Breaking the Story Page 2

  “Not at all. Brad has plenty of flaws, but I never considered him the type who would cheat on his wife.” She stirred her martini, lost in thought. “The truth is, I’m relieved. Our marriage hasn’t worked for a long time.”

  “You’re so young,” Guy said. “Surely you haven’t been married that long.”

  “I’m older than I look.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’d be willing to bet another round of drinks you haven’t reached thirty yet.”

  “Signal the bartender, my friend, because I’m thirty and a half. Brad and I got married a year after we graduated from college.”

  His eyes widened. “I don’t know anyone who gets married so young these days. Why not try living together first?”

  “Because we were young and in love,” Scottie said, biting back tears. “And if you’re trying to make me feel better about the situation, it’s not working. I’m well aware of my mistake.” Scottie thought back to the early years of her marriage, when her husband’s true colors were starting to show. “No doubt living together would’ve been the better option.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. The truth is, knowing people still commit to one another at such a young age restores my faith in the sanctity of marriage. Most unmarried couples I know either fight all the time or cheat on one another every chance they get. And I’m talking about people who are older than thirty.”

  “Must be something about the thirty-year age mark that makes people cheat.”

  Guy palmed his forehead. “I’m striking out here big time. That was insensitive of me, and I apologize.”

  The remorseful expression on his face didn’t escape Scottie’s notice. “It’s okay, Guy. I know exactly what you mean. Our hookup culture has destroyed our generation’s idea of marriage. Why make a commitment to someone when you can have friends with benefits? Call me old-fashioned, but I want a life partner, someone to raise a family with and grow old together.”

  “You’ll find the right person. Don’t give up on your dreams because your husband let you down.”

  “Easy for you to say. You didn’t just find your wife in bed with another man.”

  “True.” He stared into his drink, as though the amber liquid held the answers for the future. “I’d like to believe that our dreams eventually do come true. At least some version of them. The wisdom we gain over time has a way of altering our perspective of reality.”

  She waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she said, “Sounds to me like you’re speaking from experience.”

  He nodded. “Take football for example. As a child, I dreamed of playing in the NFL. When I got to high school, I was happy just to get a starting position on the varsity team. By the time I got to college, football was something I played with my friends on warm autumn afternoons. I’m thankful to have survived with only two concussions and a broken collar bone. Somewhere along the way, reality set in and my goals changed.” He appeared to be struck by a thought, and his face brightened. He pointed at Scottie. “You know what you need? You need a fresh start.”

  “I would love a fresh start, if only I could get the image of Brad and his girlthing out of my head. Maybe if she wasn’t so pretty and her chest wasn’t so large I wouldn’t feel so bad about myself.”

  “Come now, Scottie. Contrary to the way most guys talk, a girl’s boobs aren’t everything.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “But tell me anyway. How big are we talking?”

  “Big!” Scottie held her hands way out in front of her breasts. “Here, I’ll show you.” She reached for her camera bag on the floor.

  His jaw slackened as he stared at her camera. “Please don’t tell me you took pictures of them.”

  “I’m a photojournalist. What else was I going to do?” She powered on the camera and handed it to Guy. “Now I have the evidence I need to get an uncontested divorce.”

  He scrolled through the pictures.”She has an impressive set, no doubt about it. But she’s not my type. All that caked-on makeup doesn’t do anything for me.” He arrived at the last picture, the one of Brad on the ground with his feet tangled up in the sheet. “This is a classic. It would serve your husband right if you blasted this pic all over social media.” He handed the camera back to her.

  “Ha. If only I wasn’t such a nice person.” She placed the camera back in the bag, and hung it on the back of her bar stool.

  “So you’re a photojournalist.” He studied her closely, as though seeing her in a new light. “Do you write much, or is your focus mainly on the photographs?”

  “I’ve done my share of writing, a few articles for the Richmond Times Dispatch but mostly pieces for online blogs and news services. I’m twenty hours into my masters in journalism at VCU. It’s taking me forever, because I’m going part-time, but my goal is to one day work for Reuters. I want to travel the world and report on serious issues.”

  “Good for you.” He held his glass up to hers. “Here’s to the next Christiane Amanpour.” They clinked, and then took sips of their drinks. “Do you get to see much action?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t seen much of anything lately. There was certainly nothing exciting at the Republican convention.”

  Guy considered this for a minute. “Yeah, I can see where your shots would all be pretty much the same. Aside for the lack of excitement, what did you think of the convention?”

  “It was all right, I guess. As far as political conventions go. I’m not much of a politico.”

  “Then why did you go?” Guy asked.

  “Because I’m looking for my big break, like every other journalist, and the Republican convention was the place to be this week.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Well, let me clarify that. It’s inaccurate for me to say I’m not interested in politics. I just don’t particularly care for the politicians. Most politicians I know are self-serving, backstabbing egomaniacs. What about you? Why were you at the convention?”

  He stared at her, his mouth agape. “Like I’m willing to admit to being a politician after that speech.”

