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Somehow she found her way to her desk, grabbed her purse and stumbled outside before anyone could approach her. Sucked in the cool night air. She hadn’t just been bad. She’d been a complete disaster.
She rode the subway home to her apartment. It felt too small, too claustrophobic after Alex’s penthouse, so she yanked on sweats and sneakers and went outside for a run. Her footsteps hit the pavement with a rhythmical thump, thump that normally calmed her immediately. Not tonight. She ran down the side streets toward the park as if the devil were on her heels. And thought how amazing it was that life went on as usual when it felt as though yours was falling apart.
Through the park she ran, until her knees threatened to buckle. When she got back to her street, her steps slowed to a walk to cool off. She saw a male figure sitting on the front steps of her brownstone. Alex.
“Your boss is worried about you,” he said grimly when she stopped in front of him.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. Three missed calls. “I’ll text him. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
He lifted a brow. Banked anger glimmered in his eyes. “I was waiting for you at home.”
The hot tears she’d been fighting her entire run slipped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
He muttered an oath, stood and gathered her in his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “One bad performance isn’t going to kill you.”
“This one will.”
He shook his head. “No one judges you on one performance. You’ll do it again. Kill it next time.”
“I am not you,” she yelled at him, pulling out of his arms with a panicked rage. “I do not thrive on game day. I choke, Alex. I choked. There is no way they’re giving me another chance.”
He frowned. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “It’s done.”
His expression softened. “Go get your stuff. We’ll talk at my place.”
She stood there staring at him, wanting desperately to run into his arms and have him make everything right. But she was afraid to want him that much. To need him that much.
She lifted her chin. “I think I should stay here tonight.”
“Why?” His response was low and shot through with challenge.
She looked away. “I just think it’s a good idea given everything that’s happened tonight.”
Antagonism flared in his eyes. “You think something happened between Jess and me?”
“No...” She shook her head, but his penetrating gaze read her uncertainty.
“Christós, Izzie.” He clenched his hands by his sides. “I was home worried sick about you, terrified something might have happened, when it finally occurred to me you might be here. I drive over here like a maniac, putting the lives of myself and others in danger, you’re not here, and I’m dying.” Fury shimmered in his eyes. “So don’t act like you don’t trust me when I’m obviously crazy about you.”
Her heart slammed against her chest. Crazy about her? “I’m not doubting you,” she summoned haltingly. “I just—”
“Exactly,” he muttered. “You just are.”
“Can you not see what she’s doing?” she burst out. “She keeps asking for your help because she wants you back.”
“And you need to trust me. That’s what relationships are all about, Iz. Trusting the person you’re with.”
She locked her gaze with his. “Tell me she doesn’t want you back, Alex.”
Ruddy color dusted his cheekbones. “I’ve told you she means nothing to me anymore.”
“Then tell her to find another shoulder to cry on,” Izzie challenged.
“Because you can’t handle it? I thought we’d been through this. You need to grow up.”
She gave him a belligerent look. “Maybe you do, too, because that woman is only interested in one thing. You.”
A thunderous cloud fell over his face. “You’re just about succeeding, you know that, Iz?”
She arched a brow at him. “Succeeding in what?”
“Pushing me away.” He took a step toward her, picked her up and stalked to his car.
“What are you doing?” she demanded in a voice this side of shrill.
“Watching over you so you don’t self-destruct,” he muttered, tossing her in the car and demanding her keys. “Call your boss,” he ordered. Then he marched up to her apartment, retrieved her purse and computer, slid back into the car, and drove her to his place.
Brushing aside her usual request to walk the twenty flights up to his penthouse with a roll of his eyes, he hustled her into the elevator. She sat numbly on the sofa while he made her an omelet, forced her to eat it, then put her under a hot shower. When she’d taken up second residence there, he ordered her out and to bed. She went willingly because her head was pounding, her body spent, and all she wanted to do was pretend this day had never happened.
Alex brought his laptop to bed and tucked her against his side while he worked. She burrowed into him, desperate for his warmth, for his ability to make everything better.
“I backslid badly today,” she murmured. “I know it.”
He brushed her hair away from her face, his expression softening. “I’ll cut you some slack tonight.”
“You’re really crazy about me?”
His mouth tilted. “Unfortunately since I don’t think you’re going to make this easy on me, yes.”
She curved her hand around his thigh. He gave her a wary look. “You need sleep, Iz.”
“I need you,” she corrected huskily, closing her fingers over the thick, hard length of him.
“Iz...”
She slid her hand inside his boxers and found his velvet heat. He ditched the laptop then. Flipped her over and started to explore her bare skin from the top down. “Does this feel like my interest is anywhere but right here?” he demanded, imprinting her with his considerable male assets.
“No,” she gasped. But she let him prove it in a no-holds-barred exhibition of how he could make her forget her name. Down, down she went into the maelstrom that was Alex. Handed over that last piece of her heart she’d been holding back because if he wanted her like this, in her worst train-wreck moment of all time, she was already long, long gone. Had been, she feared, from that first night in London.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALEX LEFT AT 5:30 a.m. to fly to Seattle after making her promise not to do anything rash. To think this through and talk to James before she drew any conclusions. She made the promise, slunk back into bed and slept for another couple of hours. Then she stumbled into Alex’s big, bright walk-in steam shower and thought about putting her life back together.
She was obeying the eye-opening prompt of the eucalyptus body wash he favored when the bottle dropped from her fingers.
The notes.
Scenes from the night before flashed through her head. Her removing the Taylor Johnson transcript from Alex’s file before handing it to Bart Forsyth. The scan through she’d done to make sure all other evidence of the illegal painkillers was removed. Her stomach lurched. What she had forgotten was the original set of notes from her interview with Taylor tucked in the front pocket.
She’d given Bart the evidence on the drugs.
Oh my God.
She fled the shower, threw on her pants from the night before and a spare shirt she kept in Alex’s closet, then cabbed it to the station. It was quiet at eight-thirty, with only a few reporters at their desks. A frantic, covert search of Bart’s desk for the folder was unsuccessful. She sat down at her own, rested her head in her shaking hands and drew in deep breaths. Bart either had the file at home with him, which meant he might have read it last night, or he’d locked it in his drawer.
Either way, she was in trouble. Her guts churned in sickening recognition of how much trouble. Everything, her job, Alex’s reputation, was on the line if those interview notes were discovered. How could she have done it? Sure, she’d been stressed, but this was inconceivable.
She sat there, frozen to the spot, pretending to work until Bart came in an hour later. He gave her his usual whack on the shoulder and went off whistling to the kitchen to get his coffee. She rose and flew to his desk. There on the top was the blue folder. Heart slamming in her chest, she flicked it open, grabbed the notes and committed the most unrecoverable sin of her career. She hurried back to her desk and buried them in her purse for destruction at a later date. And hoped, prayed fate was on her side. Bart hadn’t said anything about the notes, and surely he would have if he’d read such explosive testimony?
Maybe she’d slipped by by the skin of her teeth...
A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her brow. James came in and she suffered through a horrendous debriefing of her performance the night before, during which he confirmed that she had indeed done her chances at the anchor job a great deal of damage. But he wouldn’t know how much until he talked with management. Meanwhile, he told her, stay the course. Pull yourself together and see what happens.
She was only too happy to put her head down and do her job, but by the end of the day, her nerves were frayed beyond repair. Neither Bart nor James had said anything, she had no idea if they knew about Taylor Johnson or not, and she could barely prevent herself from lurching to the bathroom and throwing up what little lunch she’d consumed.
