Bad Reputation Page 4

This is a hint. I turned to walk away. It’s the universe’s way of reminding you that you’re not right for a girl like that.

  * * *

  As I made my way out of the dorm, my spirits dipped even lower. For the first time in ages, I had actually felt motivated to do something for myself rather than for my dad’s prearranged schedule.

  Something besides throwing a Joey pity party, you mean.

  For once, I hadn’t been focused on the past and all the pain that I associated with my memories. Not being able to accomplish the goal—not finding out who the redhead was—brought the sick feeling back with a vengeance.

  On most of my days off, I spent the morning thinking of how everything had started on the sixth. I woke up with the familiar guilt and dread in my chest. It hung on for the day, and I saw her face in my mind. Then my own voice, hurling angry accusations at her. I pictured her, not ever denying what I said, grabbing her scarf and hat and storming out of the house. Even if I could brush those things off, I would remember the sound of the sirens, and the smell of lilies, and the sight of the pale faces.

  Sometimes the day would go better than others. I might reach the point of emotional hangover by noon, if I could get through the rest of the day unscathed.

  I had a feeling today was going to a bad one, though. I thought it might even carry over to Saturday. I doubted I could force my way through, drinks or no drinks, girls or no girls.

  Redhead or no redhead, I added before I could stop myself.

  As I arrived at the parking lot and scanned it for my truck, my cell phone chimed. I glanced at the number on the call display and sighed. I let it go to voice mail. I reached my truck and my phone went off again. I ignored it a second time, choosing to climb into my vehicle instead. I sat down with a crunch. A large, yellow envelope was sitting on the driver’s side seat. I yanked it out from underneath me and glared at the logo on the corner. My phone rang a third time. I pounded the answer button irritably.

  “Hi, Dad,” I greeted cheerfully through my gritted teeth. “I got the package you left in my truck.”

  “Cut the act, son,” he said. “I need you to be somewhere today.”

  “It’s the sixth.”

  “So?”

  “So we have a deal. And this weekend is—”

  “Open that envelope.”

  “Dad—”

  “Now.”

  I tore the yellow paper open, feeling a petty bit of satisfaction when the whole envelope split. I scanned the contents.

  “This looks like a City ordinance request,” I said.

  “It is.”

  “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “I want you to go to that meeting.”

  I glanced at the paperwork again. “It’s today. It’s ten minutes from now.”

  “So you’d better hurry.”

  “This says the meeting is a private one between the City and the applicant.”

  “It is.” My dad paused, then sighed loudly before he continued. “But this request threatens a potentially important project for our company. I want to know what we’re up against. I want to know who we’re up against.”

  “Is it even legal for me to be there?” I wanted to know.

  “You’re signed on as an observer from the school paper,” he replied.

  “Seriously? You think they’re going buy that?”

  He ignored me. “This is as important for you as it is for me.”

  “I somehow doubt that,” I muttered.

  “Joey…one day my company will belong to you.”

  I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it. Even before—I cut myself off midthought. I knew what he was expecting from me, and I made an effort to live up to that. It helped me stay focused, to keep from perpetually laying the blame at my own feet.

  But why did it have to be today?

  “I haven’t let you down once since I signed that contract. I close more deals than anyone else on your team,” I replied. “But you know why I need this day off, Dad.”

  He tried a more sympathetic tactic. “At some point, you have to get past this.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “This has been hard on all of us,” he said.

  “It didn’t happen because of you,” I growled. “It happened because of me.”

  “It happened because of that woman,” he corrected. “And today, they don’t need you. But I need do. There’s a suit in your backseat. Get dressed and get there. Please.”

  He hung up, and I gritted my teeth again, turned the key in the ignition and drove at full speed to City Hall.

  * * *

  There’s nothing quite as humiliating and infuriating as trying to get dressed in the men’s room at an office building where no one knows you. Except maybe being caught doing it. Which I was. First by an unsuspecting mail delivery boy, then a thick-necked businessman, and finally a cop, all of whom had eyed me suspiciously. As I tucked my dress shirt into my pants and finished a double Windsor knot on my tie, I happened to glance in the mirror, and I saw that my face was red with exertion and embarrassment. I had no time to spare.

  I paused very outside the boardroom, doing a quick inventory of the men seated at the table inside. Five stuffed shirts and a stuffed-shirt wannabe. I wondered which one was my dad’s informant.

  Not informant, I corrected myself mentally. Informant would imply that Dad is the good guy in this situation.

  I knew he wasn’t. Which didn’t bother me as much as one might think. My father wasn’t without scruples. He just did what he had to do to be successful. To stay successful. He ran a hard line in his business pursuits, and it worked.

  I should be asking which one is the leak. That’s probably a more accurate descriptor.

  One of the stuffed shirts checked his watch, then glanced up and saw me. I hurried to join them at the table, feeling like an imposter. I was sure I might as well have had a sign on my head.

  “I’m the…” I trailed off and faked as cough as I almost said the word spy out loud.

