His breathing through his nose became audible. Chantelle expected a snarky remark, but he didn’t.
Instead, he clasped his hands tight. “Maybe you should go.”
She gathered her recorder along with her notebook and stood to her feet. She stalked to the foyer, but Chantelle paused at the front door. She couldn’t give in. Perhaps they could finally make amends. Tak
ing a deep breath, she paced back to the living area. Lance still sat in his chair, wringing his hands together.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” she said, “but I’m here to do my job. I’ve already told you if you want someone to replace me, fine, but don’t make my job difficult just because you want to be difficult.”
He sprinted to his feet. “I’m being difficult?”
“You won’t let me do my job.” She cocked her head to the side.
Lance grimaced. “All that magazine does is exploit celebrities for a quick buck. I thought you were better than that.”
She stepped forward. Did she hear him correctly? “Are you kidding me? I would never—”
“How would I know?” His nostrils flared as he stood facing her.
She didn’t cower.
“What’s going on in here?” a female voice interrupted, sounding irritated.
Chantelle shut her eyes for a moment, already knowing who stood behind her. She avoided the voice in years, but there was no mistaking it. She forced a smile and turned to face Lance’s mother. “Hello Mrs. Taylor.”
The woman had her arms folded. “Chantelle Woods. I didn’t expect to see you back in town so soon.”
“She’s here for the interview.” Lance explained.
“You’re the reporter?” His mother asked.
“I am.” Chantelle squared her shoulders.
“Interesting. So... this is how you treat your interviews?” His mother raised an eyebrow.
Chantelle wouldn’t dignify the question with an answer. Ever since she could remember, she wasn’t good enough for Lance, according to Mrs. Taylor. “I was just leaving.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Chantelle wanted to hightail it to her car and never return. Her feet stomped the pavement as she hurried to her vehicle. Lance wasn’t the first unpleasant person she had interviewed. She got through the others without blowing a fuse. Why did she lose control?
Better yet, why did he lose his temper? If he loved Andrea, why did Chantelle’s presence bother him? Was it possible that he—
Chantelle huffed as she drove out of the driveway. She needed to cool down, and only one place did that for her frayed nerves. Afterwards, she would call Brenda and give her an update. She hoped Lance didn’t want her replaced with another reporter. Then again, was this story even worth it to her anymore?
***
Lance’s mother took a seat on his living room sofa. He rubbed the back of his head. How did the conversation take a turn for the worst? Why did she have to ask him such personal questions? He wasn’t good at expressing his feelings, and according to his father, men expressed themselves through working hard and providing for their families.
He only let his guard down for one person. She saw the real him, vulnerable and kindhearted. Not the hard businessman he portrayed in front of others to prove himself. He shouldn’t have accused her of not knowing him. She knew him better than anyone, but he wasn’t lying. It’d been too long without them talking.
He ran his hand down his face. If he wasn’t careful, Chantelle would distract him. There was no way this would work. Why did he agree?
“Why didn’t you tell me she was writing the story?” His mother’s expression looked pinched.
“Don’t start, please,” he said. “I didn’t know myself until recently. All they said was a reporter would show to profile the wedding.”
“I’ll ask again. Since when is she back in town?”
“She has a name. Chantelle Woods. She visits her family all the time.”