by Lex Martin
“One of the neighbors called the police after they saw smoke in the chimney. They knew the owners were out of town and had been asked to keep an eye on the place.” He shuffles through some papers. “The cops couldn’t come until the storm passed and the roads cleared, but when they approached the house, they ran your plates.” He looks up and eyes me meaningfully.
“And they saw my record.”
“Yep.”
“Goddamn it. But I swear I thought the place was Josh’s.”
“While I was on my way here, my associate researched public records and made phone calls. She emailed me this report.” He opens up his laptop. “You are charged with breaking and entering into private property located at 1141 NE County Road 246, which you say belongs to your friend Josh Cartwright. Unfortunately, that address is owned by a Matilda and Jerry Haim. The real property owned by the Cartwright Family Trust is located at 1411 NW County Road 246.” Tim eyes me over the top of the computer.
My stomach drops. “Fuck.”
“It appears that you were a digit off and on the—”
“Wrong fucking side of the mountain.” I shake my head in disbelief, then get up and resume pacing. “I’d never been to Josh’s cabin before. He just got it. I assumed I was in the right place because he spent time renovating, and this place seemed like his style… Dammit.”
“The good news is that I’m confident you had no criminal intent. You did not believe you were breaking into the property of another—”
“Well, I did—”
“Without consent, Drew.” Tim gives me a hard look. “You believed you had implied consent from your friend, correct?”
“True.” I stop and stare at him, hope finally taking root inside me. “So you think you can get those charges dismissed?”
“I already—yes, here it is”—he clicks on his laptop—“have a statement from Mr. Cartwright.” Tim turns around his computer so I can read Josh’s affidavit. “His corroboration, along with your testimony and what I assume Miss Greer will say, will go a long way.”
“Thank fuck.” I sit down again and sigh. “So when can we leave? We need to get Kendall out, too.”
“Yes, I know. But there is the felony charge of grand theft.”
A flash of irritation rises up my spine. I heard this before, but had no idea what they were talking about. Yes, we went into the cabin, but I didn’t take anything other than old National Geographic magazines and a few matches. “What do they think I took?”
“Wine.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting. “What?”
“The Haims are concerned that you drank through their collection of rare French wine, and then the police found empty wine bottles in the bins outside. Nice bottles.”
“We didn’t drink any of their wine. I brought one bottle for Kendall. I don’t drink at all these days.” I’m so pissed I start laughing. “If they’re worried I took advantage of their hospitality, the least they could do is have fresh towels and turn-down service. Oh, and indoor heat.”
“Drew. I believe if you talk to them and tell them what happened, they won’t press charges.”
Waving my hand as best as I can, I say, “Show them in. I’ll pay for any damage they claim. Not that we caused any. Hell, I’ll pay for housekeeping service for a year, an improved security system, and a case of Haut-Médoc, plus a copy of every single National Geographic that’s ever been printed. They can even borrow my parents’ cabin in Vail, if they want.”
He gives me a grin. “I’ll go get them.”
An hour and a large sum of money later, I’ve convinced the owners that we were not hooligans trying to destroy their property, but had mistaken their abode for our friend’s and got stranded in a snowstorm.
In other words, the truth.
They agree not to press charges, and we are free to go. The sheriff gives me back my cat. The arresting deputy almost looks like I told him he’s not getting a Christmas bonus this year.
But where is Kendall?
Tim’s been so busy negotiating at my side, he hasn’t broken away to talk to her. And after hours spent with him and my accusers, by the time I’m finally released, I’m informed that Miss Greer’s older sister picked her up and she’s on her way home.
Without talking to me.
Fuck.
When the deputy returns my phone it has no charge, but the second I get my car out of impound hours later, I plug it in and call Kendall.
No response.
I text her all of my apologies and explanations.
Then I drive home in the early dawn, worried it’s not enough.
15
Kendall
When I close my eyes, I can almost pretend I’m back at the cabin instead of waiting for my sister to bail me out.
Back with Drew in our cozy hideaway.
Before I was utterly humiliated and the cops took my damn mugshot.
I want to believe this was all a big mistake. That Drew didn’t steal a three-thousand-dollar bottle of wine from the cabin’s cellar for shits and giggles and pretend he bought it for me.
Because if that’s a lie, what other lines did he feed me?
I don’t know how you fake what we shared, but if it was all a façade, he’s downright maniacal.
Everything in me hopes and prays I know the real Drew. That he’s not the asshat this clusterfuck seems to suggest he is. That he’s different now. That getting arrested had more to do with his record and the police not listening to our side of the story than our behavior. I hope this is some horribly stupid misunderstanding that I’ll laugh about some day.
Just not right now.
How many times have I been on the other end of this situation? The PR pro who tells my clients to keep their act together and not break down? To put on a brave face. Now that I’m here, now that I’m the one with the arrest and potential felony, I’m seeing how callous I’ve been. How terribly out of touch. With my entire career on the line, I’m fucking terrified that everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve is about to go up in flames.
