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“What?”
“Nothing. It’s cute.” He takes another pull of the tawny near beer. “She’s a fighter.”
“Yeah.” I polish off my drink as the waitress approaches and order another, anything to stop the flood of images tormenting me.
Marley waves that he’s fine for now, and we both fall silent. The band’s not bad, but I’m not in the mood to feel good. I’ve never felt like this about a woman, like I’m not sure how I’ll put her out of my mind.
“She really made an impression on you.” Marley holds the empty bottle, turning it in his hands. I can’t answer that, and he adds under his breath. “Lost opportunities and missed chances… they suck.”
My phone buzzes, and I take it out of my breast pocket. A text from Sandra’s on the face: Jerry’s running his mouth.
She sends me a link, and when I tap on it, it takes me to a brief in Nashville Notes, a rinky-dink online journal run by the Nashville Association of Business and Industry. I scan it, and the more I read, the hotter my blood gets.
“What the fuck?”
“What?” Marley leans closer to check out what’s on my screen. “Area business leader and CEO Patton Fletcher throws hush money at sex scandal?”
Obvious click-bait.
His brow furrows, and he studies my face. “Sex scandal? Is this about…”
My hand tightens on my fresh glass of whiskey, and I read aloud. “Shake up at Fletcher International. Less than a week after senior partner Martin Randall was hospitalized for exhaustion, the tech-based corporate realtor vying to be ‘the Airbnb for business’ has lost three senior staffers in as many days.
‘Taron Rhodes, VP of client development, Jerry Buckingham, senior account executive, and Raquel Morgan, the newest member of the Fletcher team have all left the building.
‘According to Buckingham, CEO Patton Fletcher paid hush money a year ago to keep Renée Morgan, former Fletcher CPA, from going public with sexual assault allegations against Randall…”
I can’t read any more of this bullshit. Tapping the number in my contacts, I wait as it rings.
Marley’s face is pale. “Sexual assault? I didn’t assault her…”
A gravelly voice finally answers my call. “NABI, this is Hank.”
“Hank, Patton Fletcher here.”
Shuffling on the other end, and he clears his throat. “Patton. I was expecting a call from you.”
“I hope it’s because you’re preparing a retraction. Since we’re old friends, I thought I’d give you a chance to correct yourself before my lawyer does it for you.”
I use the term friends loosely.
“Aly’s got her facts straight, Patton. I checked them myself before approving the story.”
“Her facts are not straight. Taron took a leave of absence and Ms. Morgan has been offered a promotion.”
“That’s not what Jerry told us…”
“Jerry Buckingham is a dick, and I fired his ass for insubordination. What you’re printing is his sad attempt to strike back.”
“So you’re saying this business with the CPA never happened?”
Fuck. I hesitate… which looks bad. “You misrepresented the facts.”
“Jerry provided documents showing you gave her money a year ago—”
“I didn’t give her money. I never even spoke to her.”
“But you did personally secure a small-business loan on behalf of Ms. Morgan?”
