Courting Trouble (Reality Romance Book 5) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Elena was not, by nature, a patient person.

Sitting around doing nothing while they waited for word on whether or not some faceless stranger had managed to magically erase Cassie Newton’s accusations sounded like fresh hell to her.

Miranda had called back, reiterating the sit-tight-and-wait-for-news mantra everyone else had been giving her. It felt like that was all anyone had said to her in months.

Sit back. Take it. Do nothing. Keep quiet.

She wanted to fight back against the unfairness of it. To scream and hit something.

So when Adam suggested they work on her self-defense moves, she leapt at the idea. She changed into yoga pants and a sports bra, then helped him shove the couches in the living room aside to clear a space on the rug.

Adam fell into a ready stance. “The rugs won’t have the same give as the mats at the gym, so try not to hurt me.”

“No guarantees,” she said, though the flirty words lacked their usual lightness. It was hard to feel light when he was threatened. A lot easier when they were throwing stones at her, but Adam didn’t deserve this one bit.

Then he lunged at her and all her thoughts faded away into the immediacy of deflecting the attack. It was oddly Zen, sparring with him. Harder to worry when you had to be moving and reacting, ducking and twisting. Though they paused whenever one of their phones beeped with a text notification, just in case there was new news, so the reality of the situation was never far from her mind.

Adam had her pinned on her back on the rug, calmly asking, “Now which pressure points can you reach from this position?” when another text notification bleeped from his phone. He rolled off her and to his feet in a single graceful motion that had her thinking maybe she wouldn’t try to get away so hard next time he pinned her—then he frowned at his phone.

“Where did we put the remote?”

“I don’t know.” Elena came to her feet and scanned the shuffled furniture of the living room. “Is something happening?”

“I’m not sure. This is someone I used to work with in D.C. They say I need to turn on CNN.”

Maybe Cassie was issuing a retraction—though Elena didn’t dare say that out loud, not wanting to jinx it. She found the remote and tossed it to Adam, who quickly pulled up the news conference in progress.

Not Cassie.

A serious brunette in a very serious suit was standing in front of a bank of microphones, speaking very seriously and deliberately. The caption below read “Agent Michele Lowry, Secret Service.”

“—personally vouch for the character and integrity of former-Agent Adam Dylan. I am certain these claims will reveal themselves to be baseless.”

She looked too young to be his boss. Maybe a colleague? Someone who’d worked with him? “Who is she?”

Adam didn’t look away from the screen. “My ex.”

His ex
. Damn. She didn’t know why the words hit her so hard. He was a gorgeous man. Of course he would have exes. Beautiful—if overly serious—accomplished badass Agent exes, apparently. But she hadn’t been braced for it. He never talked about anyone from his past. How well did she really know him?

“She thinks she’s helping,” Adam muttered at the television, sinking down on the nearest couch. “But she’s just feeding the crazy.”

On screen, the serious agent with her serious suit and serious hair completed her prepared statement and opened the floor for questions—and the reporters fell on her like wolves.

“Have you spoken with him?”

“No. But I know his character and I was aware of an unhealthy fixation by the Newton girl after the incident in Malibu last year.”

Adam cursed. “Sandy’s going to love having that one out in the public.”

His text alert sounded and he grabbed his phone to read the message, snorting. “Pretty Boy says the Secret Service chick is hot, but my new partners support me way more than my old partners. Apparently it’s a competition.” A series of chimes announced a slew of texts. “Tank says press conferences are for pussies and he and Cross are planning to jump out of a plane over the Hollywood sign with a banner reading
DYLAN WRONGFULLY ACCUSED
.”

Elena grinned and settled beside him, but her smile faded when the intense agent on screen once again insisted on Adam’s innocence of all charges, fielding all questions with chilly calm. “She doesn’t doubt you for a second.”

“Neither did you.” He lifted his phone, texting back. “Neither did they, apparently.”

Elena shrugged. “No one who knows you will. You exude moral fiber.” While Elena apparently had a sin tractor beam that sucked in the unsuspecting. “You’re the anti-me.”

And so was the woman on the screen.