My jaw tightens as I will myself not to cry. Not here, a few feet away from the two receptionists who’ve been gossiping about me all night, yukking it up in a stage whisper I hear loud and clear.
“In my day, you had to buy the cow before you got the milk…”
“The deputy found used condoms all over that beautiful cabin…”
“And he comes from such a good family too. You’d think his momma would’ve taught him not to mess with trash like that…”
Harsh, ladies. Harsh.
I’m surprised they don’t print out that Game of Thrones meme of Cersei Lannister doing her walk of shame and staple it to my forehead.
I don’t need a mirror to know I have coffee stains on my clothes, mascara under my eyes, and mud in my hair. If I were my own publicist, I’d tell jailbird Kendall to buck up, ask to go to the bathroom so she can wash her face, and act like this isn’t a big deal. Because this will all be straightened out soon and won’t everyone get a chuckle out of it then.
But I’m scared shitless this whole situation is a big deal. That I’ll lose clients if word gets out.
And I can’t afford to lose clients. Not if I expect to make rent and payroll next month.
The odds are I’m in deep crap right now professionally because nothing involving Drew is ever covert or inconspicuous. He’s constantly in the society blogs, even after he started to clean up his act.
Tristan is going to kill me for this, if he isn’t already plotting my death for being MIA for the last three days.
The chair across from me scrapes the floor, and I look up to see my older and very pissed-off sister.
“Brookey, you came. Did you bail me out?” I jump up and try to hug her but she shrugs me off.
“You smell like ass. I have your paperwork. Let’s go.”
The smart decision would’ve been to call Evie to bail me out, but when the cops frisked me—yes, I got the VIP treatment—the de
puty pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, and it slipped into a big puddle of water.
God help me, but the only number I could remember off the top of my head was my sister’s.
Clearly, Brooke isn’t thrilled to be my “one call from jail.”
“I’ll pay you back whatever it cost you, I swear.” Just maybe not this month, but I don’t add that detail. If I give up my gym membership and my dental plan, though, I can get the money to her in a few months. “I’m so sorry you had to drive all this way.”
Her nostrils flare. “You owe me. I had to leave Noah’s promotion party early.”
Underneath her wool coat, she’s wearing a sleek, sparkly cocktail dress. Her hair and makeup are flawless, like the prima ballerina she’s always been. Far too overdressed to be standing in the middle of this police station, hours from home, at nearly midnight on a Saturday.
“I’ll babysit for free for the next month.”
She scoffs. “Noah says you’re not allowed to babysit Janie anymore. He’s pissed about tonight.”
My heart sinks like a boulder in my stomach. I love my niece with my whole heart and soul. When I opened the PR firm, I decided I was fine putting a family on hold for another four or five years because I have Janie to spoil.
I open my mouth to argue, but Brooke stomps out of the room.
Although I shouldn’t be surprised by her attitude, I’m in desperate need of some TLC, so her cold shoulder feels like a pulverizing blow. But what’s one more crushing disappointment today?
I poke my head out of the holding room, afraid I’m not really supposed to be leaving, but no one seems to care that I’m out and about.
My sister blazes through the front doors so fast, I’m half afraid she’s going to leave me. Frantically, I look around, expecting to see Drew, but the police station is almost empty. Just a few deputies strolling about and one of those lovely ladies who’s been trashing me all night.
With a resigned breath, I turn toward the main desk. The snarky receptionist watches me with an arched, unplucked eyebrow as she takes out a tray that has my still-damp cell phone, plus my laptop and purse. No idea where my luggage or clothes are, but when the deputy asked me what I left at the cabin, I begged him to get my laptop since they had retrieved my purse when they arrested us.
FML, I’ve been arrested.
It’s still sinking in. Like I’m on the Titanic, watching the icy waters rise.
Really, Kendall. Dramatic much?
As I gather my belongings, I clear my throat. “Do you know—” I pause to glance around before lowering my voice. “Do you know if Drew Merritt is still being held?”
She gives me a blank stare.
Okay.
“Is he still here? Could you give him a message for me?”
“No.”
A cold prickle of awareness washes over me.
Drew already left.
Without talking to me.
What the actual hell?
The car honk outside the station makes me flinch. Through the double doors of the station, my sister glares at me from her Mercedes SUV before she backs out of the parking spot. Snow shoots out from her tires.
Shit.
I race through the double doors, slipping and sliding along the walkway. When I get the passenger door open, I’m genuinely afraid she might leave my ass here as some kind of tough-love lesson.
But I’ve already learned one lesson tonight.
And that’s never to trust Drew Merritt again.
16
Kendall
With a groan, I press two fingers into my left eye to make it stop twitching.
“You sure you’re okay?” Tristan is in war room mode as he stalks across his living room and places a steaming hot mocha venti latte in front of me.
“I’ll be fine. Again, I’m so sorry, Tris.”
“Shut up. Who saved my ass senior year when I wouldn’t leave the house after Rhonda broke up with me? My favorite little redhead. I’ll always have your back.”
Gratefulness washes over me. “Thanks, bud. You’re the best.”