  “Okay, so maybe my characterization was a bit harsh. I just wish the politicians would stop arguing and put their time to good use. If you ask me, the true heroes in this country are middle-class moms and dads making sacrifices to raise their children. And we can’t forget about the men and women in the military. I take you for one of the good guys. Maybe Homeland Security or Secret Service.”

  An expression of disappointment or anger, a look Scottie couldn’t interpret, crossed his face. “I sure as hell want to be considered one of the good guys,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I have a problem with impulse control. Feel free to put a clamp on my lips.”

  He drained the rest of his drink, and raised his empty glass at the bartender. “Let’s order another drink and change the conversation. I’m declaring cheating husbands and politics off-limits.”

  “You’re on,” she said, and for the next hour, through two more drinks and a dozen oysters on the half shell, they talked about everything and nothing. She told him all about growing up on the farm and he, in turn, told her about his childhood living on a cattle ranch in Wyoming.

  The more Guy drank, the more his right eyelid drooped, the slower he spoke, the rosier his adorable cheeks grew. His leg brushed against hers more than once, sending tingles down her spine. By the time the bartender made the last call, she was crushing on him hard. If not for her wounded heart, she would have dragged him to her room and torn his clothes off. Despite her drunken state, she knew she was too vulnerable, even for a rebound fling.

  They paid the bill, splitting it between the two of them, and staggered out into the lobby, more than a little tipsy. They stopped in the middle of the atrium to admire the decorative ceiling and grand staircase.

  “This hotel is seriously cool,” Guy said.

  “I agree. I’m so proud of Richmond’s heritage. Did you know the Jefferson is on the
National Register of Historic Places?” A lot of influential people have stayed here over the years.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Hey!” A thought occurred to her and she play-punched him on the arm. “I hope you’re not staying at the Jefferson on taxpayer dollars.”

  He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Taxpayer dollars?”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “You work for the government, don’t you?”

  His face cleared. “Oh right, the government.” He looped his arm through hers and dragged her over to the elevator. “Actually, the event director here is a friend of mine from college. She comped me a room.” He held his finger to his lips. “But don’t tell anyone.”

  “Lucky you.” It irked her more than a little that he’d probably flirted his way into free accommodations when she’d forked out three hundred dollars for a room the size of a closet.

  Guy pressed the up button. When the elevator doors slid open, he held out his hand and smiled. “Can I offer you a ride?”

  She giggled, thinking about the ride she’d like to take him on. And then she drew a straight face when the image of her husband in the bed with another woman popped into her head. She refused to stoop to Brad’s level, even if her marriage was unofficially over.

  “Sure,” she said. “But only to my floor. No farther.”

  “Now it’s you who can trust me. My intentions are strictly honorable.”

  Once they were alone in the elevator heading up to the third floor, she had to summon every bit of self-control not to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him with every bit of pent-up passion she possessed. Down, Scottie, she said to herself. This might seem like a good idea now, but you will hate yourself in the morning.

  “Why are you so convinced I work for the Secret Service?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence. “Do I look like a Secret Service agent?”

  She closed her left eye, and studied him with her right. He definitely fit the bill in his gray suit with his military-style haircut. “Throw in some Ray-Ban sunglasses and an earpiece thingy, and I’d have to say, yeah, you do.”

  “Why not the CIA or the FBI?” he asked.

  She contemplated the idea. “Mainly because I can’t imagine either organization sending agents to the Republican convention. Unless…”—her eyebrows shot up—”you were on a secret mission.”

  The elevator doors opened onto her floor.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “You were on a secret mission.”

  He chuckled, and then nudged her out of the elevator. “That’s right, Scottie. A top-secret mission. If I told you about it, I’d have to kill you.”

  4

  Guy left Richmond before the sun came up the following morning, aiming to get to his office by eight. The storm system, after raining all night, had finally moved out of the area. But the highway remained slippery. His head throbbing, he gripped the steering wheel of his Ford rental car and drove as fast as he could. Thoughts of the early morning DC traffic he anticipated made his headache worse.

  Scottie. What a fireball she turned out to be. It’d been years since he’d met anyone whose company he enjoyed as much as hers. He was as attracted to her physically as he was to her personality. He identified with her impulsive nature. He’d been like that once, before life had forced him into early adulthood. He admired Scottie for maintaining a positive attitude despite the mountain of shit she was dealing with. And she was definitely dealing with a mountain of shit. Which complicated the situation. He didn’t think it wise for her to start a relationship so soon after the breakup of her marriage. Leave it to him to find the girl of his dreams, only to have her weigh in over the baggage limit.

  The timing was all wrong for him as well. He could not afford the distraction at such a pivotal point in his career. He was at the top of his game. His performance during the next three months would determine what happened after the election. He needed to distance himself from Scottie. She posed way too much of a risk.

  In the console beside him, his cell phone lit up with a Washington area code number he didn’t recognize. He accepted the call. “Guy Jordan,” he said, his voice froggy from too much whiskey.

