Melinda Di Lorenzo - Bad Reputation

What just happened? What did that kicked-in-the-gut moment mean?

“You okay?” he asked, breaking the spell.

“This is a girls’ dorm.”

I spun around and forced myself to walk until I hit the end of the hall and could run again without feeling those green eyes on my back. I fled down the stairs, glad to get away before I could be sucked in by the inevitable story he would tell about how his girlfriend was afraid of the dark, or how his sister was sick and needed him to stay over. I’d heard every lame excuse in the book. With an averagely aged population of about twenty-five, it was inevitable that guys were often found stashed throughout our residence.

I didn’t normally care. As long as they stayed out of the shower and refrained from dropping dirty boxer briefs in the common areas, it was fine. But my mood was bad, and getting worse by the second.

When I hit the final step, I flipped my shoes off and tossed them into my backpack.

At least it’s sunny , I thought.

I twisted my hair back into its bun, this time giving it a tug to make sure it was secure, and sprinted across the lawn.

I moved more quickly now that my feet were free, and I even enjoyed the sensation of grass beneath my feet. It was dry enough to be springy and pleasant, and for about forty-five seconds, I felt completely liberated.

When I got close enough to see the bus stop, I reined myself in, slowing to a hurried walk. Moments after I planted my bare feet on the cement pad, the bus wheezed up. I boarded it breathlessly, and tried to fill my head with thoughts of a rebuilt community center rather than a green-eyed boy.

Man , I corrected mentally, remembering the way my body lit up when our palms touched. Definitely a man .

I shrugged off the residual desire, and focused my mind on the upcoming meeting.

* * *

I crossed and uncrossed my legs nervously. I was already getting a headache and I hadn’t even started my presentation yet.

“You don’t need to be worried.”

I glanced up at Keith Bomner and frowned. He was so quiet and nondescript, it was easy to forget he was there. He had a face that would blend into a crowd if it wasn’t hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and his clothes were plain. My own outfit looked slick beside his. But Liandra had assured me that he was the best person to help me with my plea to the city, and so far he hadn’t let me down. Today, he was going to help me remind the city officials that that they had a legal obligation to let me continue my quest, at least for another six weeks.

In fact, he was in my good books because he’d met me at the bus stop with a pair of shoes.

“How’d you know?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Liandra called. She said she found a pair of mismatched sandals on your bed. It seems she knows you well.”

I’d slipped on the flats gratefully and followed him into city hall.

Now I was tapping them nervously on the floor. Keith put a hand on my knee to stop me.

“This will be an easy meeting,” he said.

“I’m not worried,” I lied.

“Relax. This is a sure thing.”

“How do you know?”

“Because going back on their word would make for bad press.”

My heart beat nervously. “The press?”

“Liandra told me how you feel about the spotlight and I’ll respect it, even if I don’t understand it,” he let me know.

I let out a breath, and ignored the lawyer’s briefly curious expression. My mistrust of the media wasn’t without reason. For months after my parents’ deaths, reporters hounded me, begging for the inside scoop. The last thing I wanted was my name aired in public once again. The city officials knew who I was, of course, but the bulk of the fundraising was carefully hidden behind my not-for-profit business, and virtual anonymity suited me just fine.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully.

“But just because I know about your media ban doesn’t mean that they need to know about it.” Keith inclined his head toward the boardroom.

On cue, the door swung open, and a bald man wearing an ill-fitting suit cleared his throat and invited us to join him and his colleagues. I followed Keith into the room with my head down and my stomach churning. I noted in a vague way that there were several men and no women at the long table, and that all of them were dressed in similarly grey suits with similarly unremarkable ties.

I wondered if Keith hadn’t received the memo about the dress code. But he didn’t seem bothered by it all. He nodded at the group and dropped his briefcase onto the table.

One of the men stood up and reached out to shake my hand. I stared at him, thinking of how he was going to react to my sweaty palm wrapped in his. Thankfully, Keith intercepted and gripped the man’s hand firmly.

“Have a seat,” one of the city officials suggested.

I started to pull a chair out, then froze as Keith spoke.

“Thanks, but no,” he said.

It wasn’t his words that held me in place. It was my glimpse of a dark-haired man at the table. My stomach dropped at the sight of the familiar face. I marveled that even after all this time apart, I still felt the residual pain of what he’d done to me. I didn’t love him anymore. I’d been telling myself it was true for a long time. Seeing him sitting there confirmed it. There was no leftover attraction, no spark of hope. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a gaping hole left behind by his betrayal. It was that hole that formed the foundation for the carefully constructed wall around my heart, after all.

“What’s he doing here?”

I didn’t realize that I’d spoken out loud until one of the other men answered. “Mark is our intern.”

He was staring at me, too, with frank curiosity. I looked away first.

“Is there a conflict?” Keith asked with a frown.

“Not at all,” I said quickly, and didn’t meet Mark’s eyes.

My lawyer didn’t look like he believed me, but he just snapped his briefcase open and began presenting my ideas in an authoritative voice.

As he outlined my plans for fundraising and alluded to a potential media hailstorm, he sounded logical, believable and convincing. I was impressed, and I wanted to focus on what he was saying. But most of my energy was used up on keeping my eyes away from the man across the room.

For a crazy minute, I wondered if my sleep-text had somehow brought Mark here.

I looked down at my fingers and tried again to listen to Keith. He was talking about my nonprofit company and asking the room to direct questions to him rather than me. He threw out numbers that made sense and fielded their inquiries confidently.

My mind wandered helplessly, and I hoped no one was watching me.

What are the chances that Mark just happened to show up here, hundreds of miles from home, on the day you’re presenting?

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Keith said, and I realized he was finished. “We’ll come back to you in six weeks with the agreed-upon amount.”

I avoided my ex’s stare and followed my lawyer out into the hall.

“Tucker, are you okay?” Keith asked.

“Fine.”

“Hmm.” He shrugged. “I hope you’re better at raising money than you are at lying. You’ve got forty-five days to come up with the balance. Can you do it?”

I nodded. “I’m already set up to do the student market this afternoon.”

“Good,” Keith said. “You seemed a little unsure in there.”

“Just nerves,” I stated with a tinny laugh.

I cringed as the boardroom door swung open.

“I’m sorry, Keith. I’ve got to go.” I took off before Mark could make his way out.