Chapter Thirteen
"I'm so damn sorry. So goddamn, fucking sorry."
Easton had been repeating the same thing over and over again all the way back to her distillery. She knew he was mortified, but she was all right. She wished he'd just talk to her instead of apologizing repeatedly.
"I lost my head," he said. "And now your reputation, my reputation." He pulled in behind her building, then slammed his palm against the steering wheel. "Shit."
"Just come on up. We're tired. We'll sleep. We'll talk about it more in the morning."
He shook his head. "And then Marianne standing right there with the press, telling them that I was some asshole who couldn't control himself, and you're just some skank who's been following me around until I finally gave in."
She tensed. When Marianne had blurted that out as Selma had been jerking her clothes back in place, she'd had to use all of her self-control not to throw a shoe at the bitch.
"She's just jealous that you're the candidate and she's not."
"I'm not the candidate anymore, though, am I? One night with you actually as my date, and it all goes to fucking hell."
She froze. She just absolutely froze. "What did you say?"
He dragged his hands through his hair. "I'm just angry."
"Do not blame this on me. I came there wearing what I was supposed to wear and acting the way I was supposed to act. You're the one who decided a fast fuck in the back room sounded like a good idea."
"And who do you think planted that seed in my head? The first time I see you after a decade you're groping me at my office or The Fix or in the ladies room of The Winston."
She swallowed, anger boiling so hot she thought her hair might catch on fire. She opened her door. It was the only thing she could manage. "Goodnight, Easton," she said as she got out, her eyes held wide as she fought tears.
He leaned toward her, calling something as she slammed the door shut. It might have been I'm sorry. But she couldn't hear him. And by that time, honestly, it was too little, too late.
"Wow," Hannah said as she peered at Easton's face. "That's quite a shiner. When did you get that?"
"Yesterday," he said. They were eating sandwiches in her office at the financial management firm where she worked. For the time being, he was avoiding eating out.
"Who?"
"That would be Matthew."
Hannah's eyes went wide. "Selma's brother?"
"I asked him to intervene for me with Selma. He punched me. Guess I know where he stands."
"Hmmm." She leaned back in her chair. "And where do you stand?"
"Well, I'm out of the judicial race. Judge Coale is officially disappointed in me."
"I'm sorry. I know you two were close."
"We've smoothed it over. I explained that I'm in love with her." Just saying the words made him feel good. What would make him feel better is if he could say them to her.
Selma, however, was avoiding him. And he'd never felt more useless, horrible, and generally downtrodden in his life.
Hannah sat up straighter. "Oh?"
"Not that it matters. She doesn't know how I feel. I was hoping Matthew could help me out. No such luck."
"So you haven't told her yet?"
"After what I said the night of the museum party, saying I love you in an email or a voice mail or a text seems tacky. And I haven't managed to talk to her in person since she stormed out of my car. Honestly, I deserve the smackdown. I know I do. I just want the chance to talk to her. Got any ideas?"