by Jena Petrie
"Yeah, right." Suzy's acceptance, however, was masked by a speculative look.
"Told him yet?" Sleazy's grating voice came out of the crowd and automatically Bailey jerked away, fingers gripping her camera.
"Mind your own business," she growled.
"But I am," he protested. "Tonight, remember?"
As if she'd forget! Ignoring him, she stepped towards the guys climbing from the boats and the moment Connor stood on the pontoon she hugged him tight. Man, did she need a share of his warmth and excitement!
Hours later she looked up from her notepad at the nobody; the young guy from Ken's winning Four. Initially he'd hesitated over being interviewed but she'd eased him into the questions. Now he shuffled his feet and she glanced over her shoulder.
Connor, damn it all, and here she was without his cap. Well, too bad. Time he learned she had her own priorities. She could hardly be seen supporting the opposition at a time like this. It'd be enough to put anyone off and give him a valid reason to refuse the interview. "One last question please, Damien, before you go. What are your plans for the rest of the season?"
"You mean, like, with the crew? Cause that's really, like, up to the coach, isn't it?"
"Partly. But I mean your ambitions. What are you hoping for?"
"Well, more of the same, course. Like, more winning."
"So, it felt good, being in that crew?"
"Sweet, man."
"Are you going to Nationals?"
"You bet."
"What about long-term? Have you thought that far ahead or only to the end of this season?" Woops. "Sorry. That's another question."
"S'okay. Long-term, I want, like, to row for New Zealand. That'd be, shit, awesome, man." A flicker of enthusiasm covered his face. So like a young kid's, she almost stepped forward and hugged the lanky teen. Instead, she merely smiled to show her understanding and shook his hand.
"Thanks a heap for answering my questions. Look in the city paper tomorrow to see if the article's there, okay?"
"Cool." With a lanky jog he was off, disappearing into the growing crowd of teens that had apparently watched from behind.
"Where's your Sherdon cap?"
Connor's growl sent shivers up Bailey's spine. "In my bag. I need to show impartiality while I'm conducting an interview."
"You wore it the rest of the time, I hope." His hand on her back pushed her towards the car park.
"Of course."
"Tell Damien that your article might not even be published?"
"Naturally, and he still agreed. You don't think I pressured him into it, do you? I wouldn't do that, Connor, as you should know."
"Use your charm instead?"
What? She swung round to face him. "What do you mean? Are you implying that I charmed you?" Or had he been talking to the obnoxious Gareth Michaelmiss from work? "Whatever your implication, I did not charm, persuade, or coerce anyone."
Somehow, she managed to get in the car and sit beside Connor for the drive home but the moment they arrived, she went to her room. To hell with preparing the promised salad for the Club barbeque tonight. This article had to be finished and sent off before deadline or she'd never get another opportunity to report on rowing for the newspaper.
For now at least, she could forget that in only a few hours she'd have to face Renton and somehow convince him to back off.
Jeez, he hadn't got to Connor too, had he?
***
Judging from the size of the group assembled at the clubrooms, most people had already arrived. Connor refrained from huffing out a breath of frustration. Bailey had stayed in her room far too long, tapping on her computer instead of preparing the salad she'd promised to bring.
He'd done his best to fill the gap. Knowing she'd intended to take a pasta salad he'd asked what he could do but her only response, thrown over her shoulder as she headed to her room, had been, "Change of plan. Lettuce salad now. Easier."
"Quicker too," he'd added before she slammed the door.
Even later when she emerged and headed for the kitchen she'd been silent as the stars and when he pointed to the vegetables he'd assembled, all she did was give a curt nod and suggest he sort out drinks and put them in a cooler bag with the meat.
When he went back for more instructions she'd been slicing lettuce so viciously he'd retreated to the other side of the kitchen divide. Without that physical barrier between them she might have wielded the knife close enough to chop off something vital. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you earlier. It's just that..." Head down, he swiped crumbs into the sink. "Some of the comments I received during the weekend put me a bit on edge." He shook his head. Shouldn't have—"
"What sort of comments?" The slicing stopped as her face displayed deep signs of worry. "Connor?"
