The following Monday, Corinne sat in her father’s office, a huge corner room with two walls of windows, a vaulted ceiling, a separate entertaining area, and a small, elegantly appointed private bathroom off to one side. Rowan sat beside her, nervously jiggling her long, muscled left calf. Aster was on the couch next to Rowan, staring into a cup of coffee, and Deanna was perched on the edge of a leather chair against the window.
Mason sat behind his desk, his brow furrowed and his lips drawn. There were three empty Diet Coke cans next to him. Ever since Mason quit smoking—aside from an occasional cigar—he drank Diet Coke whenever he was stressed.
“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, pinching the skin between his eyes. “This accident isn’t exactly what we need right now.” He looked hard at all three of them.
“One of you will have to do CNN,” Deanna piped up, staring at an iPad, a BlackBerry, and an iPhone on her lap. “But try not to talk too much about another car hitting you, okay? We don’t need to fuel rumors of the curse. And don’t give too many details about Natasha’s condition.”
“I’ll do the interview,” Rowan volunteered.
Mason’s gaze shot to her. “No, you won’t.” His eyes blazed. “I don’t even know what to say about you and that video. In the Saybrook’s offices, Rowan.”
“I know,” Rowan mumbled, staring at her lap. She looked mortified. Corinne was embarrassed for her. She hadn’t watched the video, of course, but she could only imagine.
Deanna flipped a page of her yellow legal pad. “Actually, Mason, maybe it would be good for Rowan to be our spokeswoman. She could apologize for the sex tape. It would humanize her. Maybe shed a little light on the mystery man—everyone is dying to know.”
“Excuse me?” Rowan shrieked, looking as if she wanted to punch Deanna. Corinne stiffened too. Sometimes their publicist went too far.
“No, thank you,” Mason said, his nostrils flaring. “Aster will do it.”
“I will?” Aster looked surprised.
“Yes, you will.” Then Mason glared at Rowan. “And if I catch you bringing another man into your office again, you’re done. Got it?”
“Of course,” Rowan said, blushing bright red.
“All right, everyone, get out of my sight,” Mason said, making a shooing gesture with his hands. They stood and headed for the door. “Corinne, you stay,” Mason called out when she was almost out of the room.
Corinne turned back and regarded her father. He had just opened a fourth Diet Coke, and he’d swiveled his chair halfway around to face the window that looked out on the Hudson. A few ocean kayaks were braving the water. The Colgate clock on the New Jersey side declared it was just past 6:00 p.m. Corinne slid her engagement ring up and down her finger, wondering what this was about. For a split second she worried that Aster had told him about Will, but she wouldn’t do that—would she?
Mason turned around and looked at Corinne. “I just wanted to see how you were holding up.”
“Me?” Corinne touched her chest. “Why?”
“Your wedding is soon. I know you don’t need this stress.” He gave her a sad smile. “It’s why I asked your sister to do the interview instead.”
“Oh.” Corinne touched the collar of her silk blouse. She heard her new cell phone chime in her purse. The white screen lit up the dark satin lining. “Well, thanks.”
“I’m proud of you, you know.” Mason’s voice was a little choked. “Juggling the difficulties of your job, planning for this wedding—you’re everyone’s rock. Especially now that Poppy is gone.”
Corinne’s throat felt tight. All her life, her father’s affection had been rare. But Corinne had still needed him—and she’d needed more of this, him simply saying that he recognized how hard it was to keep everything together.
“Th-thank you,” she said, trying to smile. Her phone chimed again. This time, she glanced at it. Two text messages had come in. I need to see you, the first one said. Can you meet me?
Will. Corinne’s thoughts screeched to a halt. She couldn’t go. Or maybe she had to go.
“Something important?” Mason asked, glancing at Corinne’s phone.
“I think so,” she told her father, standing quickly and hurrying out of the room before he could compliment her anymore. Because, she realized, she wasn’t holding anything together.
She was tearing things apart . . . and she couldn’t even help herself.