  “You’re the student observer from the paper at the college?” the wannabe filled in.

  “Right. That’s me,” I agreed.

  The door swung open and the representatives who were delivering the request to stay my father’s building plans came walking in. I took in the lawyer first. Keith Bomner was a man I recognized. He was big into causes, big into pro bono work and good at taking on both. My dad would be very interested in discovering that Bomner had been at the meeting, and I started to make my first note.

  Then I caught sight of the redhead and all logical thought left my brain.

  She was dressed the same as she had been earlier this morning, in a hip-hugging skirt and a conservative blouse. As I eyed her from head to toe, I noted with a smile that the only real difference was the lack of mismatched shoes.

  My eyes traveled the length of her body a second time, enjoying the subtle muscles in her calves and each curve that led up to the tightly wound bun, fastened at the nape of her neck. I had a perfect view of her creamy throat, and my gaze couldn’t help but rest there. I pictured myself tracing the line of it, working my fingers into that vanilla-scented hair, pulling it free and surrounding myself with it. I imagined it was rich and soft—the kind of hair that would look stunning splayed out across a crisp, white pillow.

  What would she do when she spotted me? Would a pretty blush creep up those cheeks?

  I hoped to God it would.

  My appreciative stare worked to her lips, and I wondered what it would be like to taste them. Would they have the same rich texture of her hair, the same airiness of her scent?

  Her mouth. Her neck. Her—my runaway imagination came to a halt as I saw her soft expression change from guarded determination to complete devastation.

  My heart sunk, flowing downward with the tilt of her lips, and I watched all the color drain from her face. For one second I thought that the sorrow there was directed at me, but she was staring right at the wannabe stuff
ed shirt.

  Mark, I heard someone say.

  Her intent gaze was so focused, it seemed like the object of her interest was the only thing in the room. I didn’t like that she was looking at him like that. I didn’t like that he made those deep brown eyes darken with pain. And as selfish as it was, I really didn’t like that it meant she hadn’t noticed me.

  A dangerous rush of emotions coursed through me, and I realized my hands were balled so tightly that white had formed along the ridges of my fingers.

  Focus.

  A pretty face had never stopped me from doing my job before. I made myself concentrate on Keith Bomner’s words.

  “I’d like to point out that the media tends to look favorably on the underdog,” he stated. “And rarely seeks to laud those who seek to crush him. Or her, as the case may be.”

  I mentally rolled my eyes. If scare tactics were all he was working with, he didn’t stand much of a chance against my dad. But he quickly switched topics, and after a few minutes, I found myself paying attention. The proposal they were making—she was making—involved saving a run-down community center. I wondered why it was so important to her.

  Bomner talked about the youth center and its various programs, and appealed to the councilmen’s sense of community. He gave all the credit to the girl standing silently beside him, and I had to admit, it really sounded like the redhead had done a lot of work. She was running the project from behind some kind of nonprofit organization. I was impressed. Which meant that my dad wouldn’t be.

  I needed to concentrate on making a list of what I would have to do to put a stop to her plans. I glanced down at my notepad. All I’d done was scribble a question mark beside the word name. Somehow, I’d missed it.

  I looked back in her direction, wondering what it was about the other man that was making her stare down at her hands in such a defeated manner. I couldn’t decide what I wanted more—to comfort her or to punish him.

  “So,” the lawyer said as he closed up. “We’ll have half the funds ready within the designated time. There will be no need to consider other options.”

  The city officials looked convinced, and one of them went so far as to nod his head enthusiastically. My father wasn’t going to be happy with the way things were looking.

  And you can forget about having anything to do with the redhead on a personal level.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Bomner snapped his briefcase shut, nodded his head at us, and ushered the girl out.

  I jumped up, automatically inclined to follow the redhead out. One of the older men coughed emphatically. I paused in my pursuit, released a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding, and turned to face the table. The man named Mark was staring at me curiously.

  “Did you get the information you needed?” he asked.

  I nodded dumbly, because I didn’t trust myself to answer him in a calm manner. I hated him, even though I didn’t know him.

  “Do you have any questions?” This came from one of the grey-haired, suit-wearing men.

  I glanced at the door, then shook my head. The only real question I wanted an answer to was what the girl’s name was, and it would look as if I hadn’t been paying attention if I asked.

  I wondered if Mark knew it.

  He must.

  I resisted a desire to demand that he tell me what it was.

  “Excuse me,” I choked out, and exited the room, knowing they were all staring after me, and not really caring.

  * * *

  I caught up to her in the stairwell.

  “Hey!”

  She spun my way and stopped, like she was startled to see another human being, then looked guiltily at her hands, which clasped her shoes tightly. I suppressed a grin. Her gaze came up again, and for a breathless moment, they held me fixed to the spot.

  Then her eyes narrowed in recognition.

  “Are you going to trip me again?” she asked.

  “I didn’t trip you. You came running at me.”

  “You were sleeping in the hallway. At my house.”

  She started to turn on her bare heel.

  “Wait!”

