Private Player

“So, why didn’t you?”

“Events took over. I saw Audrey and . . .”

She had the audacity to accuse me of hiding things from her when she was the one who wasn’t being honest.

“That’s why you wouldn’t let me take you home on Sunday. In case your mother was there.”

She nodded. “I didn’t want to ruin things. It had been a wonderful weekend and I wanted to pick the right moment.” She paused, seeming to collect her thoughts. “Look, Nathan, I’m not my mother. What she does for a living doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Keeping it from me does,” I said. It was as if a sheet of ice had shuttered between us. I could hear what she was saying and I could still see her, but the view was different. Distorted. “I need to be able to trust the people in my life.”

“Nathan,” she said and rounded the island so we were toe to toe. “You can trust me. Of course you can. This doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything. You should leave. Get back to your mother. For all I know, she gave you the idea of sleeping with me to get the story.”

“Nathan!” She gasped and took a step back. “Don’t say that. You know what we have together isn’t anything to do with my job.”

How could she think there was anything between us? Even her identity was a lie. I’d been kidding myself thinking Madison was anything more than a distraction. There were plenty of other beautiful distractions out there—women who didn’t lie and didn’t make their money from gossip.

“I asked you to leave. Don’t make me ask you again,” I said and turned away. I should have known better than to trust her. She was a journalist, after all, and the apple never falls far from the tree.

Twenty-Four

Madison

I hadn’t even bothered getting out of my robe before I sat down at my desk. When I got back from Nathan’s place, tear-stained and muddy from racing home over the Heath, I’d allowed myself five minutes of crying before I pulled myself together.

I’d lost Nathan, that was clear. I wasn’t about to lose my job as well. There was every good chance that Nathan would try to have me taken off the profile when the Post offices opened tomorrow morning, so I had to act fast.

The article was shaping up nicely. I had so many notes, so many ideas. With a structure in mind, the words were flowing out of me. Just as well, because I needed to finish this profile on Nathan before Craig got to Bernie. I needed to show him I could write well. I’d been thorough in my research—arguably I’d overachieved in that area—and I beat deadlines. And on top of all of that, I could produce a profile no one was expecting. It would be easy to say Nathan was a victim of the establishment, but I wouldn’t be going that route. Given what Craig knew, I couldn’t be sycophantic either. I had one option: deliver my honest opinion on Nathan Cove—that he should step down from Astro and let someone else take over.

He wouldn’t like it.

If it was possible, he’d hate me even more than he did already. But I had nothing to lose anymore as far as Nathan was concerned. I owed it to myself not to give away my integrity and write something other than the truth.

God, if I’d just told him who my mother was sooner. He’d even given me the opportunity when he’d asked me why I was in the area yesterday, but I hadn’t wanted to make things worse. Now they were unsalvageable. The only option was for me to put one foot in front of the other and make sure I got a permanent position at the Post. At least something positive would have come out of this mess.

The next time I glanced out of my bedroom window, the light was fading and I heard the slam of the front door.

“Glass of vino anyone?” my mother called up the stairs.

“No thanks,” I said, adding a comma and then deleting it. I’d done three read-throughs without changing anything. The article was ready. I just wanted it to be perfect. I heard my mother climb the stairs and before she burst in to regale me with not-so-blind stories of the latest soap star, I quickly addressed an email to Bernie, attached the profile, and pressed send. Less than a second later, without knocking, my mum appeared at my door with two glasses of wine.

“Darling, why are you in your robe?” She offered me one of the glasses. I welcomed the chance to let the dark red Merlot blur all the harsh words I’d heard from Nathan today. Maybe it would help me sleep. Maybe it would help me forget.