What a Girl Wants (26 page)

He scooted up and lay beside Maddie. “It took some doing. She had her bases covered. I was able to trace the number to a cell phone registered in Barbados, billed to a relative of hers.”

Maddie shook her head. “She’s something else.”

“She was adamant about not revealing her sources. Claimed journalistic integrity. Said she’d promised to keep her sources’ and the government officials’ names confidential.” He slid his arm around her shoulder. “She wanted me to read the article before submission. It was well written and had strong enough content to encourage a debate on national security, nepotism, hacking, the Internet highway and so on. It did deserve a Pulitzer—”

“If it were true.”

He nodded. “She included my name as the co-journalist.”

“Smart move on her part. I bet she suspected you knew she was full of crap, and thought you’d go along with a potential award-winning story?”

“Right.” He pulled Maddie closer to him. “Long story short. I asked her to remove my name. I advised her to pull the plug on the piece, or I would blow the whistle on her. She thought I was bluffing. She not only went ahead with the article, she included my name.”

Maddie shook her head. “She may have been a good writer, but she had to be four quarters short of a dollar if she thought you were bluffing about something like that.”

“I went to the editor first. He asked me to put my concerns in writing before he killed the story. I copied Crystal on the memo, stating that based on my research and investigation I did not want my name associated with the piece, because I was convinced with a moral certainty that the entire article was a work of fiction.”

“It must have gotten ugly.”

“That’s an understatement. She accused me of spying on her, among other things. She convinced the publisher that I’d worked on this article with her and agreed to the setup to snag another Pulitzer. She also hired a lawyer, claiming the paper was sexist and threatened a sexual harassment suit because of our intimate relationship.

“The publisher struck a deal with her. If she dropped her lawsuit, they’d fire her with severance and they wouldn’t expose her lies. She agreed, on the condition that I got my walking papers.” He sighed.” I can’t blame them for getting rid of us both.”

“That’s not fair.” Maddie raised her voice. “You didn’t lie, she did.”

He ran a finger along Maddie’s cheek, smiling at the passion in her voice as she defended him. “Thing is, she didn’t have to lie to write a good story. She had talent.”

“I bet that wasn’t the first time she fabricated a piece.”

“That’s why she dropped the suit. She knew damn well all her stories would be scrutinized. Remember how I told you I’d tease Kristi and tell her she was adopted?”

She punched his arm playfully. “Yeah. Kristi also told me that you framed a picture of a couple from a magazine and told her they were her real parents.” She laughed. “You nut.”

He shrugged. “Classic big bro stuff. Anyway, I shared this—”

“With the piranha and she used it in a story?”

Nodding, he continued. “Around the same time as the hacking story. She wrote a piece about an adopted young woman looking for her biological parents. This woman was shopping at Walmart, picked up a picture frame and claimed that it was as if she was looking in the mirror when she saw the model in the frame. She tracked the model down through the modeling agency and apparently, it was her long-lost mother. There was a happy reunion.

“Crystal claimed the parties involved wanted their names kept confidential. The editor bought it and so did the readership, because, like I said, she was an excellent writer and could spin a believable tale. I found a lot of holes in it, but fabrication is hard to prove. My gut told me the story was fake. It wasn’t a long piece and since no names were given and it was published with no repercussions, I didn’t push the issue.”

He glanced at Maddie, who looked distressed. “Hey.” Holding her tight, he kissed her temple. “Is talking about Crystal upsetting you?”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s not that.” He had to lean closer to catch her next words. “It’s too bad it wasn’t a true story with a happy ending. I bet there are a lot of people looking…” She shook her head. “She’s exploitive and gives yellow journalism a new name.”

“Never mind her.” He’d seen that sad look shadow her eyes a few times since they’d arrived in Hawaii. Even though she recovered fast, he knew something was bothering her. His chest tightened at that thought. “What’s wrong?” He lifted her chin. “Talk to me.”

