“You’re right,” Zandra said smoothly. “I wouldn’t.”
“So you can understand why someone like me might take your claims of legitimacy with a grain of salt.”
“Someone like you?” Zandra raked the man with a coolly dismissive glance. “Yes.”
He frowned, not knowing whether he’d just been vindicated or insulted.
“Miss Kennedy,” shouted another reporter, “you seemed to suggest that Mayor Norwood engaged in underhanded behavior for political gain. Do you think he deserves to be reelected?”
“That’s for the voters to decide,” Zandra said mildly. “I don’t have an agenda. I’m not a politician, nor am I affiliated with any campaign. But the mayor brought me into this when he decided to use me as a political pawn. He was sadly mistaken if he thought his attacks on my reputation and business would go unchallenged.”
“Since you brought up your reputation, Miss Kennedy, would you like to address the elephant in the room?”
Zandra glanced toward the snide voice. Her favorite reporter again.
He smirked. “By now we’ve all seen the photo of you leaving a public restroom with Remington Brand. What do you have to say about that?”
Zandra gave him a look of amused disbelief. “Have you seen Remington Brand?”
The room erupted with feminine laughter and lusty whistles.
Remy looked adorably embarrassed as his brothers teased him and playfully slapped him on the back.
The reporter frowned disparagingly at Zandra. “Come on, Miss Kennedy. As the owner of an escort agency, surely you can agree that your public conduct is a reflection of your business and your escorts?”
Zandra heaved a sigh of resignation. “Look, if it makes you feel better to call me a slut, a whore, a madam, then do what you must. If it makes you feel morally superior, or if it’ll help you sleep better at night, then by all means get out the pitchforks and burn me at the stake. I can’t concern myself with your opinion of me or what I do. I know what kind of business I’m running and the caliber of women working for me, and that’s all that matters.”
As murmurs of approval went around the room, the rebuked man turned a deep shade of red. Zandra hoped she’d shut him up for good this time.
“Any particular reason you’re wearing sunglasses, Miss Kennedy?” a reporter from the Tribune inquired curiously.
It was the question Zandra had been dreading, though she’d come prepared to answer it.
She glanced at Morgan, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement.
She hesitated another moment, then slowly reached up and removed the sunglasses.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd when her bruised cheek was revealed. The shiner had darkened to purple over the past three days, and probably looked worse than it felt. She’d considered applying concealer that morning, but had changed her mind.
She’d spent her whole life hiding, trying to mask the scars of her past. Her mother had suffered in silence until the day she died.
No more hiding. No more silence.
“What happened to your face, Miss Kennedy?” the reporters shouted simultaneously.
Zandra smiled sadly. “I had a painful encounter with the past.”
“Could you elaborate?”