Midnight Encounters (19 page)

It was funny, really. She’d tried to explain to Ben why she was keeping him at arm’s length, and in the process she’d ended up doubting her own convictions. She’d always told herself she needed to secure her career before thinking about relationships, about marriage and babies, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Was she simply using her goals as an excuse not to get close to someone? What about when she earned her degree and started her social work? Would she finally open her heart and seek out love, or would she merely find another goal to fixate on as a means of avoidance?

All troubling questions, ones she’d never asked herself before, and she found it ironic that an arrogant movie star had been the one to spur this internal investigation. Celebrities were supposed to be superficial, preoccupied with material things and trivial matters, and though it shamed her to admit it, that was partly what attracted her to Ben in the first place. She’d figured he’d tire of her after a day or two, and then be on his way. That he hadn’t was probably the most troubling thing of all.

Leaning back in her chair, Maggie raised her hands and rubbed her temples, excruciatingly aware of Ben’s presence.

Sitting there in a black long-sleeve shirt and black jeans, with morning stubble dotting his chin and dark hair falling onto his forehead, he looked sexy and dangerous, reminding her of how attracted she was to him. But he hadn’t said a word since they’d boarded the jet, and the silence between them had dragged on for so long she had no clue how to make it go away.

She didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know how she felt about him, and she’d never dealt well with uncertainties.

“Gretchen was the other woman.”

Her head jerked up. “What?” She met his gaze, not sure if he’d spoken or if she’d imagined it.

“Remember I said my father ran off with another woman? Well, it was Gretchen Goodrich.” She had no idea how to respond to that so, as usual, she took the easy route. “Oh.” Ben shifted in his seat, crossed one leg over the other and inhaled deeply. He looked as troubled as she felt, and she resisted the urge to lean over and kiss his troubles away. That would probably be inappropriate, anyway, considering the bomb he’d just dropped.

“My father was always looking for a get-rich scheme, according to my mom. After he got Mom pregnant, he searched for any reason to get away from her. Spending the rest of his life in Cobb Valley, stuck with a wife and a kid, didn’t appeal to him. So he made excuses to leave, phony business trips, visits to non-existent relatives. Apparently he met Gretchen during a trip to Vegas. She was nineteen at the time, vacationing with her family.”

Maggie paused. “The Hunters, right? I read on the ’Net that they own a salad dressing empire or something.”

“You read right.” Ben’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’m sure that’s what attracted my father to her in the first place.”

“So they got together?”

“They got
married
,” he corrected. “Of course, dear Dad neglected to tell his new wife that he’d already tied the knot with someone else.”

“What happened?” she asked, curious.

“Long story short, Gretchen and my father were married for two years before her parents finally stepped in. They weren’t pleased with the marriage to begin with, but once my father tried to control the trust fund Gretchen received when she turned twenty-one, her father did some digging and found out about my mother and me. They had him arrested.”

“For…bigamy?”

“Theft, actually. When the truth came out that his marriage to Gretchen wasn’t legal, he tried to run off with a wad of cash and some of her jewelry. He was behind bars for a few years.” Ben let out a sigh.

“He had a heart attack in prison and died.”

“Did you and your mother know about Gretchen?”

“Mom did, but she never told me, and the Hunters made sure to keep the scandal under wraps. I only found out when Gretchen contacted me six months ago. She was diagnosed with breast cancer, and she’d been thinking about her life, her past. She said she’d never stopped feeling guilty for being the reason my dad abandoned his family. I guess that’s why she wrote me into her will.” Ben reached for the coffee cup on the poker table and took a long sip. He set down the cup and glanced over with a pained expression. He looked so solemn, so downcast, that this time she didn’t stop herself from reaching over and touching him. She squeezed his hand and then interlaced their fingers.

