by Jena Petrie
Her hand dropped from the indicator lever as she faced him again. "You think he was targeting you? No, no, it must have been me, judging by that note on our door. That had to have been Renton's work. Exactly his style. But why that particular time and place, I don't know, unless it was simply a chance encounter. Maybe he saw me with you at the airport, recognized the opportunity for a scoop and managed to get on the same flight."
"Or drove. He'd have had time to drive, Bailey. I don't think you noticed him till we'd half finished our meal."
"True. Still, he'd have had to act pretty fast if he drove there, found where we stayed, got our room number, written the note and stuck it on our door, as well as checking maybe a few restaurants before finding us. Pretty fast work, don't you think?"
"Unless he had help. The photographer, for instance, could have checked your whereabouts while Renton drove. Easy enough to do with cell phones and Bluetooth."
"So Renton could have sent the photographer straight to the restaurant while he wrote the note." Bailey bit her lip. "Sneaky bastard."
Connor's nod looked slow, deliberate and reluctant. "At least we're agreed on that."
Her hand rested on the indicator. "And I'm sure we could include my boss as well. What he revealed when he showed me the article was quite intriguing."
"Hang on." Connor grabbed her wrist, yanking her hand away from the steering wheel and forcing her head around to watch him again. "You say your boss showed you the article?" The frown lines across his forehead seemed deeper, more intense than she'd ever noticed before. "Do you still have a job?"
At least he looked concerned; sort of. "N-no. I handed in my notice on Monday, effective today. My boss recommended it would be the best move, in light of what Renton's capable of, you understand. But I do have John's support in this. He recommend—"
"Let me get this straight." Connor's eyebrows had shot up. "Big Bad John advised you to resign, yet he's supporting you?" Her companion couldn't have instilled any more scepticism into his tone if she'd told him a plane had just crashed behind them.
"Yes, well, I don't suppose it makes sense to anyone else, but he is. I know, because he advised me what to do to counter that sleazeball's venom."
"John's got a score to settle with Lee Renton." Connor's mouth settled into a straight line. "He must have. That's the reason he's helping you. The only reason. Not for you, although it might hurt you to hear it, but I think he's got his own axe to grind. How many other people are in that category, for God's sake?"
"One that I know of."
He turned piercing eyes at her. "Tell me."
She took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly. "The only specific time I know of was at a public meeting when Lee Renton demonstrated his offensive interviewing skills. His following write-up was scathing, abusive, and the facts wrong, but it put doubt in so many voters' minds it ruined the councillor's reputation and consequently, her political career as well."
When she whacked the offensive magazine against Connor's thigh he took the hint and replaced it in the glove box, out of sight. The mag even seemed to smell of shit, made worse because she hadn't needed to buy it after all. Connor had already seen it.
"You knew the victim."
"Not personally, no, but I did like her."
"Go on."
"That time, he based his report solely on imaginary observations, assumptions and innuendoes."
"Like with us, except we didn't get the benefit of an interview first."
"Believe me, it would not have been a benefit. That man manipulates what people say. He can turn statements around so they have a totally different meaning from the interviewee's intention, and he doesn't give a toss. In fact, I think he revels in his assumed cleverness."
"I'm still not convinced it's you he targeted."
Bailey's hands squeezed the steering wheel. "That meeting I just mentioned? Well, I wrote a report on it, in which I indicated my support of the victim."
"Good God. You made an enemy of Lee Renton, the most vindictive journalist on the planet, on purpose?"
Her head swung around and she glared at him. "I didn't know his reputation then."
"But your boss would have."
"Didn't say."
"Oh, honey." Connor's fingers gripped her hand, sending warmth and understanding up to her head and all the way down to her toes. "Doesn't that prove my point? John's using you to get even with that slime. Your boss wouldn't do it personally of course; he'll want to keep his hands clean so he's manipulating you into leaving, treating you as a scapegoat and killing two birds with one stone. This way, he avoids having to pay redundancy and lashes out at Renton at the same time."
"Leaving made sense, Connor. I've brought the newspaper into disrepute and I'm in danger of more attacks. Why else would John give me advice on my next step?" With a flick of her wrist she broke their contact and resumed her position as driver, her hands on the steering wheel, her gaze locked on the rear-view mirror.
"I'm not convinced."
"Persistent, aren't you?" Her bitter tone reflected the pain still building inside her. "He gave me more good advice, too. He—"
"Which is?"
If he'd let her finish! "He pointed out that speed is essential in getting my article out there, and available to as many readers as possible to counteract this poison and bad publicity. So I'm aiming to have it published in newspapers—"
"Newspapers!" Connor almost exploded with the word. "Your dream was to write for magazines!"
"I know, I know, but that's not the most important thing anymore. Our reputations are, and the sooner something's done to counteract Renton's lies, the better. I still believe John's idea of getting it published in all the country's major newspapers is the best response."
"The internet would be the best response, for speed," he growled.
"That'll happen automatically. Getting the article into four major newspapers will showcase my work far more easily than through one magazine." She turned to look at him. "That's got to be good, right?"
