She slipped behind the stage and into an adjoining room acting as Chase’s hideaway. He looked more tired than usual, but there was a resolute set to his shoulders.
“I have no idea why you cater to those vultures when they’re more than happy to tear you into pieces,” she told him, folding her arms over her chest.
“Those vultures are responsible for my career.”
She didn’t agree with that, but any arguments on the matter had been trotted out in the past and had always ended with agreeing to disagree.
“Are you okay?” she asked, knowing that he’d likely keep the truth from her on that count, as well.
“Fine.”
“I mean it.” She put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up from his speech notes, decorated in red ink courtesy of the pen in his hand. “I can’t escape the idea that Blake Eastwood’s involvement is my fault.”
He frowned. “None of this is your fault, Stefanie. It’s important for you to understand that.”
“It’d feel like a lot less my fault if I didn’t know Blake.” She added a silent biblically, because no matter how grown-up she was, she wasn’t willing to discuss sex with her brother.
Chase straightened from his lean against a cheap desk the room had been outfitted with, and dropped his notes and pen onto it.
“Listen to me,” he said. “That bastard would do anything to get to our family. The only mistake you made was trusting him.” He palmed her cheek in a rare act of tenderness between them. “I should apologize to you. He took advantage of you, and you’re worth more than being a pawn in a vendetta he has against me.”
Gratitude clogging her throat, Stef nodded. Chase dropped his arm and bent to meet her gaze.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
“All right, then. Now get out so I can prepare a statement. And don’t look any of the vultures in the eyes on your way out. It’s as good as an invitation to harass you.”
She smiled, feeling loved and cared for. Chase was a good brother. Both of her brothers were. But that warm fuzzy was obliterated by the appearance of Emmett Keaton, who was the opposite of a warm fuzzy.
A cold prickly, she thought with a chuckle.
“Excuse me, Lurch, I was just leaving.” She smiled sweetly up at Emmett, who remained silent. His lips flinched into a flat line, which meant she’d gotten under his skin.
Her work was done here.
She sidled along the wall, taking her brother’s advice to keep her eyes down. The members of the press were busily preparing for Chase’s speech, either touching up their makeup, scrolling through their cell phones or practicing their intros.
As God as her witness, if she ever ended up in a position of power either at Ferguson Oil or as a politician—Ha!—Stef would never call a meeting to defend her actions.
She exited the room, making a beeline for the coffee bar. On her approach she spotted a familiar brunette woman frantically searching the halls while clutching her purse to her shoulder.
“Miriam Andrix?” Stef kept her voice low so as not to draw unnecessary attention, but Miriam heard her and stopped dead in her tracks.
“Remember me? Chase’s sister, Stefanie Ferguson.” Stef gestured to herself rather than offer a hand since Miriam was regarding her with wide, wary eyes. No doubt the poor woman had been hounded since the story broke about her and Chase.
“Stefanie.” Miriam’s shoulders relaxed some, her guard dropping. “Nice to see you.”
“You, as well. Is... Chase expecting you?” Surely he would’ve mentioned it, or appeared more nervous...or anticipatory. Something.
“No. He’s not.” Miriam gave a quick shake of her head.
Interesting.
Stefanie stepped closer. “Why are you in Dallas?”
“Um... Long story.”
I bet.
“Lucky for you, I found you first. I know where Chase is, but a burly security guy is blocking the room. I can get you in.”
Hope blossomed on Miriam’s face—she really was beautiful. Elegant and lithe, with full lips and expressive dark eyes.
“Penelope told me where to find him and about the press conference.” Miriam’s mouth curved into a slight smile. “I came, which I’m sure is a terrible idea. Or at least it is for his career.”
“Why’s that?” Stef leaned in, interested. The reason behind Miriam’s presence was too juicy not to pry.
“Stefanie, darling, there you are!” Eleanor Ferguson approached with quick steps. “Am I too late? Did the press conference start without me? Have you seen Penelope?”
Before Stefanie had a chance to answer any of those questions, Eleanor did a double take of Miriam. Stefanie watched as her mother’s face drew down in recognition.
Miriam faced her, pulled her shoulders back and addressed her curtly. “Hello, Eleanor.”
* * *
Definitely, Miriam hadn’t thought this through.
By the time she’d arrived at that conclusion, she’d also arrived in Dallas thanks to a hefty sum paid for a private jet so as not to risk being delayed at the airport.
She couldn’t afford to delay one more moment. Ten years had been long enough, and then she’d gone and tacked on another week or so for good measure. Every inch of her ached with words unsaid and emotions unexpressed.
Penelope had called yesterday, and since Chase had delivered her phone number personally, Miriam knew to take the call. The other woman had a plan to unravel the “bad press” surrounding them, but Miriam didn’t care about her reputation. She only cared about Chase’s.
“If he’s anything like his brother, my husband,” Penelope had told her, “then Chase is not going to take my advice. He wants to call off the hounds, but I advised him not to come to your defense with the press. I’m concerned they’ll twist the story and make him the bad guy. I don’t want you to worry about that, though. Don’t think of me as taking sides where you and Chase are concerned. My job is to preserve both your careers and reputations. Everyone’s winning.”
