“You got quiet all of a sudden. Something wrong?” Dylan asked.
Lola shook her head. “I was just thinking about some of the conversations I had at your mother’s house yesterday.”
“I saw you talking to Jeb, and you both were all smiles. Did he apologize for accusing you of attacking Wilson?”
“No,” Lola said. “Actually, with his bad eyesight, I don’t think he ever realized who he was talking to.”
“Probably not,” Dylan said.
“But seriously, I had a great time. The people here are really amazing.”
Dylan’s eyes rounded. “I’m surprised you can say that after everything we put you through,” he said. “This town’s gossip mill is probably the reason you’re not sitting in the guest host’s seat on America Live! right now.”
She shrugged. “It was an accumulation of things, so if anyone is to blame, it’s me for always getting into jams.” Lola had thought about it last night. The words of the man standing next to her had come to mind then, as they did now. She rested her fingertips on his muscled biceps. “But any job I have to temper myself to get isn’t worthy of me.”
Dylan wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer to his side. He didn’t say anything, but words weren’t necessary. The smile he graced her with said it all. In a world where she was often misunderstood, Dylan Cooper got her, and right now, that was all that mattered.
“Speaking of jobs...” Dylan finally spoke. “You’re doing a good one on this gazebo.”
“Thanks. And I appreciate your having the public-works manager meet me here with the supplies rather than my having to face that throng of media.” Although Lola knew he’d merely bought her a little time, it had been nice to be able to get lost in a project that allowed her mind to drift, so she could forget her problems.
Dylan continued to stare at the gazebo. “First the fire pit, now painting. You’ve got some pretty decent do-it-yourself skills.”
“When I was growing up, my parents were consumed with Espresso business, which left me at home with a nanny and the household staff. They figured out early that putting me to work helping them with minor jobs kept me out of trouble and their hair.” Lola looked at the gazebo. She was only halfway through the job. Still, it was gratifying how much a little paint had breathed new life into the weather-beaten structure. “I guess I am doing a good job on it,” she said.
Dylan frowned. “Only for my uncle to take his oath of office underneath it after the next election.”
As if on cue, a breeze rustled the trees. It blew a campaign placard that had been stapled to an oak off the tree and sent it tumbling through the grass, to land at Lola’s feet. Dylan picked it up, and they both looked at the red letters emblazoned across it, imploring citizens to vote Roy Cooper mayor.
“Ass.” The word tumbled out of their mouths at the exact same time, and they grinned at each other. For a candidate running unopposed, Roy Cooper certainly had plenty of campaign material posted all over town, Lola thought.
She polished off the bottle of water, then tossed the empty in a nearby bin marked for plastic recyclables, and the campaign placard in the one designated for paper.
She looked up to see reporters at the far end of the square, and the smile dropped from her lips. “Damn.”
Dylan followed her gaze. “Do you want to talk to them?”
Lola was no stranger to the media. She’d talked to plenty of reporters during her long stint as the face of her family’s business. She’d also spent plenty of time defending herself to both them and people who’d already made up their minds about her.
The beauty of being between careers now was she didn’t owe the media or anyone else any explanations for her behavior. “Not really, but I won’t run and hide, either,” she said. “I’ll handle them.”
“She’s over there by the gazebo.”
Dylan picked up the paint bucket and the brush Lola had been using. He held them out to her. “Take these and finish painting the gazebo.”
“I already told you, Dylan. I’m a big girl, and I can handle my own messes.”
“I know you can, but safeguarding you is more than my personal duty. It’s my job,” he said. “This is public property, and I can’t keep them out of the square. However, I can make sure they don’t invade your personal space.”
Lola took the proffered paint and brush. She didn’t even turn around to look at the descending cameras and microphones. Dylan had said he’d handle them, and Lola was confident this man could handle anything.
Minutes later she heard the furious clicks of cameras, flashbulbs and reporters calling out her name with the familiarity of long lost friends. Lola ignored them. Usually, that wouldn’t have been possible, and she’d be swarmed with cameras and microphones mere inches from her face.
“Lola! Are they going to have you picking up trash or scrubbing toilets as part of your sentence?” one of them called out in an attempt to bait her.
“Can we get some photos of you without the baseball cap?” another female photographer yelled.
Lola ignored them, and continued to focus her attention on painting the gazebo’s intricate latticework. She didn’t look up until a few of them apparently tried to rush the gazebo and ran into a wall.
A well-over-six-foot wall made of solid muscle.
“Hey! It’s not against the law for us to get close to her. You can’t stop us,” a man holding a microphone said.
But Dylan did stop them with his solid, unyielding presence, and he didn’t have to utter a single word.
More people began to gather, leaving their various shops on the streets surrounding the town square to see what the commotion was all about. Lola recognized them from both the police station and Mayor’s Court, but thanks to Ginny’s dinner party she could not only put names with faces, she knew a lot of their stories.
Gary was among them, wearing another Hawaiian-print shirt, along with Dylan’s former teacher, Mrs. Bartlett, who had filled Lola in on Dylan’s school days.