Adam frowned at her, looking up from the text he’d been sending, but before he could speak she nodded to Agent Michele Lowry. “That’s your type?”

He hooked his arm around her, dragging her against his side. “You’re my type.”

They watched the press conference in silence for a few minutes. To an outside eye, it might have looked like they were just cuddling on the couch, watching television. No reason to suspect it was their own drama being dissected for the entertainment of the masses.

“How long were you with her?” Elena asked when she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“A couple years.”

Jesus. That was forever. She’d never had a relationship last longer than six months. “Pretty serious?”

“Not really.” Relief sprang to life—only to be brutally murdered by his next words. “We lived together for about a year, but it was mostly for convenience. Both working our way up through the Service, there’s a lot of travel—training, long assignments in other cities. It was efficient to share a place in D.C. when we were both in town.”

“Why did you break up?”

“I left the service. The job with Max was here in California. Sandy was offering me a house in California. It wasn’t efficient anymore.”

How romantic. “What did she say?”

“She understood our lives were leading us in different directions. Michele was always very practical.”

No one had ever called Elena practical.

She heard her name on television and tuned back into the press conference in progress.
“—that’s the most ridiculous part. Adam Dylan would never get involved with a woman like that.”

Adam cringed. “Sorry about that.”

“Guess she doesn’t know you as well as she thinks she does.”

His phone rang before he could reply. Elena leaned over to mute the television while he reached for his phone. “Max wants to Facetime.”

Elena leaned away from the phone’s camera as Adam accepted the call. “Hey, Max. Any news?”

“Some. Is Elena with you?”

Adam waved her over into the shot and Elena waved. “Hey.”

On the screen, Max sat beside a petite Asian woman with intense powers of eye-contact. “This is Kathleen Tao. I’ll let her fill you in.”

“I’ve been in touch with the Newton camp,” Kathleen said, her voice carrying a surprisingly husky rasp. “Cassie will be issuing a statement at two fifteen to get her retraction in before the east coast evening news.”

“She’s retracting?”

“The Newton camp will clarify there was never a relationship with either Cassie or her mother—”

“People are saying I’m sleeping with Sandy now?”

“Don’t worry, we’re changing the narrative. Cassie will confess that she was wrong. What we need from you is a statement—preferably written since we don’t want them focusing on your part in this, we want her apology to be the sound bite that gets airtime.”

“What kind of statement?” Adam asked warily.

“You’ll need to confirm that you have only ever had professional feelings for Cassie Newton and that you continue to feel indebted for the generosity of her mother blah-blah-blah. Understand the folly of youth, that sort of thing. And then we’ll need you to either confirm or deny the affair with Elena Suarez.”

“How is it an affair if neither of us is married?”

Kathleen went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “How would you like your relationship characterized in the press? Serious? Just friends?”

“There isn’t a middle ground?” Adam asked, but Elena knew what Kathleen was going to say before she spoke.

“Not when it comes to public perception. So you two need to decide if you’re in a serious committed relationship, or if you’re purely platonic. Right now, those are your options.”

Elena didn’t hesitate. “Friends.” Adam frowned at her, but she just shook her head. “Trust me.”

He nodded, the picture of reluctance. “Good friends.”

Moments later, Kathleen and Max signed off, promising to call back in ten minutes with a draft of “Adam’s” statement. He immediately turned to her, his frown darkening.

“Why are we just friends?”

“It’s easier this way.” Easier when it was over. Easier when he wanted to distance himself from her.

“How exactly is it easier? I thought we agreed you weren’t going anywhere.”

“I can still stay here, but it will be a lot easier to rebuild your image if you’re the nice guy letting the Slutty Suitorette stay in your guest room rather than the questionable guy with the Slutty Suitorette in your bed.”

“I hate that nickname.”

She grimaced. “I’m sorry you got pulled into my reputation vortex. None of this would be happening to you if you hadn’t taken me in. Cassie wouldn’t have seen us together. She wouldn’t have lost it and run to the press—”

“She still would have showed up here to profess her love to me. I do
not
want to think how that could have gone without you here as a buffer.”

He was so disciplined, so controlled she couldn’t always tell what he was feeling. “Are you angry?”

