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“I see.” His voice was smooth and patient. “But my understanding was that’s what you wanted—for the world to know about Santoro—and how he’s evading the law.”
At the beginning, that was exactly what she had wanted. But now she knew that her aunt hadn’t blamed Deacon and, therefore, neither should she. He was not the beast she’d originally thought. He was just a man—a man who had punished himself needlessly.
“That was before—”
She stopped herself from saying too much. The less she told this man, the better. She had learned firsthand how words and images could be twisted into something they’re not.
“Before what?”
“It was an accident. That’s all.”
“Have the police said this?”
“No, but they will.”
“Miss Dupré, what changed your mind about gaining the truth and forcing the police’s hand in delivering their findings about the incident?”
She worried her bottom lip. What was she supposed to say now? She didn’t want to break Deacon’s confidence. She didn’t want to share her aunt’s last words with the world.
“Miss Dupré?”
“I want to end our arrangement.”
“Is that because you’re now romantically linked with Mr. Santoro?” The man’s voice took on a hard edge. “Yes, I saw that photo of you in his arms. I was not happy to be scooped by another magazine.”
“It wasn’t the way it looked.” At least at that moment, everything had been innocent. Now everything was exponentially more complicated.
“Tell me about it.” His tone was more congenial. He wanted her to give him a story but she refused to do it.
“You and I don’t have a signed agreement. Remember, your magazine wanted to wait until you could ascertain what information I would provide.”
“There was a verbal agreement, was there not?”
“Sounds like a case of ‘he said, she said.’”
Regretting the deal she’d struck with the magazine, and now this man that she didn’t trust in the least, she said, “I am calling off the arrangement. Besides, I never gave you anything you could use.”
The line went dead.
She had to admit that had gone a little better than she’d expected. And as she set aside her cell phone, she felt a bit lighter. She didn’t care how hard up she was for money, she was never working for a gossip rag again.
Now she had to deal with Deacon. She had no idea what to make of his disappearance that morning. He did say that he didn’t sleep much. Maybe he’d just gotten up early.
And to complicate matters, she needed to come clean about her liaison with QTR. She felt now that her relationship with Deacon had shifted, she needed to be completely open and honest—even if he didn’t like what she was about to say.
* * *
How was he supposed to face her after last night?
Deacon moved to the window in his office. She was going to look at him differently. She was going to expect things of him—things he couldn’t give her.
And yet he didn’t want to lose her. He told himself that it was the fact she was the best assistant he’d ever had. And this fund-raiser, if it worked out, might help fund a breakthrough in the fight against breast cancer. There was too much riding on them continuing to work together.
Was it possible to wind back the hands of time? If they didn’t talk about it, could they pretend that amazing night of lovemaking had never happened?
“Deacon, we need to talk.”
He didn’t move as he stared out the window of his office. She’d just said the five words he’d been dreading. It was time he put his plan in action.
