Once Upon a Power Play (14 page)

Chapter Eighteen

C
hloe sat on the edge of her seat, a swarm of butterflies doing a number on her belly. She wiped her palms on her skirt, anxious for the Garden of Dreams executives to finish their introductions and wrap up the New Year’s pleasantries with the other PBA team members. She didn’t need perfunctory good will from the board members, she needed the GoD fourth quarter results.

After all, it was January second. Happy New Year was so yesterday. Fortunately, Cole was much better at politicking. He appeared perfectly at ease chatting about resolutions that wouldn’t last the week while it took a herculean effort for her to smile politely and laugh at all the right moments. Especially when all she really wanted was to go Jerry Maguire on their asses and yell ‘show me the money’. There were several A-list actors on the board. Who knew—maybe they’d appreciate the dramatics.

When the GoD board finally passed around the presentation deck, Chloe left her copy untouched on the table in front of her. Unprofessional or not, there was no way she’d be able to stop herself from flipping ahead if she opened it. She was dying to know if the campaign—and all of her extra fundraising efforts—had delivered. She’d worked so damn hard on the campaign. Now it was time to find out if all that hard work had paid off.

Under the table, her phone buzzed in her bag. She ignored it, doing her best to focus on the speaker who was droning on and on about the financial challenges GoD had faced earlier in the year. No surprises there. It was the exact reason they’d hired PBA. Everyone in the room knew it.

The damn phone buzzed again. Even on silent, the vibration was a distraction in the quiet boardroom. A few heads turned her way. So much for being discreet. Shifting in the soft leather chair, she pushed the bag further under the table, knowing it wouldn’t actually help. When it buzzed again not thirty seconds later, she reached under the table and pulled the bag into her lap.

“I’m terribly sorry for the interruption,” she said, fishing for the phone and shutting it off without looking at the screen. “Please continue.”

Cole shot her a questioning glance. She shrugged. Whoever it was could wait. If it were a true emergency, they’d call the office and Cole’s admin would pull her out of the meeting. Gabby was nowhere to be seen, so it was probably nothing.

The speaker, whose name she couldn’t pronounce if her life depended on it, cleared his throat and continued. “The push Garden of Dreams received from the PBA campaign tipped the scales in the fourth quarter. Donations increased by nineteen percent.” Pausing, he pushed his glasses up the slope of his nose. “In fact, media coverage for the Christmas party was so strong, Garden of Dreams received record donations the week of the holiday.”

“That’s fantastic news,” Cole said, gesturing to Chloe. All eyes swung in her direction. Heat flooded her cheeks. No doubt she was grinning like a fool, but it didn’t matter. Record donations? She kind of wanted to do a happy dance right on the table. The phrase “high on life” suddenly took on a whole new meaning. The butterflies that had been fluttering around in her belly had taken flight, fanning out through her body with a burst of adrenaline. “I told you my team would deliver.”

“We are incredibly pleased with the results, given the compressed timeline. I should also warn you that we’ll be looking for even bigger gains next year.”

Cole laughed good-naturedly and the rest of the team followed his lead. The time for pressure would come later. Today was about celebrating a job well done. She couldn’t wait to tell Ryan. After all, he’d played a key role in raising awareness and donations with his Blueshirt Challenge.

When the meeting wrapped up and there were no more attaboys to be handed out, Chloe headed back to her desk, walking on air. Double-digit growth in the fourth quarter? That was huge. No one could say PBA hadn’t delivered, but mostly she was excited about what it would mean for the foundation. More money meant more resources for more children. Her heart swelled with pride, knowing her work would help change thousands of lives throughout the tri-state area.

Back at her desk, she dug her phone out of her bag and pushed the power button. What was so important it had been blowing up during the meeting? The screen flashed to life. Her jaw nearly hit the desk. Eighteen text messages, four missed calls, and a pile of notifications on all of her social media accounts? She glanced at the clock. It had only been, what? Thirty minutes? The adrenaline that had her soaring just moments ago soured in her veins. Sucking in a deep breath, she collapsed in her chair, hugging the phone to her chest. It was bad news, no doubt about it. But how bad?