Why the hell had he mentioned it? He bit his lip, did a few shoulder rolls. "You can probably guess. The sort of things a teenage boy says about a pretty girl. Most likely just showing off to his mates but still–"
"Complimentary or criticism?" She threw sliced tomatoes into the salad.
"You be the judge because tonight, there'll probably be more."
Ten minutes later they deposited the salad bowl with the other food on the trestle table.
"Hey, Connor!" One of the guys near the barbeque called and he grabbed Bailey's hand and hauled her towards the group, then introduced her all round.
"You guys have a good regatta?" she asked while Connor poured her a wine.
There were various replies, each indicating the mood of the respondent but most sounded positive.
"And you, Connor." Bailey turned to him, a sweet smile plastered on her face like a painted doll. "Two first placings and one third. That must make it a successful regatta for you?"
Damn. Should have asked her if she'd sent in her report to the paper so he'd know if his answer would be printed. Sure sounded like a reporter speaking. "Certainly. It served as a good test to judge how some of my crewmembers performed and whether they're likely to jell well enough to keep them on for Nationals." He winked at the young guys hanging on every word. "Good to have the support, too." Although he squeezed Bailey's shoulder, she slipped out of his hold and wandered away.
"Stunner of a girlfriend you've got, Free-bee." Alex grinned in that cocky way teenage guys did when they thought they were in with a chance and just like the young guys all weekend. Just the sort of comment Bailey should hear, so why hadn't she stuck around?
"Yeah." Connor's fingers gripped his bottle tighter as he tipped it up and poured the contents down his throat. Thank God for cold beer at a time when his stress level was at its highest.
"She a reporter?" someone asked and he turned towards the sound. Another damn arrogant teen who liked to hassle attractive women, regardless of their age.
"That's right. City paper. No guarantee—"
"You mean my name'll be there, come Monday morning?" The big round eyes of his crewmate from the weekend's Four looked back at him.
"Jeremy." With a nod Connor acknowledged the youngster. "Hate to squash your enthusiasm, mate, but she probably didn't list all the names and anyway, we were only third."
"No such thing as only third," the kid insisted. "We won a medal and in my book, that's good enough to get my name in the paper. Better tell her," he added with an aggressive lift of his chin.
Christ! Connor held up both hands like stop signals. "Easy, mate. I was only warning you that the editor might not print everything Bailey wrote. Might not even print the article, if there isn't room. It's out of her hands once she's sent it in. Since when have we had a reporter do that much for a local regatta, huh?"
Pride filled his body. Pride, possession, and love. Bailey had proved herself more than worthy of that sentiment. She'd followed his advice, found a job and was well on the way to publishing another sports story; to a magazine, what's more.
If she stayed, their plans might clash quite often but so what?
Again, love swelled in his chest. He'd be
en expecting too much. High time he remembered Bailey had her own agenda and appreciate her for what she did instead of being critical for what she didn't. Such a biased attitude would never encourage her to sleep with him. Besides, after leading her on the other day and then walking out on her for his meeting with the bank manager, he really had no right to criticize. Should have postponed the damn conference.
Further away from the barbeque, Bailey had joined a group of schoolgirls but stood awkwardly and a little apart. Connor wandered over to help out. Half-way there, the girls noticed him and called a greeting.
"Connor, your wins were awesome. We all loved watching you row."
"Wish you were our coach," another grumbled. "You're such an inspiration."
"Aren't all the national rowers inspiring?" he teased before turning to Bailey. "Did you introduce yourself?"
"Had to or they'd have kept calling me the reporter."
"We might be in the paper tomorrow." That was the tallest girl; what was her name? Something unusual... Mia.
