by Sarina Bowen
As she watched her strong, capable father mount the dais and take a seat, for one golden second she forgot to worry about anything. She’d always loved growing up in a sports-centered household. It was a good life, and she was proud of her dad.
But then, right on schedule, the players began entering the room, passing her on the way to their reserved seats in the first and second rows. One by one they filed by in their suits.
Georgia wasn’t blind—the men whose public image she guarded were hotter than the scotch bonnet peppers at the Borough Hall Greenmarket. But at work, she made it her habit to be a bit frosty. Okay, a lot frosty. Getting them to like her wasn’t the goal. Getting them to listen to her was everything. It was her job to keep the players in line and out of trouble with the media, and she couldn’t do that if they saw her as their buddy. It didn’t help her credibility that she was younger than many of them, either. So she always brought her most professional self into the room when addressing the players.
She braced herself for the arrival of the final two players, but no amount of preparation would have been enough. A broader, superhero version of Leo Trevi walked past, not two feet away. And he looked ridiculously hot in a dark charcoal suit. God. Seeing him was a sucker punch to the gut. Once upon a time he’d loved her. And then when he’d stopped, it wasn’t really his fault.
A girl could get seriously lost in her memories staring at him.
Without wanting to, Georgia began cataloguing all the ways he looked different. His hair was shorter than it had been, and the trim made him look older. The scruff on his chin was new. She wanted to stroke her thumb across his jaw to see if it was rough or soft.
One of his big hands clutched a bottle of water. No wedding ring, her mind offered up. She remembered how those hands felt on her body . . .
Someone coughed on the dais. That’s when Georgia realized she was staring.
Jesus, girl. Get a grip. She just needed to get through this press conference, and then she could go back to her office and be alone for a while to deal with her shock. She would need to form a game plan for coexisting with Leo Trevi. It would take some time to get used to him walking around this place. And it wasn’t only that he looked like a sexy, A-list movie star. Seeing him dredged up thoughts of the scariest time in her life.
Maybe it wasn’t rational, but she didn’t like the idea of Leo invading her little world. Yesterday, Brooklyn had belonged to her. The Long Island ’burbs where she’d grown up had felt far away from the brick streets and renovated factory spaces of Brooklyn. In this job, she’d felt truly independent, putting down her own fragile roots in a new place.
Fast forward twenty-four hours, and her daddy had joined the workplace and her ex-boyfriend had shown up to remind her of all that she’d lost. Really, a girl could be forgiven for feeling slightly hysterical.
Not that there was any time to panic. Right now she needed to focus on the press conference and look like a professional—at least a half-nauseated professional in uncomfortable shoes.
The crowd made their last-minute adjustments, flipping open their reporters’ pads, focusing their cameras. A low murmur of expectation hummed throughout the room.
O’Doul had been the last to enter the room, following closely behind Leo. His eyes met Georgia’s as his hand landed on Leo’s shoulder. Two paces later he rasped something into Leo’s ear. “You gotta stay on the good side of the publicist.” They were moving away, their backs to her. O’Doul tried to keep his conversation private, but she still heard his final whispered comment. “She’s a total bitch on wheels.”
The comment didn’t startle Georgia at all. Nor did it even offend her. Forthright men in the workplace are revered for their strength. Women? You can either be a doormat or a bitch. Take your pick.
But what happened next was a surprise. And not the good kind.
The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. First, Leo and O’Doul rounded the corner of the table where she had carefully positioned their chairs and microphones. Leo’s expression darkened, and she saw his eyes narrow at O’Doul, his beautiful jaw hardening. At the same time, he sat down in his chair . . .
Georgia gasped as he opened his mouth. It was like those dreams where you couldn’t move fast enough to save yourself—she lunged forward, raising her hands in the universal sign for “stop,” hoping the motion would alert him to the disaster that was coming.
But he didn’t see her. Instead, Leo leaned toward O’Doul, as if in confidence. But that put his mouth way too close to the microphone. “If you want to keep breathing, don’t ever call the love of my life a bitch.”
There was a squeal of feedback, or maybe that was just inside Georgia’s head. But either way, heads turned. Because that mic was live. The whole room heard what he’d said.
Georgia watched in horror as Leo realized his mistake, sitting back in surprise. As if moving farther away could undo what he’d just done.
O’Doul turned his big chin slowly in Leo’s direction, a lopsided smirk on his face. For a split second she was terrified that he’d fire back at the insolent rookie who had just threatened his airway.
But at least now the gods were merciful. O’Doul held his tongue, because he’d been on the press conference circuit for years, and he knew to shut up and move on, at least while the cameras were rolling.
Which they were.
Like an army of giant, buglike eyes, every oversized lens in the room swung over to focus on Leo Trevi. The telltale sound of shutters firing issued through the room. And from the other end of the table, Georgia’s father turned to give Leo a glare which outshone every flashbulb.
And just like that, she lost control of the meeting, and therefore the message.
Leo lifted his chin, his posture defiant. But she saw a red flush creep up his neck. Unfortunately his gaze swung in her direction next. He set his jaw defiantly. As if he weren’t to blame for this problem.