  “Dammit,” she muttered. “What?”

  “I’m with the school paper,” I lied.

  She stared at me blankly, and I shoved down irritation that she hadn’t noticed me in the meeting.

  “I sat in on your meeting with the city just now,” I clarified. “I was hoping we could do an interview? An exclusive, maybe?”

  Her pretty mouth tightened up. “Press inquiries go through my lawyer.”

  “I’m not real press.”

  “Please?” I turned on my sexiest grin. “It’s mean a lot to me, Miss—”

  Crap. What was her name?

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You work for the paper and you sat in on the meeting and you didn’t even catch my name? That doesn’t bode well for your career in journalism.”

  “I just started. And it’s more of a hobby than a career.”

  “Find a new hobby,” she suggested.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket, and in the brief second I glanced down, the redhead disappeared down the stairs.

  Dammit.

  My phone buzzed again, and I fought an urge to toss it out the window. Instead, I answered it without bothering to check the display.

  “What?” I growled.

  “Is that any way to greet a nice girl like me?” asked a teasing voice.

  My heart did the weird twist and release thing it did every time Amber called. I knew what I owed her, but she was still a constant reminder of my past.

  I took a breath and put a smile into my reply. “Hey, sweetheart. Bad timing on my part. I thought you were my dad.”

  She laughed. “You’ve got to start remembering who I am.”

  “How could I forget?” I joked.

  I meant it in a light-hearted way, but the second I said it, my mind went to Beth, and I wished I hadn’t spoken. They were cousins. I’d known Amber first, in fact. She was the daughter of one of my dad’s golfing buddies. Our mothers attended the same social functions. At a party one night, Amber had introduced Beth and me, all those years ago.

  “Too late,” I murmured out loud.

  “Pardon?” Amber said.

  “Nothing. It’s just always a relief to hear your voice.”

  She snorted, but I knew she liked the flattery. “You promised me you’d show up tomorrow.”

  “I promise a lot of girls a lot of things,” I teased.

  “I’m sure that’s truer than I want to think about,” Amber said. “But you made this one to me.”

  “Babe…” I searched for the kind of excuse that usually came so easily, and failed. “I’m not going to be great company tomorrow.”

  My honesty was a testament to how on edge I was feeling.

  “I know. You really aren’t all that much fun in general. But you did promise,” she told me in a sweet voice.

  I wanted to laugh at her obvious manipulation. I’m generally impervious to any and all attempts to reel me in, and I was sure Amber knew it. Maybe my emotions were just raw enough, or maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for letting anyone down. Whatever the reason, I found myself agreeing.

  “A promise is a promise,” I said.

  “Yes it is.”

  For one second, I thought I heard a hint of smugness in her voice, and I was immediately regretful of agreeing to meet her. I held my temper in check and refused to back down. I clenched my teeth together and made myself bury the irritation under a chuckle.

  “You’ll have to remind me where I said I’d be,” I told her cockily. “Lots of promises mean lots of forgetfulness.”

  She drew in an irritated breath, and this time I chuckled for real.

  “It’s the market in the commons,” she reminded me, just shy of completely impatient.

  I should apologize.

  I couldn’t make myself do it.

  “All right, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll be
there. I’ll even dress nicely so you don’t regret inviting me along.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” she assured me, and hung up.

  Saturday

  Tucker

  When my alarm had gone off on Saturday morning, I’d groaned and dragged myself out of bed.

  I slept poorly, plagued by a recurring dream. In it, the too-good-looking-for-his-own-good stranger from the school paper tapped me on the shoulder, only every time I turned around, I found Mark standing there instead.

  “Not a dream,” I muttered as I made my way through the already busy student market. “A nightmare.”

  The most coveted spots were the ones on the outside because they were the biggest and got the most traffic. The ones in the middle of the market were practically stacked on top of each other, and only the customers who wanted to make an actual effort would reach the area. As I shouldered my way through the other vendors, I knew that’s where I would be stuck.

  I finally reached an empty table, plunked down my supplies, and stifled a cringe when I immediately recognized the girl setting up at the table beside me.

  I plastered a smile on my face.

  “Oh my God! Chipper!” squealed Amber. “How long has it been?”

  Not long enough, if you’re still calling me by that god-awful nickname, I thought immediately, but kept my smile in place.

  “Since high school,” I answered.

  I automatically inventoried my former classmate’s appearance.

  She hadn’t changed much. Her brown hair now boasted a few blonde highlights, and her makeup was a little more sophisticated, but aside from that, she looked like the same right-side-of-town snob.

  It took serious effort to keep from curling my lips in disgust.

  In the back of my mind, I knew I should’ve left all of those feelings behind the second I crossed the stage for graduation. But looking at her perky face brought back a lot of bad memories. She was one of a big group of kids who refused to accept me because of where I came from, who were never able to see past my postal code and accept that I had the brains to attend the upper class high school.

  “Chipper?”

  And of course, the nickname topped my list of reasons to never forgive or forget.

  “Yes?”