  “Good morning, Guy. This is Andrew Blackmore.”

  At the sound of his boss’s voice, Guy sat up straighter in the driver’s seat. Blackmore only called on rare occasions, with good news or bad news but never anything in between. “Morning, sir. I hope you are feeling well.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m feeling exceptionally well after our performance in Cleveland,” Blackmore said.

  Guy imagined the toothy grin on his boss’s lips. “Glad to hear it, sir. We’re fortunate things went according to plan.”

  “They did indeed. Without a hitch. I’d like to meet with you, if you can spare me a few minutes around eight. I’m tied up in meetings for most of the day after that.”

  The hairs on the back of Guy’s neck stood to attention. His mind raced. What could he possibly have done wrong in Cleveland? He coughed to clear his throat. “Actually, sir, I’m on my way back from Richmond. I was rerouted there last night because of the weather. I hope to make it to the office by eight, but that all depends on the traffic in Alexandria.”

  “Oh, right. Bad business that storm system. I’m glad you landed someplace safe.”

  “Can we meet sometime tomorrow?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I didn’t have anything pressing I needed to talk to you about. I believe in offering praise when praise is due, and I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done in Cleveland. Keep it up, son, and I’ll have a job for you on my team come January.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’d like that very much. Feel free to call me anytime I can be of assistance.” Guy ended the call and wiped his sweaty hands on his pant legs.

  His cell phone rang again almost immediately. This time the caller was his coworker Rich.

  “Where are you, bro? The boss is in the house. He’s handing out jobs like breath mints.”

  So Guy wasn’t the only one receiving praise from the big man. “Tell me about it. I just hung up with him. He’s in a good mood for sure. I’m on my way home from Virginia. I had to make an overnight detour because of the weather.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you were booked on the earlier flight. All commercial flights were canceled from four o’clock on, including ours. Lucky us. We got to ride home on the Lear.”

  Guy’s heart sank. He’d missed out on a chance to ride on Blackmore’s private plane. “Yeah, lucky you.”

  “Anyway, we had an impromptu planning session with Blackmore on the way home. Get here as soon as you can. We have a lot of work to do.”

  Guy threw the phone on the floorboard of the passenger side. He shared the same job titles, the same responsibilities and duties, with Rich and James, but somehow they always managed to get one step ahead. They came from old-moneyed New England families. One graduated from Harvard, the other from Yale. If things didn’t work out in November, their fathers had connections that would open doors for them at places considered off-limits to ranch hands from Wyoming.

  Good thing he and Scottie never exchanged phone numbers. If the stars aligned and their paths crossed after the election, he would consider asking her out on a date. But for the next three months, his moment in the limelight, he needed to focus on his career, and network with anybody who might one day be of benefit to him.

  5

  Scottie woke around eleven with a dry mouth, an aching head, and a hole in her chest where her heart used to be. How could she possibly still have feelings for Brad? He’d broken all his promises to her, refused to support her when she needed him the most, and cheated on her with another woman.

  Because, Scottie, your mind can’t tell your heart how to love.

  If only she could flip a switch and turn off her feelings.

  Regret topped her list of emotions, followed closely by disappointment, frustration, and lonel
iness. She regretted all the hopes and dreams that would never come true. Regretted that she and Brad no longer brought out the best in one another. Regretted the three miscarriages. Regretted that she was now a thirty-year-old soon to be divorcée all alone in the world.

  She texted her brother: Are you swamped at work or do you have time for lunch?

  He texted back right away: I’m starving. I’ll meet you at the Urban Farmhouse Market in 45 mins.

  A converted historic warehouse, the Urban Farmhouse opened its oversized French doors on nice days, providing their patrons with a unique sidewalk cafe experience. Will was sipping iced tea and perusing the Richmond Times Dispatch at a curbside table when she arrived an hour later.

  “How’d you score this table?” she asked, giving him a peck on the cheek when he stood to greet her.

  He hooked a thumb at an attractive blonde waitress attending to customers at a table just inside the French doors. “She owes me a favor. I—”

  “Please, spare me the details,” she said, holding her palm out to shut him up.

  He appeared wounded. “Why do you always assume the worst of me? For your information, I shared my Uber with her last weekend. She wanted to split the cost, but when I told her it wasn’t necessary, she offered to seat me at the best table in the house the next time I came to the restaurant.”

  “Then I guess it’s our lucky day.” She dropped her bag on the table and collapsed in the chair opposite him.

  The waitress rushed to their table with her pitcher of tea. “What can I get you?” she asked Scottie as she refilled Will’s glass.

  “Tea is fine,” Scottie said.

  “Liza, this is my sister, Scottie,”

  Scottie shot her brother a look—We wouldn’t want Liza to think I’m your date, now would we?—before offering the waitress a genuine smile. “Nice to meet you, Liza.”

  “Can we get a couple of menus too, please? When you get a chance, of course.” Will licked his lips as he watched Liza’s shapely rear end depart their table.

  “Careful, bro, your tongue’s hanging out.”