Chapter Thirty-Nine

Camera. Lights. Action! Despite the weather, McQueen flew a national news crew straight out of New York City and into Montana by the wee dark hours of the next morning. Kruze and Pagan led them inside the cabin through the tunnel, no doubt because of the shredded trees and damage to the front of the cabin during what Chance called ‘that little skirmish’. No TV cameras needed to see that.

Suede had the worst case of butterflies. Dressed conservatively in a gray pencil skirt, a blushing pink button-up silk blouse, and three-inch strappy heels no one in the viewing audience would ever see—courtesy of McQueen’s savvy wife—Suede hadn’t dared drink coffee with the crew. She had enough nervous energy to buff the ceilings without needing a ladder.

Prior to leaving the safety of Chance’s bedroom, she’d wound her hair up high on her head and secured it with a clip, striving to present the image of a strong capable woman instead of a slutty girl-gone-wild.

“Don’t worry,” Dixie, the pretty make-up artist patting powder on the tip of Suede’s nose said. “Once the camera starts rolling, you’ll settle down.”

Dixie was a free spirit who wore green leggings under a bright orange slouchy sweatshirt with bold black lettering that read ME! COFFEE! NOW! across the front of it. She’d twisted her blonde, purple, and pink hair into a topknot and tied it off with a scrap of frayed black velvet ribbon. She also liked feathery earrings, the black and pink kind that dangled to her shoulders.

“How do you know?” Suede asked, winding a thick strand of hair around her index finger and shifting her backside farther into the kitchen chair.

Dixie’s left cheek scrunched. “Easy. You’re the expert here, nobody else. Just answer the questions, and once you get rolling, Micah will let you take it from there. You’ll see.”

If you say so...

“And stop messing with your hair. That makes you look weak. Keep your chin up. Look at Micah until he signals you, then talk to the camera. Tell ’em what you know. You’ve got this, girlfriend.”

Dixie certainly sounded confident.

“Ready?” Chance asked, his hand extended for Suede’s. He’d just broken away from where he’d been with McQueen and his brothers at the fireplace.

She had to look twice. Wow, what a sight. The transformation in this guy knocked the wind out of her still tender lungs. Chance had swapped his normal jeans and T-shirt for a navy blue button-up, tan chinos, and dark brown dress shoes. His hair was combed evenly to the side and he’d trimmed his scruff and shaved his neck. Sophistication dripped off him, and, oh my, my, my. She girly-fanned her lips so she didn’t drool. The man was Esquire delicious, and those melted honey eyes? Mmmmmm, mmmmmm good.

“Look at you,” she breathed, giving his massive body another visual once over since she couldn’t molest him with her fingers. Or her mouth. Or her tongue. “You’re beautiful.”

His cheeks reddened as he clasped her hand. “Nah, you’re beautiful. I’m just some guy. Ready?”

Suede sucked in a deep breath and lifted to her feet, wishing they were going dancing instead of to an inquisition. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Dixie whisked the make-up trays out of the way, and it was show time. Suede took her place beside Chance on the couch facing the fireplace. They didn’t cuddle, but sat side-by-side like co-workers. He leaned back with one arm sprawled along the back of the couch like he did this kind of thing everyday, while Suede sat at the edge, wringing her fingers and wishing this interview were done.

Micah Watanabe, the anchor for America’s largest broadcasting network, sat to her right in an easy chair, just as relaxed as Chance. Dressed in an expensive looking three-piece gray suit, white shirt, and a soft green tie, Micah was a charming mountain of a man. A stalwart Samoan with a mic hidden on him somewhere, he represented corporate America. Trimmed and manicured, suave and polished, he was her dad’s kind of people. Not hers.

Suede dropped her lashes, fighting a wave of anxiety that threatened to send her into the restroom where she would lock the door and never come out. This was so not a good idea, outing her father and his dealings with York. The reasons to not go through with this interview ticked at the back of her mind, but the worst of them? In too few minutes, everyone would know what happened to foolish young women who thought they knew everything.

“Relax,” Chance said, his warm hand blanketing hers where she’d stabbed it under the cushion between them. “You’re not under fire here. You can do this. Breathe.”

“This is your show,” Micah chided Suede while her stomach clenched as if her intestines had just twisted into a hangman’s knot that would eventually find its way around her neck. “Don’t say anything you don’t want to. If I ask the wrong question, let me know. Smile. Now tell me about your dog.”

“Gallo?” Her gaze settled on her faithful companion in his place near the fire. That she could do. “He’s not mine, but he might as well be. Gallo follows me everywhere. He thinks he’s a lapdog.”

Micah canted his head. “How so?”

And she was breathing again. Gallo was a safe subject. “Well, look at his big ears, for one. How can you not adore a fur baby with big brown eyes topped off with those fuzzy, floppy ears? He’s adorable.” And I love him.

Chance grunted. “He does think he’s cute.”

“I understand that pup saved your life?” The leading question came sooner than she expected, but Suede knew what to say. Chance had told her to be honest. Pagan told her to be kind. Kruze said ‘give ’em hell’. But in keeping with her burning need to change from the inside out, Suede started her story at the beginning, with the neglect she’d endured as a child in her parent’s various homes, then the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of America’s flamboyant tennis star, Lionel York.

Micah listened intently, asking questions to be sure he understood while the camera rolled. What Mitch had done to her as a child screamed for its turn in the spotlight, but she swallowed that nightmare down. This interview was about her father and her ex-fiancé; the two men who should’ve loved her most but who’d plotted to kill her. A shiver jerked over her shoulders. As bad as they were, the monster that had assaulted her in her own home still lurked like an evil minion in the shadows.