“So why didn’t you just tell the truth, to the press, I mean?” His fingers tightened over hers. “I thought about it, but there was my mom to consider.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gretchen left me that fortune to ease her own guilt, but to me, it’s just a reminder of what a cad of a father I had. Money isn’t going to make the memories go away, especially for my mother.” Ben let out a strangled groan. “Damn it, just knowing the money will be released to me after Gretchen’s estate goes through probate makes me feel like I’m betraying my mom. Like I’m profiting from her pain.” Oh God. The vulnerability etched on his features left Maggie speechless. How was this the same man who’d practically ordered her to give him a place to stay? How was this the same man whose arrogance drove her crazy?

“Not to mention,” he added, “if I tell the media the truth about Gretchen and me, the vultures will camp out on my mom’s doorstep and demand to know how she feels knowing her husband left her for an heiress. I can’t do that to her.” He released a heavy sigh. “Let the press think what they want of me, as long as they leave my mother alone.”

Maggie swallowed. Hard. Once, twice. After the third gulp she stopped fighting herself and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

“What was that for?” Ben murmured after she’d pulled back.

She sighed. “That was for being far more decent than I gave you credit for, Ben.” The second they stepped out of the gate at the airport, Ben saw the reporters. Rather than the usual folks waiting for friends and families to walk out of the gate, they were greeted by a crowd of vultures with microphones and cameras. Angry flashbulbs exploded in front of his eyes. A slew of questions assaulted his ears, each one bringing a jolt of fury.

He swallowed back the rage and glanced over at Maggie, who looked startled. Her green eyes widened as the mob closed in on them. “What the…”

“Move,” he ordered before she could finish the shocked sentence.

He held onto her arm and practically dragged her toward the exit. The press stayed on their heels, capturing their every move with those intrusive cameras. They were in a large open space but Ben suddenly felt like the entire airport was closing in on him and he quickened his strides, loosening his grip on Maggie’s arm when he noticed his knuckles had turned white and were digging into her skin.

“Enjoy your vacation, Ben?” one obnoxious reporter called out.

Another followed up with, “Maggie, how long have you two been seeing each other?” How the fuck did they know Maggie’s name? Without pausing to question the woman who’d spoken, Ben pushed Maggie through the automatic doors. Her eyes were still wide with distress, but she didn’t say a word. Just glanced back at the reporters still trailing after them, her face flickering with disbelief and confusion. She looked dazed, stunned, and he didn’t blame her. He’d gotten used to this bullshit years ago, but he understood how it could be overwhelming for someone else.

He took her hand and pulled her toward a taxi, waited for her to get in then slid inside and slammed the door. Another flash caught his eye and he almost gave the finger to the reporter who’d snapped their picture.

Leaning back in his seat, he opened his mouth to address the driver, only to be cut off by Maggie. He was taken aback when she softly gave out directions to the Olive Martini.

As the cab pulled away from the airport, he looked at her and said, “Are you sure you want to go to work?”

“I don’t have a choice,” she said in a shaky voice. “My shift starts in an hour.” A short silence stretched between them. Maggie kept her gaze glued to the window, but he could tell she was still shaken up and confused by what just happened. He was pretty fucking confused himself. How had the press learned Maggie’s identity? He hadn’t told a soul that he was staying at her apartment, not even Stu or his publicist knew about her. And the resort would never have released the information—Marcus Holtridge and his staff respected their guests’ privacy far too much to sell them out to the media, especially since the resort prided itself on secrecy.

Unless it wasn’t a staff member who’d said anything, but another guest…

He stifled a groan as it hit him. Sonja. It to be Sonja. She’d looked undeniably pissed when he’d left her in the casino after she’d offended Maggie, and he wouldn’t put it past his ex-flame to get even by talking to a couple of reporters. He’d always told Sonja how much he hated the vultures, and if she wanted revenge for his rebuffing her, calling the press would be right up her alley.

The silence in the cab dragged on so long Ben began to feel claustrophobic again. He wanted to say something, but he feared anything he said would only push Maggie farther away from him. She’d been so happy and relaxed when he’d first brought her to the resort, and he knew she’d been having a good time, at least up until when they’d run into Sonja. But despite her shutting down afterwards, she’d seemed to come around again on the plane, when he’d told her the truth about Gretchen. He suspected they’d reached some kind of turning point, though he couldn’t quite put a label on it yet. And now it was all blown to hell, thanks to a few nosy reporters.

