Will leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers pressed to his temple. “What?”
“I was never on film with her. Why would she be included?”
“Donovan, she’s been tweeting for the last twenty-four hours about a huge secret.”
The pit of his stomach dropped. “What secret?”
“The hell if I know,” Will said, shaking his head.
Donovan reached into the lining of his suit jacket and extracted his cell phone. Nothing happened. He couldn’t get a signal. “I need to reach Amelia Reyes,” he said.
“Amelia?” Zoe turned around again in her seat. “She was actually in town. You know she’s from here.”
Now that he thought about it, Amelia was the one who’d recommended Donovan come here to hang out after they filmed. “I don’t have her number.”
“C’mon.” Zoe pushed away from her seat awkwardly and handed Will her program. “We’ll be right back.”
Will chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I’m coming, too.”
Donovan hated to skip out on the crowning portion of the competition but he knew the girls were going to win. They had it in the bag, thanks to Kathleen’s coding of a train robot with a vacuum that went around the stem of a Christmas tree and cleaned up pine needles and broken ornaments while it played Christmas songs.
Together, the threesome headed up toward the exit and down the hallway of city hall. Zoe was already whipping out her phone and dialing by the time they reached the glass entrance. A bright light blinded them the moment they stepped outside. Donovan angled his head to see better. A few dozen white vans were positioned at the front of the building with twice as many reporters standing in front of them, microphones, booms and recorders facing them.
An anger bubbled inside Donovan. Why couldn’t these reporters show up for the competition at the beginning and stay? There was plenty of room for everyone...maybe not their equipment, but still. Imagine the confidence it would have given the students to see their hard work be recognized not just by their colleagues but by the outside world. Donovan understood British’s passion for the kids.
“It’s going straight to voice mail...” said Zoe. Her words trailed off at the sight of everyone standing in front of them.
Donovan hated the spotlight. He sensed the heat of the lamp on his scar and felt it amplified by the world. He turned around to leave.
“Mr. Ravens,” someone called out.
Naturally, Will stepped forward. He was the head of RC and knew what to say in front of an audience. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a surefire cocky chuckle. “Are you here to get the Black Friday scoop on our items?”
Coming to his aid, Zoe appeared by Will’s side. “Of course not, sweetheart,” she said to him. “I’m sure everyone’s gotten wind of the exciting things brewing inside city hall.” She smiled like the dazzling director of creative design that she was. “You guys, come on and see the brilliant young minds of our future leaders.”
Good job, Donovan thought. The girls needed the spotlight, especially if they were to walk outside any moment now with their trophy in hand. As much as he wanted to see them win, he needed to get to the bottom of this surprise Tracy might have. He scrolled through his phone to find the emails he’d never looked at. Cell service in the building was poor. The attachment was large and kept pausing, probably due to the satellite of the news crews.
“We’re here for the Sexy Santa,” someone yelled.
Will turned to glance at Donovan, who was completely confused until he remembered the photographs taken at the winter carnival last weekend. A few shots were still floating around town. He thought it was local. The Southwood Santa, he believed, was what the waitress called him at the coffee shop across the street from the gown shop.
“Excuse us for a moment,” Will said. He motioned for Donovan and Zoe to huddle together at the doors of the entrance to city hall. Beyond the glass, they spotted a crowd coming toward them. “Let’s take this opportunity to market our new men’s line. We have those lotions and colognes coming out for Christmas.”
“No,” Donovan declared. He craned his neck to find British’s curly head coming their way.
“Are you listening to me?” Will asked.
“Not really,” he huffed in response.
“Dana and Eva are our PR people,” said Zoe. “They’d agree that any publicity is good publicity, Donovan. They know you as the Sexy Santa. You could promote the perfect stocking stuffer for people.”
“Hell no.” Donovan wasn’t sure how many ways he needed to make himself clear to them. “I am not taking this opportunity to put the shine on British and her team to sell products for Ravens.”
