My chest freezes. “What?”
She shakes her head furiously. “Nothing. It’s not important.” Her posture goes limp, as if all her bones have dissolved away, leaving only her skin. “Not anymore.”
My heart beats double time. “I had nothing to do with Savannah.”
“But you were there at the board meeting.”
“I’m on your side, Stone.” My hands clench, remembering the hurried meeting on Monday. Marv had gone in with a tight plan, using the consultants’ logic and then the viewers’ complaints about Stone’s monkey pawing episode. I’d asked him for the proof of the complaints, because I doubted they were as widespread as he’d claimed, but it had fallen on deaf ears. I’d brought up how Savannah was too immature to handle the pressure, and obviously I’d chimed in about her apparent lack of knowledge when it came to basic geography. But, he’d been adamant about Savannah being the new, young fresh face of Houston, and nothing I said had helped.
“I was against it, but Marv managed to push it through. He had sound reasoning and on paper, Savannah has everything—”
“She’s been here less than a year and has somehow managed to take everything!” Her face crumbles and she looks away from me.
“You deserve that job over anyone else,” I say gently.
“Words, just words, Cade. Tell me this: did you know last night—when we were fucking—that I was going to come in here and get blindsided?”
I bury my hands in my hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think he would announce it so soon. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“And you didn’t think today would hurt?” She grimaces, the cactus wobbles, and I’m waiting for it to crash to the floor. She manages to secure it.
Her face is red as she glares at me. “I fell right into your lap, knowing it was dangerous to get involved with a co-worker, but in the end, it didn’t even matter. Because it wasn’t you that screwed me up, it was me, believing for half a second that Marv and you and Vicky would look at me and my record. It was me believing that I deserved that job, but obviously my brain isn’t pea-sized enough. I’m not young enough . . .” She sucks in a shuddering breath and looks blindly around the room. “I hate this place.”
“Marv made a mistake. Let me—”
She slices into the air with her hand. “You are not going to do anything. Whatever we had”—she motions between the two of us—“is over and done. I trusted you.”
I deserve that, but her words cut like a sharp knife.
“Don’t go,” I say and take a step toward her.
She scrambles away from me, her hands somehow awkwardly finding the doorknob and flinging it open.
I follow, trying to give her space but also wanting to stop her from walking away from me. Because it feels final. I keep pace behind her as she whips through the den and back out into the hall where she bumps into Savannah holding a balloon bouquet.
“Isn’t this the best news ever?” Savannah beams with pride as she thrusts the bouquet under Stone’s nose. “It’s a dream come true—my own show!”
Stone stares at her, blinking rapidly, and it kills me to see her face is turning blotchy. Her gaze is frantic as she searches for an escape and tries to move around Savannah.
Savannah’s eyes are like slits as she rakes them over Stone, taking in her plant and her overstuffed purse. “On your way out the door for good, Rebecca?” Her tone is saccharine sweet, and my anger ratchets higher.
A resounding pop fills the silence as one of the balloons careens into Stone’s cactus. I’m not sure if Stone poked it at the balloon or if it was unintentional, but it causes everyone to stop and stare.
“How rude!” Savannah is saying as I approach.
“Shut up,” I snap right back.
She huffs and glares at both of us.
Stone just stands there, and I think I see tears pooling in her gaze. “Goodbye, Cade.” Her voice is small and thin, and it breaks my goddamn heart.
Before I can say anything else, the door is shut.
She’s gone.
Trent adjusts his bowtie for another picture in front of the backdrop the photographer has set up. It’s Saturday evening, and we’re inside the Areosol Warfare Gallery, a sleek place with cement floors and graffiti-covered walls. It’s hip, urban, and cool as hell. Just inside is roughly three hundred attendees—all here to support Deadrick and the surrounding schools. Of course Trent had managed to organize everything in just three weeks. His official title is Director of Better Education in Houston at Hill Global. The job is more stable than the acting gigs he manages to get every now and then, and Dad giving him a swanky office is the icing on the cake.
“He did a great job,” a voice says. I turn to see my father in his black tux, looking trim and dapper.
Mom is with him, dressed in a blue evening gown. Her eyes glow as she looks from Trent and then back to us.
“I love having my whole family together,” she murmurs.
I arch a brow, but I get what she’s saying. We aren’t a normal family by any means. I guess we never will be, but then who the fuck is? Dad isn’t suddenly going to be fine with Trent’s lifestyle, but at least he’s learning to deal with it. Acceptance. That’s all a person needs.
Trent’s brought a friend with him, a slender dark-haired guy named Ramon, and I watch as Dad makes his way over to them. I strain to hear the introductions and distinctly hear the word special friend from Trent’s mouth. Dad takes his hand and shakes it. Fucking progress. I lift a toast to an imaginary being in the air. Apparently with age does come wisdom.
“Too bad Rebecca isn’t here with you,” my mom says quietly as she hooks her arm through mine. “Will I ever get to meet her?”
I let out a long breath, my chest squeezing at the sound of her name. Mom knows the story of how Stone had walked out on KHOT—and me.
Yeah. When Stone had said she was done . . . she was fucking done.
“You okay?” Mom asks.
