Pressure Point (Point #2) (26 page)

“We’ve got a very special guest in the building,” Chip croons into the camera. The audience howls with fervor. “Yes, Blake Campbell is with me tonight. You won’t want to miss my conversation with him.” He winks at the audience, and a woman screeches in response. “Nothing is off the table.”

Nothing except what you signed for in the contract. Moron.
Chump may be arrogant, but he’s not stupid. He knows that I’ll bury him if he breaches the rules that we agreed upon before I accepted the invitation to appear on
SportsHour
.

A few minutes into the show, he moves to the desk where he introduces my segment. On the massive screen behind his desk, a montage of videos and pictures from my life accompany his description.

“Blake Campbell has captivated the attention of Americans since he burst onto the college football scene as a quarterback for Illinois University. Under the tenure of Coach Bill Templeton, Blake took his team to the national championship twice, taking home victory in his second showing. Fans and sportscasters alike were transfixed by his story. The son to the owner of two professional sports houses would have his pick of teams to join. But he gave up the chance to play professionally for the dream of ownership and team management. On the heels of a championship win by the Chicago Wind, we’ve got Blake Campbell with us tonight to talk about the team and his vision for the future. Welcome, Blake.”

I brush my lips across Stella’s forehead, drawing strength from the simple touch.

“You got this,” she whispers into the quiet backstage.

With those words on my mind, I confidently stride across the stage, keeping my expression polite but cool. Chump watches me smugly and I want to punch that expression right off his face. Instead, I grip his hand to the point of pain when I shake it.

He peppers me with questions about the team. Will we take the Super Bowl again? What about the loss of our running back to retirement? Our biggest rival, the Milwaukee team, had the first pick in the draft—are we concerned about their new quarterback? I answer swiftly, with barely a blink. Maybe chump thought he could trip me. He’s mistaken.

SportsHour
cuts to a commercial break.

When the show returns, Chump’s staring into the camera gleefully. I keep my expression straight. Whatever he wants to toss my way, I’m ready for it. Then he shifts toward me and I see it.

Victory.

He must have forgotten that I’m a natural born competitor. I don’t lose. Ever.

“Blake, you’re a notoriously private man. It’s not hard to find you in the public eye, whether it be splashed across tabloids on dates with celebrities, your relationship with the team, endorsements, or philanthropy, but it doesn’t give the full picture of Blake Campbell the man. Some even go as far as to accuse you of being robotic.”

My voice doesn’t waver when I respond smoothly. “There are certain aspects of a man’s life that should remain private. Right, Chip?”

Hear that silent threat?

“Perhaps. But I believe good news should be shared with the world. Why don’t you publicize your engagement?”

“What?” My body freezes like a block of ice. Chump turns slightly, facing a giant screen behind his desk.

Once again, a montage of pictures fills the screen, but this time they are of me and Zoe from the anniversary of our mom’s death. The images show us hugging, me displaying the ring to Zoe, and then my sister throwing her arms around my neck in appreciation for the gift.

Rage fills all of my senses. No one, and I mean
no one,
fucks with my sister. My hand flexes where I have it rested on the armchair, but other than that, I hardly move. Now’s not the time, but I will have my shot at him. He’s not going to have the satisfaction of affecting me on national television. A plan comes to mind and the tenseness in my shoulders releases slightly.

Forgive me, Zoe.

“A viewer from New Point, Michigan kindly sent us these photos of your engagement. Though I must say, can’t you do better than proposing in the middle of some Podunk bar?”

“Engaged?” I respond, slightly surprised.

“Not only engaged, but to quite the fiancée. Zoe Baker is the young woman who notoriously held off would-be shooter Clinton Smith at Clarkes Elementary School in Chicago almost a year ago. For those who don’t remember, the young woman who convinced the gunman not to use his weapon disappeared into thin air. She refused all media interviews. Now, we’ve found the mysterious Zoe Baker. How does it feel to be engaged to a hero?”

Another photo fills the screen the screen behind the desk. One that I’ve never seen before nor knew was taken.

It’s outside Clarkes, and there’s a crush of police officers swirling around the school in various states of activity. Zoe’s in the center of it all, standing near the curb. This image was likely captured moments before we got to her. Her hands clutch her ears, her dark eyes wide and unseeing. It’s a memory that I never want to relive. The bone-chilling terror comes back in a rush, looking at my sister’s chalky and translucent skin. God, I hope my sister didn’t read my text. I hope that she does not see this.

You are not getting away with this, Chump fucking Conway.

My subdued mask falls into place easily. The tables have shifted and he’s about to find out that I’ve got the checkmate move ready to go. “Ah, you’re looking for information on Zoe.”

Chip’s grin grows victorious. “Yes, actually. Tell us about your fiancée.”

I shift to dig out my phone. “I’ll do you one better. Here’s another picture of her.” Quickly, I find what I need and turn the device around to show Chip and then the cameraman. The camera zooms in on the screen.

The image is from Zoe’s middle school graduation. A mortarboard sits crookedly on her head, and she’s swimming in the black gown, but she’s happy. Both of us smile effortlessly, and I’m looking damn proud of my sister.

For the first time, Chip’s gleefulness slips. He clears his throat nervously. “Zoe’s quite a bit younger, then?”