Miriam liked Penelope’s confidence, but she liked more what she’d said about Chase coming to Miriam’s defense. Penelope shared details about the press conference and dropped the name of the conference center, though it was more conversational than intentional.
“When the news hits, and videos and Tweets start, we’ll be an hour ahead of it,” Pen had said. “One of the stipulations for the press members we chose was that they agreed to wait sixty minutes before sharing anything they learn in that room.”
Miriam had gone to bed that night, but she hadn’t fallen asleep. She’d stared at the ceiling, stealing a glance at her glowing blue alarm clock now and then. First at midnight, then 1:00 a.m., 1:30 a.m., 2:30 a.m. and finally 4:45 a.m., when she’d given up trying to sleep at all.
She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t escape the idea that nothing was as it should be. Chase should be in Dallas: of that she was certain. But not without knowing the truth—a truth she hadn’t shared when he stood in her kitchen a few days ago.
Sure, she’d told him a partial truth. She wanted to work with kids. She wanted to save the environment. But she let him believe that her future was wrapped up in her job and that none of it involved him.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
In her defense, she hadn’t admitted as much to herself until he was thousands of feet in the air and zooming away from her and her beloved home state.
The next morning, after drinking her second cup of coffee, she made the jittery, spontaneous decision to fly to Dallas.
Ten years ago, he’d put her on a plane back to Montana. He’d let her believe that her leaving was what he wanted. Even recently when they were snowed in together, he’d defended his actions by saying it’d been the right thing to do. He believed he’d been chivalrous, that he’d been prot
ecting her, but she didn’t think he’d done what he wanted.
Miriam had come all this way, to interrupt the press conference in what might be her worst laid plan to date, to give her and Chase one last chance. One of them had to be brave. She didn’t know what he’d say, or what the future would bring, but she knew she could find a job “saving the world” anywhere she damned well pleased. Texas was in as much need of environmental love as Montana.
And she was fairly certain that Chase asking “What do you want?” had everything to do with him catering to her wishes, and nothing to do with what he actually wanted.
Déjà vu all over again.
Facing his mother now, Miriam straightened her spine and vowed not to let this woman intimidate her. Ten years ago, she’d endured Eleanor’s taut words and prim body language not knowing how to respond. But Miriam was stronger now.
“Is Penelope aware you’re here?” Eleanor, who endeavored to take control of every situation, asked.
“I’m not here to see Penelope. I’m here to see your son, Chase.”
The older woman’s eyebrows climbed her smooth forehead. “I know you don’t have much political know-how, but surely you’re aware that your being here puts his campaign in grave jeopardy.”
What Miriam was sure about was that Chase was an amazing man, an amazing politician with amazing friends on his side—one of them a plucky, capable PR maven. He’d come out of this snag just fine. He’d been certain of it, and so was she.
“He’s a big boy,” Miriam replied. “I’m sure he’ll handle whatever fallout occurs from my walking through those doors and saying what I came here to say.”
Affronted, Eleanor’s jaw dropped. “Stefanie, kindly call hotel security before Miriam causes a ruckus.”
“I want to hear what she has to say.” Chase’s sister flashed a pretty smile, and like that, Miriam became a big, big fan of Stefanie Ferguson.
Acting on instincts born of a thirty-three-year-old woman—and far from the headstrong twenty-three-year-old she’d been ten years ago—Miriam reached out and touched Eleanor’s arm.
“I don’t want this to end with me crying or hating you again. I don’t want this to end with me conceding and him staying quiet to keep the peace. I’m going to tell Chase how I feel and let him decide what to do from there.”
“How do you feel?” Eleanor’s voice was coated in shock, or maybe denial. Miriam wasn’t sure the woman really wanted to know, but she’d asked, so here went nothing.
“I loved him ten years ago. I wanted nothing more than to be at his side for the rest of our lives. I never thought I’d see him again. He’s the one who came back to Montana—who bought the mansion above the beach where we used to trespass and skinny-dip.”
Eleanor paled, but Miriam wasn’t through yet.
“I was the one who showed up on his doorstep with sweet potato pie, but make no mistake, Eleanor. Chase is the one who came back.”
He’d pursued her under the guise of getting her back into his bed. Under the guise, she suspected, of proving to himself that he was over her. But the conclusion she’d arrived at that sleepless night was that he’d needed that guise. It was the safest path out of Montana and back to Dallas. To his destiny, and leaving her to hers.
“I never expected to fall in love with him again,” she confessed. “In a way I guess I didn’t. I think I never fell out, and those dormant feelings were jarred awake when I spent Thanksgiving weekend with him. I know you don’t think I’m good for Chase, but I don’t care what you think. We were too careful the first time around. I’m not going to make the same mistake this time.”
An excited squeal came from over her shoulder. Miriam turned to find Stefanie cupping her mouth with both hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Sorry,” she parted her hands to say. “I’m sorry. This is so exciting.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned at her mother.