He hooked his arm around her. “Not at you.”

She let him pull her against his side, studying his profile from a distance of inches. “You’re so contained,” she marveled.

“So are you.”

She snorted. “Me? The Slutty Suitorette with the impulse control of a cat in heat?”

“You’re impulsive,” he agreed, turning so he could study her in return. “And you go into these wild, manic modes, but you’re also proud and stubborn and you have these walls so no one can ever see when you aren’t okay. Your world falls apart and you’re cracking jokes so the assholes lashing out at you can’t see that their blows are landing. So no one knows you hate being treated like the Slutty Suitorette.”

“It’s what I deserve, right?” she asked, her voice choked. “I was asking for it.”

“Fuck that.” Hard. Blunt. “Don’t believe that bullshit.”

“Women are supposed to be goddesses.”

“You are
everything
a woman is supposed to be.”

His intensity sent shivers down her back. She tried to think of a comeback. Anything to lighten the mood, but he must have seen right through her so-called walls, because he rumbled, “Don’t.”

He looked into her eyes, pouring his intensity into her—along with unforgiving honesty. “You’re sexy. You’re strong. You’re sweet. And it pisses me off when I have to keep telling you this.” His hands sank into her hair and she forgot how to breathe. “You’re funny and fierce and I have never wanted another woman anywhere near as badly as I want you right now. Fuck them if they can’t see how incredible you are. What the fuck do they know?”

She didn’t have a comeback. She didn’t even have
words
. The way he looked at her, the things he said, she was lost. Done for. So freaking turned on she couldn’t remember her own name.

Then he kissed her and she didn’t need pesky words anymore anyway. All she needed was him.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

He pulled her down against him, wanting to lose himself and all the stress of the day in her arms—and she seemed just as eager to throw herself against him and forget the world, but they were interrupted five minutes later to review and approve Adam’s statement.

Just friends.

It bothered the hell out of him. Not lying to the press necessarily, but this particular lie. Because he couldn’t get over the feeling that she was trying to protect him by putting distance between them publicly. As if he would be tainted by association.

He was supposed to be her protector. But Elena was adamant, and if she didn’t want to publicly acknowledge their relationship, that was her right. So he approved the statement, thanked Max and Kathleen Tao for everything, and settled in at two fifteen to watch the carefully constructed theatre of Cassie’s retraction.

She stood next to her mother, surrounded by a small cluster of serious, concerned-looking adults on the lawn of one of Southern California’s most exclusive rehab facilities. Pale and trembling, she confessed that the entire thing had been a hoax, fueled by drugs and alcohol.

Adam glowered at the screen. “Why is she saying she was high? She’s been sober for months.”

Elena sat nearby, leaning forward with her hands clasped, never taking her eyes off the screen, drinking in every detail. “If she admits she lied for spite or jealousy, they all turn on her. If she’s an addict, it’s a sickness. She’s getting help. Makes sense. More sympathy this way.”

“So she’s going to fake rehab because it looks better?”

“That’s pretty much the gist of it, yeah.”

They watched the rest of Cassie’s statement, including a tearful apology to both of them—and she really did seem sincere when she professed that no one deserved her lies less than the shining example of heroism that was Adam Dylan. He almost gagged. Her apology to Elena seemed a bit more forced, but Elena didn’t seem to mind.

When the press conference was over, the on-screen pundit had murmured solemnly about the perils of drugs and alcohol and moved on. Just like that. Adam flicked off the television. “What happens now?”

Elena shrugged. “Now the paparazzi go back to chasing the next scandal—though I’m sure we’ll have a few dedicated stragglers. You are redeemed and go back to being the hero, though your shiny image may be a bit tarnished for a while, and I go back to being a punch line.”

“And no one knows we’re together.”

“Better that way.”

Better for who?

He would have argued, but his phone chose that moment to ring. The caller-ID lit up with his parents’ picture and he winced. “Shit. The scandal has made it to Maryland.”

“Talk to them. They must be worried.” She pushed away from his side, moving toward the open French doors.

He wanted to follow, but she was right. He needed to take this call. “Hello?”

“Adam!” his parents chorused his name, both of them on the line as was their habit.