They all stood by Dylan and the two sheriff’s deputies who were keeping the media at a distance.
“What’s going on here?” a reporter yelled.
“Yeah, we want to talk to Lola!” another one called.
“Well, Lola’s not interested in talking to you,” a woman said.
Lola and nearly everyone else turned to stare. It was Rosemary Moody.
The reporters continued with their questions. “Hey, Lola! Where’s that cop you beat up? Still in the hospital?”
Lola sighed. She hadn’t planned on answering any questions, but the damaging rumors of her being violent were really too much to let go. She dropped the paintbrush back into the pail. Before she could open her mouth to protest, another voice sounded out on the matter.
“Lola never beat up or hurt anyone. It was a misunderstanding,” Tammy said.
“She dragged young Wilson to the hospital for help,” a woman Lola recognized as the emergency-room receptionist said. “And she refused to leave until she knew he was okay. If anything, Lola is a Good Samaritan.”
“Besides, that matter was all sorted out,” Mrs. Bartlett added.
Lola’s mouth remained open, this time in astonishment. Not only were the people from this sleepy little town defending her, they, along with Dylan, had formed a human barrier between her and the media.
“Over here, Lola!” a reporter from one of the tabloid television shows yelled. “Is it true America Live! canceled a guest host spot you were scheduled to do today because you can’t stay out of trouble?”
“I know you!” The sunlight hit Gary’s faded Born to Raise Hell tattoo as he raised his arm and pointed a finger at the reporter. “You’re the anchor who got fired from the network for soliciting a prostitute.” Gary let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Man,
I wouldn’t have wanted to be in your shoes. Must have been tough to explain to the wife how you lost a six-figure job ’cause you tried to pay for a piece of—”
“Gary Henson!” Mrs. Bartlett scolded.
“Sorry, Mrs. Bartlett.” Like everyone else in town, Lola noticed, Gary’s voice immediately adopted the singsong quality of a fifth-grader when he responded to the teacher’s admonishment.
The reporters tossed out a few more questions, all designed to either provoke or embarrass her, but each time, a citizen of Cooper’s Place either answered it or shouted it down. They’d known her for only a few days, yet she felt like one of their own. Lola couldn’t remember ever feeling so incredibly touched, and it nearly brought her to tears. She willed the ones in her eyes not to fall. There were dozens of cameras aimed in her direction, and the last thing she wanted was a show of emotion on her part to be taken out of context.
“There’s no news story here.” A familiar voice came from the crowd of townspeople, and Lola spotted Dylan’s mother in the throng. “Go back to where you came from.”
The crowd grumbled nosily in agreement.
Lola exhaled when it appeared some of the reporters were packing up to leave. However, her relief was short-lived.
“Lola!” one of them shouted out. Lola recognized the petite pixie of a woman instantly. This wasn’t a reporter from one of the news networks or celebrity-stalking tabloid shows. Willow Gates, also known as the Wicked Glam Mother, ran a popular blog on the beauty industry, and her YouTube channel now boasted over seven million followers.
“Is it true you’re being replaced as the face of Espresso Cosmetics by a drag queen?” the Wicked Glam Mother asked. “By your very own brother?”
Lola flinched. The blogger’s question had the effect of ripping a newly formed scab off a wound, and Lola swallowed hard. A hush fell over the crowd. She waited a beat before attempting to answer, because this question required one and it had to come straight from her mouth.
Dylan, who had been facing the crowd, turned to look at her. He removed his aviator shades and those mesmerizing brown eyes locked on her. He was a man of few words, but his expression and solid presence told her everything she needed to know. Then the words he’d spoken in Ginny’s kitchen echoed in her head, and she knew that was when she’d fallen in love with Dylan Cooper.
I want to hold her down—not hold her back.
Lola had believed him then and did even more so now. All she had to do was blink, and Dylan would clear this entire square for her. However, Lola didn’t need him to. His being here was enough.
Now it was time for her to handle her business.
“Don’t be so nosy,” Rosemary Moody admonished the popular blogger, which set off a ripple of raised eyebrows throughout the crowd of Cooper’s Place residents. “That’s between Lola and her family,” the town gossip added.
Family.
The very people Lola had basically told to kiss her ass on the way out of the Espresso building had jumped in a car and driven all night because they believed she needed their help. Cole could be obnoxious, and more than a touch overbearing, but he was also generous, protective, a loving brother and a good businessman.
Lola cleared her throat. “Yes, it’s true that I will no longer be the face of Espresso Cosmetics,” she said, finally replying to the question.
However, it apparently wasn’t enough of an answer to satisfy the Wicked Glam Mother. “Don’t you find it humiliating that a model of your stature was fired by her very own brother, and to add insult to injury, replaced by a man in drag?”
The woman had the word wicked in her name for a reason, Lola thought. Reporters and cameramen who had initially started packing up their equipment to leave stood riveted, awaiting Lola’s answer. Their microphones and cameras were poised to capture every word.
Lola glanced at Dylan. His aviator sunglasses were back in place, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward in the hint of a smile. The tiny gesture infused her with the cool confidence that came so naturally to him.
