Game For Love: Love Games (Kindle Worlds) (27 page)

Alan tried to talk him out of canceling. “You don’t cancel on these people, Declan. We’ve had these meetings set up for months. These next few weeks is when they’re shoring up their personnel for next season, you need to be seen now.”

“Alan, it’s not going to happen. I have to get those tapes back, and then I have to go see Marlee.”

“Again with this Marlee person. Would you just get her out of your system so we can concentrate on business?”

“That’s not going to happen either. Just make the calls, Alan, and I’ll call you when I’ve got the tapes back.”

After three days of nonstop running all over New York City and Connecticut, Declan had all the DVDs back in his possession. He he’d gone to each network after he left Henry Albright, trying to track the things down. He’d been lucky. Two of the network honchos hadn’t even viewed it yet. They were still in the sealed courier pouch.
 

It was now Sunday afternoon and Declan was back in his hotel room in New York with all the DVDs. He destroyed them all but his original one, the one on the flash drive with the red X. He logically knew he should destroy that one too, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He had to talk to Marlee, and what he had to say needed to be said face to face. He had all the DVDs back, but he had no idea if there were any copies out there floating around. The DVD in Connecticut had taken several days to get his hands on—any tech or coffee boy could have made a copy of it and could be sending it off to some tabloid at this moment. Or posted it anywhere online.
 

He’d done a quick search to see if maybe anybody had posted it, but thankfully nothing turned up.

He needed to tell Marlee that it was a possibility. Remote, yes, but a possibility nonetheless. He would never forgive himself if Marlee saw footage of herself and Declan on TV or the internet before Declan could talk to her. She would think he did it with the tape she’d given him. With the note that said she trusted him.

He called her phone several times but she didn’t pick up. He didn’t want to leave a voicemail, but after the fourth try he finally did. Not about to tell her over the phone that there was a possibility their sex tape might end up online, Declan just asked her to call him as soon as she could.

Not knowing if she’d call him back, or if she’d even listen to his voicemail, he pulled out the copy he had made of Marlee’s itinerary. She would be arriving in Gainesville tonight, with a lecture at the University of Florida tomorrow night. He called the hotel that was listed on her itinerary and was surprised to find that the reservation for Marlee Reeves had been canceled. Odd.

He called the hotel in Chapel Hill where she had stayed until this morning. They said she had checked out on Friday. That was even more odd. She was lecturing at North Carolina on Friday night and then had Saturday off which she was spending in Chapel Hill before flying to Gainesville on Sunday. Why would she check out of her hotel Friday morning?

Declan looked through Marlee’s itinerary. On the back were names and phone numbers of the contacts she worked with at each university. He called the North Carolina number. It was for a man named Thornton Grant, and apparently he was high up in the Communications Department.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m trying to reach a Thornton Grant.”

“This is Thornton Grant.”

“Mr. Grant, I’m trying to reach Professor Marlee Reeves. She had you down as a contact for —”
 

“I have no contact whatsoever with Ms. Reeves from this point on.” His voice had an uppity quality to it that put Declan on alert.

“But did you see Ms. Reeves on Friday? Did you see her when she lectured at your university?”

“Ms. Reeves did not lecture here on Friday. We, at the University of North Carolina, have very high moral standards attached with those that we invite to speak at our university, and Ms. Reeves is not among those who qualify.”

Oh, God. The dread that rushed through Declan was palpable. The tape had gotten out. But where? He had grabbed every paper he could find, every tabloid, had been on the internet till two in the morning hitting every site that came up in a search for Declan Tate, and he had seen nothing to indicate a copy of the tape had been made.

“Mr. Grant, I don’t understand. Professor Reeves was scheduled to lecture there Friday night.”

“Scheduled and canceled.”

“She canceled her lecture?” Something must really be wrong if Marlee canceled. She must have been dying of shame and couldn’t face the public. Declan’s heart broke to think of him causing Marlee pain.

“
She
did not cancel.
I
canceled
her
. And I don’t mind saying I made some phone calls to my colleagues at other universities with the recommendation that they do the same.” He had a sick sense of pride behind his voice, like he had single-handedly saved academia from the evil that was Marlee Reeves. Declan wanted to reach through the phone line and throttle the guy.

“But she lectured at Duke on Thursday?”

“She did, and I happened to be in attendance. Let us say, she never made it past her opening remarks.” Grant paused; he seemed to be reveling in the memory of Marlee’s apparent debacle. Then, as if realizing he had no idea who he was speaking to, he added, “Is this a journalist?”

“No. My name is Declan Tate. I’m a friend of Professor Reeves and I’m trying to get in touch with her.”

“Aahh, Mr. Tate. The possible co-star in Ms. Reeves’ brilliant acting debut?”

Declan had his answer. The tape was definitely out. He had to talk to Marlee. Now.

“Mr. Grant, do you have any idea where Marlee is?”

“I suspect she has gone back to Boston College with her tail between her legs.”

Declan hung up the phone and started to pack his bags.

Chapter Twenty

M
arlee threw her pen down on her desk, unable to concentrate. It was Wednesday afternoon and she was in her office on campus waiting to hear her fate. She didn’t think she’d be fired, but she couldn’t be sure. It all seemed surreal, as if it were some B-movie, not her life.

She had woken up last Thursday morning with Declan’s scarf still wrapped around her in a hotel room in North Carolina. That was the last clear memory she had. The rest was a blur.
 