“I’m still a bit tired. Makes me sappy.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “That story hit close to home. That’s all. I’ll explain later.” She cleared her throat. “Back to the piranha. Why is she so hell-bent on sticking her nose in my business? What is she after?”

He leaned against the headboard, rubbing the back of his neck.

Frowning, she repositioned herself and sat facing him. “You look like an oncologist about to give his patient test results. What’s up with that?”

“It’s not you she’s after.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I have to tell you about a new development in my life for all of this to make sense.”

“Okay.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. Ever since he signed the contract, he’d been mentally rehearsing how he’d tell her. He’d oscillated between telling her he needed to focus on his career to asking her to explore the possibility of a serious relationship and go with him. “I’m leaving for London next week.”

“Finally, an assignment you won’t have to wear a bullet-proof vest—”

“It’s not an assignment.”

“What do you mean?”

He took hold of both her hands in his. “The position to head the new London bureau has been on the table for close to a year. George and his backers insisted this project be kept under wraps until the takeover of a television station and newspaper were completed. Crystal recently found out about the position and vied for it.”

Gliding his thumbs along her smooth knuckles, he continued, “Since George wouldn’t give her the time of day, she used everything she thought she had against me and your relationship with your uncle to intimidate all of us into giving into her.”

“I’m guessing,—” she looked directly into his eyes without blinking, “—you won the position?”

He swallowed back a lump the size of a golf ball. “I signed a three-year contract.”

“Three years, huh?” She turned, leaned forward and withdrew the tissue between her toes. “Wow.” She balled up the tissue “Fill me in. What will you be doing?”

Outside, the rain pounded against the windows. Inside his heart pounded against his ribs. “Besides heading the news bureau, I’ll be assisting in running a production company and in a few months, hosting a show on the Documentary Channel.”

“Sounds like you’re going to be busy for a few years.” Her hair fell like a curtain in front of her face, preventing him from seeing her expression. “You, um, must be excited.”

Dammit, how was he supposed to respond to that? Excited about the job, yes, but not excited about leaving her behind. What he wanted to say was held hostage between his heart and his lungs, making it hard to breathe, let alone suggest she pack up and join him in England.

He’d already made some inquiries, got a few leads for freelance contracts overseas. She could write articles about traveling through Europe. It sounded doable. It was the delivery that had his pulse racing through his veins.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood and turned her back to him. “Damn allergies.” She grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Nail polish makes my eyes watery.”

He slid off the bed, stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

They both remained as silent as the secrets still left unsaid.

This was one time he wanted to get inside her head, if only for a few seconds. Long enough to find out if, like him, she was open to changing their relationship from a no-strings to a long-term level.

He thrived on taking risks. He’d survived work-related conflicts and challenges with confidence in his abilities. But relationships were foreign territories filled with landmines of uncertainty that could explode with miscommunication.

She covered his hands with hers. “Congratulations, Alex.”

Closing his eyes, he said, “The timing sucks big time.”

Sighing aloud, she reached for another tissue. “Speaking of timing, I’d better get ready.”

And speaking of ready, he
was
ready to take that next step with her. Of all the women he’d ever dated, she was the first woman he’d considered entering a long-term relationship with. He wasn’t one-hundred percent certain it would work out, but he was willing to try.

There was only one way to find out if she wanted to be with him enough to even consider relocation. “Maddie, come with me. Wrap up your contracts and join me as soon as you can.”

She let go of his hands and took a step away from him, keeping her back to him. “Thanks for the pedicure.”

He pulled her back, holding her tight against his chest and burying his face in her hair, filling his lungs with her sweet scent. “Anytime. Anywhere. Including London.”

“Alex, please,” she said in a shaky whisper. “I can’t do this. We don’t have time.” She removed his hands from around her waist. “Makeup, hair. I don’t want to be late. Your family—”

“Can wait.” He cupped her elbow, encouraging her back into his arms. “I’m serious about asking you to join me in—”

“I can’t. There are too many complications in my life.” She stepped further away, still keeping her back to him. “I don’t want to be late for dinner. I need to get ready.”

