Dodging Temptation (The Retreat) (13 page)

“It
’
s good to finally meet you. May has been hounding me to walk away from my desk and into class for weeks,” Amelia said as she spread out her mat. “I
’
m so sorry about the reporters.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Harper shrugged and settled into corpse pose. “And at least the reporters are gone now.”

“Oh no,” Skyler said. “There
’re
several outside the gate and Stone told me they
’
ve caught a creepy photographer skulking around the grounds this week.”

“What?” Harper sat up fast enough that she got lightheaded.

“You didn
’
t know?” Amelia asked.

Harper shook her head, unease making her skin prickle.

“Um…your ex-husband.” Skyler turned a shade of red so bright that until now Harper didn
’
t think could be found in nature. “His…uh…”

“Skank,” Amelia said. “The lying bastard
’
s skank gave an interview and said he had a thing for wearing diapers.”

“And calling you mommy.” Skyler kept her attention focused on the boxed Zen garden at the front of the studio.

Harper went numb. She couldn
’
t feel her fingers, her toes, or the yoga mat underneath her ass. She could still see everything, but it was like she
’
d lost connection to her body, and her brain was wrapped in a six-foot thick layer of cotton. Her ex had never called her anything but Harper. He
’
d been a Brooks-Brothers-suit-and-white-boxer-shorts-wearing preppy without a hint of anything beyond every Tuesday and Thursday night vanilla, lights-off-only sex followed by a mandatory shower for them both. Diapers? Mommy? The press would want to talk to her. Ask rude questions. Even as much as she hated it, she couldn
’
t blame them. This was the kind of juicy sex scandal that sold papers and got killer ratings.

“Okay everyone, let
’
s begin.
” May strolled to the front of the class. “We
’
ll start with sun salutations.”

Unable to fight her way through the haze, she switched to autopilot—
a skill she
’
d perfected the summer she was twelve and had to accompany her parents on campaign stops in the sweaty humidity despite having her right arm in a cast that itched like the devil. Sitting in the cool air conditioning with her arm propped up wasn
’
t an option. The Conner family had an image to maintain, and a perfect daughter was part of it. She
’
d already messed up the picture enough with the cast she
’
d let her friends sign in messy unmatched markers.

Harper
’
s body moved of its own accord through the class. Arms up. Back arched. Legs lifted. Warrior pose. Child
’
s pose. Then she was back in corpse pose, lying flat on her mat with her palms facing upward and her eyes closed.

“When you walk back into the world outside these doors in a few minutes, I want you to take with you a little bit of the peace I hope you found here today,” May said, her voice calm and quiet. “Remember to breathe deeply, and think beyond the mundane. Do not think of life as something that you must control. Think beyond. Life is not about ceding or gaining control. It is about letting others in and sharing our experiences. Namaste.”

“Namaste,” Harper said along with the rest of the class as she blinked and came back to herself.

“I
’
m so sorry,” Skyler said as she rolled up her mat with quick efficiency. “I didn
’
t realize…”

“Me too.” Amelia wiped the sweat from her brow, still in corpse pose. “I tend to speak first and think second. There
’
s a reason why I spend my day with numbers.”

Sitting up slowly, Harper looked at the other two women—one sweaty and spent and the other looking like she could outrun a pack of five year olds, which Skyler probably did on a regular basis. She knew all about snide backhanded compliments and sly critiques. Amelia and Skyler didn
’
t seem the type.

“No big deal.” She stretched and sat up. “After all that
’
s happened you
’
d think I
’
d be used to these kinds of surprises.”

“Well then, in the spirit of sharing experiences, as May said, how about we take you on a girls’ night out tomorrow to make up for being a pair of clods?” Skyler asked.

“
Promise I’
m much more fun when I don
’
t feel like a wet noodle,
” Amelia said, holding up a two-fingered salute like a Boy Scout.