Eleanor’s expression was more downtrodden and tired then argumentative. That was certainly a surprise. Miriam remembered the older woman’s words being formed of steel wool. No doubt a similar speech lingered at the base of Eleanor’s throat about how Miriam and Chase were too young or would never make it, or about how Miriam would ruin his reputation. Or... maybe not? Maybe Eleanor had learned something over the last decade, as well.
Chase’s mother scanned Miriam’s attire, a simple black dress, high heels and long coat. Miriam gripped her Coach purse, the only nice handbag she owned, and bore the older woman’s scrutiny.
“You’re serious,” Eleanor concluded. “You love Chase in a real and lasting way.”
Miriam shook her head, but not in denial. “Real is the only way I know how to love him.”
Twenty-Two
Without introduction, Chase stepped onto the stage in the conference room. A hush fell over the invited members of the press, and he squinted against the hot lights over the podium.
Pen had advised him on how to handle questions about Mimi. She’d reminded him again on the Post-It note attached to his speech that arrived by courier just twenty minutes ago. Red ink decorated the edges of the notes—his changes—including the X he’d drawn over Pen’s Post-it note suggestion. His sister-in-law wasn’t going to like what he’d say, but he’d ignored advice before to cater to his own gut call.
Today was one of those days.
“Thank you for coming out today at my office’s request,” he started. Cameras flashed and pens were set at the ready on notepads. “As you’re aware, I’ve been recently accused of involvement with a woman who has ties to environmentalist groups. Groups that stand against entities like Ferguson Oil. I was involved with this woman ten years ago, over a summer spent in Bigfork, Montana. Our relationship predated my political career, and though she’d vocalized her distaste for my family’s industry at the time, she didn’t hold it against me.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the memory of when he’d broken the news. Miriam had looked politely appalled, and then resigned. She’d rolled her eyes and said something to the effect of Good thing I love you.
Chase folded his notes and set them aside. The rest of what he had to say wasn’t going to be read from his prepared speech.
“A good friend of mine dispensed some valuable advice recently. The kind of advice you don’t want to hear, but he tells you anyway.”
Emmett was keeping an eye on the crowd, but Chase made out the slightest half smile on his friend’s profile.
“He told me I was too careful.” Chase pulled in a breath of pure will. Admitting he was wrong had never been a strength. “My friend was right. I am careful. Service has long been my role. My function. As the first-born son of the Fergusons, my destiny is to serve my family and my voters and our shared business. I can’t afford to serve myself. Or...” The next vulnerable admission required a brief pause before he decided to hell with it. “Or my heart.”
Gasps rose in the crowd, one notably from his mother who just entered the room. Good. She, especially, needed to hear this.
“As the slander continues from my opponent’s team, I’m faced with my past and the unfair way it’s being portrayed. I don’t care what dirt you find on me from that summer ten years ago. I only care about how you treat Miriam Andrix.”
He paused to let that sink in as his sister slipped in behind his mother. Then he focused on the crowd of reporters in the front row who eagerly scribbled onto notepads or pecked notes into their phones. Cameras with bright lights closed in to capture his face during this truth-telling debacle—something Penelope Ferguson would reprimand him for, he was sure.
He held up the papers he’d set aside. “This speech would have me confessing that I was young and foolish years ago. That I followed my heart and not my head, and as a result became entangled with a woman who wasn’t destined to become my future. I’ve always known who to serve, and in what order. My family. The grea
t city of Dallas. My family’s business. Breaking things off with Miriam was the right thing to do for my career and for her. I never wanted her to have to deal with scrutiny. I never wanted her under the microscope with me. It’s what I signed up for, and nothing she would ever ask for. I’ve long been in the habit of protecting the ones I love.”
Quiet whisperings rose but fell silent again when he continued.
“Miriam Andrix has a big heart and a strong will.” He allowed a smile when he pictured her stubbornly standing her ground. “For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been hell-bent on saving the world. An admirable feat since most of us downgrade to simply saving ourselves. I’m not here to admit I was a foolish youth. I’m here to make a request. When I left Bigfork, Montana, I left Miriam to her life and she let me return to mine. Leave her alone. It’s past time to refocus the campaign on me and what I can do for our city.”
He nodded that he was through and reporters shot out of their seats. Many waved, most called his name.
“Yes, Donna.” He pointed at the older gray-haired woman in the second row.
“Mr. Mayor, welcome home. What’s the first order of business?”
“You mean besides spending my first day back with you fine people?” He grinned and soft laughter rolled over the crowd. “I’ll be in my office, my sights set on Dallas and winning the reelection.”
Canned but charming answers were always the best choices.
He pointed at a young intern for the city paper. “Bobby.”
“Uh, yes, Mr. Mayor. Will you retaliate against your opponent for trying to slander your good name?”
“We always take the high road, Bobby. You know this.”
“Fiona.” He pointed at a middle-aged blonde woman.
“Mr. Mayor, will you be returning to Bigfork any time soon?”
“I own a house there, so I’m sure I will return. How soon isn’t something I’m comfortable sharing with you yet.” He capped that answer with a smile and pointed to a white-haired man. “Tom.”
A Snowbound Scandal (Dallas Billionaires Club Book 2) Page 16
