, and everyone starts filing out of the room, Julie deftly dodges and navigates her way to me.

  "You did great," she says." I can't believe how well you handled that jerk. I was positive you were going to fly over the table at him at any minute."

  "Don't think I didn't think about it," I say. I lean back in my chair, combing my fingers through my hair. "That was fucking brutal."

  She nods.

  "It was," she says. "But I also feel like it was a step in the right direction. You definitely got a few of them thinking."

  "You really think so?" I ask.

  I see Coach, Mr. Tinker, and Mrs. Evans walking toward us. They're smiling at me in a way I haven't seen in longer than I'd like to admit. Coach reaches his hand out to me as he gets closer. I take it, and he pats me hard in the back with his other.

  "I must say, you surprised me. And that doesn't happen very often. I didn't think you'd actually be able to turn this around."

  "Well," I say, "I don't necessarily think I've turned it around, yet."

  "Maybe not," Coach says, "but at least you're moving forward now. You finally got yourself a rep who seems to know what she's doing. You are taking the initiative and actually putting some effort into this. I'm proud of you, son."

  "Thank you," I say. "Julie's got me on a tight leash. She says she's going to be able to get my endorsements back and everyone on my side again by the end of summer."

  "I'm hoping so," Mr. Tinker says. "You keep doing whatever she says."

  "I will."

  They walk away, and I turn to Julie.

  "I've got you on a tight leash, huh?"

  "I had to tell him something," I say. "I still think most of this is bull."

  "Are you serious?" she asks. "You went through all that, and you're still going to be this stubborn?"

  "I'm not being stubborn," I say. "I'm being realistic. Do you really think me sitting up here and saying a few words that sound good is actually going to make a difference?"

  "Yeah, actually, I do. Half, if not more, of the people in this room today still probably think you were lying through your teeth. But at least you got them thinking. At least you were able to get through to some of them. We're just going to keep working on the rest. Besides, look how happy your coach and the owners were. They're thrilled you're actually doing something."

  "That doesn't have anything to do with me," I say. "They're just thinking about themselves."

  Julie lets out an exasperated sigh and throws her hands up.

  "Fine," she says. "If that's the way you want to be, then go for it. You can drag your feet and be as pessimistic as you want to be. Cut your damn self from the team before the first game for all I care. Just keep yourself in line until then. Your future isn't the only one riding on this, and I'm not going to let you pull me down with you. "

  The smile from before has disappeared from her face, and she turns on her heel, stalking out of the room. I wait a few minutes before leaving. Walking into a swarm of reporters would not be a good move right now, according to Julie. As soon as I step out of the conference room, I find myself immediately wishing I had waited a little longer. Only a few steps away, Kilmer stands, his eyes burning into me. He stalks toward me before I notice Vanessa is standing behind him.

  "What in the hell are you doing here?" I ask.

  "I bet you thought that was real cute, huh?" he sneers.

  "What?"

  "Your little show in there."

  "How'd you get in here? You aren't a member of the press."

  "Maybe
not, but I am your teammate, and my girlfriend happens to be who you were up there talking shit about. Those people at the door didn't even bat an eye when I walked in. Shows how much they care about your safety. It seems they're already shifting their concern to the soon-to-be new face of the team. Don't worry, though. I'll be sure to have a really nice speech prepared when I talk about your timely retirement."

  My fist forms so tightly I can feel my nails cutting into my palm. Vanessa steps up beside him, and I see her smirking at me. This is exactly what she wants. I relax my hand. I won't give this to her.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" I ask. "Why would you do this to me?"

  She gives a look of mock confusion and innocence.

  "Do what to you, Shane? All I did was tell the truth. I want to empower women everywhere to know they aren't alone, and that they are strong, and can rise above the abuse." The simpering look turns into a vicious smile. "How was that? Do you think it was convincing? I'm thinking about using that for my next interview. A couple of talk shows are sniffing around."

  "Everything you've said is a lie," I say.

  "Of course, it is," she says with a bitter laugh. "Isn't it so perfect, though? Everybody believes me, and it isn't even that hard. You've been so out of control they're all just looking for more things you've done wrong. Bobby came up with this. It's been so easy. All I had to do is sniffle a little, cry a few tears, and babble about trying to make you better. They lapped it right up."

  "I didn’t do anything to deserve this bullshit," I hiss. "Why, Vanessa?"

  "Because you deserve to be knocked down a few pegs," Kilmer interjects. His eyes are filled with contempt and hatred. "You've never known what it's like to have to live in someone's fucking shadow. All of us work just as hard as you do, if not harder, and everyone ignores us, because compared to the mighty Shane Lawson, we're nothing. But that's going to change. Your time has passed. You're not coming back from this. Not this time."

  There's so much I want to say to him, but I swallow the words down. Instead, I step around him, and walk out of the building. I get into my car and head straight to Julie's apartment. She hasn't physically worked at the firm building since Mr. Slidell first assigned her to work with me. He agreed to let her work from home since she doesn't have an office of her own, and it wouldn't be the best situation to sit at her secretary desk while hashing out the summer ahead of us. Every time we've met it's been at her apartment, so I don't know where else to look, and I need to talk to her.