“Mr. Julian seems to believe that you were having some sort of—of love affair with Calder Cunningham,” my dad sputters. “It’s rubbish. I can’t believe he’d make up such a scandal to push a few extra copies. I thought Intown Voice was a respectful publication.”
It would be easy for me to nod and play along with his outrage. After all, Asher Julian manipulated me. But I’m too emotionally exhausted to keep up the walls any longer. There’s no point in lying now.
“Actually, Dad, I need to tell you something.”
I keep it vague, of course. I tell him only what he needs to know: that I tried to convince Calder to give us the money his father had promised us, that I developed feelings for him, that he and I have been secretly dating these past few weeks. My dad’s eyes go wide when I begin my story, and by the end he’s practically purple.
But he doesn’t shout. No, that’s what makes it so horrible. He looks at me and asks in a strained voice, “So what the story says is true?”
“Yes,” I say. “I mean—no, not exactly as the article says it. He didn’t trick me into anything or take advantage of me. I’m not a victim.”
“You were in a very vulnerable position—”
“Dad. Do you seriously not trust me to take care of myself?”
“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s him. That smarmy, worthless—”
“He’s not like that,” I insist, standing. “I know how the tabloids make him look, but he’s a good man. He’s strapped for money and still he sent me a friggin’ Ludlam for freak’s sake.”
I watch the truth about the L’t reach his eyes.
udlam’s previous owner sink in.
“Men will buy you all sorts of things, honey,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean you have to give them whatever they want.”
“I never gave him anything I didn’t want to give.”
Ugh, this is not the conversation I want to be having with my dad right now.
“Not that it even matters,” I say quickly. “It’s over. He’s moving to New York, and I’ll probably never see him again.”
That calms my dad down a little. He turns a more natural shade of pink.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he says stiffly. “But sometimes these things happen for a reason. Whatever went on between you and Calder Cunningham—did you really expect it to last? After how he treated us?”
He did the best he could, I think. You have no idea what he’s been dealing with. But I don’t say it out loud. There’s no point in arguing it now. Not when it hurts so much just to think of him.
“Mr. Julian seems to think that we’ll get some extra attention by playing on people’s sympathy,” I say, unable to keep the edge of bitterness from my voice. “He certainly did a good job of making me look sympathetic.” More like plain old pathetic, but I keep that thought to myself.
“But at what cost? I hate that he’s cast you in the middle of all this nonsense.”
“Well, I was in the middle. Or at least on the periphery.”
“Still.” He reaches out and places his hand over mine on the desk. Most of his anger has dissipated for the moment in the wake of Over-Protective Dad Mode. “I don’t care how much something helps the Center if it comes at some great cost to you.”
“It’s a little late this time,” I say. “Asher got his cover story, and chances are this will be picked up by some larger outlets soon. We might as well make the best of the situation.” I sink back down in my chair and turn to my computer. “We should prepare some press packets. I imagine our phones are going to be ringing off the hook this week.” his hand through his hair. to10
“Are you sure, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I say, giving him the best smile I can muster under the circumstances. “We need to make sure that we come out of this looking capable and resourceful. We need to prepare blanket responses for the big questions we’re likely to hear. Figure out a general game plan about how we’re going to shift the focus to our programs and all the things we’re doing for the community. Show them the success story, not the scandal.”
Dad nods, but he still looks at least moderately unconvinced.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he says. “If you need to take a half day—”
“I’m fine, I promise,” I say, “I need—I need to do something. I need to be productive.”
He nods. “I’ll get to work on some press packets.” He turns to go but pauses at the door. “I love you, honey.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I collapse against my chair as soon as he’s out of sight. It’s not even nine o’clock and already I feel completely drained. And there are a thousand things to do to prepare for the onslaught I suspect we’re about to encounter.
He’s left the copy of Intown Voice on my desk. I know I should throw it away, but I can’t help staring back down at my picture. The image they selected for the cover is even worse than the one accompanying the article inside. How many awkward candid shots did Asher capture of me? I look desperate, anxious, weak. Why couldn’t they have chosen the one he took of me standing proudly in front of the wall of our students’ art in the gallery?
A Story of Desperation and Dirty Deeds, it says. I flip open to the article. I only skimmed it back at the diner, but now I allow myself to read every single word.
At first, I assumed Asher just made some lucky guesses about my interaction with Calder, but now that I read more closely, I realize that he was quite busy behind the scenes. He’s the first one to identify me as the woman in the paparazzi photos from my date with Calder at the park. He mentions that he discovered the truth about the Ludlam painting by researching auction records. His knowledge of my secret takes me a moment to" to make trip out to the Cunningham estate a few months ago came from a “well-respected source” who “chose to remain anonymous” because of his acquaintance with me.
If that’s not Garrett, I’ll eat my own foot.
Maybe Asher reached out to my ex after his name came up during our interview. Or maybe Asher’s disgust with Garrett was all a ruse—maybe they knew each other all along. It doesn’t matter where the truth lies. Either way, the effects are the same. Asher got his cover story, Garrett got some revenge, and Calder is gone.