As if defeated, he leaned back in his seat, shoulders dropping. "True." Surprisingly, a smile spread over his gorgeous face. "So go for it, honey."
***
Tonight Connor spoke more of the training for the European campaign, the stresses of the lead up to each international regatta and the individual goals each rower set himself. The tension, the nervousness, the excitement he put in his voice made his stories so real, his emotion affected Bailey too.
How did he do it? How did he bring out such enthusiasm and such vivid descriptions she could almost see and hear the scenes, the people, the action?
Whatever the reason, she couldn't take her gaze off him the whole time. From her peripheral vision she noted others continued to sip their wine or water, to make the odd quiet comment to their neighbour or to eat the remaining food on their plate. But nothing would force her gaze away from those gorgeous grey eyes, dark hair and expressive lips, complimented by the smart clothing of white shirt, black pants, official elite winner's Redcoat, and tie.
Re-focusing on his speech she allowed herself to be absorbed by his smooth voice.
"If it weren’t for the crew in lane five putting on a spurt of speed with ten metres to go, I might not have made that last call to up the rating," he explained, his gaze sweeping the room as if making sure everyone understood the terminology. "The guys sitting behind me were in danger of tiring before the finish but we wouldn't win unless we fought back.
"So I threw out the challenge and the guys responded until all of us were giving more than one hundred percent. I guess that's how races are won, especially in a world competition. And how did we feel after? Exhausted, exhilarated. Proud.
"Until Ken Metcalf stood up in the boat and tried to dance, nearly tipping us all out."
The crowd laughed, relaxing again.
"Wasn't that on TV?" Connor asked, as if surprised at the response.
From around the room numerous voices called out with, No and
Didn't see.
"Just as well," Connor grinned, clearly totally relaxed. "If a cameraman saw the panic on my face he might have made more of that story than our win."
Applause began as soon as the talk finished, growing more intense until everyone stood, still clapping.
Pride kept Bailey's head high for the rest of the evening and the smile hardly left her face for the next hour. Around her, the crowd mingled, chatting together and eating desert from displays in the centre of the large room.
Only a handful of people knew it had been her suggestion to invite Connor but one by one they all stopped to thank her.
"Such a wonderful speaker, Bailey!" Eleanor, the club treasurer, enthused. "When you said you'd requested him after hearing him speak well to primary school children, I doubted he'd be as good with adults. Wrong though, wasn't I?"
"Very wrong," the Chairman, Ray, agreed as he stopped beside her. "A very good choice, Bailey, and thank you for your suggestion and the work you did arranging it all." He paused, watching the crowd that had gathered around Connor, several feet away. "A great evening. Very successful." With a light pat on her shoulder he moved away.
Jan, a relatively young widow, stopped by next, leaning close. "So, your secret's out. Can't say I blame you. Hot, isn't he?"
Bailey had to bite her lip to stop herself giving a smart-arse answer but was saved by the club captain. "Just introduced myself to him," Tony explained. "Great speaker. Good choice."
Accolades came so fast Bailey's face began to ache from her constant smile, but she'd never trade the euphoria. If this was even half the feeling that kept Connor striving for gold medals, no-one could blame him for planning more. Sharing his trials, endeavours and successes would be amazing.
If it weren't for Renton's article, tonight's jubilation would have been almost enough to persuade her to move to Sherdon. That item was because of her stuff up so she'd have to stay and face the music. Already, her mistake had damaged Connor's reputation big-time. Ironic that she could move any day, yet her being in Sherdon, living with him, could easily bring him more reprisals.
***
The moment he spotted Kermit arrive outside the Cowan house Connor lifted his case from the bed. About time. If Bailey had come earlier they could have had a longer time alone to talk about their future. And work out a strategy for dealing with his disappointed fans who filled the social media sites with their anger.
By the time she arrived in the lounge the wind had blown her hair around. Not enough to spoil her lovely appearance, though. Nothing would do that.
"Staying for coffee?" Angie's face held a slight, secretive smile as she rose from her chair. "You've got time."
"Thank you, Angie," he replied before Bailey could upset his plans. "But I'd rather go straight to the airport and check in. We can have a cappuccino afterwards."
His hostess laughed. "Of course. Sorry I don't have your favourite coffee, dear. Well now, off you go, and don't forget to wave if you see us at a regatta."
"Look forward to it." Connor kissed her cheek, shook hands with grey-haired Jack, and hurried outside after Bailey.
"You jumped pretty quickly at the chance to leave," she accused as she drove onto the main road. "Didn't you get on with them?"
"Course I did, only I wanted time with you. You will stay until my flight's called, won't you?"
"If you like."
Not keen, apparently, which wouldn't make his job any easier.
At the airport he kept pace with Bailey as they walked towards the terminal. "Now you don't have a job, does that mean you'll move up?" He gripped her hand and held his breath.
"You won't want me now."
"Why not? Come on, honey. Escape to Sherdon and you'll have the support of the rowing association and the squad rowers as well. They know I wouldn't give away secrets or my destination for a private break. Believe me, they see through such lies. Makes it easier to deal with the fall-out."
She squinted up at him. "You still want me there? After all this?"
"Still want you there."
