eir seats, talking loudly among themselves. This reminds me of the war room, where sports teams strategize for that key player. I’ve been in a few, negotiating last-minute contracts on Jeffrey’s behalf. It’s stressful and not my cup of tea. I’d rather dress the athletes up and have them attend galas and high-society functions where they’re required to open their checkbooks and donate to amazing causes. That is where my talents are—making the athletes shine.
“All right, the move by the DA this morning is nothing more than a ploy to get more time. Travis, you’re releasing a statement, letting the fine people of Boston know that you’re innocent.” Irvin sits down in a huff, holding his head in his hands. When he looks up, everyone is staring at him. “Right,” he says, starting again. “I’m pissed, and this has gone on long enough. My source down at the lab says the report is inconclusive because the rape kit is missing.”
My mouth drops open, and there’s a collective gasp throughout the room. I glance quickly at Travis, who seems to be gritting his teeth. If we were in a cartoon, steam would be billowing from his ears.
“Mr. Abbott, what do you mean?” one of the young lawyers asks.
“The DA and I spoke this morning, minutes before he went live, and he indicated that the rape kit had been tampered with. He said that they’ve pulled all the surveillance footage from the lab and will be following up on leads.”
“Is that what you think?” Travis asks.
Irvin shakes his head. “I think that the results came back, and you don’t match. As I’ve said before, the district attorney is up for reelection next year, and this is shaping up to be a high-profile case. Your past isn’t exactly your friend, and if he can make a case stick, he wins the women’s vote, and he forces teams to take a hard look at punishments. As of right now, the Renegades have yet to make a statement, and in the court of public opinion, that doesn’t look so good.”
“I didn’t rape her. Hell, I didn’t even leave with her. I left with someone else.”
I try to remain composed even though my heart is racing and my palms are sweating. I’m afraid to move from my spot along the wall, afraid that I’ll draw some unwanted attention.
Irvin tosses a legal pad toward Travis, along with a pen. “I want her name and number. If she can give you an alibi for that night, I want to talk to her today.”
Travis nods but doesn’t make a reach for the yellow paper or the pen that he could use to end my career—and permanently alter my life. I need to speak to him before he decides to hand me over to the wolves. Maybe speak to Jeffrey and let him know what’s going on and, most importantly, meet with my probation officer. I fight back the tears and swallow the frog that is currently residing in my throat.
“Maybe we should delay the press conference until after I’ve spoken to this other woman. What do you think, Saylor?”
I clear my throat and nod. “One more day or so isn’t going to hurt. We can utilize some sports blogs to leak some information. This will keep his fans and the general public happy. My suggestion would be to use the BoRe Blogger. They seem to have the largest Renegade following and expressed their support for Travis this morning after the press conference.”
“Work that angle, will ya?” Irvin asks. “So, change of plans. Travis is going to give me the name of his alibi, I’ll meet with her, and we’ll release a statement after the fact.”
Everyone stands, and the level of talking increases again. The legal pad is eyeing me, mocking my presence in the room, and all I can do is hold my phone in my shaky hand as I stare at my e-mail contacts.
When the door closes, I jump, dropping my phone. Travis is there to pick it up for me. He hands it to me but does so in such a way that his hand lingers against mine. My already rapidly beating heart picks up speed, if that is even possible.
“You have to help me, Saylor.”
“I can’t, Travis. You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” I grab my things and leave the room, hoping that he stays behind. If he gives me up, so be it, but I’m praying that he doesn’t. He’s innocent, and that will come out sooner or later, with or without me.
I hustle away from Abbott and Abbott and hail a cab a few blocks down the street, asking to be taken to my office. My phone pings with messages from Travis, asking where I am, but they go unanswered. I need to prepare for the inevitable. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not going to matter what Jeffrey says—he can’t have a felon on his payroll, and that is what I’ll be if word gets out that I was in the bar.
Everything about that night comes rushing back. I chose to walk home, in a daze after reading Elijah’s letter, and stopped there. I didn’t even take a sip of alcohol, knowing that I was making a mistake. And when I saw Travis, I couldn’t leave. I was cemented to the bar stool, watching his interaction with that woman, wishing it were me in his arms. But it wasn’t me. He chose her. And now both of us are going to pay the price.
Jeffrey is out meeting with clients when I return, leaving me no choice but to wait. I don’t even know what I’m going to say to him. How do I tell him that the night I crashed my car was a night that I spent wrapped in the arms of our client? I can’t. It physically pains me to know that I have to look him in the eyes and tell him what’s going on.
On my desk is the picture of Lucy that I hid from Elijah. She’s my reason for living, and with the fear that Elijah could take her from me weighing so heavily on my mind, I can’t let Travis tell Irvin that I was there. We have to find another way to clear his name. I slip the picture of Lucy into my bag and text Travis to let him know that we need to talk. I tell him that I’m coming to his place. I don’t ask him if he’s told Irvin yet, because I don’t want to know. If he has, he can ask his lawyer to forget he’s ever said anything. He responds instantly.
I’ll come to your house. Too much media at mine.
I sort of liked the idea of the media being there as a buffer, ensuring that I would leave in a timely manner. Having him at my house, being near him, makes me weak in the knees. I’m vulnerable when he’s around, tempted to give in to the desire that I feel for him.
Hurrying out of the office, I rush to the train station and weave in and out of the tourists who are lingering on the streets. The midafternoon commute by train is easier than a taxi, and by the time I’m at my stop, my heart is all but beating out of my chest.
As I round the corner to my apartment, Travis is standing out front. In his hand is a bouquet of flowers. And unless he has a date after our meeting, I’m assuming those are for me.
“Hey,” he says, meeting me halfway.
“Hi, sorry for running out like that. I needed to think.”
“I’m going to pretend that I understand, but I don’t. And I need you to tell me.”
“I know, and I will, once we’re inside.”