She just couldn’t be around Ben right now. Last night, when the L-word had floated its way into her head, she’d been stunned. And scared. Really scared.
She’d never been in love before, never allowed herself to feel anything even remotely close to it, and that she’d somehow dropped her guard around Ben was terrifying. She was supposed to hate him for messing around with her job, for complicating her entire life with his sexy smiles and drugging kisses.
So why didn’t she hate him, damn it?
A day working with the kids was what she needed. Sundays weren’t usually her days to volunteer, but she needed to be out of the apartment, away from Ben and the conflicting emotions he stirred inside her. For some reason, kids always had the strangest ability to clear your head and help you gain perspective on life.
Paying the cab driver, she stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. The temperature was surprisingly hot for May, the sky a clear blue and the breeze warm as it snaked through her hair. Yet, in spite of such a perfect New York City day, an ominous cloud hung in the air.
As she neared the community center, the cloud thickened, bringing a chill to her body and making her stop in her tracks. There was a crowd milling in front of the Broger Center. Not just a crowd, but a crowd with cameras and microphones and news vans. A crowd that rushed toward her the second she walked up.
“Maggie!” one reporter shouted.
Oh God.
“Ms. Reilly, how long have you been seeing Ben Barrett?”
“Are you aware of his affair with Gretchen Goodrich?”
She wanted to melt into the sidewalk and become one with the cement, but the press wouldn’t let her. Before she could blink, they’d surrounded her. Stuck microphones in her face. Grinned at her like a pack of hyenas about to devour a carcass. Her carcass.
“Maggie, did Mr. Barrett pay you for sex? Is that why you were with him at the Lester Hotel?”
Something very sharp pierced her heart. They were implying she was a prostitute?
Unable to breathe, she pushed one of the microphones out of her face and stalked forward. “I won’t even dignify that with an answer,” she spat.
She zigzagged through the mob, her steps getting faster and faster the closer she got to the door. Once inside the community center, she hurried down the corridor and waited until she was out of sight from the front windows before she sagged against the wall and gasped for air.
Why the hell was this happening to her? Why did these strangers even care about her?
“Maggie?”
She lifted her head and saw one of the counselors eyeing her with concern. “Hi, Karen,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“Gloria is in her office.” Karen looked hesitant. “You should probably go in and see her.”
“All right.”
Collecting her nerves, she walked toward the main office and stepped inside. The counselor who doubled as a receptionist greeted her with a sympathetic smile. An omen of things to come, obviously.
She headed for the center facilitator’s open doorway. The tiny Hispanic woman behind the desk gestured for her to close the door then said, “Have a seat.”
Maggie sat. Waiting.
“Apparently you’re something of a celebrity.” Gloria’s tone wasn’t angry, but mild. Her gaze not accusatory, but concerned.
“Gloria…I’m so sorry about all this.”
She wrung her hands together, laced her fingers, then unlaced them, then tucked her palms on her knees, but no amount of fidgeting could stop the river of guilt flowing inside her. Damn it. The kids at the center didn’t deserve to have a bunch of slimy reporters snapping their pictures. Nobody here deserved all this unwanted attention.
“So you’re dating a movie star,” Gloria continued, offering a small smile. “To be honest, I’m not sure I envy you or pity you. Having the media on your back must be awful.”
She gulped. “Yes, it is.”
“Maggie, I’m going to be honest here. All this attention isn’t good for the center.”
A sigh lodged in the back of her throat. “I know.”
“You also know that the reason we try to remain low-key is to protect the families who come here.”
Maggie nodded, knowing exactly what Gloria meant. Though the Broger Center, on the surface at least, seemed like every other community center in the city, it also provided shelter for victims of abuse. Women came here to escape from abusive husbands or boyfriends, and the center had a few rooms on the third floor where they could stay until they figured out their next move.
Needless to say, the center wouldn’t be a safe haven as long as its picture was splashed all over the papers.
“None of the kids who come here, or their parents, deserve to be pulled into a celebrity scandal.” Gloria’s voice drew her from her troubled thoughts.
“I agree,” she said. “And I promise you I’ll straighten all this out.”
“I know you will.” Gloria leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. “But, until you do, it might be a good idea for you not to come in.”