"That's all very well but moving would feel like running away. I need to stay, Connor, to accost Renton whenever he shows up."
"Who says he will? He's done the damage; he'll leave you alone now, so you've resigned for nothing. You'll see."
A flick from her wrist released his hold and she marched ahead, forcing him to take a few large strides to catch up. "What other job in Mosgiel—or Dunedin, for that matter—are you likely to get in journalism now, after your name and photo have been splashed over the pages of a gossip magazine, and with such derogatory insinuations?"
Her head swung away but not before he noticed the edges of her mouth turn down.
She kicked at a stone. "It was a national magazine, so the same applies wherever I live."
"Maybe, but remember when you were trying to persuade me to agree to your interview? You said the fact that I'd come to your small town was a sign you were meant to write my story. Well, I think this is a sign you were meant to move to Sherdon. There can't be many newspapers within driving distance of Mosgiel so your chances of getting another position down here must be pretty slim. Ideal opportunity to shift away, I reckon."
No response, so he held her hand and softened his voice. "Move in with me, Bailey. Let's show the world we've got a real relationship going and we're not afraid to show it off."
"A real relationship?" The mixture of pain, anger and disappointment on her face almost made him cringe. "What are you talking about? We don’t have a real relationship. Might never have one."
"Nor will we, unless you move to Sherdon."
For answer, she increased her pace.
"Your move will take the sting out of Renton's accusations," he pointed out, his heart beating so hard, he could hear the sound.
Probably she could too, because she'd gone still.
So he pushed home his advantage. "Change isn't a problem, honey. It's an opportunity. In this case, an opportunity to follow your dream and work on magazine articles. You even have the offer of a new home to work from, rent free—"
"With you there half the time? Get real!"
"Oh, babe," he grinned down at her. "You have no idea how quiet I am when I'm asleep—don't snore, don't talk and don't even wriggle. So you've got nothing to worry about.
The tension vanished from her face and she laughed.
Yes, she actually laughed.
"How do you know? Some previous girlfriend told—?"
"Pete, told me. My previous flatmate, remember?" God, how many more obstacles would she throw in the way?
"We'd still have the problem of Renton. He's not going to disappear. Regardless of where I live, he could find me. Attack again."
"Na, he'll move on. Find another victim to harass. There'll be no more stories on us if we're living together."
"Couldn't your coach or someone vouch for you in a news item or something?"
Opening the door to the terminal he stood aside while she entered, and joined her as they made their way to the self-service check-ins. "And give Renton the satisfaction of knowing he's upset us? Not if I can help it. Your moving in will have a far greater impact and besides, the national rowing organization employs expert media people." Leaving her to think on that, he selected a spare kiosk and scanned his e-ticket.
Minutes later when he rejoined her, boarding passes in hand, he indicated the nearby escalator. "Coffee," he commanded.
"This one's fine." She pointed to a cafe nearby. "Not crowded like the ones upstairs," and she glared at him as if she knew the staff up there poisoned the coffee on a regular basis.
For answer, he snaked an arm around her, pushed her onto the escalator and at the top, into the cafe opposite. "Nicer atmosphere here," he whispered as he pointed towards a chair, then stepped to the counter.
"I was going to pay," she growled the moment he returned.
"Next time. After you move up."
"I'm not coming, Connor. I-I can't do that to y
ou. Can't drag you into my mess."
"What if I don't care?"
Puzzled her no end that did, judging by the massive frown that stretched right across her forehead. Instead of answering, she grabbed a magazine and started reading. When their drinks appeared on the table in front of them Bailey dumped her marshmallow in and stirred, her lips pushed together. Considering his proposal? Or forming another refusal? "You don't care?"
"Don't. Care." Waiting, he held his breath.
"But Renton—"
"Let me help you fight him, Bailey, if he does show up. Please, let me help."
Pulling the magazine closer, she turned her attention to its pages, ignoring him as she sipped her drink. Even continued turning pages after a voice on the loud speaker called for passengers on his flight to proceed to boarding.
Unhurried, she sipped her drink as if they had the whole day left. But not him. He had only a few minutes left to convince her. Maybe he should simply walk away.
Out of words and out of ideas except the last, he drained his cup, grabbed his jacket and stood.
But he couldn't leave her. This was it—his very last chance to convince her to move. If he failed, he'd never see her again.
And quite possibly, lose all the enthusiasm he'd gained from his happy genii.
A light touch on his hand made him look down. Bailey's much smaller one wrapped around his. Squeezed.
"I can't move in with you until you've met my family and know more of my background. And since it's Christmas in a few weeks, why don't you come down for it? Stay at Mum and Dad's with me and meet my older brother and his family."
Good God. Limp went his legs and he collapsed back onto the chair. "Don't do Christmas."
"Never celebrated it, you mean? Never put up decorations? Never exchanged presents? Never shared Christmas dinner with anyone?"
"Never."
"Well, now's your chance."
Terror controlled his insides, churning his gut to pulp. "C-can't."
"Then we're at a stalemate."
Such extreme sadness filled her eyes he couldn't cope with looking. He wanted her so much, yet couldn't do as she asked. Celebrate a loving family when even his mother had deserted him? No way.