“Zoe Baker is my sister.” There’s a deadliness in my voice that I don’t hide. I discard the phone, my hand curling into a fist on top of the table separating me from the host. “Our mother died fifteen years ago, and I became her guardian.”

For a beat, there’s utter silence.

Got you, fucker.

“Any other questions?” There’s no mistaking my underlying words: there better not be.

Chip’s throat constricts when he swallows. “No.”

SportsHour
fades into commercial.

“I…er…” The guy goes pale underneath the pile of make-up making his skin orange. He thought that he would best me with huge ratings and not need my advertising dollars. Well, he’s lost them. And I don’t plan on giving him another second of my time. I rise to my feet and stare down at him with contempt. Not so flashy now.

“Not now.” I gesture toward the microphone on his desk. I don’t want to share this argument with the audience. Chump catches my drift but doesn’t respond verbally. I pivot around and pace to Stella, who watches me anxiously. I grab her with one hand while the other fishes my cell phone out again. Quickly, I dial my sister.

“Hi,” she says shortly.

“Weren’t expecting that birthday gift, huh?” I ask grittily.

She sighs heavily. “Not exactly.”

“Look, I need to talk to the producers and my lawyer. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m done here.”

“Got it.”

“Bye.” I just needed to hear her voice and make sure she was all right. How can she be when…
Fuck.
I realize then that Zoe was supposed to be out of town this weekend with her boyfriend, Miles. He was taking her to some town in northern Michigan to celebrate her birthday. What happened with that?

Add it to the list of things I need to deal with.

Stella

Needless to say, a dark cloud hung over the rest of our time in New York. Blake spent most of the time on the phone with lawyers. When he wasn’t growling at them, he had other interviews to do. Luckily, no other media outlets were brave enough to ask about Zoe. To add to the mess, we found out the next morning that Zoe and her boyfriend were going through a rough patch. She wasn’t seeing him anymore and was clearly upset about it. Blake nearly sent us straight to New Point, but she resisted.

Silently, I watched Blake’s anger dominate his personality. The man thrives on control, and in a chaotic situation like this, he became obsessed with micromanaging the outcome. Chip Conway called him personally to apologize and though Blake accepted the sentiment, it didn’t stop him from demanding that advertising dollars be rerouted.

Now we are in Blake’s SUV, careening toward New Point. He wanted to make good time and get there early to check on Zoe. For the past few days, the only thing he’s been concerned with is her wellbeing. In fact, I’m not sure that he noticed me all that often. It’s a stark reminder of the early days of our relationship. I try not to let it sting too badly, but I’m hurting and confused, too.

Across the car, he’s talking abruptly to an attorney friend who I’ve never met, Harris.

“Man, you need to relax. We’ve got it all worked out,” Harris’ crisp voice filters through the car’s Bluetooth system.

“Right.” Blake’s not convincing in his abrupt response. “Give my best to Edith, will ya?”

“Ever since Edith found out you have a girlfriend, she’s been in my ear to get you two over for dinner. Call me when you’re back from New Point and we’ll set something up.”

At the mention of me, Blake’s deep brown eyes flicker toward me. He flashes a ghost of a smile and I return it, secretly pleased Blake told this friend about me. “Done. Thanks, Harris.” Navigating the car with one hand, Blake reaches across the center console and rests his warm palm on my thigh. “Thank you for putting up with me the past couple of days. I know that our trip turned into a mess.”

“The only upside to all of this is that I haven’t had much time to be worried about Zoe’s reaction to seeing me for the first time in months,” I comment drily. Lazily, he strokes the outside of my thigh with his thumb, sending shivers down my back.

“What if we did another trip—somewhere secluded where I can devote all of my attention to you? Two weeks from Friday, we’ll go on a jaunt somewhere with a beach, you, me, and nothing else.” He says it with a matter-of-fact air, blind to my crestfallen expression as he starts navigating us through New Point. The quaint place is an idyllic Lake Michigan beachside town. Tourism fuels the small city. Zoe’s parents left her their home in their will, and according to Blake, it’s a short walk along the beach into town from their home. We’re here for dinner with Zoe and then we will head back to the city tonight so I can go back to work tomorrow.

“A beach vacation sounds really wonderful, Blake.” I try to hide my wounded heart when I continue. “Violet and Max are getting married during that time, remember? I’m the maid of honor and she’ll need me in town to run errands or do whatever else she needs.”

Blake tries to cover that he forgot my cousin’s wedding, but it’s too late. It’s starting to get really difficult for me to believe that I matter more to him than a mannequin, decorating the background until he needs emotional support. My heart stumbles a few beats when I watch him attempt to smooth over his mistake. “That’s right. Of course. Then we’ll go the week after.”

Now’s not the time to fight with him. My heart may be taking a beating in my chest, but we’re on our way to see Zoe. Right here, right now, I vow to myself to address Blake’s lack of interest in my stuff, for lack of a better term, as soon as we’re home in Chicago. “Work’s been insane lately. I don’t think that I can take another few days off this summer.”

“Busy with what? You hardly talk about your job; all I know is that you’re there more often than not. From what I hear, you’ve been exceeding expectations on our account. Do you have another proposal?”

Inhaling a deep breath through my nose, I try to ignore the prickling sensation in my hands.
Because you never ask what’s happening with my job. You’re too busy with everything but me.
And, in fact, I do have another proposal on my plate, one he knows intimately well.