"Yeah. We were crossing the finish line, just ahead of Hamilton City and closest to the bank—"
"Going so fast any photo would have been blurred," another student pointed out.
"There might be nothing published," Bailey warned but she'd edged closer to Connor, as if feeling threatened.
Or protecting him from teenage girls?
If only she was staking her claim.
"Need to talk to you." The words were almost a whisper as Bailey pulled him away from the group, but a noise at the entrance caught his attention instead.
Looked like a stranger trying to gatecrash the party, except some students blocked his path.
"Oh, God, he meant it." Bailey covered her mouth and slipped behind him.
"Who?" he demanded, swivelling around.
"Lee Renton. The guy who threatened—"
"Here? Why?"
"To harass me. To upset our relationship, and probably pay me back for my newspaper article."
Jesus. Guilt surged into him. He'd criticized her earlier, and she'd been trying to cope with having that... that psycho... here? Some protector he'd been.
Jaw clamped, he gripped Bailey's hand and marched her away from the chaos at the gate. "Ignore him," he commanded. "Concentrate on the barbeque instead." From amongst the crowd he spotted Jeff with some girls and guided Bailey towards them. After introducing her, he addressed his coach. "Where's Helen, mate? Thought Bailey'd like to meet her.
"She's away, but come and join our group." Jeff started the introductions, and Connor headed back to the disturbance at the gate. Bailey didn't stand a chance of enjoying the evening with that nerd hanging around.
Thank God for the fighting gene of young guys. A group of them almost surrounded a solid, middle-aged man whose head twisted from side to side, his face clearly showing doubt about the wisdom of coming.
"This is a private function; club members and their partners only." Connor pushed close to the front of the group so he could look down on the guy. "You know the police have the dates of all the local rowing regattas and target their social events, I suppose? They'll be doing the rounds tonight and will probably call several times since Sunday's usually a relatively quiet night for them."
A smirk appeared on Renton's ugly face and Connor's hands fisted.
How the devil had those teens managed not to take the guy out? Do it himself he would, if the arsehole didn't leave soon. "Any trouble and the police'll be onto it immediately," he added for emphasis.
Renton's chin jerked upwards. "Fine. I'll see you and your lovely girlfriend another day, Free-bee."
CHAPTER 19
Just her luck, finding Renton waiting for her. Bailey stopped the car in the drive and opened the passenger door to remove her shopping.
"Handed in your resignation yet?" Sleazy's nonchalant tone sounded out of character as he sauntered towards her. "You know you'll need to, if you're to save Connor's career."
Never before had he sounded so friendly. Never so casual and never, ever, so helpful. Something must be up.
Or had he learned about her other plans for Nationals week? Her hands fisted, nails digging into the soft palms. "What I do is none of your business." She grabbed her shopping off the car's seat and turned to walk into the house.
Stopped when Sleazy moved closer.
"I'm looking out for your interests." One hand extended towards her as if offering to take the bags.
No way. She wouldn't trust this sleazeball to carry a tissue. "I can look after myself thanks, so you can go now."
"Maybe you don't know the latest." Casually, he rested one hand on the open door and the other on the car, trapping her. "Connor's trying to get rid of you. You're no good for him so you need to move out before you ruin his career. The lease on this place expires soon and if you don't leave beforehand, you'll find there's nowhere to go. He's already taken care of his own future home."
What? The bags almost slipped from her fingers but she tightened her grip just in time. "Bullshit. Connor wouldn't do that, not without warning me first."
"Don’t know him very well, do you?" Renton's steady gaze bored into hers. "I'm telling you, he's about to kick you out. Why stay and suffer the trauma of rejection?
Her throat dried and her shoulders slumped. If only she could disappear into a hole in the ground, all her troubles would be over.
Sleazy's hand dropped from the car and she lifted her head, but only as high as the finger he shook at her. "If you want what's best for Connor you'll leave before he goes to Nationals. Tell him your little fling is over so he's not distracted during his races, and doesn't worry about you while he's away–"
Bailey blinked. "What?"
