Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

“Natalie’s always been able to fly under the radar before. No one cared who her mother was. But apparently when a famous running back’s dating a supermodel’s daughter, it gets some attention. Especially when she’s searching for a lost city.”

Oh, God, it sounded like a made for TV movie. It could only get worse if there were aliens. “You said the original article. There were more? There were pictures from Paris, weren’t there? And someone followed up. And...Ceile? He hasn’t said anything, though, has he?”

Jeremy looked away.

My stomach dropped. “Already?”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not pretty.”

Mike tried to get an explanation once more. “So some articles were written. Who cares?”

Jeremy sent him a hard, sharp, glare. “Natalie is a professional. She’s smart and dedicated, and you made her look ridiculous.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s the absurdity of it all,” I said miserably. “It’s hard enough to get people to take us seriously. No one will fund Jeremy to look for Ivernis anymore, since there’s been too much failure in the past. And Ceile’s done too good a job at making us look like we’re ridiculous questers. And now if I come across as some ditzy blonde who’s just—who’s just playing around in her boyfriend’s backyard with money a wonderful establishment gave me—it’ll look like a joke. No one will fund us, and we’ll never find Ivernis.” I looked up at Jeremy. “What are we going to do?”

Jeremy’s gaze softened slightly when he looked at me. “We keep digging.”

“I am so sorry. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

He closed his eyes. “The only way to fix it is to prove Ceile wrong.”

I was still nodding when he shut the door.

I sagged. Mike caught me, and for a minute I rested against him and wished I didn’t ever have to leave his arms. And then I straightened and walked into our room.

He closed the door and sat down across from me. “If anyone thinks less of you because of your mother, and because you’re dating me, they’re the idiots.”

I pulled my laptop closer. “And it would be fine if it was just about me and you. Then it would be funny. Silly, sweet.” The first article that popped up was exactly that, a saccharine account of our romance, accompanied by a picture of us in our formal wear. “Or at least just celebrity gossip of no interest to the real world.”

He lounged in his seat. “I forgot I didn’t live in the real world.”

I clicked back. The first article had been dumb and flirty and flattering, if you were a football player or a model and wanted to be flattered.

I didn’t want to click the second link. Instead, I looked at Mike. “But it’s ammunition for Dr. Ceile.”

I opened the page.

Mike sat down behind me, reading off the screen. “‘Delusion Diggers.’ Catchy.”

I rubbed my hands over my nose and mouth, unable to look away.

Mike leaned closer. “‘Professor Anderson persists in his ridiculous quest for the lost city of Ivernis, accompanied by the daughter of ’80s supermodel Tamara Bocharov, playing Willie Scott to his Dr. Jones.’” He let out a snort. “The nightclub singer? Played by Spielberg’s wife?”

“We have a limited number of pop culture references.”

“‘Sullivan may be easy on the eyes, but she spends more time frequenting Parisian galas with her American footballer boyfriend than working in the field.’” He leaned back and grinned at me. “I don’t know, isn’t this a case of being so ridiculous it’s funny?”

I was pretty grossed out that Ceile called me easy on the eyes. “I get what you mean, but it plays into the feud between Jeremy and Ceile. And Ceile’s winning. People want to believe that Jeremy’s crazy.”

He studied me for a long moment, and drew the computer toward him. He spun it back my way after a minute. “You’re not the only one damned by public opinion.”

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