Back to the Top (Ross Records) (3) (13 page)

“Would you care to dance?” Brad asked, interrupting my conversation.

“Sure,” I said, forcing yet another smile. I allowed him to lead me to the dance floor where Mildred and George were already swaying gently to the music.

Brad held me a little closer than usual. “I think we should announce a wedding date soon. Perhaps by the end of the week.”

“That soon?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Yes,” he said, brow raised. “Having second thoughts?”

I swallowed, thinking perhaps this was my opening. But no, not at the club. Besides, I still had a sticky mess to untangle. “No. Of course not.”

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low. “I spoke with Edward Marsh last week over the phone. You do know that Edward Marsh heads the Board at your little Children’s Center, right?”

“Yes,” I said, choking on the word.

“He wasn’t pleased that you were in a tabloid magazine, visiting a crack addict’s baby.”

“Ronnie is not a crack addict,” I defended, my mind wrapping around this latest development. “Wait, what tabloid? And what does that have to do with my work at the Center?”

“Oh, you haven’t seen it yet, have you? Well, a photo of you at the hospital visiting the crack baby appeared in some tabloid. Edward Marsh’s wife saw it. Bad publicity,” Brad stated. “I assured him that the entire incident is in the past and will not be repeated. However, he still has some concerns. I think that if we announce a wedding date, he will see that you are over that silliness and ready to marry and enter into a more mature, stable relationship.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. How the hell was my association with Ronnie a bad thing? Controlled Environment had always given to charity and hadn’t been the subject of any controversy in a long time – not since Jake’s addiction. But since then, they’d campaigned against drugs, Jake often speaking out against it during interviews and on their webpage. They’d managed to turn something ugly and horrible into something that might make a difference in someone’s life.

And how had I missed the tabloid? I wondered if Jake knew about it.

“Isabella?”

“I don’t know,” I said, struggling for an excuse. “I’d like to speak to my family, first. I’d like to make sure that they would all be able to attend.”

“I’m sure your family would work with any date that we set,” Brad said. “It’s time, Isabella. We made an agreement and I’ve kept my end of the deal. It’s your turn to deliver.”

“I know,” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll look through my calendar tonight and give you my suggestions.”

“Excellent,” he said. He spun me around the floor, suddenly light on his feet.

But I wasn’t feeling as wonderful as he. Instead, my stomach was twisting into knots that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to untie.

***

Friday was a horrid day. As a child, I remember my mother reading me a book about a little girl who’d had a bad night. One page stuck out in my mind:

Mommy made me take a bath without my princess bubble bath, my favorite yellow duck got stuck in the drain, and I had to wear the ugly, kitty pajamas.

That just about summed up my whole day.

Tessa, bless her sweet little heart, came bounding off the bus with a wad of gum stuck in her hair. I tried every remedy I could find online to no avail, finally resorting to calling her mother.

After lunch, two little boys who were usually the best of friends, got into a knockdown, drag out fight in the sandbox – complete with dirt throwing – over a truck. Naturally, the little tiff in the sandbox set the other children off so that they were running and ripping around the playground, screaming and shouting and totally out of control.

And the topper – Edward Marsh and several members of the board pulled up in the middle of the melee. It took me, Addy, and two other volunteers to get the children settled down and back inside for story time. I, however, ended up with dirt on my face, ice cream on my shirt, and my hair sticking out of the ponytail I’d put it in that morning.

“Miss Ames,” Mr. Marsh said, eyeing me with disdain. “We were wondering if we could have a word with you.”

“Certainly,” I said. I turned to Addy but she held up a hand with a smile. I returned that smile before leading the Board members to my office.

I asked them to be seated before plopping into my chair behind the desk. “What can I do for you?”

Edward cleared his throat as he settled into his chair. “We are concerned about the welfare of the Center.”

“I assure you, that even though today has been a little crazy, it’s not normally like this,” I said.

He ignored me. “It has come to our attention that you’ve recently been featured in a tabloid magazine.

My eyes narrowed as my brain processed this information. I remembered Brad mentioning a tabloid but I, for the life of me, could not believe that I was
featured
.

“I don’t recall it, to be honest, but if I was in a tabloid, I don’t understand what that has to do with the Center,” I said.

“We’ve had trouble in the past securing donations,” Edward explained. “And this Center thrives on donations. We cannot allow this sort of bad behavior to tarnish the Center’s reputation.”

“I did nothing wrong,” I insisted. “All I did was go to the hospital to visit a friend that had just had a baby.”

“Yes,” a tight-lipped woman with an equally tight bun. I couldn’t recall her name and didn’t much care at that moment. “But it was a rock band member’s baby. A rock band member who is a known drug addict.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. So stunned was I that I couldn’t even form a sentence.

“As you can see,” Edward said, taking advantage of my momentary silence, “we cannot allow this. We need donations in order for the Center to survive. Certainly you understand this.”

“Hold on,” I said, leaning forward. “First of all, Ronnie is not addicted to drugs. He’s a good person.”

“The band he belongs to has been shrouded in controversy for years,” Tight-lips said.

I ignored her. “And my friendships have nothing whatsoever to do with my work.”

“We cannot have your friends visiting the Center,” Edward said. “It’s detrimental to the children.”

“They don’t visit,” I said.

“I believe two of them visited before,” another woman, who’d obviously been waiting to add something, said. “We found out from one of the employees.”

“That was one time,” I said.

“At any rate,” Edward said, talking over me, “we are here to ask for your resignation.”