Only one way to find out.

Unlocking the phone, she scrolled to Olivia’s texts first. There were three of them. All sent back to back. Definitely not good.

Call me.

Have you seen Page Six?

Are you okay? CALL ME!

Heart racing and hands shaking, she gripped the edge of the desk, using it for support as she rose to her feet. She needed
The Post
. Like, now. There would be a copy in reception, assuming no one had taken off with it already. Walking down the aisle, she felt dozens of eyes following her every move. The whispers were even less subtle. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. Stupid cubicle farm. When she stepped into the reception area, the girl behind the desk said nothing and handed her a copy of the paper, a look of pity in her eyes. Tucking the paper under her arm, she returned to her cube, refusing to acknowledge the whispers that trailed her every step.

Chloe spread the paper on her desk. How bad could it really be? She was probably overreacting. Getting herself worked up over nothing. Her heart slammed against her rib cage, refusing to indulge her with even a moment of wishful thinking. Relaxing her breathing, she flipped to Page Six.

And right there in black and white were two pictures of Ryan. One of him kissing her at midnight on New Year’s Eve. They looked so happy. So in love. So perfect. She touched his face, dragging her fingers to the next picture, the one that shredded her heart and punched a hole in her soul. A hole she was sure could never be mended. Ryan holding Kelsey on New Year’s Eve. Her hands were fisted in his jacket, his bowtie askew, their mouths just a breath apart, as if they were about to kiss. Chloe’s stomach dropped. Anger blazed through her as she read the headline.
Douglas headed to the penalty box?

Forcing herself to read the article, she skimmed the highlights, each one like a knife planted deep between her shoulder blades. “Looks like New York Ranger Ryan Douglas is playing more than hockey…” Tears welled up behind her eyes. She would not cry. Not here. “Chloe Jacobs is yesterday’s news…” She wanted to throw up. Just not in the trashcan. “Sources close to Kelsey Cruise, Douglas’s longtime girlfriend, say she and Douglas are committed to working through their differences…” This could not be happening. Humiliation stung her cheeks. She needed to get out of there. Fast.

Arms wrapped around herself, Chloe hightailed it to the elevator. When she reached the ground floor and stepped out onto Madison Avenue, it was clear she wouldn’t be suffering the latest indignity of her love life in private. The paps descended like vultures, snapping pictures and peppering her with invasive and provocative questions.

“Chloe, did you and Ryan have an open relationship?”

“Are you going to fight for your man?”

“Did you know he was reconciling with Kelsey Cruise?”

A tall, greasy looking man stepped in front of her, thrusting a microphone in her face. “Now that Ryan’s done slumming, how do you feel about being used?”

Anger coursed through her veins. She closed her fist, tensing to strike. No one would blame her if she throttled the guy. But that was the point wasn’t it? To get her acting out on video. To have her make headlines of her own. To fuel the fire. It was a desperate attempt to get a sound bite. Her brain told her as much, but that didn’t make it any less painful. Biting her tongue, she stuffed her fists in her pockets and prayed she could hold the tears back long enough to throw herself into a cab.

Tucked in the back of a Yellow Cab and crawling across town at a snail’s pace, she dialed Liv. Thankfully, she answered on the first ring.

“Where are you?” she demanded, her words filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Cab. I don’t know.” Chloe slouched against the seat, the morning’s rollercoaster of events taking its toll on her. She sniffed, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, not giving a damn whether her waterproof mascara held up. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Maybe it’s not what it looks like?” Liv suggested, sounding doubtful. Not that Chloe didn’t appreciate her attempt at positivity, but this was the real world and not some stupid rom-com. She wasn’t his—or anyone else’s—exception. It was that kind of thinking that got her into this mess in the first place.

“Come on, Liv. It’s exactly what it looks like. Pictures don’t lie.” A bitter laugh tumbled from her lips. “I’m such a fool. I knew this would happen. I
knew
it. And like a fool, I just kept falling, letting myself get swept up in his stupid life. In his lies. What was I thinking? Why would he ever stay with me when he can have any woman he wants?”

