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Humiliation stained my cheeks a tomato red and I had a moment to tamp down the embarrassment. Before I could completely pull myself together, Cam was there to help me to my feet. Bastard. Why did he have to be a gentleman when I wanted to punch him in his gorgeous face.
“There you go, slugger,” he said, lifting my chin with his knuckle. “Are you okay?”
No, I was so not okay. My heart beat like some mating call. My stomach did the butterfly thing when he touched me. I imagined my face looked like a constipated Kewpie doll as I struggled not to swoon, save face, and be mad at the same time.
Then there were those sparkling green eyes of his. Locked on mine as they were, I barely heard the laughter all around us.
“Funny,” I said, managing to let my anger burn always any lingering awkwardness. “You’ve always had a way with words.”
Cam’s smile disappeared and he was all business. “What can I help you with, Miss Evans? Are you looking for a quote about my trade deal?”
Talk about sucker punch. He’d hit me back where it would hurt professionally.
“Well, I planned to lead off with that and follow it up with all the other secrets you’ve been hiding.”
He nodded, but it wasn’t in agreement. “Maybe if someone wouldn’t have run—” He put so much emphasis on that last word, “—there wouldn’t have been any secrets between us.”
Even if I’d stayed, his little announcement wouldn’t have changed a thing between us. I might have felt a bigger fool for thinking there was even a remote chance for us.
“You didn’t have time considering you had a wedding to attend.”
My retort should have been the knockout punch, instead, he got me.
“That’s where you’re wrong. The wedding had already happened.”
My mouth became a desert and words an oasis. I could see but not grasp them. He stood there with no remorse. As hurt took root like a sandstorm, I spun on my heels and fled. He would not have the satisfaction of my tears.
The doors blew open as I pushed on both. Everyone out in the hall glanced my way, but I kept moving. There was a ladies room near the front of the building. I no longer cared about jockeying for position in the press conference room. I had to check the little makeup I’d worn in case my boss sent a camera crew. Which reminded me to check my messages after I fixed my face.
Thank goodness for waterproof mascara. I used my finger to rub off some smudged eyeliner, but otherwise I wasn’t half bad.
I was in the middle of checking my emails and messages when Claudia strode in, eyes cast on me.
Though I knew her, I had no idea she knew me. She should have looked scandalous in the scarlet wrap dress that showed off her slender figure. But even so early in the morning she managed to pull off the look without appearing like a hooker.
My hair and been tightly bound in a bun at the base of my neck. I’d wanted to look like a hard nose reporter. But what little was left of my ego forced me to make a stand. I pulled my locks free from their hold and the bun served well. A cascade of waves flowed free like a conditioner commercial. My blonde hair settled free around my shoulders. It might have worked to boost my ego if I still didn’t look like a homeless person standing next to her.
“He’ll never be yours,” she said in that phone sex voice that made men come in their pants.
My first attempt at a response was a squeak. I cleared my voice and tilted my head like that was a planned noise.
“Who said I wanted him?”
I lifted my chin and walked for the door. As if today numbered 666, so did my luck. Someone pushed at the same time and the door hit me square in the face. My nose took the brunt.
I cupped hands over my face, but didn’t dare turn back. Claudia with her unpronounceable last name would not see me that way.
My first thought was to run. Bad things happened in threes. No way would attending the press conference be a good thing.
My phone buzzed.
“Where are you?” came the irritating voice of my editor. “The crew is in the room.”
Still holding my nose as I walked in the direction of the room, I spoke as best I could through the throbbing pain. “On my way.”
“You said that this morning. Believe me, Evans, this is your last warning. And what’s wrong with your voice.”
“Tunnel. I’m in the tunnel,” I said, blowing air into the phone. I wanted him to believe I was in the tunnel that led from the field to the locker room. “Blame a girl for having to go pee. I bet that’s against HR policy.”