Spending the day in her room, feeling blue about Declan. Getting dressed. Putting her laptop, the flash drive with her presentation and video she opened her lecture with, and her notes into her satchel. Arriving at the auditorium. Reaching into the satchel and giving the facility manager the drive, which he would take to the control booth, and her notes, which he would place on the podium for her. He gave her the remote that would allow her to move the PowerPoint presentation along as she spoke.

Waiting backstage. Feeling a few tiny butterflies of nerves even though she was an expert at public speaking. The house lights going down. Marlee stepping to the podium on the darkened stage, where a spotlight would appear on her when the video was over. The tape beginning. A hush like she had never heard falling over the crowd. Her turning to see which image on the video had that kind of effect on the crowd. Her audible gasp as she saw the images, twenty feet high, of her and Declan having sex on a desk. The kid in the booth, transfixed by the images, letting the video play, even though she was motioning wildly for him to cut it and clicking the remote furiously. But the remote was for the PowerPoint, not the video.
 

It seemed to go on forever, until the kid finally cut the feed to the large screen behind her. It had probably only been twenty or thirty seconds, but it had felt like twenty minutes. Professor Epley came onstage and took her by the arm and led her off. She was too stunned to move.
 

Marlee was shaken and was led to a soft couch backstage. Professor Epley, a paternal sort, knew that some kind of awful mistake had been made and was very understanding. He ran to the booth and got the flash drive back from the student there and handed it to Marlee. She was grasping in her satchel, coming up with the correct drive, as if that was explanation enough.
 

There was no way Marlee could face that crowd now. The lecture would be canceled; it was a mutual agreement. There was an announcement made to the audience and the lights went up as the crowd slowly streamed from their seats. The students in the crowd got a little unruly, yelling snarky comments out. Thanks goodness she couldn’t make out what they were saying from where she was sitting.
 

And also thank God that mostly Declan’s back had been to the camera during those first seconds of the tape. To her knowledge, no one had confirmed that the man bent over Professor Marlee Reeves was NFL MVP Declan Tate. Though she thought she heard some whispering of Declan’s name backstage.

And another saving grace was that it didn’t appear that anybody had pulled out their cell phones and started filming the screen.

Thornton Grant, who was attending her lecture in advance, came backstage and made a scene. A very ugly scene. Words like “immoral” and “unethical” were bandied about, but Marlee could only sit on the couch, clutching the two flash drives—the one that had played, and the one that was supposed to have played.
 

Professor Epley got her back to her hotel. She waited there until she got the call from the dean of Boston College’s Communications Department telling her to come home, that the entire series had been canceled, thanks mostly to Thornton Grant.
 

Now the dean was meeting with several of Marlee’s peers from the department to decide what should be done.
 

The shock of the incident had worn off by now, and there was only anger at herself for being so careless with the drives. It was this anger that had fueled Marlee the past three days as she explained to the committee what had happened, and now waited. And waited. They expected to have some sort of answer for her today, so Marlee was stationed in her office.

As if someone sensed she was about to burst if she didn’t get some answers, there was a knock on her door. Robert Curtis came in and sat down in front of Marlee.

“Robert, you’re the messenger?” It was sort of appropriate. The only person other than her family that had seen Declan and her together was the one bringing her the outcome.

“Yes. The dean was going to call you in, but I asked if I could talk to you alone instead.”

“Thank you, Robert. I think.”

He had a soft smile. “It’s not so bad, Marlee. You’re off the lecture series, permanently. Because you represent BC, it was best felt that you not lecture anymore on this topic. But all else remains the same. Because the semester doesn’t start until next week, they’re going to try to rush and get you a few classes to teach. If not, you will just have office hours this semester.”

A sigh of obvious relief escaped Marlee. She would miss being able to crusade on behalf of bringing awareness to the decline of public speaking, but was elated that she’d still be able to teach.

Robert got up to leave, then sat back down. “Marlee, I hope you don’t mind me asking, are you and Declan serious?”

She looked down at her hands clasped together on her desk. How did she answer that? Did the fact that she loved Declan more than she ever thought possible mean it was serious? “No, Robert. It was just a…fling, I guess you’d call it.”

Robert seemed taken aback. No one that knew Marlee very well thought of her as the fling type. “I hope it was worth it, Marlee. You’re little fling with Declan cost you a lot of respect amongst your peers, and the chance to make a name for yourself in the academic world.” He got up and left, giving Marlee’s hands a comforting pat as he left. He didn’t even hear her as she answered him in a soft whisper.

“It cost me more than that.”
 

It had cost her her heart.

Three weeks into the new semester, Marlee was able to get through the day of classes with her mind turning to Declan only five or six times. She considered that a marked improvement.

The department was able to squeeze a full load of classes for her to teach, and she was grateful to have the diversion. They were all classes she had taught many times before, so she had all the prep work done.

She was eternally grateful that the reason for the canceled lecture series never became public knowledge. Only a few people at Boston College knew, or cared, and they were peers of Marlee’s and so kept their mouths shut.

Anna had commiserated with Marlee over her loss on the phone while they both drank margaritas. It had taken all her willpower not to call Declan that night after she came home from work, so she’d called her friend instead.
 

After she hung up with Anna, a drunken Marlee rationalized that she just wanted to see how Declan was doing. If he had wowed the networks? If he had accepted a position? If he was already living in New York? The truth of it was that Marlee just wanted to hear his voice. That sexy, husky Declan Tate voice.

In the end, she didn’t call. Even through the tequila-induced haze she knew it was a bad idea. She wasn’t even sure where he was.
 

She’d gotten several voicemails from him one day, and then nothing since. It’d been right after the Duke incident and Marlee had been too raw to return his calls. It occurred to her later that she should have given him a heads-up that he’d been a star at Duke for about twenty seconds.