Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (21 page)

But just in case she missed his meaning, he shook his head gently and repeated his earlier statement so she’d be clear on what exactly he’d be doing this weekend, “Like I said, I’m going to miss having you around.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

For Leila, Sunday morning brunch with her sister and mother felt a little like she was having an Alice in Wonderland tea party with the Queen of Fairytale Land and the Duchess of Bonkers. 

They were both replaying that godawful video of Grant being a lying asshat at his political rally, gushing about how romantic it was.  All the while, making extravagant plans for a wedding even though Leila was going blue in the face insisting the damn thing wasn’t going to happen.

As the two continued to talk as if she wasn’t even there, it hit her like an avalanche of wet cement.  Whereas at one point in her life, she’d simply felt different from her sister and mother, now, not only did she feel like they had nothing in common, she felt...tired.  Her mother and sister had never once tried to be remotely okay with the choices Leila had made for her life, the paths she’d traveled, the successes or the heartaches.  All her life, Leila had done at
least
that for them.  More than that, she’d loved them unconditionally. 

But they’d never bothered, never even pretended to bother.

And now here they were trying to push her to marry a man who had hurt her countless times, plotted a future she didn’t want with her father behind her back with an utter disregard for her goals or feelings, and displayed on many an occasion, a complete lack of respect for all the things that were the most important to her.

Grant was, basically, a younger version of her father.

And she was
tired
.

Tired of smiling through the vast number of press photos at her sister’s birthday party wherein she’d had to watch her father ‘light up’ when he saw her, and do an impressive impression of a father having a joyous reunion with his momentarily noteworthy prodigal daughter. 

Tired of trying to act like it didn’t bother her when her father dropped the act the very second the cameras were turned off.

Tired of letting her mother and sister treat her like their lives were so much better, and worthier than hers.

Tired of getting let down time and again from all the people she trusted to love her, and support her, and
want
to share in her life with her.

So tired was she, that when Grant showed up unannounced at the restaurant a few minutes later—camera crew in tow—Leila felt herself…snap.

Her narrowed gaze lazered on him as he walked up to their table.

“What are you doing here, Grant?”

He faltered for a second over her directness, but recovered with a syrupy smile.  “You and I haven’t gotten a chance to spend time together this weekend, honey bear.”

She fought the urge not to throw up the tiny little finger sandwiches her mother had ordered for her so Leila could lose enough weight and—quote, unquote—not look so ‘curvy’ anymore.

“Grant, I’m here with my mother and sister.  Please respect that.”

Her mother plucked the last teeny finger sandwich out of her fingers.  “Leila, sweetie, your sister and I are fine here.”

“Yes,” agreed Stacey, bobbing her head emphatically.  “You two go on and catch up.”

Traitors.

Before she could come up with another halfheartedly polite brushoff that he was undoubtedly going to ignore again, Grant already had his hand on her elbow, gently squeezing the way he used to whenever he’d usher her along when she wasn’t moving in the direction or speed that he wanted. 

She’d always hated that.

But she stood and followed him.  To end this ridiculousness once and for all.

When they were far enough away from the majority of the prying eyes, she stopped and yanked her elbow out of his grip.  Looking him right in the eyes so he’d see she meant it with every fiber of her being, she hissed, “Grant, just stop this.  All of it.  You and I are never going to get back together.  Get that through your thick skull.”

“Just give us a chance, honey bear.  One chance.  I’ve missed you so much.”

It wasn’t lost on her that while she loved it when Jackson called her by a pet name, when Grant did it, she felt her skin crawl.  “Well, I’m sorry, but I haven’t missed you one bit.  Breaking up with you was the best possible thing I could’ve done for my life back then.”

“Sweetie, is it because of that little incident your junior year?  Because I’ve apologized for that over and over again.”

“Incident
s
—plural.  You cheated on me with over a dozen women.  That I know of.  And not to mention the ‘incident’ where you called me everything under the sun from ugly to stupid all for the vile whims of an awful girl you were going down on at the time who ended up blackmailing you and then leaking the damn video anyway.”

“I know, and I will live with the pain of that for the rest of my life.  Knowing that I hurt you.  Honey bear, I am so sorry.  I love you so much.  And I completely understand your not wanting to forgive me just yet.  But I’m willing to spend every day until I die making up for my mistakes, and earning back your love and trust.”

God, he was such a politician.

And apparently, a hard-of-hearing one.  “Grant, I’m going to say this one more time. Please stop listening to that voice you have in your head—that undoubtedly sounds like my father’s—and just hear
me
. You and I are never going to happen. You just need to accept that and move on. There are countless women all around who would love to be with you and live the life you have planned out for your wife.  They may not come with all the political promises my father does, but at least they won’t despise and pity you the way I do.  This life you want, I will never, ever accept.”

For the first time in all their incessant back-and-forths on this, he looked…mystified.  And lost. “But Leila, you and I belong together. We’re political royalty.  There are plans underway for both our futures that exceed even your wildest imagination.  How can you not want that?”

The man didn’t care one bit about what she thought, let alone what she imagined.  Enough was enough.  “Look, Grant.  I don’t know what you and my father have been plotting but it ends here.  I’ve tried to be polite about it, but that also ends here.  If you continue to pursue me, I’ll stop being polite and get a restraining order.  From this moment on, leave.  Me.  Alone.”

She stormed back to her table, not caring about all the faces staring in shock at her.  But when she got there, one glance at her mother and her sister’s expressions of disappointment and
disapproval
effectively cut the last tether in her life as
she
saw it to this world they existed in with her father and all the Grants they made excuses for.  Leila had never really been a part of this world, but she’d wanted so much to be a part of this family. 

She just wished they’d felt the same.