I nod, focusing on keeping my face shuttered. “Fine.”
But I miss her.
More than miss her.
My penthouse isn’t the same without her in my bed.
I find myself looking for her face wherever I go.
At Deadrick. At the office. In the grocery store.
“Why don’t you call her?” Mom is facing me now. “She seems so delightful and sweet.”
“I have called her. She won’t answer.” I slug back my whiskey and place it on a waiter’s tray. A man can only take so many unanswered phone calls and texts before he gives up.
Mom sighs, her brow furrowing as she pats my arm. “Well, I am sorry for it. You just haven’t been yourself lately . . .”
I smirk at her, trying to lighten the mood. “Forget about Stone. She’s moved on and so will I.”
“Want me to call up Sissy?” She giggles.
“Hell no.” I laugh and it feels good—because I haven’t for a while. These past few weeks of being frozen out by Stone have gotten under my skin more than I’d realized.
She nods her head toward the entrance where a group of people wearing media passes have walked in. “KHOT is here.”
I follow her eyes and wave at Matt, Kevin, and one of the beat reporters who Marv decided would follow up with the Deadrick story.
Seeing them here without Stone reinforces the fact that she isn’t part of our circle anymore. She won’t be showing up tonight.
Sighing heavily, I wave them over and introduce them to my family.
For the next few minutes, as the gala attendees continue to enter, I stand next to Coach Hart, Cheetah, and a few more of the players as Matt asks questions about the school, the football program, and how they know me.
“How much money has Better Education in Houston raised tonight, Cade?” Matt holds the mic in my face, and I shoot my usual cocky smile at the camera. “Hill Global has collected over three hundred thousand tonight, and I suspect it will be even more after the evening is over.”
Matt no
ds. “So how excited are you tonight about your speaker? Didn’t you guys face off a time or two?”
I grin. “True, true, Eli Manning is speaking tonight about the importance of giving back. He’s also interested in forming an NFL organization that gets pro players involved with school districts in their hometowns. We’re delighted to have him. Lucky for us, he’s a family friend.”
A platinum blonde in a red dress appears in front of me, crashing the interview. “Cade! Darling! This event is simply amazing.” Clutching my arm, Maggie Grace sweeps her gaze over to Matt and smiles at the camera. “Isn’t he the most generous person ever?”
Matt jumps in with the microphone. “Indeed. And who are you, miss?”
She glows and bats her eyelashes at the camera. “I’m Maggie Grace, his fiancée.”
Then she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me.
Rebecca
THE NOVEMBER SUN blasts in my face and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. A steady breeze blows the side of my hair into my eyes and mouth.
“Should we wait for better weather?” I position myself in front of a used Kia Sorrento with a giant red bow across the windshield. Two enormous balloon bouquets are tied to the side mirrors.
Tommy Thompson, Houston’s Used Car King, is beside me. He’s dressed in a cornflower blue polyester suit, and a bead of sweat rolls down his neck as he squints up at the clear sky. “Can’t get much better than this!”
I smooth a hand down my flower-print pencil skirt. “Don’t you think the light is a bit . . . harsh? And the wind . . .” Another blast flutters my white silk shirt and sends more hair sticking to my lip gloss. I do a little laugh. “It’s like being in Dallas!”
“It’s damn fine Texas weather. Best weather in the world.” His grin is enormous. “Don’t you worry, Miss Fieldstone. Just say those lines, and it’ll be great.”
I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to making amateur used-car commercials with this guy. In fairness, Tommy is paying me more money than I ever made as a reporter. The red light goes on, and I start to move. Naturally the wind sends the balloons flying in a colorful spiral right at my face.
“Safety isn’t just my priority, it’s also the priority of Tommy Thompson Pre-Owned Vehicles—oh!” I bounce off Tommy, who’s standing with his feet spread and both hands on his hips like it’s a barn raising. “Excuse me,” I mutter.
“CUT!” Terence, Tommy’s neighbor or brother-in-law or cousin or I forget what, shouts like he’s Martin Scorsese. “Back to the top.”
“Gotta keep those eyes open, Miss Fieldstone!” Tommy’s voice is like my grandpa’s, and he lifts a meaty paw like he might pinch my cheek.
I swear to God, if he touches my face . . .
Taking a step toward the car, I bat a shiny gold balloon away from my head. “Maybe I should move toward the car? Hold my hand out like this?” I do a sweeping Price is Right motion toward the vehicle.
“I like it!” Terence calls from behind the camera. He’s a skinny guy shaped like a Coke bottle. “Let’s shoot it!”
I barely have time to get to my starting point before the red light switches on. Naturally, the wind kicks up to full-blast as soon as I start to walk.
“Safety isn’t just my priority, it’s also the priority of—shit!” The tornado of balloons twists around my arm, tangling in my bracelet. They’re around my waist. One bounces off my nose.
“CUT!” Terence yells, skinny shoulders falling. “Can’t use that!”
“Now, Miss Fieldstone, we’d like to run this during family hours,” Tommy laughs.
At least he has a good attitude. I’m ready to throw in the towel.
“Right . . .” I manage to untangle myself from the balloon ribbons. “How about I just stand beside you?”