“Think about the girl you pointed out,” Will pleaded. “Stephanie, the one you said was going to be a future employee of ours. Talk about the chemistry put into our products.”
“Definitely,” Zoe said excitedly.
In the reflection of the bright lights of the cameras behind them, a glare glazed the glass doors. Donovan couldn’t see inside but he did see Amelia Reyes shouldering her way through the crowd with the help of the guy who worked at the real-estate office next door to the dress shop where they’d held interviews this week. Nate Reyes, that was it, Donovan thought. Nate had a few other people behind him.
“Amelia.”
“Donovan,” Amelia breathed heavily, holding her cell phone in the air. “The tracker works.”
What the hell was going on?
“What tracker?” Zoe and Will chorused.
The crowd behind them grew louder. Nate and his group made a blockade of sorts for privacy. Now Donovan felt trapped. He wanted to see British.
“There’s a Sexy Santa Tracker website,” Amelia explained. She showed her phone to them and, sure enough, on the screen, there was a cartoon figure of Amelia standing next to one of the photos from the winter carnival in front of city hall.
Will reached for the phone for a better view. “This is creepy.”
“Stalkerish,” Zoe added.
An incoming call blurred the photo. Donovan caught Christopher Kelly’s name flash across the screen. Why was the president of MET calling Amelia after nine in the evening? Tonight’s reality show. What the hell happened on the show?
“Donovan, you have to believe me,” said Amelia, “I approved one version of your segment.”
This did not sound good. He waited for Amelia to explain what happened but the reporters and now ever-growing crowd of onlookers had started oohing and aahing too loudly to hear her answer. Suddenly, Tracy appeared, decked out in a red, skintight, damn-near-see-through catsuit, and sauntered up the steps. She wore a pair of oversize black glasses and a white scarf over her head, which she pulled down to let the material fall across her shoulders, making her look like an adult-star version of Mrs. Claus.
Oh damn, Donovan thought. She needed to go. Donovan moved through the surrounding crowd to reach her.
Tracy slipped her glasses off with her left hand. The vaguely familiar gaudy ring Donovan had spotted the morning he’d returned to his condo glittered under the lights.
“We can’t fix this, Mr. Kelly,” Amelia was screaming into the phone. “She’s already here.”
“Tracy!”
“Tracy!”
Reporters shouted her name. The highly sought-after model spun slowly on her spiked patent-leather boots and faced the crowd.
“You’re dressed like a mighty damn sexy Mrs. Claus,” someone pointed out.
“You see—” Tracy started to speak but Zoe reached for Tracy’s elbow and jerked her backward.
To not stumble or fall, Tracy offered an apologetic smile to the audience and reluctantly went off with Zoe before Donovan grabbed her. Will opened the door for them to enter and the waiting crowd outside began to pour onto the front steps. People oblivious to the ha
ppenings outside found themselves pushing their way forward past defeated children, some with tears on their faces. Tracy snaked her hand out and grabbed hold of Donovan’s. Will, Zoe, Tracy and Donovan made a human train inside the foyer of city hall.
“Are you nuts?” Tracy yelled at Zoe and snatched her arm away, as did Donovan. Her high-pitched voice echoed against the marble walls.
“What did you think you were about to announce?” Zoe asked.
Ever the actress, Tracy reached for Donovan again. This time he screwed his face up and shook his head.
“Tell me you haven’t missed me,” Tracy demanded.
“Not in the slightest,” Donovan laughed.
“Then why did you give me this?” Tracy held her hand in the air. “I found it in the drawer when you gave me a few minutes to collect my belongings.”
Zoe gasped. “Donovan, you didn’t.”
“Of course I didn’t,” Donovan snapped.
Amelia made her way into the foyer. “He didn’t give you that ring, Tracy,” she said. “My associate thought it would be a great storyline for the Ravens family. I just found out he planted the ring in the drawer.”
Blinking in disbelief, Tracy shook her head. “I don’t understand. I gave you the best six weeks of my life.”
