"Oh, not necessarily." There was really no reason for trepidation, but Shelby had the strangest sense that the chat was about to go off the rails.
"Are you seeing anyone in particular?"
"Um, well, that's--I mean, I'm not sure how I feel about getting that specific on a live show."
"Understandable. But we're really interested in how a professional like yourself deals with things like client relations if his or her partner has a job or a personality that lacks a certain decorum."
Her mouth went dry. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"Well, you and Nolan Wood have been seen together a few times, and I believe he escorted you to the DTRR benefit recently. And anyone who's lived in Austin for more than five minutes knows that his show can get a little raunchy. The name of the show itself is a double entendre, Mornings With Wood."
"I don't think any of my clients judge me by my friends. And I'd say most of my clients have a good sense of humor, too."
"But what if you and Mr. Wood were dating?"
"You want me to discuss hypotheticals? I didn't think this was that kind of program."
"It's a program for helping young people navigate professional pitfalls. I hope you don't think we're crossing a line, but since the rumors are that you're dating Nolan Wood--and since you're a professional woman with some very conservative clients--we're wondering how you separate, from a professional point of view--your work life from your private life, especially when it crosses into his and into the public."
"I--" She had no idea how to answer. Worse, all she wanted to do was bolt.
"Like this morning's episode, for example. He did a whole schtick on toothbrushes as vibrators. And when..."
Melanie's words faded out, overpowered by the memory of the disgust in her mother's voice when she talked about this morning's program. And the memory of just how racy last night's conversation at The Fix had become.
"I'm sorry," she blurted, interrupting Melanie. "Maybe you're trying to skew this program toward a tabloid audience and you're using me to do it, but I really can't speak to the subject. Nolan and I are friends. That's all." Not true, but also not Melanie's business. "And," she added, rising to her feet, "I think we're done."
She walked calmly out, knowing damn well she was still on camera. And though her shirt was damp with nervous sweat, she felt pretty damn ballsy for sticking up for herself.
That feeling vanished the moment she got home, intending to change her sweat-stained blouse before heading back into the office. Something was off. Just slightly askew. It took her a second to realize that the sweat jacket Nolan had left draped over the arm of her love seat was gone.
Not exactly a portent of doom, but seeing--or rather not seeing--sent apprehension flooding through her.
"Nolan?"
No answer. Not that she expected one. He should still be at the studio, prepping for the next day's show. She headed back to the bedroom, ostensibly to change shirts, but really because she hoped he'd be back there, sitting on the bed waiting for her.
He wasn't. But the drawer he used was open and empty a single sheet of white paper was on the bed, a message written in Nolan's choppy scrawl.
Heard the show.
Need some time.
N.
Chapter Eighteen
Shelby bent over the toilet and dry-heaved for what had to be the fifteenth time, but her stomach wouldn't calm down. Her body felt hot, then cold. Her skin clammy.
This wasn't illness, though. This was terror.
She'd lost him.
How could she have been so stupid? So insensitive?
How could she have ever, ever, said something to make him think she didn't want him.
She did.