"Didn't you know you're a distraction? Well, that just reinforces my warning, doesn't it?" Renton crossed his arms. "You're not important to him and he's dismissed you already."
"You know nothing!" she scoffed, but the pitch in her voice had risen, and the effort required to make it strong had been enormous. "My presence would not distract him." She tried to push past Slezzy but he ignored her, and carried on.
"You've been warned more than once, so isn't it time you acted? Or do you want him to miss out on being selected for the national squad, or even losing his old position of stroke?" He frowned. "See, it's you or rowing for Connor. You should know that by now. The two don't mix."
Was this for real?
Or just another ridiculous idea of Renton's, invented to scare the daylights out of her?
"Of course if you stay with him, I'll keep having plenty of goss to write about," Sleazy added as his lips stretched into a shrewd smile. "Writing about you both is very lucrative." Casually, he stepped back from the open car door.
Now she had something to lean on but instead, she used it as a barrier against the intimidation. "Get lost, Renton. There's no story for you here." Head high, she stepped clear of the car door, kicked it closed behind her and marched towards the house. Not until she'd shut herself inside did she crumple onto a chair.
Leave Connor? It might rip her heart out but it had to be done. Why had it taken Sleazy's threats to make her realize she'd been blind? He was right. Staying meant distracting Connor, just like Jeff had said.
Jasmine, too.
And probably believed by everyone else in rowing.
Slowly, she pushed to a stand but her feet dragged as she forced herself to her room, guilt a mile high growing inside her. Another thing to add to her already enormous deceit that Connor must never know; her appointment in Whangarei was for the beginning of Nationals week. For the remainder, she'd be reporting on the Art Deco Festival in Napier; a back-up plan in case sickness prevented the elderly gold medal winner from being interviewed.
In her room she turned on the computer and searched for the only name she knew in Invercargill. "Mrs Freeman?" she asked into her phone a few minutes later.
The conversation had finished before she registered what she'd done; tried to persuade a woman sh
e didn't know to attend a regatta she hadn't planned on attending, and at short notice. Bailey cringed at the way she'd kept on at Connor's mother in spite of her advising that she still wasn't well following lengthy cancer treatment.
Bailey gripped the silent phone. She'd done her best. If Mrs Freeman didn't go to the championships there'd be no harm done.
But if she did, the reunion might compensate a little for her own absence.
Now to look after herself before facing Connor again; with a run, until exhaustion took over and replaced this escalating pain.
***
"Is that all you're taking?"
Something in Bailey's tone sounded off. Connor dropped the shorts into his bag and turned. Cripes. Her fingers gripped the door frame like she needed the support to keep her upright. Besides that, wide eyes and an open mouth indicated that for her, seeing the evidence of his looming departure—or maybe their separation—brought the reality into sudden focus. "Almost."
"It's not much."
Dressed in her fluffy robe and with the ends of her hair wet, she'd obviously just exited the shower although why, at nearly dinnertime? The only reason in existence must be that she'd just done her daily bike ride but what had been wrong with this morning as usual?
At least a ride explained her absence when he'd returned from training. He threw another row suit into the bag. "Guys don't need many clothes. Remember our trip to Mt Cook?"
"But you weren't expecting to stay the weekend."
"No, but I took enough gear for an overnight stay, just in case. Always do. It only takes one flight to be delayed and I can miss a connection. Now if you can't stop fussing, go and start dinner and I'll join you in a minute. Remember, we've got an early start tomorrow so I don't want to be late tonight."
"Worried about Nationals?" Slowly, she walked towards him and peered up. "Why? You've been rowing the single for weeks now."
This close, her sexy perfume invaded his senses and he breathed it in. If only they could go back to the time they shared at Mt Cook. In spite of being a strictly business arrangement, they'd still had fun. "I'd be more confident if I knew you'd be there."