“Great idea! We can act like we’re having a regular ol’ conversation.”
“That’ll give them something to watch.” I’m fighting to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“I know!” Terence’s skinny head pops out from behind the camera. His bushy brows are clenched. “Rebecca, how about you loosen your top button? You know . . . make it more interesting for the boys at home?”
“NO,” I snap.
Tommy lets out a loud laugh, I assume to gloss over his cousin’s bone-headed suggestion. Terence is back behind the lens.
“From the top!” he yells, and I take my place at my stocky employer’s side.
“I hate doing commercials!” My yell is muffled by the throw pillow. I can’t even say Thank God it’s Friday, because I have to be back out there tomorrow.
I’m lying on my stomach in our living room after a mind-numbing fifty takes, and Chas stalks from the kitchen holding a pitcher of pink liquid.
“You’re making more money than you’ve made in your life!” She emphasizes the words as she nudges my legs. “Have a drink.”
I sit up, pulling them under my butt and reaching for the flared martini glass. “But it’s not what I love. It’s not what I want to do.”
“You’re not speaking to what you love and what you want to do.”
My stomach cramps, and the ever-looming tears try to cloud my vision. “Stop!” I hold up one hand. “Do not say his name.”
Chas’s eyebrows rise and she shakes her head before sipping her Cosmo. My mind trips back to the night after it all came crashing down. That horrible night after that horrible morning when I’d arrived to see Savannah celebrating her new job . . .
After breaking up with Cade, I’d gone home to my apartment and cried until my head felt like it was going to explode and my nose was a snotty mess. I’d finally fallen asleep from exhaustion, and when I woke, it was nearly eleven—the perfect time to go back to the studio and finish cleaning out my desk.
I’d been so shell-shocked by what had happened and crushed by Cade’s involvement, I could barely see for fighting the tears. I was not going to cry in front of them. Now I had to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind.
“I was hoping you’d come back.” Vicky had met me in the hall. Of course, she’d still be at work. “I wanted to talk to you, and you aren’t answering your phone.”
“I turned it off.” My body was numb, and I continued to my desk without even lifting my eyes. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I’m sorry, Becks.” She followed me to the small area I’d managed to strip of most of my personal things earlier, in spite of my insides spiraling. “I had no idea the board would take Savannah seriously.”
Something about her tone made me snap. “You didn’t think the board would listen to Marv? You didn’t think they’d go with whatever their news director recommended?” I hadn’t meant to shout, but my emotions were all over the place. “Nobody even objected.”
“You’re right.” She’d nodded and looked down. “I let you down.”
“You never talked to Liz, did you?”
Her red head moved slowly back and forth. “We were so busy. The grabber story blew up, and then you were a hero. I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think. It wasn’t your job on the line, so you didn’t care.”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “You know that’s not true. I’ve always cared what happens to my reporters.”
“Your reporters.” I surveyed my office space and decided I didn’t want anything else from this place. “I thought we were friends.”
I’d gone back to my apartment and spent the rest of the night sobbing in Chas’s lap. “She was supposed to be my friend.”
“Friends let you down.” Chas had stroked my head and fed me more alcohol.
More sniffing, more stomach cramps. “And him . . . I loved him.”
“I know, cupcake.”
“No,” shaking my head harder, “I really loved him. Not like James . . . Not like anybody else . . .” My chest squeezed, and more tears flooded my eyes. “He was . . .”
My roommate’s voice is sad. “He was your Star-Lord.”
Eventually I’d thrown up in the to
ilet, and cried myself to sleep on the cold bathroom floor. At some point Chas had gone to bed, and I’d woken up the next day covered in her fluffy pink robe, determined to move forward and not look back.
Three weeks later, it still hurts like hell.
“He betrayed me,” I say softly. “Vicky betrayed me . . . I counted on all of them, and they didn’t even fight for me.”
Chas is thinking—I can tell by the way she sips her Cosmo, but she isn’t saying what’s on her mind. Instead she rises with a flourish and returns to our small kitchen.
“By the way, this came for you today.” She picks up a white business-sized envelope and hands it to me.
“A letter?” I frown, ripping the linen envelope open and sliding out a single sheet of paper. “Who writes letters anymore?”
Across the top in gray ink surrounded by a sweeping circle in all caps are the words NBC 4 New York and the rainbow peacock.
“What is this?” I whisper, sitting up straighter and setting my glass aside.
My eyes fly down the sheet so fast, I’m barely reading the words.
“What is it?” Chas scoots closer to read with me. “NBC!”
“Brian Caldwell. He thanks me for my interest in working with their station . . . ‘Vicky Grant has spoken very highly of your work ethic and your recent assistance in capturing a criminal preying on senior citizens in the Houston area . . . ’” My eyes are huge, and I look up at my roommate. “He wants to schedule an interview! He says to call at my earliest convenience!”
Chas screams and jumps off the couch to do a boogie dance. I’m trying to swallow the knot tightening my throat. Working for a network affiliate in New York is one step below working for the network. It’s the chance of a lifetime.
My eyes go to the clock. It’s almost ten. “It’s too late to call him.”
The Last Guy Page 18