Not now, she told her sorry self. He’ll get his. Someday.

If that wasn’t the most ludicrous thought. It was possible the sharks had already gotten Mitchell Franks. That would be perfect. He was still missing. A girl could hope he stayed that way.

Chance chose that moment to settle his warm palm at her shoulder, giving her strength and bringing her back on task. Suede slammed the door on Mitchell Franks and kept going.

She talked about the abused women’s syndrome, and how she’d allowed York to do what he’d done, mostly because of her age and inexperience, but also because she’d been too proud to admit she was wrong and ask for help. All through their relationship, she’d blamed herself for the cruelty he’d inflicted on her. She’d honestly thought it was her fault when she’d made him slap her.

She’d also accepted the blame for York’s reaction when she wasn’t pretty, quick, or sophisticated enough to please his perverse tastes. In short, she was always responsible, never York, an adult male ten years her senior. He never stepped up to be a man because she hadn’t known then how to stand up for herself as a woman and demand that he grow up or drop dead.

Micah’s cues were minimal. A small smile of encouragement here. A covert wink there. A simple question… “How did you hook up with a celebrity like Lionel York in the first place?”

Oh, that. Deep breath. “After I sued my parents for emancipation, he stopped by my apartment one day. He said I impressed him and he wanted to meet me. That he admired my spunk.”

Micah cocked his head. “He just dropped by? Didn’t you find that odd since he lives in California? Was there a tennis match in Portland at the time?”

She shook her head. “No, what really happened is that my father made a deal with him to take me off his hands. Dad wants to be president and I was” —she ducked her head into her shoulders— “bad press.”

Micah’s brows slammed together. His eye narrowed. “A deal? What kind of a deal?”

Suede was beginning to like this man. “York got me, and the Governor…” I am never calling him Dad again “…got a clear shot at the White House.”

Someone off-camera growled. Didn’t sound like Gallo. Might have been Dixie.

“That’s quite a…” Micah seemed at loss for the proper word.

“Accusation,” Suede filled in for him. “Yes, but when the Governor wants something, he usually gets it.”

“You do know that if this is true, the FBI will want to talk with you.”

“I would expect them to,” she agreed, nonplussed at the qualification for truth Micah had just inserted into her story. After all she’d lived through, an investigation by the FBI was just another speed bump on a long rough road to being a better human being. Let them dig into York and the Governor’s emails, their phone calls, and all of their lies like Chance, his brothers, and McQueen had done. They’d find out everything she’d said was true. Until they did, this interview was nothing but her word against the Governor’s anyway.

Suede inhaled deeply. She had nothing to worry about. Like McQueen said: Let the truth speak for itself.

Micah tapped his index finger to his bottom lip, scrutinizing her. “But how do you explain the change in the Suede Tennyson that America knows today, because frankly” —he crossed an ankle over his knee— “you don’t resemble the obnoxious woman you recently were. Your cheeks are pink, and, of course it helps that you’re not wearing makeup, but you look and act—different.” He couldn’t have said anything better.

“Thank you,” she said from the bottom of her heart. Suede explained the fear she’d lived with at York’s California penthouse. She explained that now she knew he’d drugged her, then baited her to make an outrageous fool of herself, which she did every time. Not content to shift the blame entirely to him, she admitted she’d complied at other times because she’d felt a need to strike back at her parents. That she wanted to look tough when actually, her life was out of control.

“It wasn’t all Lionel’s fault. I can’t remember some of it, but other things, yes, I did it,” she told Micah firmly. “I admit it. I acted out. I was lewd, and I deserve the reputation I’ve got. I have a lot to make up to America for. I’m no role model, and that’s why I’m here. I was on the fast track to an early grave.” She swallowed hard, not ready for the big reveal yet.

He canted his head. “What was the catalyst behind this new and improved you? There had to be a specific moment in time when you knew you couldn’t live the way you were any longer.”

This was it. The moment when Chance had said all hell would break loose. Trembling, Suede gathered her courage, faced the camera and declared to her father and the world, “The night Lionel York shoved me off Old Man Mountain. I knew if I survived, I had to change who I was and where I was going. I’d been given a once-in-a-lifetime second chance. Lionel might have shoved me. He might have meant to kill me, but I’m the one who stayed with him and put myself in danger.”

Micah’s brows lifted. He leaned forward. “You just accused Lionel York of murder. Do you have proof?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice quavered. “One of his men took a video of the whole thing. It was snowing, but you can clearly see the moment York put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me backward. It also shows him kicking my... my forehead with the heel of his b-b-boot.” She blinked the tears away, but her composure failed as the utter terror of that night came back on her. “I was falling. Trying to hang on, and he... he kicked me.”

A semi-hysterical chuckle bubbled out of her. “It’s crazy, but even when I was falling, I still thought he was just playing, that he’d reach out and save me. I thought he’d grab my hand and pull me up at the last minute, and… and…” She lowered her head at how dumb she’d been to think he’d kill her one moment, then save her the next.

Her chin came up at the last moment and Suede wiped her eyes. She refused to let York or the Governor reduce her to a victim. She wasn’t that person anymore! Never again!

Squeezing Chance’s index finger, Suede lifted her head, faced the camera, and told the man who’d fathered but never loved her, “You wanted me out of your life, Governor Tennyson; you got it. You paid York to take me off your hands, but... I’m. Still. Here.”