A light bulb went off in Harper
’
s head.
Letting others in and sharing experiences.
The reporters weren
’
t going to leave her alone until she
’
d addressed the latest news. The story was too juicy and her family too prominent for them to let it go. That meant Dodge
’
s deal with The Brasch Group would fall through at the first sight of a telephoto lens in the bushes. But if she talked to them, it would cost Harper her job. In all likelihood it would take years to find another position as perfect for her as this one. Was it worth it for a man she’d probably never see again after her plane took off in a few days? The ache in her heart though answered that question in the most succinct way possible.

“What do you say? You coming?” Skyler asked.

“Let
’
s do it,
” Harper said, a plan that had nothing to do with girls’ night forming in her mind. “I gotta go. Just call my room to let me know what time and where to meet you.”

Waving good-bye to Amelia and Skyler, Harper rushed out of the yoga studio. She needed to get the number for the local paper and reschedule the interview she
’
d walked out on last week.

Chapter Eleven

T
he next morning, Harper patted her hair that was pulled back into a topknot, tucked a stray lock behind her ear, and watched the antique grandfather clock
’
s second hand move another notch forward.

Brian and Steve from
The Freemont Daily
were ten minutes late. A small mound of shredded paper sat in a yellow mountain on her desk, sacrificed to the gods of nervous energy. She sucked in a deep breath and ripped off a fresh sheet of paper. Her plan was more than a little nuts, but even as nervous as she was, she knew it was the right one.

Really, it was
a win-win. She
’
d talk to the local paper and deliver the message she wanted to get out. Once the story broke in the morning, the tabloid reporters outside would lose interest because an exclusive, first-get interview—the kind that came with big freelancer payoffs—was no longer on the table. Once again, Harper would be old news, and the media would be gone from The Retreat
’
s gates before the big muckety-mucks arrived to sign the hotel expansion deal, making Dodge
’
s life so much better.

It couldn
’
t go wrong. She wouldn
’
t let it.

The grandfather clock ticked off another minute, and her phone rang, the quiet sound as loud as a starter pistol in the silent room.
Relax, you dork.
Harper picked up the phone. “
Hello?
”

“Ms. Conner, this is Paul Esposito at the front gate. I
’
ve got two fellas from
The Freemont Daily
down here who swear up, down, and sideways that you invited them on the premises for an interview.”

“Great.” She did her best to ignore the fluttery feeling in her stomach and put on her game face. “Please let them know I
’
m waiting for them in the upstairs library.”

“I
’
m afraid I can
’
t let them in, ma
’
am. Mr. Loving
’
s orders.”

Her hand froze mid-stroke in the act of sweeping the pile of torn paper from her desk and into the trashcan. “What are you talking about?”

“No reporters or photographers are allowed in. We
’
ve even got a mess of deputies helping to patrol the grounds and keep ’em all away.”

“But I
invited
Brian and Steve.” She shoved the paper into the trash, her brain rolling through the possibilities to save the interview. Leaving the grounds wasn
’
t an option. The reporters at the gate would see her. She had to get them inside.

“Sorry, ma
’am. I just can’
t—”

“Do you really think I
’
d do this without Dodge
’
s agreement?” Her cheeks burned. It wasn
’
t a lie exactly, but it wasn
’
t the truth, either. She squashed her conscience into a bite-sized morsel and reminded herself this was for the greater good—hers and Dodge
’
s. Anyway, her father had used this kind of deflection in a million campaign town hall meetings with angry voters, and it always worked.

“
I don’
t have any knowledge of that, ma
’
am.”

Harper pasted on her best political princess smile. The guard might not see it, but he
’
d hear it in her tone. “Brian and Steve are local.”

“I know, they
’
re in my Tuesday night bowling league.”

Score.
“I can
’
t imagine they
’
re the type of folks we
’
re trying to keep out. Dodge
’
s orders were likely for the out-of-town reporters, the ones stirring up all the trouble. I can
’
t believe Steve and Brian are on some sort of blacklist.”

