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Livy
I wish I could say my mind is straight, but skipping my beach practice three mornings in a row has me irritable. It always centers me, and I need that. Tomorrow, come hell or high water, I’ll be there. If the photographers are still there, they can watch me, darn it.
I’m over hiding out as if I’m a criminal or in witness protection. I’m a woman who was accosted at a bar, not a specimen to be studied. I didn’t start the situation or perpetuate it. I deserve neither credit nor scrutiny.
The only reason anyone cares isn’t even because I was wronged. They care because the person who stepped in to save me is famous.
And hot.
In a lot of people’s minds, handsome and prominent are enough to warrant attention. And Layton Ranger certainly garners attention.
So the media can watch all they want. The gossip rags can speculate all they want. And everyone else can shove it.
I have my mojo back as I head toward my afternoon appointment with our public affairs team. When my phone vibrates, I assume it’s the appointment reminder for the meeting I’m walking to.
Instead, it’s my sister.
Tally:You never answered me.
Tally:Mother is bothering me at work about the whole situation. Do I need to handle this?
I swear I can hear her sigh from Manhattan.
Tally:I don’t have to tell you how embarrassing it is to have the pictures of you dressed as a streetwalker in my corporate email.
And, there it is. Four texts, if you include Saturday’s, is all it takes for my sister to make this whole situation about her. How it impacts her career, her time, her emotions. The inconvenience toherlife.
Me:I’m fine. Thanks for asking.
I don’t know why I bother trying to connect anymore. We’re so different. But she’s family. She’s my sister, for goodness’ sake, and I won’t cut her off despite her disdain for me.
Tally:I don’t have time for your pity party. Do I or do I not need to step in legally regarding this situation?
Me:Not now. I’ll let you know if I need you.
I turn my phone off, not caring about the vibrations and message alerts that keep appearing.
When I put on that wig on Friday night, I never assumed that Monday afternoon I’d still be dealing with the fallout. Or that the fallout would include Tally’s reprimands.
“They’re ready for you.”
I was so lost in my thoughts that I failed to greet Mrs. Bennett, the woman who runs the corporate floor like a stern grandmother. She reminds me of a school principal when I was a kid—the older woman who always wore hose and a skirt with heels. That generation of ladies whose hair is always done and whose earrings are never missing. The kind that could look down their nose at me and, with just one glance, stop me in my tracks if I were misbehaving.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bennett.” I nod and avoid banal conversation.
When I push open the door, I couldn’t be more shocked.
The room is full. It’s not just the public affairs team. It’s club management. There’s the medical staff leadership, including Dr. Silverberg, plus a handful of suits.
And Layton Ranger.
A Layton Ranger whose tee and athletic pants look oddly out of place in a room full of people dressed as if they don’t work with a bunch of athletes.
My sports bra, tank, and yoga pants might as well be a bikini for as exposed as I feel.
How I didn’t look at the meeting invite they sent is beyond me. I blame my lack of vitamin D and Tommy. In all fairness, I stopped truly blaming him a while ago, but he’s still the fall boy for everything that goes wrong.
Flat tire? Tommy.