He wanted to tell her he’d fix this, that somehow he’d make the media storm go away, but he knew better than to make empty promises. The press would hound him no matter what he did, and even if Stu and his publicist managed to spin the story in a way that made his relationship with Maggie not seem so tawdry, the reporters already knew her name. And that meant they’d soon learn everything else about her. Where she worked, where she lived.

And if he knew the vultures—and boy, did he know them—they wouldn’t hesitate to make Maggie’s life as hellish as they’d made his.

“You’re late.”

Maggie’s head snapped up, her hand poised over the laces of her sneakers. In the doorway of the employee lounge, Linda stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She could tell from the look on her manager’s face that she wasn’t happy with her.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she burst out, quickly kicking off her shoes and grabbing for the heels at the bottom of her locker. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’d better not.” With a deep frown, Linda stalked off.

Ouch.

Maggie glanced at her watch, which confirmed what she already knew, that her shift had only started five minutes ago. Since when did Linda get so crabby over five measly minutes?

She would’ve arrived at the Olive sooner, but she and Ben had gotten stuck in traffic on the way back from the airport. And boy, had that been one awkward cab ride.

They hadn’t said one word to each other, and she knew it was more her fault than his. After being barraged by those reporters at the airport—reporters who knew
her name
—she hadn’t known what to say or how to react. The cameras, the photographers, the questions…it was all too overwhelming.

Terrifying, if she were being honest. So she’d stayed silent, despite the fact that Ben looked desperate to talk about what happened.

Well, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not now. Not when she had an entire evening of waitressing to get through, not when she still couldn’t put into words how the sight of those reporters had made her feel.

Smothering a sigh, she finished dressing and tied her hair up into a ponytail. God, she didn’t want to be here right now. How could she possibly focus on work when her body still felt bruised from all those reporters’ questions, when her mind was still swimming with confusion about her feelings for Ben Barrett?

The last thing she felt like doing was working, and the feeling only grew stronger when she stepped out of the lounge and realized the owner of the bar had finally decided to make an appearance. She gave a startled gasp as she bumped into Jeremy Henderson in the hallway.

“Hello, Mr. Henderson,” she said quickly, struggling to tie her apron and keep a polite smile on her face at the same time.

He appraised her with a cool look. “You’re late, Ms. Reilly.”

“I know. It won’t happen again,” she said yet again.

Without replying, he moved past her and rounded the counter, where he exchanged a few words with Matt.

She stifled another sigh. Great start to a shift, pissing off both her manager and the bar owner in less than the five minutes she was late by. Pausing at the counter, she grabbed an order pad and a tray, and turned around just in time to bump into Trisha.

Trisha?

“What are you doing here?” Maggie demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the puppet show?

That’s why you took my shift yesterday, right?”

Splotches of crimson stained Trisha’s olive-colored cheeks. “Uh, I traded shifts with Kate. Lou cancelled tonight but we’re going out to dinner tomorrow so I needed Kate to cover for me.”

“Lou cancelled?”

“Um, yeah.”

Disbelief and suspicion battled for her brain’s attention. This whole shift switcheroo hadn’t sat right with her from the beginning. “There was no musical, was there?” she said slowly.

Trisha’s cheeks grew redder. “No,” she finally admitted. “But Lou and I really are going out tomorrow and it’s the first time he’s wanted to take me out to dinner in
ages
so I had to switch with Kate and—”

“I need to speak to both of you,” their manager’s voice interrupted Trisha before she could finish.

Linda stalked over, gesturing for them to follow her to the other end of the counter. With the Olive’s owner out of earshot, Linda fixed both waitresses with a deadly stare. “I spend two hours every week writing up a damn schedule, and I won’t have any of my employees screwing around with it at their leisure.”

Trisha’s flush deepened. “Linda—”

“Let me finish.” The manager turned to Maggie. “The next time you decide to take a personal day, you clear it with me first, understand? You don’t call Trisha and Kate and make changes to the schedule without speaking to me, Maggie.”