“I won’t lie to you, Willow. I was taken aback by the decision,” she began. “However, my brother is CEO of Espresso Cosmetics, and I know he’ll do what’s best for the company founded by our late mother.”
“But Lola.” The blogger stretched out the two syllables of her name. “Aren’t you embarrassed? Isn’t your pride the tiniest bit bruised?”
Lola zeroed in on the woman as cameras clicked in the background. “Regardless of whether I’m Espresso’s model, I’m still a part owner of that company. Like the rest of my family, my primary concerns are profits and preserving the legacy of Selena Sinclair Gray, not my ego.”
Fifteen minutes later, only Dylan lingered. The town’s citizens had returned to their daily routines, and the national media had abandoned the square. They’d quickly jumped into their various vehicles and exited town to pursue their next stories.
Lola exhaled. She was officially old news.
She turned to Dylan. “I appreciate you not intervening.”
“There was no need. You handled it, and I couldn’t be prouder.”
“You seem distracted. You okay?” Lola asked.
“Sure. I was thinking when you finish your community-service hours, and I knock off work for the evening, we could celebrate with milkshakes at the diner,” Dylan said. “We can celebrate you completing your sentence and getting the media off your back.”
“I’d love that.”
Lola leaned in and kissed him, being careful not to get any paint on his uniform. She couldn’t see his eyes in the mirror of his wire-rimmed shades, but again she got the feeling something was wrong. She brushed it off as paranoia. Apparently she’d grown so used to things going wrong, she wasn’t accustomed to them going right.
Dylan looked at the gazebo and then the grass. “I can give you a hand with that,” he offered. “Marjorie will contact me if there are any calls.”
Lola shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather do it myself,” she said. “It’ll give me time to figure out my next career move.”
Hours after Dylan left the square, Lola put the finishing touches on the gazebo and stood back to admire it. She’d completed her required community service time over an hour ago, but wanted to finish the project she’d started.
“Looks good, Ms. Gray. I can hardly wait for inauguration day.”
Lola spared a glance at Mayor Roy Cooper, and then busied herself gathering up the unused paint and supplies to return to the town’s public works department. For once, she resisted the impulse to say what she was thinking, and the overwhelming urge to call Dylan’s uncle an ass.
Chapter 15
“I already told you, I’m not sleepy.”
Lola’s protests would have carried more weight with Dylan if her eyes hadn’t drifted shut and her head hadn’t lolled until her chin touched her chest.
After dinner, he’d taken her to the movie playing this week at the town’s lone theatre, where he quickly discovered her impulsive streak extended to yelling out advice to the characters on the big screen. Surprisingly, no one had complained.
Cooper’s Place had quickly adopted her as one of their own. Like Dylan, they’d chalked up the outbursts to another case of Lola being Lola, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.
He moved to pry the television remote from her hand so he could switch off the fifty-inch flat screen mounted to his living room wall. Then he planned to scoop her off the sofa and carry her to bed.
Her eyes popped open. “No, I want to stay up and watch the show,” she said, still battling with sleep.
“You’re clearly exhausted,” Dylan said. “How about I record it? We can watch it together in the morning.”
“It’s not the same.” Her eyes closed again, but she kept a death grip on
the remote. Tucking her bare feet under her, she snuggled against him, utilizing his chest as a pillow. “I’m just going to rest my eyes for a few minutes, but I’m not going to sleep.”
The gentle snores that came out of her mouth seconds later indicated otherwise.
Dylan wrapped an arm around her. “Okay, you win. I’ll wake you up when it comes on,” he whispered, taking in her sleeping face.
Awake, there were so many fascinating facets to the woman seated next to him. Her warmth, openness, sense of humor and impulsiveness were so compelling, they made him nearly forget her exceptional beauty. He studied her sleeping face, committing it to memory. Because it wouldn’t be long before she and what they had was just that—a memory.
Dylan glanced up at the television. She even had him tuning in to the Fashion Channel on a TV that up until now showed only games and sports highlights. Lola had received an email on her phone earlier that the blogger who had asked all those nosy questions in the square had a segment on Lola airing on the network’s top show, Beauty Outtakes, tonight.
Lola had been nervous about it throughout their meal, after she’d read it. She’d explained how both the blogger and the show were widely followed by consumers and the cosmetics industry, and were very influential.
Dylan had felt anxious, too, albeit for selfish reasons.
He’d seen her in action. She’d done a spectacular job handling that blogger’s intrusive inquiries on what he knew had to still be a sensitive subject for Lola. Dylan also had a strong feeling that once the blogger’s segment and other news footage aired of a poised, eloquent and beautiful Lola, she’d charm viewers, just as she had him. The job offers would come rolling in.
It was only a matter of time. He’d realized that today at the town square. He’d also realized saying goodbye to her would be one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life.
Dylan looked up at the television, where a woman was going on about a pair of needle-heeled pumps as if she was teaching a university course on them. The woman dangled a shoe from her finger. “Be sure to tune in next week for another riveting episode of The Shoe Professor...”
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