by Kim Law
But he definitely was today.
The phone on the assistant’s desk rang, and Vega turned her attention to the notebook in her lap. She tried to concentrate on what she had left to do for the interview instead of listening to the phone call, but couldn’t help overhearing the one-sided conversation with yet another reporter. Apparently whatever had happened after she’d left the night before had been newsworthy.
She hovered a finger over the browser icon of her phone, fighting the urge to do a search for JP and Greta. She did not want to see what turned up…yet she did.
Before she could call up Google, her phone vibrated in her hand and she let out a burst of air, thrilled for an excuse to keep from searching for something that would only upset her. With a shaky finger, she answered the call from an Atlanta number she didn’t recognize.
“Vega…this is Greta Kirby.”
Irony had a very bad sense of humor.
She closed her eyes and thumped her head against the wall behind her chair. Could she please get past this week already?
Pulling in a giant breath of fortitude, she forced a pleasant tone to her voice. She had the impression that pissing Greta off would not be a good thing. “What can I do for you Ms. Kirby?”
“I’m so sorry about our little misunderstanding last night, dear.”
Ha! Right.
“And I hate that I didn’t get a chance to right it before you had to leave,” Greta continued.
Vega listened to the sugary-sweet voice on the other end of the phone, and wondered what she was up to. After returning from the bathroom the night before, Vega had thrown out an excuse, taken her equipment, and waited just inside the front door of the restaurant for a cab. All before JP had reappeared.
What Greta could want now, or even how she’d come to have Vega’s phone number was a complete mystery.
“I am so sorry about that, Greta. I got a call, and had a slight emergency.” She didn’t feel the need to fill in the silence with any other words. From what she could tell, there was no reason to even be talking to the woman.
“Well…” Greta cooed. “I called hoping to make my behavior up to you. Thought maybe we could meet for lunch or something. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Fun? It would be like jabbing a dull ice pick in her eye over and over again.
Vega cast a longing glance across the room to Beverly sitting behind her desk, engrossed now in something on her computer screen, and wished she’d continued eavesdropping instead of taking her own call.
“I’m sure there’s no need for that, Ms. Kirby. All is forgotten.” She’d so rather be talking to JP’s assistant than JP’s date.
“I refuse to take no for an answer, dear. Let’s do it. A girls’ day out!”
Vega blinked several times as if her brain were rebooting. Why in the world would Greta want to have a girls’ day out with her?
She decided to approach the situation in a different way than just a flat not on your life. “That sounds like loads of fun, but I’m not sure I’ll be in town long enough to make it happen.”
Beverly glanced up from her computer, her eyebrows going on a hike to her forehead. She must not be above eavesdropping herself.
“Oh poo,” Greta whined. “I was so hoping you’d say yes. You see, I don’t have many friends here in Atlanta, and since Eddie died, well, I get lonely. And I do so regret my nasty comments last night. JP and I talked about it, and I see that I was out of line. What happened before the two of us got together is simply none of my business.”
Vega stared straight ahead, willing JP to show up, or Beverly to toss her an excuse, or the danged building to catch on fire. Anything to get her out of this conversation without making an enemy. Greta had money, and Vega had learned long ago that money could cause more than one kind of problem. Especially for someone with an agenda.
Vega only wished she knew what Greta’s agenda was.
She opened her mouth and mumbled the only thing she could think to say. “I won’t be working with JP much tomorrow. Maybe we could do something in the morning.”
“Oh!” Greta squealed so loud Vega had to pull the phone away from her ear. “That would be perfect. How about I meet you at the Hilton?”
A twitch pinched the back of Vega’s neck.
“How do you know where I’m staying, Greta?”
“Huh?” Greta stammered a bit then giggled. “Oh, Jackson mentioned it last night. He was worried, hoping you’d made it back after you left, so he called the hotel and confirmed you’d returned. That’s how I got your phone number too,” she added in a rush. “I sort of sneaked a peek at Jackson’s phone after we…” Giggle. “Well…later in the evening.”
After what? Was she trying to suggest that she had postcoitally snuck JP’s phone away just to get Vega’s phone number?
Something wasn’t making sense here, but the thought of Greta having the opportunity to get JP’s phone when he wasn’t looking sent such a gush of nausea through Vega, she made an excuse and got off the phone before she was caught throwing up her breakfast.
It wasn’t her business what the two of them had done at the end of the evening, and it would never be her business. She was here for the interview. Which, for the most part, would wrap up today. They had a trip to the school where he volunteered, then dinner that evening with his family, along with confirmation with the governor that JP would, in fact, accept the senatorial seat.
Tomorrow would be spent pulling everything together, then Saturday, the press conference announcing it to the world.
Getting the press conference would conclude her time with JP, but hopefully start her new job in Atlanta. One, she fervently hoped, that did not put her in JP’s path too often in the future.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall, taking in long, deep breaths to steady the irregular rhythm in her chest. It didn’t matter that JP was late to the office, and it didn’t matter if it was because he had been up all night trying his best to experience everything an ex–Playboy Playmate had to offer. It was his life and his choice.