As if.
But the press didn’t care who was at fault. After gaping their fill at Leo, those cameras swung farther, following Leo’s gaze, and landed on her.
That’s when Georgia decided it might actually be possible to die of embarrassment. Or at least to wish for it. Reeling, she had to thrust out a hand to steady herself on the doorframe. Nate Kattenberger tapped the microphone, his mouth in a grim line. When they’re trying to make a statement, billionaires don’t appreciate seeing their hard-won media audience pulled in the wrong direction.
“Holy shit,” a voice whispered beside her. It belonged to Becca. “You are in so much trouble.”
She was right. The whispers and camera shutter sounds only grew louder. All those eyes, all in the wrong place. There was only one solution.
Georgia turned and fled the room.
* * *
Nine hours later the reporters were long gone. But the horror of the world’s worst press conference was still achingly fresh.
Georgia let herself into the apartment she shared with Becca, a bag of takeout food dangling from each hand. “Honey, I’m home,” she called out. It was the first joke she’d made in hours. Today was almost too awful even for gallows humor.
She kicked off her evil high heels and staggered into the living room.
“Finally!” Becca squawked. “I’m dying!”
“Of hunger? It’s only seven thirty.” They often ate much later during hockey season.
“No, moron. Curiosity.” Becca snatched the food bags out of her hands. “This does smell good, though. How many kinds did you get?”
“Five. Three from the Garden and two from the Foo.” Say what you will about Brooklyn—it’s too crowded, it’s too trendy, it’s way too expensive—but when a girl needed some excellent Chinese dumplings, Brooklyn was the place to be.
Becca squealed. “Yay! I mean—I’m sorry that you had a five-kinds-of-dumplings day. Put on some yoga pants and I�
��ll pour drinks. Go! Quick like a bunny! Because you have some explaining to do.”
Georgia was too tired to argue. She went to her room and did as her roommate ordered.
“Our fridge smells weird,” Becca called from the tiny kitchen.
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “That mango we never ate? It’s gone bad. I need to clean it out. Not right now, though.”
“Ah.” Becca didn’t even have to shout, because their apartment was small enough that they could hear each other from anywhere. “Hey—when I was answering your phones this afternoon, you got a call from some skydiving place in New Jersey. They had a cancellation for next week and offered you the spot. But I told them you’d be away on business.”
“Thanks,” she said, rooting in a drawer for flannel pants. Georgia had a lot of outdoor hobbies—skydiving and hang gliding and rock climbing. She was a bit of an adrenaline junkie, but most of those activities had to wait until after summertime. She could barely get to her dojang for tae kwon do once a week during hockey season. “How many nights is that trip next week, anyway? I’m afraid to look.”
“Six. It’s a doozie. And you have to pack a day in advance because the benefit is the night before.”
“Of course it is.”
“Now get out here and tell me everything about Leo Trevi.”
Georgia took her time changing. She didn’t really want to talk about it. Yet she was starving, so returning to the living room was inevitable.
At least when she got there, she found a candle lit on the coffee table and two places set. They didn’t have a lot of furniture in their living room—just an enormous but terrifically ugly sofa—brown velvet with pink roses. They hoped to replace it someday soon. Until then they played up its odd color scheme with pink floor pillows for extra seating. Becca had pulled one of these up to the coffee table for Georgia, who liked sitting there.
This is where they ate when they had time for a leisurely meal. Lately, dinner had been either consumed at their desks or eaten on bar stools at their kitchen counter. Their apartment lacked a proper dining table. There just wasn’t room.
“The first thing I need to know,” Becca said, helping herself to the steamed chicken and cabbage dumplings, “is why have I never heard the name Leo Trevi before?”
Taking her first sip of wine, Georgia realized the question wasn’t an easy one. She’d known Leo her whole life. And then in high school, they’d been inseparable. The Golden Couple. Somewhere in her father’s Long Island home there was even a clichéd picture of the two of them being crowned homecoming king and queen.
This morning, which now felt like a hundred years ago, she’d scoffed when DJ had said she never mentioned Leo. But she’d lived with Becca a year now, and never brought him up? Point DJ. The fact that she never mentioned Leo hadn’t seemed at all strange to her until today.
“Well,” she began, reaching for the jade dumplings, “Leo was my high school boyfriend.” It sounded so inconsequential when put that way, though. Leo loomed a lot larger in her life than a teenage crush. He was her first date. Her first kiss. Her first love.
Her first everything.
“He’s so hot.” Becca sighed. “Were you together long?”
“Three years. I dumped him on graduation day.”
Her friend gave a low whistle. “Jeez. Why?”
“Well . . .” Again, it wasn’t going to be easy to explain. “You know I had a really difficult time my senior year.” She’d long since told Becca that story. A few months before high school graduation, she’d been raped on a college campus where she’d spent spring break at tennis camp.
“Yeah. That must have been a terrible year, sweetie.”
“No kidding. There are parts of it that I don’t remember very well.” The first ugly weeks after the attack, she’d been a terrified wreck. It had been a blur of police reports, a hospital exam. Her father’s rage. Georgia didn’t like remembering it. It had taken her a long time to feel normal again, and dwelling on the past felt like inviting the shadows back into her life.