Right up to the edge of that truth cliff without tumbling over into the lie valley. Sure, she was holding on by her toenails, but still…

“It does stretch the imagination,” the guard said.

“Exactly,” she said. “So I tell you what. Just to make sure there aren’t any problems, you escort Brian and Steve to the front door, and I
’
ll meet you there. They won
’
t leave my sight even for a minute.”

“I
’
m not sure Mr. Loving—”

“Don
’
t you worry about Dodge,” she said before the guard could wander any further down that path of thinking. “I
’
ll make sure he knows everything, including how diligent you were in your duties. I
’
ll see you at the front door.” Now, time to end things on a we
’
re-all-part-of-the-same-team note. “Thank you so much for going the extra mile on this.”

“Not a problem, ma
’
am. I
’m just doing my job.
”

She could practically see the guard’s aw-shucks blush over the phone. “And you do it well. See you in a few minutes.”

Ten minutes later and she was behind her desk again, but this time, instead of staring at an ever-growing pile of yellow confetti, she was smiling at Steve and Brian as if they were the only people in the world she
’
d ever wanted to talk to. It was all in the eye contact and the slight curl of her lips—too much non-verbal interest and she looked like a deranged potential stalker, but just enough and everyone walked away happy. She
’
d gotten the look down doing personal profile interviews as a teenager, but had really perfected it as a senator
’
s wife sitting in on constituent teas and fundraisers. The key was to pretend you were on a blind date with the most interesting person in the world and no one else was there—that and a firm handshake.

“Gentlemen, thank you so much for coming this morning. I apologize again for the delay at the gate.”

“Dodge has things tighter than a tick on a bison today.” Steve flipped open his notepad. “He must have someone big coming to stay.”

Deflect! “Ouch. You know how to prick a girl
’
s ego.” She chuckled as the editor turned a brilliant shade of cherry.

“I
’
m sorry. I didn
’
t mean to imply…”

“I
’
m just teasing, Steve.” She winked at him. “Now I know as editor and chief reporter for
The Freemont Daily
you must be a busy man. So let
’
s get right to it, shall we?”

Steve nodded his bald head and uncapped his pen. “Why are you in Freemont, specifically at The Retreat?”

“I
’
m here at May Loving
’
s request to authenticate some very interesting diaries she
’
s collected over the years.” She waved her hand at the leather-bound cowboy diaries on the closest shelf. Some were worn and had been thumbed through by hundreds of unknown hands. Others were practically as pristine as when the cowboy or cowgirl first cracked the spine. What each diarist had in common, though, was the absolute commitment to living the life they
’
d chosen for themselves.

“So you
’
re not here hiding out?” Steve asked.

You couldn
’
t get much farther from Washington D.C. than Wyoming, which is why May Loving
’
s job offer had been so appealing, not that she
’
d admit that for public consumption. “You saw the reporters gathered at the front gate. If I was, I
’
m not doing a good job of it.”

“Fair enough.” He scratched a few notes on his narrow notepad. “What do you think of the latest revelations about your ex-husband?”

She curled her hands into fists, grateful the desk between her and the men kept them from picking up on her tell. “Truthfully, I try not to think about my ex-husband at all.”

“So no comment on the whole mommy thing?” Steve kept his observant focus steady on her.

Straightening in her chair, she met his gaze head on. “I think mothers are fabulous, but my ex-husband never thought of me as his.”

Twenty more minutes of parry and evade questions, interrupted occasionally by the photographer
’
s flash, and Steve flipped his notepad shut.

“Anything else I should have asked that I didn
’
t?” He tilted his head to the left. “Anything you wish people knew about you?”

That stopped her. She was nearly thirty years old and she was just getting to know herself after letting everyone else in her life define her. What should people know? That she was done being a pawn in someone else
’
s game, a salve for someone else
’
s wound, or the goat when someone else lost. She was just Harper Conner, woman remade, but that, of course, was not the kind of answer she needed to give Steve.

