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I looked sideways at him to discover he was watching me too. He winked at me. My thighs almost turned to jelly at that intoxicating energy rolling off him. Note to self: avoid eye contact.
Teasing him was like prodding a mountain lion, but I couldn’t help myself.
“You think things will get better for her at school?” he asked.
“I hope so. The psychology of bullies is... similar.” We were running at a slow enough pace that it was comfortable to keep talking.
“How do you know?”
“Things weren’t easy for me at school.”
“Why?”
“My parents passed away when I was eleven. I sort of retreated into myself after that, barely spoke to anyone. Kids... well, they weren’t very understanding. Picked on me. During those years, it was as if an invisible wall separated me from everyone else. Teachers were willing to cut me some leeway for a few months, but then they expected me to ‘move on.’ I was labeled a troubled kid, and all that ‘picking on’ turned into bullying. I reached a breaking point one afternoon when I opened my locker to find out someone had painted ‘freak’ on my clothes. I didn’t have many clothes back then, and Val—my sister—insisted I wear my good clothes to school so kids wouldn’t pick on me. If only she’d known.... I’d never told her about the bullying, but that afternoon, I cried all the way home, wanting to confess all to Val, beg her to allow me to be homeschooled.”
“And did you? Ask her?” he inquired, interrupting my monologue. Holy hell. Why had I told him all that? I almost never spoke about it, and definitely not with clients. And yet, I went on.
“No. When I arrived home, Val was cooking while simultaneously instructing Lori how to knit a sweater. And dinner was not the end of the day for Val. Afterward, she had to go run the pub until after midnight. My siblings had so much on their plate already. I couldn’t possibly ask Val and Landon to take on more.”
“You’re incredible,” he whispered.
“Because I didn’t want to add to their burden?”
“Because of everything you just told me. You’re strong.”
I blinked, shrugging, even though his words touched me deeply.
“I just grew a thick skin. Took me until high school to do it, when I finally found a goal: go to college. But I think it’s served me wel
l. The thick skin, I mean. Especially in this business.”
“How did you get into it?”
“I’m a problem solver, and this seemed like fun. And it is. Sure, the thick skin puts some people off—”
“I like it.”
Despite myself, I glanced at him. “You didn’t when we were in your office.”
He smirked, as if I was missing some obvious point.
“I liked it,” was all he said.
Well, then. No time like the present to bring up my strategy. Especially since we were approaching the last stretch of the run. We slowed our pace even more.
“So, I told you that I have a strategy in mind.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I want you to do an interview. A Q&A where you talk about yourself and the relationship. No smearing or blaming. You can skirt around the cheating but briefly touch on the points where you weren’t compatible. Classy but informative. We wouldn’t go to a gossip magazine with it. Given the personal angle, a business publication isn’t a good fit either, but I have contacts at a few lifestyle magazines.”
I’d said this very quickly so he wouldn’t get a chance to interrupt, but now I was waiting for his answer with bated breath.
“No.”
“Reid—”
“Forget it.”
