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Stella’s shoulders relaxed. “As long as you will testify that Mr. Beaumont hired you as an escort and talked dirty to you, we shouldn’t have to worry about losing a lawsuit.”
Eden shook her head. “I won’t testify to that, Stella.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I didn’t take money from Nash, and everything that I did I did because I wanted to.”
“For the story?”
It had started out that way. But somewhere the line between career and personal life had become blurred. Eden wanted to call it lust—to believe that she could live just fine without Nash. But the fear that gripped her stomach made her realize the truth. She loved Nash. With that realization came another one. This wasn’t fixable. They couldn’t recall all the newspapers. When the story reached Nash, he would never forgive her. He had trusted her, and she had broken that trust.
“No,” she whispered. “I did it because I love him.”
Suddenly too overwhelmed to remain standing, she sat down in the chair and gave up. She gave up on her dream of becoming a reporter. She gave up on her dream of finishing the marathon. And she gave up on her dream of marrying the man she loved and living happily ever after. Unable to stop them, tears flooded her eyes and dripped down her cheeks in a steady stream.
Seeing them, Stella released a long sigh. “I’m getting too old for this crap.” She grabbed a tissue and held it out to Eden. “Stop sniveling. We’ll figure some way out of this mess. We’ll get a retraction out in the morning issue. And until then, you better pray that the panty billionaires have better things to do than read our little newspaper.” That hope died when the door opened and Mike walked into the office.
“Where the hell is my coffee?” Stella asked.
Instead of answering, he looked at Eden. “Nash Beaumont is here. He stopped Suz in the hallway and asked where your office was, and she directed him to the janitor’s closet.”
“Well, that’s great,” Stella said, “now he’ll think we torture our employees by tossing them in a closet.” She got up. “Show Mr. Beaumont in here—”
Eden cut her off. “No. I need to talk to him alone.” She owed him that. And much, much more. Wiping at her eyes, she got to her feet. “Thanks, Stella. After I talk to Nash, I’ll clear out the closet.”
Stella shook her head. “Somehow I don’t think I’ve seen the last of you, Eden Huckabee.”
Trying to keep her chin up, Eden walked out of the office and down the hallway. The door of the janitor’s closet stood open, and before she even reached it, she could see Nash standing at her makeshift desk, studying the pictures that remained on her corkboard. He was dressed for work but without the suit jacket. His lavender shirt emphasized his broad shoulders and was slightly wrinkled in the back, and his gray pants hugged his hips and tapered down his long legs.
Obviously, he had gotten the news before he’d changed into his running clothes. It hurt to know that they would never run together again. Ignoring the pain, she walked into the closet and closed the door behind her. He didn’t turn around. Nor did he say anything for several heart-wrenching seconds. When he finally did speak, his voice sounded distant and strained.
“Nice office.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, but it raised right back up. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Nash. At the time, I was trying to get a story.”
His shoulders tightened. “And you got one, didn’t you?”
She moved closer, but still kept a good distance. “I swear I didn’t want the story published.”
“But you wrote it.”
It wasn’t a question, and still she answered. “Yes.”
“To publish.”
“Yes.”
Eden wanted to say more. She wanted to explain and justify her actions. But there was no justification for her lies. So she just stood there and watched as he slowly turned around. Eden didn’t know what she expected to see, but it wasn’t a face as blank as a sheet of copy paper. No fake smile. No real one. No passion. Or compassion. No tenderness. No forgiveness. Just nothing. But when he spoke, his voice held all the emotions his face wasn’t showing. Disbelief. Pain. But mostly anger.
“I should’ve known you weren’t an escort. You were a lousy lay.” He brushed past her and walked out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
There was comfort in the fact that, while everything else in Nash’s life had changed, Grandpa’s fishing shack had remained the same. The bottom porch step was still missing a slat. The screen door hinges still squeaked. And the inside still smelled like fish and gym socks. Having arrived the night before, Nash probably could’ve fixed those things—replaced the slat, oiled the hinges, cleaned the house—but instead he sat on the front porch staring out at the woods. At least, that’s what his body did. His mind did something else entirely. Like an iTunes song on repeat, it kept going over and over every second he’d spent with Eden.
Every word.
Every touch.