Donovan squinted his right eye. “Me and that guy you brought into my house and my bed.”
At least Tracy had the decency to shut her mouth. “We can work past that, Donovan.” She attempted to reach for him but he recoiled. Tracy’s red lips curled into a sneer. “Jesus. I’ve tolerated looking at you for months and now you want to treat me like this. My God, don’t act like you didn’t tell me you loved me.”
Amused, Donovan scratched his faced, his fingertips touching his beard. He shrugged his shoulders. “You can’t hold me accountable for what was said in bed. Let’s call it momentary insanity,” he said, inclining his head.
“Donovan,” Will warned.
Tracy was the epitome of why Donovan had remained a bachelor for so long. He shook his head and chuckled, thinking of the woman he had now. He needed to see British. So when Tracy stormed out of the way, he took a deep breath to leave but it was too late. Tracy’s height masked British behind her.
As to how long British had stood behind Tracy, he had no idea. But judging by the look of horror on her face—as well as the GRITS team who stood behind British holding their trophy—she’d been there long enough.
“British...”
Zoe and Amelia ushered the girls out the front door. Will waited behind.
The corners of British’s lips turned down. Her cheeks turned a darker hue than the one he’d grown accustomed to love.
“Seven hours ago you told me you loved me,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
“Love,” Donovan corrected. His heart ached seeing her upset. “I love you, British.”
“That’s just something you say,” British said, stepping back, away from his touch. “Like you told her.”
“But I didn’t mean it.” Donovan tried to reach for British’s hand but she folded her arms across her chest. His heart ached at her rejection. All eyes turned to him.
British’s mouth dropped. “Wow.”
“C’mon, British, you know it’s not like that. Yes, I was in a relationship with Tracy. You were aware of that. Before you, I’ve never felt love before. I’ve never been in love with anyone like I am with you. I need you, British. Tell me you need me. Tell me you’re mad, but don’t walk away from us. You have to believe me. Surely you know how I feel about you.”
“What I do know—” British pointed at him “—is that you’re exactly what I thought you were when we first met. A free-loving playboy floating from woman to woman to bide your time until the next one. What was I, your Southwood flavor of the month until you left to go back to Miami?”
“I’ve changed, British, and you know it.” Donovan’s arms flopped to sides. “You have to stop comparing me to your Christian. I’m not perfect but I will always love you.”
“Oh,” she scoffed, “there’s no comparison. Christian may have suffered from an enlarged heart, but you, Donovan Ravens, don’t have one at all.”
“Ms. B,” Stephanie said, poking her head around the corner of the hallway. “My parents had to go back to Magnolia Palace and wondered if you could bring me back.”
Just like that, British inhaled deeply and tore her eyes away from Donovan. The cold glare chilled him to the bone. He reached for her fingertips, which, for a brief second, she allowed him to touch. She paused by his shoulder. Donovan leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Don’t do this, British.”
“I can’t be a good role model of a strong woman and believe the words you so frivolously give out. Goodbye, Donovan.”
Chapter 11
“I feel like every time I meddle with a Ravens’s love life I seem to make things worse,” said Kenzie.
British hugged her body and leaned against the door of her car. She’d just dropped off Stephanie with her parents and wasn’t in the mood for heading home just yet, knowing Donovan would be waiting at her place to talk further. There was nothing left to say. He admitted to saying things that weren’t true, like that he loved Tracy. How was she supposed to believe him now? On top of that, his callous behavior toward that woman, Tracy, was in poor taste, especially in front of her students.
By the time she’d reached Magnolia Palace, the exposé or documentary on Donovan’s portion of the Ravens story had already aired. On top of everyone in Southwood seeing it, Tracy wore a ring she said Donovan gave her. Everyone in British’s family left messages for her to call. Everyone wanted to know how she was doing or what was going on. Enough people at city hall had overheard the quarrel between Tracy and Donovan, and then with her. Small towns and gossip...