“My resignation?” I asked.

“Yes,” Edward said. “We’ve decided to nip this in the bud before it escalates.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said as I tried to wrap my head around what was happening.

“It is necessary,” Tight-lips said. “You have a choice, though. You may give us your resignation or we can terminate you.”

I sank back into my chair, disbelief radiating throughout my body. As my brain fought for coherency, one thing flashed in the forefront of my mind: Brad. This entire thing had his name written all over it.

“Fine,” I said, scooting my chair back and getting to my feet. “You can have my resignation and you can also go to hell.”

As calmly as I could, I collected my purse and the few personal effects I had on my desk, aware of the eyes watching my every move. Perhaps they thought I was going to steal a box of paper clips or a stapler or something. Once I had my things, I left, pausing briefly to tell Addy I was leaving and she needed to take charge.

Fuming all the way home, I wondered if my thought had been right. Was Brad behind this? Did he have enough influence to persuade the Board to get rid of me? And if so, why?

That evening, I paced my living room, moving from the window to the kitchen doorway and back numerous times. My mind was a blur of red as anger possessed it like a demon to a host body. My phone remained clenched in my fist but I was unable to think of a single person to call. And even if I did, what would it accomplish?

Of course I wanted to call Brad and ream him out but I fought the urge. No need to accuse him of something that I wasn’t even sure he caused. Maybe he wasn’t responsible – at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. But ever since the engagement, Brad had been increasing his hold on me, tightening his fist around my life as if I was an energetic puppy he was trying to mold into a well-trained show dog.

Finally, my phone rang. It was Brad.

“Hello?” I said through clenched teeth. I reined in my anger, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Hello, darling,” he said as if nothing was wrong. His innocent tone meant nothing – I knew how he worked. “I was wondering if I could stop by tonight? If you haven’t eaten yet, we could run over to that little pizza joint on the corner.”

Something was definitely up. Brad abhorred ‘little pizza joints’ as much as he abhorred sloppy dress and slang. But it was okay – I was more than prepared for him.

“That sounds great,” I said with a smile that was anything but warm.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’m close so I should be there in five minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting,” I said, hanging up before he could respond. Sure, it would irritate him – he hated rudeness, too, but I was beyond niceties.

I stood by the window, watching as Brad eased his car into a space and then strolled up the stairs. Opening the door before he could knock, I inhaled, preparing to unload.

“Good evening, darling,” he said, kissing my cheek as he breezed by me, briefcase in hand. I paused, taken aback by the appearance of that briefcase. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen it before – he carried it everywhere except inside my apartment.

“I thought we were going out,” I said as I took a wary step inside, closing the door behind me.

“We will,” he said as he sat on the sofa, sliding his brief case on the coffee table. “I just need to discuss a few things with you first.”

The saccharine sweet tone of his voice put me on edge. I only ever heard it when he was on the phone, speaking to a client or employee before dropping a bomb.

“Oh,” I said in as casual a voice as I could manage. My mind shot back to my visit to Jake. Had he found out somehow? “What’s that?”

“Well,” he said, popping the snaps on the case but not opening it. Instead, he tipped his head in my direction. “I received a phone call from Edward Marsh. I understand you had a bad day.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” I said. “It was totally uncalled for, the Board members asking for my resignation.”

“I understand your indignation,” he said as he clasped his hands together, letting them fall between his knees. “But, in this case, I have to agree with the Board’s decision.”

Anger stirred in my stomach. “You do, huh?”

“Yes,” he said, far too calm for my liking. “Yes, I do. As a matter of fact, Edward Marsh and I spoke prior to his visit.”

“I figured as much,” I muttered.

“Now, Isabella,” he said. “You know I don’t approve of you mumbling. You need to speak in a proper tone.”

“I am my own person,” I said.

“Of course you are,” he responded, maniacal little smile toying with his lips. “You do things your own way without thought to consequences or appearances.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Standing, he moved closer to me, folding his arms over his chest. For a moment, fear niggled my heart, but I shoved it aside. Brad was controlling and had grabbed me from time to time, but he wasn’t violent.

“Have you been in contact with Jake Johnson lately?” he asked.

There was no use denying it – he knew the answer. It was written all over his demeanor.

“So what if I have?” I asked. “Jake is my friend. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” he repeated as he turned away, strolling around the coffee table as if taking a walk in the park. “That’s all.”

I didn’t bother responding, just watched as he bent over his brief case, lifting the lid, and pulling out several magazines. It didn’t take a genius to know that they were tabloids. He tossed them on the table, that eerie smile still pasted to his face.

The top magazine was, naturally, the
Star Gazer
. On the cover was a photo, obviously taken through wrought iron bars of a gate and several branches, of me standing close to Jake, Nick hovering in the background. My breath stuck in my chest.

“What’s that say?” Brad asked in that sickly sweet voice.

I glanced at the headline, reading it in my head.
Are Jake and Isabella Back On?
it screamed.

All the angry words I’d intended on hurling at him. All the accusations. They fell to the floor at my feet, useless.

“No comment, Isabella?” he asked.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked.

He crossed the room in three quick strides, standing in front of me, all facades gone now as anger overtook his face.

“Do you know how humiliating it was to be with George Tharpe at his home, enjoying a peaceful business lunch, when his wife walks into the room with these rags? Do you understand how this looks? I’m supposed to be a professional, engaged to a devoted woman, preparing for a life together. But instead, all my clients and colleagues can see this and see that my fiancée is a lying, cheating, whore!”