“I think people know too much about me as it is,” she said. “I grew up in the spotlight. There are only so many political dynasties left in this country, and I was born into one of the largest. I understand the fascination, even if I don
’
t share it. However, I
’
ve chosen a different path for myself than the one that had been chosen for me. We all should be allowed to choose our own path in life, and mine takes me out of the spotlight for good.”

The men said their thank-yous as they got up. Harper circled around the desk and walked to the door. Interview completed, the stroll to where the guard was waiting to take Steve and Brian to the gate was filled with polite conversation about the weather. The summer sun warmed Harper
’
s skin as soon as she stepped out onto the wraparound porch.

The photographer came to an abrupt halt in front of her, and she nearly plowed right into him. “Forget something?” she asked.

Brian turned, his gaze flicking from one end of the porch to the other, lingering on the western side where the guests tied up their horses before a staff member walked them out to the barn for a rubdown. “Can I get a couple of shots here? The lighting is great.”

Harper looked around. No one else was there, but the idea of a guest spotting the photo shoot didn
’
t sit well with her. The last thing she wanted was to help Dodge by causing more problems. “You didn
’
t get enough during the interview?”

“Just a few more.” He shuffled to her left and held the camera to his eye. “Five quick shots before the light changes.”

Another quick glance; the porch was deserted except for Paul, the guard, who was typing away on his smart phone. No guests to get mad about a photographer taking some pictures. “Okay. Go for it.”

Five clicks later and the three men piled into Paul
’
s golf cart and headed back to the front gate. The story would go out on the web tonight and in tomorrow
’
s paper, Steve had assured her. By the time The Brasch Group representatives arrived in the afternoon, the media would have gone off to find other targets, and Dodge wouldn
’
t have to worry about sleazy tabloid photographers popping up out of the bushes to ruin his plans. She couldn
’
t wait to tell him the good news.

L
ess
than twenty-four hours before closing the biggest deal of his life, and all Dodge cared about at eight that night was getting through The Retreat
’
s lobby without getting stopped by a guest with a problem or a staff member with a question so he could get to Harper
’
s room. The deadline clock on The Brasch Group deal wasn
’
t the only one ticking down.

He hit the main staircase without a second look from anyone in the lobby. Most of the guests were packed inside the wine bar where the large television was tuned in to some entertainment gossip show. For once the human obsession about knowing everything about everyone else was working in
his favor and he double-timed it up the steps.

In a few days Harper would be gone, too, a fact that had wormed its way into his subconscious and kept popping to the forefront at inopportune times—such as this morning when he
’
d started to think of ways to get her to stay longer. Who would want to miss watching the July fourth fireworks from Sandpiper Island? Or the county rodeo in August? Or the leaves starting to turn in September? The truth was he didn
’
t want to miss her at any of it.

Pausing outside of the honeymoon suite, Dodge
’
s heart rate was double what it should be for jogging up the stairs and hustling down the hallway. He should be in his office, going over the numbers one last time to ensure everything was perfect for the final presentation. He should be meeting with The Retreat
’
s department heads to answer any questions, assure them that their jobs were safe, and explain the possibilities once the deal came through. He should be conducting a personal inspection of the hotel making sure everything was in its proper place. But he wasn
’
t. He was outside Harper
’
s door because, on a night as important as this one, he didn
’
t want to be anywhere else, which meant nothing but trouble. He couldn
’
t lose sight of the finish line now, not when he was so close.

Still, he knocked.

The door swung open, revealing Harper wearing the second-skin yoga pants guaranteed to turn his mouth dry and his brain to mush. “I have a surprise for you.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. “What
’
s that?” He walked in and shut the door behind him.

“I
’
ve solved all of your pesky reporter problems.” She handed him her tablet.

Distracted by the large photo of her perched on the edge of a desk in the library with her red hair pulled back and looking every bit like the sexiest book nerd of all time, it took him a second to realize what he was looking at.
The Freemont Daily
’
s
website. The headline read:
From Political Princess to Champion of Cowboy Lore
. His phone vibrated against his thigh.