She sniffed. “This isn’t your fault, Kenzie,” she said to her friend. “I initiated things with Donovan knowing full and well he was a perpetual bachelor playboy who would leave. This is what I get for being so fast.” She tried to laugh through the pain. It hurt to know she’d foolishly opened her heart to someone who only walked away, making her feel like a fool. The night was not supposed to end like this. Tonight she was going to celebrate the girls winning and tell Donovan she loved him, too. And she did. Or she thought she did. British was confused.
“You weren’t being fast. You were testing the waters. Had you married that first yahoo from Peachville, I would say that was fast.”
First Vonna knew about British’s failed dating life and now Kenzie. “How did you know?”
“I’ve been Southwood’s historian for a while now,” Kenzie said, reaching over and pushing British’s shoulders. “I tracked down a story for the gala last summer and saw you leaving a restaurant with some man.”
A cold breeze whipped through the air. Again British smelled the faint burning of wood, like she had the first time she’d met Donovan. This time of year she figured a group of hunters had set up camp somewhere nearby. She considered taking post at a deer stand just to avoid everyone.
“Anyway, I feel I need to share the blame. I thought it would be a great idea if the two of you had rooms next door to each other so you’d see how perfect you are together.”
“It’s a science, Kenzie,” said British. “Any two people can be attracted to each other if they spend time together.” It hurt to say the words out loud, especially since she had wanted a temporary fling with him. Why did he have to ruin things by telling her he loved her? And why did she have to go believe him? Why did he have to bring up Christian? It was a low blow and proof that he would say anything to get what he wanted. He wanted to hurt her, so he did.
“Save your science mojo. The point is you two had chemistry together, otherwise nothing would have happened between you.” Kenzie wagged her finger in British’s face. “And before you want to lie to me, I am the one who clea
ned the rooms when Ramon and I returned.”
“Oh.” British bit her bottom lip and shamefully looked away. She’d been too quick to become intimate with him, physically and emotionally.
Kenzie shoved her hand through her wildly curly red hair. “Anyway, Zoe left here that one time absolutely done with Will.”
“And yet they’re happily married,” British laughed. Laughter was the best medicine. She’d seen the ending to the Ravens show and knew how it ended—that Tracy chick finding a diamond ring in Donovan’s dresser drawer. No wonder Donovan didn’t want to talk about filming! He’d planned on proposing to the superstar. And could she blame him? Tracy fell perfectly into Donovan’s fast-paced world. Meanwhile she was here, just quaint.
“Anyway, Kenzie, look at you, all married now.”
“Don’t try to change the subject on me,” teased Kenzie, frowning. “Why don’t you come inside and we can talk? Ramon brought back some of his family’s secret-recipe rum.”
As tempting as it sounded to sit out back and drink, British still had to work tomorrow. She needed to think clearly, now that the girls were going to represent Southwood at the next level. “Maybe after the competition? Are you coming to the dance?”
Not only was Kenzie the historian for Southwood, she also taught history at the high school. Every year each of the schools hosted a holiday dance. The teachers got a kick out of the parents coming and the students being on their best behavior.
“Ramon and I are chaperoning.”
British pushed away from her car to give her friend a hug. “All right, well, we’ll catch up soon enough. Tell Mr. Mayor I said good-night and that I voted for him.”
“I will,” said Kenzie, returning the hug. “He’ll be thrilled to know.” Earlier in November, Ramon became the first person in over a hundred years to not be born in Southwood to win the mayor’s seat.
Before putting her car into gear, British made sure she had the right song selection programmed into her system. She chose a few oldies to take her home—New Edition heartbreakers “Is this the End,” “You’re Not My Kind of Girl,” “Tears on My Pillow,” “Can You Stand the Rain,” and a few of the solo cuts. Once she had her song choices, she pulled out of the circular driveway. Ramon had joined Kenzie’s side and the two waved British off until they disappeared in her rearview mirror.
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