“We just saw the strangest news story. Something about that Cassie girl going on a drunken rampage and accusing you of paying for hookers with money her mother gave you? What on earth is going on?”

Adam allowed himself only a fraction of a second to marvel that he didn’t think he’d ever heard his mother utter the word “hookers” before. “It was a hoax. She was upset and misinterpreted a situation. Everything’s fine now.”

Except his girlfriend refused to publicly acknowledge him. If she was his girlfriend. They’d never talked about labels.

“I knew something like this would happen,” his father intoned darkly. “This is what happens when you get involved with those showbiz people. If you were still in the Service…”

Adam almost laughed. The Secret Service hadn’t exactly maintained a spotless record when it came to scandals over the last decade—part of why they’d enjoyed the PR boost of the Cassie rescue, even as they kicked him out.

“I’m sure it’s not too late to come back,” his father continued, and the truth rolled off Adam’s tongue without conscious direction from his brain.

“I doubt it. I was fired.”

“What?” Shock reverberated in his parents’ voices.

“Or maybe not fired precisely, but I was quietly encouraged to resign. I broke protocol.” And that really said it all. “I left Sylas Walker to save Cassie and it cost me my job.”

“Adam. Why didn’t you say anything?” He could hear the concern in his mother’s voice, but his father didn’t speak.

“I was afraid to tell you. You were always so proud of me for being in the Secret Service. And then I blew it.”

“Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand?” his father said finally. “I would expect a reprimand, but to throw out the baby with the bathwater, it just doesn’t seem logical.”

“I could have stayed,” Adam admitted. “But it was made very clear to me that my opportunities would be limited.” In other words, nonexistent.

His father spoke government-ese. He didn’t need a translation. “I’m sure after the initial furor faded…”

“I could have waited it out, you’re right,” Adam admitted. “I could have ridden a desk and toed the line and waited for my second chance. Proven my loyalty with years of service. But I didn’t want to.”

And there was something freeing about admitting that to himself. He’d felt off-balance for months, unsure what the hell to do with his life now that his entire identity had changed, but now when he looked at what had happened he didn’t remember being railroaded into leaving, forced out. He remembered his choice.

“I know you would have played by the rules and waited it out,” Adam went on, speaking mainly to his father. To his sense of duty. “But I was so angry with them. I did everything they asked for six years and then they didn’t have my back.” And he knew his father would say it wasn’t the Service’s job to have his back. It was his duty to his country to be loyal to them. But the truth was pushing its way up from where he had buried it and now it was coming out. “I never loved being in the Service,” he confessed. “The politics and the protocol. I never felt the camaraderie and loyalty to the man beside me that you talked about having in the military, Dad. It never felt right. But I think I may have found that here. This bodyguard service is more than that. It’s a family. They had my back today.” And every other day. “And yes, the stars we’re guarding may be vain and entitled, but so are most politicians. Maybe this isn’t as noble as guarding the President, but I like it here. And I can have a say in my work.”

He’d suggested they offer self-defense training courses and Max had loved the idea—even though he’d joked they’d be putting themselves out of business. He’d said he wasn’t comfortable working for the Newtons anymore and Max had listened. Today each of his coworkers had sent him texts in support and it was Max who had located the infamous fixer to handle his statement.

When he wasn’t looking, Elite Protection had become his family.

“I’m sorry if you’re disappointed—”

“I’m only disappointed you didn’t feel you could tell us,” his father said gruffly. “If you’re happy out there in California, we’re happy for you. Your mother has been worrying that you weren’t settling in.”

Of course. “His mother” was the only one who worried. “I wasn’t,” he admitted, “but I’m good now.” He wanted to add that he was even seeing someone, but he could see Elena at the deck rail and her refusal to take their relationship public still stung.

A few minutes later he ended the call, his father’s final words lingering in his ears.
“They were fools to lose you, son
.”

All this time he hadn’t been able to tell them he’d been encouraged to leave the Service, because all this time he hadn’t wanted to admit to himself that he’d really wanted to go. That the ideal of being the man who guarded the President hadn’t been worth the reality of the life he was leading.