“I know,” he says smugly while holding out his fist. I laugh and jab back. “You wanna stay another night? I might have some clothes you can wear tomorrow.”
Want to know the icing on my shit cake? I can’t go home since I’m locked out because I left my keys in my luggage back on Mount Hood. Fortunately, when Brooke drove me over here at three this morning, Tristan just ushered me in with a hug, handed me a big plate of game-day snacks, and offered his guest room. Thank God because my sister told me in no uncertain terms that I was not staying with her. So much for sisterly love.
I take a big sip of the latte and sigh with relief. “Which ex-girlfriend are we talking about? Shauna had really great taste, and if she left one of her dresses behind, I’m totally going to take you up on that offer. And thank you, because the locksmith can’t come until tomorrow.”
We’ve been putting out client fires all day, but in the few minutes we spend guzzling down coffee, I reload Gary the Gossip, Portland’s homegrown gossip website, on my laptop as surreptitiously as possible. Not because I want to keep anything from my partner, but because I’m utterly mortified our PR firm might go up in flames at the flick of a mouse.
Tris motions toward my computer. “It’s been quiet. I just checked five minutes ago. You’re going to be fine.” His confidence soothes my beleaguered soul. He lowers his voice even though we’re the only ones here. “Don’t forget I have that intern who’s supposed to give me a heads up whenever either of us or our clients are in their headlines. God knows I pay her enough.”
Any other day, I’d tease him about his mysterious connection at Gary’s and inquire whether this mystery woman is someone he knows on a personal level that involves horizontal moves and Marvin Gaye tunes, but I can’t dredge up the energy. Without my cell phone, I’ve been scrambling to piece together everything that happened while I was gone, and it’s been exhausting.
One of my NBA players, Kyle Lumeer, separated from his wife, and despite the contentious split, he’s been frantic to maintain a united front with his ex for the sake of his children. Fortunately, when Kyle couldn’t reach me, he talked to Tristan, who easily took control of the situation. But we still have press releases to write and umpteen gossip mongers to quell.
In contrast, my mayoral candidate, Howard LaRoe, has been pissy that I haven’t been at his beck and call, and he left me a nasty message on my work voicemail. How quickly he forgets all of the times I’ve helped him when he was in a jam.
Despite the work chaos, what’s making me mental is not being able to check my personal messages until I get a new cell phone.
Given how busy Tristan and I are trying to catch up on work from the holiday, I give up any hope of getting that errand done before the weekend is up.
But I wonder. Did Drew call me? Text me? Or just ditch me on the mountain with nary a word after we screwed for three days straight?
Although in the moment, nothing we did felt wrong. Two consenting adults hooked up and had fun. But now I feel used, like I gave something away I can’t get back.
The whole thing leaves me disconcerted in a way I’m not used to.
It’s enough to make me call my parents.
Fortunately, they’re blissfully ignorant of my crime spree this Thanksgiving, although they tell me Evie checked in with them to make sure I’d gotten back home.
I’m bummed they didn’t get her number when she called, but at least I know she’s not trapped on Mount Hood.
And as much as my sister pisses me off, Brooke kept her promise and didn’t blab to our parents about bailing me out of jail.
My stomach tightens when I let myself think about what happened.
I don’t know what I’ll tell Evie about this week. Admitting I boned Drew within an inch of our lives only to get blown off by him at the police station is a level of shame I’m not sure how to deal with.
It shouldn’t feel worse tha
n the first time I saw Bobby with his wife, but it does.
Maybe I just need a day or two to process everything.
By Monday morning, that eye twitch is an evil migraine I can’t seem to shake no matter how many Advil I down.
Because at the back of my mind, one word keeps flashing, usurping my obsession with whether or not I’ll find messages from Drew when I get my new phone later today. And that word gets louder and louder as the day progresses.
Felony.
Felony!
FELONY!
So when Jessica sticks her head in the doorway of my office to announce that “some attorney is on line two,” I nearly hop out of my shoes.
With my heart in my throat, I nod and pick up the phone. As I’m about to punch the blinking light, I look up to see my overly interested intern is still there.
“Thanks, Jess. Can you close the door, please?”
Tristan and I haven’t told her anything aside from the fact that I was out of cell phone range this weekend, but it’s obvious she knows something’s up.
I’m so nauseated when I answer, I pull over the trash can in case I hurl the granola bar I ate for breakfast.
My attorney’s gruff voice bellows in my ear. “Good news, Kendall. The charges have been dropped.”
Holy shit!
I open my mouth but nothing comes out the first time.
“Are you sure?”
He chuckles, and I’m so buoyed with relief, I barely hear the rest of what he says except for the last part about sending me the bill.
After I hang up, I collapse on my desk in a heap of tired girl.
A few minutes later, a quiet knock has me looking up, and Tristan’s concerned face pokes in. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t jump out a window.” He closes the door behind him and slides into the chair across from my desk.
“I am officially free and clear. Charges have been dropped.”
“Damn. I was looking forward to buying you a black and white striped jumper for Christmas.”
I roll my eyes, but then we stare at each other and laugh.