Cutting that final tether brought with it a surprising revelation—that this last tie had been rooted in her heart, not her DNA, held on by sheer hope instead of the feelings of obligation woven into her family genes.  And that’s both what made the final cut so much worse, and yet profoundly freeing at the same time.

She gave both of them a quick hug.  “I love you guys.  I really do.  I’m just a phone call away if you ever want to truly talk to me, as your sister, or your daughter, or a friend.  You will always, always be welcome in my life, even if there isn’t room for me in yours.”

Then Leila turned around and again walked away from the roots to her past, and the life that wasn’t hers. While it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as her exit three years ago, this time, she was certain that it was permanent.

And for the first time that day, she found a true and content smile stretching across her face.

Three hours later, Leila was settling into the tiny seat of the tiny aircraft she’d exchanged her later ticket for.  She didn’t want to wait another minute to return to her future, her life.

And during the short flight from Utah to Arizona, Leila’s thoughts were focused on one thing and one thing only.

Jackson.

As soon as she got off the plane, she quickly pulled out her phone and practically sprinted to the airport parking lot to get to the privacy of her car.

What she was planning to say to Jackson, she wasn’t sure. 

In her mind, it sounded a little like:  ‘Hey Jackson, you know that picture you have for your life?  How about you try me on for size for the mom of your kids?’

But of course, classier and far less insane.

Before she lost all the fearlessness that was still pumping in her veins from that one-way ticket she’d just ridden away from her past, Leila dialed his number.

“H’lo?”

“Jackson?”

Pause.  “Hi Leila.”

He sounded…weird.

“Is everything okay?  You sound…different.”

“Leila, we’ve been trying to reach you.  We need you to come in to the office right now.  Are you already at the airport?  Do you need a ride over here?”

“No, I have my car.”  She blinked, startled.  “Wait a minute, how did you know I was back?”

***

Jackson pulled the phone away from his ear again and shut his eyes for a beat, needing a moment.  When he looked back at his phone, he checked the ridiculous thrill he got over seeing Leila’s face on the screen.  It was a grainy black and white company photo that had auto-filled as the caller I.D. image for her number.

And he’d stared at it more times than he could count over the weekend.

Funny how much can change in a few short hours.

“Hello?” called out Leila into the silence, clear concern shading her voice. 

“Leila, have you not checked your phone or the internet for the past few hours?

“Why do you keep doing that?”  She sounded confused, a little alarmed even.

Frowning, he asked, “Doing what?”

“You keep calling me Leila.  Why?”

Irony of ironies. He checked the impulse to say her name again to force himself to keep his focus on the problem at hand, and the needed distance between them as they dealt with that problem.  Interpersonal business communications 101 on keeping things strictly business.

He needed to do it.  Because if his life had been merely complicated before, it would become cataclysmic if he didn’t protect it from the devastation that a verified betrayal on Leila’s part would bring. 

So he stayed the course, to protect his…life.

Instead of answering her question, he simply said, “Leila, we’ll be here waiting for you.  In the meantime, I suggest you google your name and your ex’s before you get here.  There’s…another video.”

And with that, he murmured a quiet goodbye and held silent until she hung up, not able to hang up on her regardless of what she may or may not have done.

He reentered the conference room shortly after to rejoin the five grim, corporate faces looking at him expectantly.

“Was that her?” asked Lloyd.

“Yes.  She’s coming from the airport.  She should be here in a half an hour.”

“Well, then let’s figure out our next move.”  The network legal head pulled out his laptop to begin taking notes. 

“How the hell did a gambling site get into our house without us knowing?” asked Perry, the head of Public Relations.

“It’s not a gambling site,” clarified Jackson sharply.  “The site Leila is running is an NFL and college ‘locks’ and ‘picks’ site.  No betting takes place.  She simply makes calculated determinations on game winners for straight-up gamblers and other picks for those who do fantasy football.”

The head of legal looked optimistic.  “So no money’s involved.”

“No, there’s
gambling
,” he replied.  “But there is money.  Leila has some free ‘locks’ of the week—easy winners or a no-lose bet—but the rest of her picks are essentially strongly-researched recommendations that gamblers use to help them make their bets.  She charges for her picks by tiered monthly subscription, along with one-time purchases and customizable packages.  According to her site, she handles everything from point spreads to estimated yardage for those that play the smaller fantasy football leagues.  And she also does higher-priced individual reports for more specific or difficult picks for high rollers.”

“What kind of money are we talking?” asked Lloyd, looking like he was suffering a massive migraine.

“No way to know without looking at her books, but some of the big sites—which hers is reputed to be among the best of—can rake in a hefty salary.”

“But it’s
not
gambling, right?  So we won’t be sanctioned?” argued one of the senior VPs. 

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  But it still looks shady as hell for us as a network,” replied Lloyd.

Unfortunately, Jackson agreed a hundred percent.  This was bad.  A sideline reporter who had just broken two big stories during the NFL Draft, now being outed as the owner of one of the more popular lock and pick sites on the web?

An effing PR nightmare is what it was.

“You think we should fire her?”

Dread drilled him in the solar plexus at the suggestion.  There was a very good possibility that she’d get fired here today.  But he held onto hope.  He wanted to believe in her, believe she was…different.  “Let’s just wait and hear her side of things before we start thinking in that direction.”

His suggestion fell on deaf ears of course since he was just an analyst.  Her supervisor, but powerless against the boys on the top floor.  So for the next half hour, the higher-ups all did their thing and discussed damage control and all the ways to save their own ass. 

Meanwhile, Jackson was focused on figuring out how to tell Skip.  Hell, that man looked at Leila like a daughter now.  If he found out that she used anything from that war room he’d let her into for financial gain…

Well, then there would be
two
men profoundly, and irrevocably disappointed in her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Leila felt like throwing up.