“I know I sprung this on you without any warning, but we can work it out—”

“It’s not that.” She clutched the bathroom door handle, her knuckles white.

Placing his hands on her shoulder, he tried to turn her around to face him, but she resisted. “Maddie, what’s complicated? What’s been bothering you? Talk to me.”

She shook her head. “I need time. To get ready. Excuse me.” She stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Alex lifted his fist to knock on the door to insist they sit down and talk, but maybe he shouldn’t push it tonight. They had the whole day to themselves tomorrow. He backed away from the door and said, “Take as much time as you need.”

Maddie sat on the edge of the tub with her face in her hands, concentrating on easing the constriction in her chest and the pain attacking her tummy so that the chocolate she’d devoured earlier wouldn’t make an appearance in the toilet bowl.

At that moment, she wasn’t a woman on the cusp of her twenty-ninth birthday. Instead, she had tumbled back in time, to when she was three, five, nine, twelve, a teenager, and told that it was time to pack.

Mussing her hands through her hair, she focused on ridding the stabbing sensation in her lower abdomen. Boxes, suitcases, moving for the sake of a relationship—if she were to be analyzed with word association, she’d have to say all that meant the
end
to a relationship
not
the beginning.

Rubbing her temples, she inhaled deep, cleansing breaths. She was so not a Felicia type, and Alex had nothing in common with any of her stepfathers or her mother’s lovers. Their relationship had no similarities to what she’d witnessed growing up. Maddie had, happily and with no regrets, signed up for a mutually caring, intimate relationship with a man she liked.

But to pack up her life and relocate?

Oh, God, what do I want? I’m scared. Confused. Can’t even think straight. I’m used to him going away for his career. That’s what’s so great about Alex. He understands my work, and I understand his. But those are assignments. Neither of us has ever made a permanent move.

She had started out wanting a no-strings-attached relationship with Alex, but somehow he had chipped away at her philosophy, and she was now driving herself crazy with fantasizing about something more.
More
what
?
That
she wasn’t sure of. She
was
sure that she still wanted to be a part of his life after this trip was over. Dating in the real world, maybe?
But not moving to another frickin’ continent. I can’t imagine changing things that drastically.

The squeezing sensation in her chest intensified.

She stood, turned the tap on and leaned over the sink to splash cold water on her face.

Cripes, she was a relationship-bipolar-schizophrenic—running high with desire, elation, giddiness with a dash of optimism to running low with confusion, fear and negativity at the thought of commitment and stability. She was panic-stricken at the thought of picking up and moving not only to another city, but moving
in
with him. Or did he mean for her to go to England and date him casually? She wracked her brain to replay his exact words because she hadn’t heard most of what he had said after, “signed a three-year contract”.

Toweling her face dry, she took a few cleansing breaths until the squeezing sensation in her chest and the nausea subsided. “Okay. That’s better.”

She plugged in her curling iron, moisturized her face, brushed on a layer of mascara and put on some clear lip gloss. After running a brush through her hair, she took a few strands and curled it with the hot iron while continuing to exercise her diaphragm with calming breaths.

Alex deserved an explanation. She was not a drama queen, so why was she throwing herself a pity party? She’d always been a straight shooter with herself and with Alex.

She stepped out of the bathroom. Alex was tucking his black button-down shirt inside his gray Dockers.

She had to tuck away her emotions.

She got dressed.

He whistled. “Smokin.’”

Her heart turned its frown upside down. There was nothing like a pair of kick-ass shoes, a sexy dress and a complimentary admirer to give a woman confidence. “Thanks, you clean up real good yourself. Okay,” she said, clipping on a pair of gold and red chandelier earrings, “your promotion announcement. You asking me to go to England. It was overwhelming and—”

“I know. It came out all wrong. Look, we don’t have to talk about this now—”