But she wanted to rip out both his and Greta’s eyes. Or worse.
A soft hmmmm drew her attention to JP’s admin, who was still engrossed in the monitor, and Vega couldn’t help but wonder what had piqued her interest.
She’d chatted with Beverly multiple times over the last few days, and had found her to be a truly lovely person. She was utterly loyal to JP, but wasn’t above snickering with Vega over some of the shenanigans he’d gotten himself into over the years.
Vega rose from the chair and began to pace the small waiting area. “I’m surprised JP wasn’t already working when I got here this morning.” It was a conversation they’d already had, but she had to say something. Waiting was driving her out of her mind.
Beverly looked up from the screen, her glasses perched on her nose and the devil dancing in her eyes. “From the looks of these photos, I’m suspecting he had a late night.”
Disgust spread through Vega like a nasty fungus. She wanted to go over and check it out for herself, to see just how bad it was—hopefully going a long way to turning off her own fascination with him—but it would be rude to butt in without being asked.
“Of course, that normally doesn’t stop him from getting to work on time.” Beverly chuckled and shook her head as she continued staring at the screen. “Come over here. You’ve got to see these.”
Vega hurried to the desk. No, she didn’t really want to see pictures of him and Greta, yet she couldn’t make herself not look at them. She stepped to Beverly’s side and glanced at the monitor, then leaned in and gaped.
It couldn’t have been a more perfect picture of an upstanding politician and the little wife standing by his side. Vega couldn’t tell where they were, but they’d clearly carried a crowd with them. JP stood before everyone, many of them photographers, but he was front and center, tall and powerful, and Greta stood discreetly by his side, hands folded over each other, with a pure look of adorati
on as she gazed up at him.
JP with the tailored dark suit he’d worn the night before, and Greta in her Jackie O finest. It was truly a gem. Vega had no doubt Greta already had the shot printed and framed.
“Check out these others,” Beverly said, then began scrolling down the screen.
One after another, there were the two of them. Entering the jazz club Dante’s Down the Hatch, then coming back out of the club later. In the first one, JP had one elbow slightly askew with Greta’s arm slipped into the bend. In the next, they stood on the sidewalk after exiting, JP’s hands in his pockets, Greta’s head resting on his shoulder as if they’d just come from the most romantic evening.
There were several more in different nightspots all over the city, all similar, and all with Greta cuddling close to him. The man had certainly done his job as perfect host for the evening. The governor couldn’t be upset with these, because there wasn’t a single thing vulgar or unseemly about them. They were simply two perfect people out enjoying the beginning of a lovely relationship.
“At least it’ll take their minds off that shot of him and me,” she mumbled, her irritation showing itself.
Vega froze, realizing that though everyone knew it had been her in the photo, this was the first time she’d talked about it to anyone other than JP. And she’d been the one to bring it up!
Might as well try to make it a little better since it was now out there. “I’m sorry about that picture,” she said, her cheeks tinting with heat. “If you’d asked me last Saturday night which of us would be the one to bring the man to a low like he’s never seen, I would have sworn it would be that one.” She pointed to the perfect pictures on-screen.
Beverly cackled with laughter. “Don’t you dare apologize. I loved it! The man needs someone like you in his life.”
“Are you kidding me?” Vega gaped. “He has plenty of women in his life. Not that I want to be in his life anyway. It was a one-time thing.”
Beverly eyed her as if she didn’t believe her protest, but went back to the screen. “I want to show you something. Check these pictures out in detail. And look close.”
Vega dragged over a guest chair to sit, and Beverly once again started scrolling through the pictures.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“Just look at the two of them. What do you not see happening in those pictures? In every single one of them?”
Vega squinted at the computer as if doing so would make something clearer, but all she kept seeing was JP and Greta, Mr. and Miss Perfect, cuddling all over each other. Wait…she leaned closer. She took the mouse from Beverly and scrolled back to the top to start over.
The admin plopped back in her chair in a queen-of-the-castle manner. “You see it, don’t you? They’re all like that. Every woman he’s photographed with.”
Vega turned her head and looked Beverly straight in the eye. “Every one of them looks as if they’re close, cuddling even, but there isn’t one single picture where he has an actual hand touching her in anything more than the most cursory fashion.”
His hands were either in his pockets or at his sides. She pointed to the screen where he’d been holding the car door open for her. Greta was once again leaned into him, a wide smile on her face, but JP had one hand on the open door, and the other holding a gift bag they’d apparently picked up on one of their many stops.
“Exactly. He sometimes will have a steadying touch to their backs, but he never has his fingers clasped around anyone, and rarely does he even touch a woman in public.”
“Wow.” Vega settled back into her chair. “I can’t believe I never noticed that.”
“And where were his hands in your picture?”
She blushed madly. They both knew exactly where his hands had been. “That was different. We were kissing.”
“My point exactly.”