“Maybe you should talk to him, hear his side of things,” Olivia suggested. “But I’m telling you right now, if he did this, then he doesn’t deserve you. Hell, he doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air you do.”

“Says the best friend on cue.” Chloe closed her eyes. Was this all her life would be? Good enough for a fling, but never a ring?

“I’m coming over. I’ll meet you at your place.”

“No,” Chloe said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I just want to be alone. Please, just leave me alone.”

R
yan pulled his practice jersey over his head, anxious to hit the ice. The doc had given him a wicked stretch and he was feeling pretty damn good. Maybe he really was turning the corner in his recovery. With the holidays behind them and more than forty games remaining in the regular season, the team’s focus was on securing a playoff berth. Hell, he could hardly believe he’d be part of it given the way he’d started the season.

He glanced up as the locker room door opened. Bash. And he did not look happy. Ryan had only seen that look once before, during their college days when Bash’s parents had announced their divorce. “Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bash narrowed his gaze at Ryan and charged. For a big guy, he moved fast, covering the space between them in two quick strides. Pinned between the lockers and the bench, Ryan was trapped. A feral growl roared in his ears as Bash’s meaty hands grabbed the front of his jersey and slammed him against the lockers. His back smashed against the metal, his head bouncing off the smooth surface.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he yelled, bringing his arms up between Bash’s to try and drive the bigger man’s arms apart. No dice. Bash had a death grip on the damn jersey.

“Why’d you do it?” Bash yelled, his dark eyes brimming with anger. That same anger seemed to permeate his body, each of his limbs fraught with tension. “Why the fuck did you do it, man?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lowering his voice in an attempt to deescalate the situation, he dropped his arms, hoping like hell his teammate wouldn’t take a shot at him. He’d made it this far with all his teeth intact, and he preferred to keep it that way.

“Kelsey,” Bash said, slamming Ryan’s body against the lockers as if to emphasize his point.

Ryan sighed. Of course. What the fuck had she done now? “Like I said, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re going to have to clue me in.”

“I love her.” Bash’s voice dropped to a whisper as the fight left his body. “I fucking love her.”

Taking advantage of his relaxed posture, Jordy and Bischoff jumped in, grabbing Bash’s arms and pulling him free of Ryan. Watching Bash with a wary eye, Ryan rotated his shoulder and adjusted his jersey. Apparently the only thing hurt was his pride. Bash dropped to the bench, looking defeated. Finally, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a rolled up newspaper. He threw it at Ryan, a disgusted look carved on his face.

The locker room was deathly quiet, the other players watching them, waiting to see how the fight would play out. Ryan cut his eyes at Jordy, who was poised to jump back in if needed. Confident he wouldn’t get sucker punched, he unrolled the paper. Page-fucking-Six. It was starting to be a real pain in his ass. And it was starting to feel like someone over there had a hard-on for the Rangers. They couldn’t catch a break. His gut clenched when he saw his own face staring back at him. Two pictures. Two women. One night. He didn’t need to read the article to know what it said. Or what Bash thought. What Chloe would think.

Chloe
.

A new feeling blossomed in his gut. Fear.

“
FUCK
,” he roared, balling the paper up and throwing it at the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Molten lava flowed through his veins, searing a path from his gut to his head, burning up all rational thought. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings, and fighting for control, his body vibrated with energy. Not good. His head was going to fucking explode if he didn’t find a physical outlet for his rage. Fast. He drew back his fist and let it fly, punching his locker and denting the door. Pain shot up his arm. It paled in comparison to the ache in his chest.

Maybe Chloe hadn’t seen the article yet. Maybe he could do damage control. If he got to her first, she’d understand. He’d make her understand. Grabbing his bag, he dug out his phone. It was his own fault, he realized, as he punched in the access code. He should’ve just told her about Kelsey’s stupid behavior on New Year’s Eve. He should’ve been honest with Chloe and Bash, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. And look how well that had turned out. Odds were they both hated his guts right now. His heart sank as he scanned his phone. The story was all over the web. There was no way Chloe hadn’t seen it yet. After all, she was a social media guru. She lived and breathed this stuff.