He had a place with EP—and if he let himself, he could belong there.

Now if only he could convince Elena that he also wanted a place at her side.

He crossed to the open French doors. “Elena?”

She stood at the railing, staring out over the water with her face tipped up to the sun. Gorgeous. “How are your folks?”

“They’re good. I told them the truth. About being drummed out of the Service. And the world didn’t end.”

“Good for you.”

He grinned. “The truth shall set you free. We should try it. Tell the world about us.”

“Adam.” She turned, bracing her back on the railing, the sea a glittering backdrop behind her. He wished for a camera, to capture the moment, but then he saw the expression on her face.

* * * * *

He had no idea.

She’d been sitting out here, thinking about breaking up with him for his own good. In her life, the hits just kept on coming, and he deserved better than to spend his days in damage control with her. Hell,
she
deserved better, but he had a better escape strategy. She couldn’t get away from her life.

He came to stand close to her, his expression cautious. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” She tried to say the words, to tell him they were over, but they wouldn’t form in her throat.

“Why don’t you want people to know we’re together, Elena?” he asked softly.

“Seriously? I’m a trainwreck. And you want to just jump on board?” She pushed away from him, walking down the deck, putting more distance between them. “Think about it for a second. Think about what it means to be tied to me. This morning I pressed charges against a girl who put a death threat on my door because her boyfriend thought I was bangable. At that same exact moment a perfectly nice girl who has hero worshipped you for months is driven so crazy by the thought of you with me that she decides to announce to the entire world that you’re a pedophile and I’m a slut—as if we didn’t know.”

“Elena,” he warned. He hated when she called herself names. But it was the only way she knew to take the sting out when other people did.

“I’m being funny. Except it’s not funny. None of it is funny. The sex tape and the whore-on-the-door and Cassie and, God, do you even remember that asshole from the wedding? Doesn’t that feel like a lifetime ago? Just one giant cavalcade of fuckery that has been chasing me around ever since I
kissed my freaking boyfriend in a Jacuzzi and took off my top
. How
dare
I, right? But it’s not just me. Women all over the country have to deal with this shit. Have you heard of revenge porn? Guys putting their exes up online? That shit is
not okay
. None of this is okay.”

She gripped the railing with both hands, feeling the anger and futility and the anger
at
the futility pulse through her. This was why she felt like she couldn’t be with him. Because of the ominous
them
.

“Why are they so freaking insecure that they have to degrade us or take away our power in order to feel manly? Like we’re conspiring with their dicks to remove their impulse control and therefore it’s our fault they can’t own their own freaking actions. We’re all Eve. We’re the fucking temptresses. But the men aren’t even the worst! Women being catty about women. Jealous of other women. Calling one another slutty or trashy. Fully half the talk shows that degrade me are panels of women. Where is the freaking sisterhood, goddamn it?”

Her shout echoed against the house, but Adam didn’t even flinch.

“I seem to have a lot of rage about this issue,” she said, trying to pull herself under control.

“I noticed.”

“Sorry about the yelling.”

“I don’t mind. But you’re preaching to the choir.”

He was right. It didn’t do any good to rant at him. He was on her side. He was the one person who was always on her side. It was the rest of the world that needed to learn.

If she broke up with him, she let them win. If she ran, she let them win. If she gave up, she let them win. If she kept her mouth shut, she let them win.

She was tired of letting them win.

“I’m not doing the reality show.”

His brow pinched with confusion. “Reality show?”

She brushed away the question. “It’s unimportant now. I got offered a show, but I’m not doing it. I’m doing something else.”

Miranda’s words from that morning reverberated through her mind. A tell-all book. All of it in her own words. But more than that. A
manifesto
.

“I’m going to write a book.” The rightness of the words seemed to reverberate through her.
Yes
, her soul answered.
This.
“And go on the morning shows and stand up for myself. I’m going to be the one to say I have had
enough
of this goddamn sexist bullying.”

“Good.”

Good
. It was good. It was amazing. She had a
mission
. A plan. A call to action. She felt invincible. Wonder Woman wasn’t this badass.

And Adam was right there beside her, believing she could do it. No doubt. No questions. Good.