“Okay, wait.” She stood and began to pace again. “What are you saying? That though he goes out with—and sleeps with—all kinds of women, he always makes sure not to be photographed in even the tiniest compromising position?”
Beverly dipped her eyes in acknowledgment.
“Yet he let himself get caught like that with me?” Vega pierced her with her gaze. “Why?”
A shrug. “He’s different with you.”
Vega blinked. Well, that was interesting. Only…She scrunched her nose up in thought, then shook her head. “No, that doesn’t count. We were wearing disguises, and no one was supposed to even know we were on the island. He only let himself act that way because he didn’t think anyone would be looking.”
“Sweetheart,” Beverly began, as if explaining to a small child. “I hate to break it to you, but you aren’t the first woman he’s tried to disappear with for a weekend. He’s been caught before when no one knew he was there, yet even then, there was never any public hand-holding.”
The thought that she might be somehow different to him than other women was nice, but she had a hard time believing it. They were just chemistry and a good time. She shook her head, feeling a slight pang at the thought that even though that’s all they were, it was over. “Still doesn’t matter. JP and I were just a weekend thing.”
“Why is that?”
What a silly question. “First of all, because he never gets more serious than a weekend, but mostly because he’s too…” She paused, trying to figure out how to explain, then ended up flapping her hand at the screen. “Public.”
Beverly returned her gaze to the pictures. “And you don’t like being public, I take it?”
“Exactly.”
Another click brought up one more photo. “Then you have a funny way of showing it,” Beverly murmured.
Though the server at the restaurant had likely gotten fired, he had managed to get payoff for his trouble. There, in the grainy low light, were JP and Vega, heads close together as he whispered in her ear, their hands clasped together at her side.
She swallowed a gulp, while Beverly laughed so hard she snorted.
Could she not get a single break? Being caught together like that—while he was out with another woman—would look as bad as if they’d been caught kissing in the back hallway instead of merely talking.
The outer door swung open, and JP entered with authority. He took one look at the two of them, and fastened on Beverly. “Don’t you have work to be doing?”
Beverly straightened. She wore the air of being reprimanded, but the gleam in her eyes gave her away. “Yes, Mr. Davenport.”
JP narrowed his eyes on her, doing an excellent impression of someone who’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed and insisted on taking it out on everyone around him. Vega wondered if that meant his night had ended badly.
She could only hope.
“I’ll be in my office.” The door rattled in its frame behind him, leaving Vega wide-eyed and wondering what had just happened.
She edged back to the other side of the desk, then stood there wondering what she was supposed to do next. He was the one who’d suggested she come to his office until they headed to the school, but with him not even acknowledging her, then closing himself off behind his door, she wasn’t about to sit there waiting all day. Even if she did care to tolerate his mood.
“I think I’ll—”
“Beverly,” the phone speaker squawked into the room.
“Yes, Mr. Davenport?”
“Send Ms. Zaragoza in.”
Ms. Zaragoza? Apparently they were back to formal names. She supposed that’s what happened after he slept with someone else. Her irritation level inched higher.
Beverly peered over her glasses. “You going in, or should I tell him you left already?”
She was thinking the same as Vega. Why should she go in there just because he commanded? Vega glanced at the closed door, sure she hadn’t done anything to deserve his mood, and equally certain she didn’t want to be on the other side of it. She was the one who should be furious, not the other way around.
“I would say not t
o take it personally,” Beverly began, “but he’s arrived in that mood every day this week.” She shrugged. “Could have something to do with you.”
“Yes, well. He could learn to put out the effort to be civilized too.” Especially after he’d just had a long night with another woman. “I’m leaving.”
Vega turned to the chair she’d been sitting in and began gathering her things. The sound of a door swinging open behind her stopped her movements. She peered over her shoulder. JP now filled the space where the door had been, and his blue eyes were focused purely on her.
“Would you come in here?” His tone still commanded, but she could see he was trying.
She so didn’t want to go in there. She couldn’t fully escape him—they did have to shoot the activities scheduled for the day—but the thought of being near him at the moment wasn’t a pleasant one. In fact, it was darn near torturous.
She glanced at the outer door, wondering if he’d refuse to continue, or renege on the whole thing altogether, if she just left.
“Please.”
Damn. That did it. She still couldn’t say no to the man, no matter what, and certainly not when he said “please.”
With a great show of reluctance, she grabbed her remaining items and slunk into his office. He stood at the entrance and let her pass, then followed her in, closing the door behind him, this time more gently.
Once they were alone, she stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped protectively around her stuff, and waited.
“Sit down, Vega.” His deep voice came from behind her a second before his hands reached around and lifted the camera and her backpack from her arms. He pressed his fingertips to her shoulder, nudging her toward a chair. “Sit.”
With a drawn-out sigh, she finally did as asked. He circled his desk and sat facing her, and she found herself unable to look him in the eye. Knowing he’d been with Greta the night before hurt way more than it should have.
She tried the view out his window, but that just reminded her of what the two of them had done up against that pane a couple days ago. Finally, she settled her gaze on the shelves lining the wall to his left.
