Out her. Get in front of it. “Anonymous is good.” She exhaled hard. “No one I know would dob me in.”
“On the other hand, you can get yourself an agent and sell the story of your debauched weekend.”
And nearly choked on the return breath. “I.” Cough. “What?”
He raised a hand and drew in the air. “Headline. Big star has tiny dick.”
“That’s.” She pushed her chair out from the table and stood, mind whirling. “Do you think sneaking around with you makes me look professional? Do you think companies will want to hire me because I sleep with their speakers? I can’t be anyone’s secret weapon if I’m lording it all over the media. I didn’t organize my life around being somebody’s faceless, no name, interchangeable one-weekend stand.”
Haydn didn’t even flinch at all that. It was the truth. Why would he? But it would’ve been nice if he’d at least used his damn talent and acted contrite.
“You can spin the story any way you want,” he said. “A six-figure payout wouldn’t be out of order. We won’t be commenting no matter what you say.”
“I could say you’re a cheap drunk, or you like to hurt women and someone would pay me $100,000?”
“Or more.” He toasted her with his expensive beer bottle.
“And you think I’d do that?”
“It’s a genuine opportunity. It wouldn’t need to be about
my failings as a human being, although dishing dirt would earn you more.”
“You think I want that kind of attention? You think I want to get paid because I spent the weekend with you.” How could he think that? She hadn’t wanted to accept shoes and dresses. Was it because she had that he thought she’d be interested in cashing in? Oh fuck.
“I’ve known you for less than four days. People I’ve known for years have done similar things to me,” he said.
Oh. Still. “I should go.” She should never have let him talk her into spending the weekend. They were called one-night stands for a reason. One night was enough.
“Teela.” Haydn was standing beside her, but he didn’t try to touch her.
“It was nice knowing you.” That was out of her mouth before she could think the words through, every syllable dripping with sarcasm and basted with misery.
“I’ve known you for sixty-five hours and thirty-five minutes, give or take, and I trust you. I don’t think you’re going to sell me out, but we had to have the conversation.”
She wheeled around to face him, slapping her hands on her sides. “Why didn’t you just tell me we’d been photographed. You had to pitch it like a business opportunity.”
“Because that’s the way this world I live in works. You get fine clothing, luxury hotels and world travel, and you get this crap. You needed to know your options and I needed to know where I stood with you.”
“Well, here’s a heads-up from someone who lives in the real world. I would never try to hurt you or profit off you or violate your privacy. I hate that happened to you. This is as good a place as any to end this. It’s been lovely. I’ll go.”
“I won’t try to stop you if that’s what you want.”
That’s right, he got a D-minus in begging.
She was packed. Everything she’d had brought from home and the red-carpet dress and shoes, which were gifts she now felt conflicted about all over again.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
“Can I see the photos?” Might as well know what the full horror was.
He went to the chair and fished his phone out of the pocket of his coat. He had the photo from the bridge climb in an email, and truly, they could’ve been any couple who were having fun together.
“Caught out by my voice probably. I should’ve been more careful,” he said.
Any couple who were showing the world they liked each other a lot.
She stood in the shelter of Haydn’s arms, leaning into his body. He had his cap pulled low and his head down, angled towards her, blocking most of her face from view. Had she been able to see his smile then it would’ve snatched the breath from her lungs.