Maggie’s heart squeezed. “Okay.”
“I know you wanted a permanent counseling position here, honey, but right now isn’t the time to discuss it. Why don’t we let the media storm die down before we talk about anything permanent?”
The facilitator’s words were like individual little gunshots. They penetrated her flesh and left a feeling of raw emptiness in Maggie’s stomach. Piece by piece, her life crumbled around her. Everything she’d worked so hard for. Everything she’d dreamed of achieving. Gone.
Losing her job at the Olive was bad. Losing her place at the community center absolutely crushed her.
“I guess I’ll be in touch then,” she murmured, fighting hard to stop the tears prickling her eyelids from spilling over. She rose to her feet and extended her hand. “Thanks for being so nice about this.”
Gloria shook her hand. “This isn’t personal, honey. I’m just trying to protect our kids and their parents. Give me a call when things settle down, okay?”
“Sure.”
She left Gloria’s office with her chin high and her shoulders stiff, but it took all her willpower not to collapse on the linoleum floor beneath her feet. Somehow her legs managed to carry her outside, where she pushed through the reporters and uttered the words ‘no comment’ so many times she wanted to scream.
They followed her. Actually followed her to the curb, hurling questions at her. Ben Barrett. Gretchen Goodrich. Lester Hotel. Sex. Affair. The words all mingled into one pounding bassline, making her head hurt and her stomach churn.
Only when she flagged down a cab and slid into the backseat did she finally allow the tears to fall.
Ben already knew about the reporters at the center when Maggie walked into the apartment. He’d seen it on the news, and he’d never felt so powerless as the segment flashed across the screen. Never felt so enraged when he’d seen Maggie’s wide, confused eyes and the expression of sheer shock she’d donned when that one reporter asked if Ben had paid her for sex.
The accusation left him sick to his stomach. Getting paid for sex? Maggie did not deserve to be humiliated like that, and on national television no less.
“Mags,” he started as she dropped her keys on the hall table and silently headed for the kitchen.
He followed her, uneasy, maybe even a bit scared as he watched her open the cupboard under the sink and rummage around. She pulled out a bottle of Jamaican rum and twisted off the cap.
“Maggie…”
Still no answer. Face blank, she found a pink plastic cup, poured the dark liquid into it and lifted the cup to her lips.
“Goddammit, Maggie, will you talk to me?”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her face scrunched up in disgust. “God, no wonder I don’t drink. This tastes awful.”
She turned around and dumped the contents of the cup into the sink, then returned the liquor bottle to its place in the cupboard.
“They followed me home,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “They’re outside the building.”
Ben’s features creased with frustration. “I’ll call my agent and publicist to see how we can get rid of them.”
“Don’t bother.”
She blew past him and settled on the living room couch, leaving him to stare after her in bewilderment. Why was she acting so calm? Her privacy was being violated, her good name threatened, and she was lounging around on the sofa?
He rubbed his temples, unnerved by her reaction. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like that vacant look in her green eyes or the way she was brushing all this off.
“I won’t let them say those things about you,” he finally burst out. He began to pace the hardwood floor, fists clenched, breath ragged. “We need to put a stop to this.”
“Do you love me, Ben?”
He froze.
“Do you love me?” she repeated.
He moistened his dry lips and swept his gaze over her. She looked young and vulnerable in her snug blue jeans and V-neck green T-shirt, her face free of makeup, her delicate features imploring. She’d worn her hair loose today, and it fell down her shoulders in soft waves, straight and curly at the same time, wild and guarded, just like Maggie.
Did he love her? He sure as hell did.
“Ben?”
“Yes, I love you,” he said in a rough voice, moving toward her.
“Good.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and their eyes locked. “Then you need to leave.”
He stumbled back. “What?”
“You need to leave, Ben. If you leave, they leave.”
He couldn’t believe she was saying this. Yes, his presence in her life was currently causing an enormous mess, but he could make it go away. He was Ben Barrett, for chrissake.
That’s the problem, pal.