“Was Leo around after it happened? That would be a lot for an eighteen-year-old boy to take.” Becca rose up on her knees to refill her wine glass.
Georgia tried to decide what to say about that time that was fair to both of them. “Leo was amazing,” she admitted, reaching for more dumplings. “I didn’t go to school for a while. He’d come over afterwards and bring me the homework assignments. He brought me cupcakes and movies to watch. He just sat there on the sofa and held my hand for about six weeks straight. And then when I went back to school, he drove every day and walked me into the building and then out again afterwards. So I’d feel safe.”
Becca sighed into her wine glass. “That’s pretty inspiring. It’s almost enough to restore my faith in men. Almost.” She hadn’t been lucky in her dating life, which was one of the reasons she and Georgia spent so many of their Friday nights eating takeout on the coffee table. “So why did you dump him? Or shouldn’t I ask? Please don’t tell me he cheated while you were laid up. I really hope this story doesn’t end like that.”
It didn’t, though. “No, he was perfect. Except that we’d been so happy before, and now we were both sad all the time.” There was a cloud over the two of them that hadn’t always been there. Before, Leo had always looked at her with laughter in his eyes. Whether they were playing tennis on the courts in the park, or singing along to the radio in his car, it was all fun and games.
That was all gone after her attack. Even as he held her hand on the sofa, regret seemed to permeate the air. All their jokes were gone—stolen for good on one brutal night in Florida. His laughing eyes were gone, too, replaced with concern and regret.
And as the weeks ground onward, Georgia knew it would never be the same again. Hour by stifling hour, she had literally watched their wild, passionate love affair dissipate. Leo became the best friend she’d ever had. But the passion was gone.
“I always thought that Leo and I would be together forever,” she admitted. “But things just weren’t the same between us. And I was heading to Virginia for college in August, and he was headed for Harkness in Connecticut. So it was going to be weird anyway. And I just dreaded the idea of a whole summer of Leo watching me to make sure that I was okay.” When graduation day came, she’d reached her limit. Splitting up with him felt like simply accepting the inevitable. “So I told him that after such a sad, scary year, I needed a clean break, that I wanted to start fresh in college. And that there was no reason to drag it out. That it was just going to hurt more later.”
Becca cringed. “What did he do?”
Georgia swallowed hard, and the wine she’d drunk seemed to turn to acid in her stomach. “He got all teared up. But he said, ‘It’s not what I want. But I understand.’ And then he went home.”
With a shaking hand, Georgia set down her glass and took another bite. At the time, Leo’s quiet acceptance of this decision had shocked her. She didn’t know three years of love and togetherness could be undone so quickly. But Leo stayed away like she’d asked him to. And she cried herself to sleep sporadically for the next several weeks, wondering if she’d been crazy to send him away.
The summer had dragged on in the same sad way, only lonelier. Then, on the Fourth of July, she’d gone to the fireworks show on her dad’s boat. And on the docks she’d spied him with a girl from their graduating class. The two of them had been eating ice cream and laughing about something.
Seeing that had practically killed her. On the one hand, watching Leo smile at another girl had made her feel enraged. But the worst was knowing he hadn’t smiled at her like that for months.
That’s why she’d had to cut him loose. But knowing it was the right thing to do hadn’t made it easier.
“Do you ever talk?” Becca asked.
Georgia shook her head. “Nope. I never wanted to. He’s probably got a girlfriend, maybe
even a fiancée. This was almost six years ago. I don’t want to know. His brother and I are still friends, but I never ask about Leo. I guess that’s pretty weird, right?” If you’d asked Georgia twenty-four hours ago whether or not she still felt any pain when she thought of Leo, she would have said no. But there was obviously still a sore spot there.
Becca set her wine glass down with a thunk. “Georgia Ann Worthington, I think he’s the reason you don’t date. I think you’re still in love with this boy.”
“Man,” she corrected quickly. “And it was a long time ago, Bec. We were just kids.”
Her roommate’s scrutiny was a little more attentive than Georgia would have wished. “If you say so. Unfortunately, Leo Trevi went on record today to tell the whole world that you’re the love of his life.”
It was Georgia’s turn to cringe. “Leo was shocked to see me, I think. And O’Doul had just referred to me as a bitch. He just . . . snapped a little.”
“He can snap on my behalf any day of the week,” Becca said. “I took seventy calls from the media this afternoon, and plenty of them were questions about Leo.”
Georgia set down her fork and tossed her napkin on the table. Then she lay back on their area rug. “I’m in such deep shit, Bec. Nate and the general manager are going to have to hire someone over me now. My press conference was a shit show, and some of those reporters are going to ask about me.” She picked her head up off the cushion and squinted at Becca. “They are, right? I’m not just vain to think that?”
Becca cringed. “You are the least vain person I know. And unfortunately, I was asked by three people whether you were the subject of the argument between O’Doul and the rookie.”
Georgia dropped her head back down and groaned. “The publicist isn’t supposed to be part of the story.”
