Daphne felt absolutely ridiculous on Monday morning as she skulked into her office building like some strange version of a spy trying to sneak past hypothetical threats. With her heart hammering against her ribs and her eyes seeing Justin around every single corner, she managed to make it all the way to the elevator without incident.
Of course, by the time the elevator doors closed, she could only slump against the cool metal wall and sigh in relief. There was a niggling doubt in her mind that things weren’t over with Justin. In fact, she figured she would have to be totally naive to believe that things were over. The guy was crazy. Not just weird, but totally freaking nuts! He wasn’t going to give up. And considering how pissed off he had probably been after his encounter with Met the previous evening at the Italian restaurant, retaliation would likely happen sooner rather than later.
The elevator eased to a stop on the third floor. Daphne tensed. Why were they stopping? It was only seven forty-five in the morning. Surely nobody would be going up to another floor for a meeting or something already. What if it was someone trying to get a jump on her? What if it was Justin?
The doors eased open. Daphne braced her palms behind her on the smooth, cool metal surface of the elevator. There were security cameras in here. Surely someone somewhere could see what was going on. If Justin was trying to hurt her in an elevator, she could always ring the alarm. Right?
With that thought, she tried to ease a little closer to the control panel. She was just reaching for the plastic cover that protected the alarm when someone stepped into the little cube.
“Hey there, hon, how are you this morning?”
Daphne shrieked and leaped into the air as her brain somehow translated Phyllis’s sudden appearance into something far more sinister. She felt as though she had been shot in the heart with adrenaline.
Phyllis screamed and jumped in the air with shock. The huge pile of manila folders she was carrying in her arms toppled to the floor of the elevator. Papers scattered everywhere. Just then, the doors closed with a muted noise that suddenly left Phyllis and Daphne all alone inside that tiny cube.
“Sweetie, what on earth has gotten into you?” Phyllis sighed as she squatted down and began scraping the papers into piles. “It’s going to take me the rest of the day to reorganize these!”
“I’m so sorry!” Daphne felt like crying and laughing at the same time as she struggled to kneel there in the elevator beside Phyllis and help her pick up the news clippings and other paraphernalia that had been included in the account review. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just—it’s early, and I couldn’t imagine why anyone would be getting onto the elevator on the third floor. So, I thought there might be someone—well, I guess my mind put Justin there when the door opened.”
“You poor dear.” Phyllis clucked and sat back on her heels as the elevator started climbing once more toward the eighth floor. “I just had to run down and get these. I’ve been at work since about seven. I had some extra things I had to do today. That’s all.”
“You were carrying those files,” Daphne managed to say. Her words came out sounding breathless. “It made you look taller, I guess.”
“And lumpier, I imagine,” Phyllis said with obvious amusement. “Well, I’m not that silly boy. I think we’ve heard the last of him. There’s been no hint of anyone standing around outside or in the parking garage or anything. We’ve alerted the security guards. If he comes back to this building, they will be on him like white on rice.”
“I hope so.” Daphne was almost thinking that it was too good to be true.
Phyllis stared down at the file on top of the stack in her arms. “I should just give this to you right now.”
“Give me what?” Daphne wondered what she would do with a folder full of newspaper clippings.”
Phyllis handed it over. “This stuff is all about the Hernandez family.”
“All about them?”
“It’s just the news stories in the local papers in the last week or so.” Phyllis gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “It might keep you distracted though. That Met and his brothers are quite a bunch of hoodlums!”
That did not make Daphne feel particularly better about this whole thing. Yes. Met and his brothers could certainly act like hoodlums. In fact, there were times in the past when Daphne would read about some of the things that the brothers had done in this bar or that bar and she would cringe and tell herself that she was rather glad they weren’t her problem.
Daphne took the file and began thumbing through it. There were almost immediately more than a few things that caught her attention. One was the rampant speculation about Darren’s child. There was a blurb in each of the local papers about the recent custody case involving Darren and the little boy’s mother.
The elevator dinged, and both Daphne and Phyllis made their way out into the wide hallway of the eight floor that would take them toward Phyllis’s desk and Daphne’s office. Perhaps Phyllis had been right to give Daphne the file. It was certainly distracting.
“Oh shit,” Daphne muttered. “There’s an article about the fire on Laredo’s front porch.”
Phyllis frowned and bumped into Daphne as she struggled to see the newspaper blurb on the pile in Daphne’s hands. “Don’t you mean Met’s front porch?”
“It’s Laredo’s home,” Daphne reminded Phyllis. “So, the press is trying to figure out who would want to do harm to the homeowner. They’re also spending a lot of time letting the other people who live in that subdivision complain about how the neighborhood has gone to the dogs ever since those horrible Hernandez men moved in.”
“You should suggest to Laredo that he offer the house up for a charity auction,” Phyllis advised. “That would shut them all up.”
“Not a bad idea,” Daphne mused.
Phyllis laughed gaily as she set her things down on her desktop. “It was your idea, my dear. Remember?”
“Right. With the Peabody family.” Daphne nodded. “I remember. That was years ago. I think I’ll make that recommendation to Laredo though. It would do the company good.”
“They should be glad you’re on their side,” Phyllis said drily. “I bet you could make them look just as bad as you can make them look good.”
Phyllis was still talking. Daphne could hear her. But something that had come to the top of the pile of news clippings in the folder she currently held had absolutely obliterated her focus. She could not look away. She could not think about anything else. Phyllis’s voice faded into the background until it sounded as though it were coming from the other end of a long tunnel.
“Daphne?”
Daphne knew that her friend was saying her name. She just could not think past what she was looking at. “It’s a photograph,” she muttered. “Where did they get a photograph?”
“Daphne!” Phyllis grabbed Daphne’s arm and shook it. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Daphne said quickly. She could not let her friend see this picture. She couldn’t let her friend see any of the photographs. There were more. There were—oh, it was awful! It was time to save face in the best way she knew how. “I just need to draw up a little plan for the uh—the charity home auction. You know?”
“Right.”
Phyllis did not look convinced. Daphne didn’t care. She walked into her office and closed the door behind her. Then she let all of her stuff fall onto her desktop as she sank into her seat. The news story was now sitting in the middle of her desk, and it still wasn’t easy to stomach. How could this have happened? How could she have let this happen?
“I have to fix this,” Daphne whispered. “I have to.”
Suddenly, that e-mail she had sent to Carson felt about a million times more pressing than it had before. Daphne opened her laptop and pulled up that e-mail. She stared at the letters on the screen and tried to sort out what part of her feelings were personal and what part were professional. It was hard as hell to even begin to sort that out. All she could see was the photograph on the desk in front of her.
It was grainy, but still, she could tell what she was seeing. But that might have been because she already knew what the photograph showed. It had been taken in the parking lot in front of the diner. She and Met were kissing. He was standing in front of the open passenger door of his pickup truck. She was on the seat just inside. They were making out like a couple of teenagers necking at the drive-in theater. It was embarrassing. That was for sure. The caption was something very unflattering about rodeo star Met Hernandez and his latest conquest. The story was worse. It was a tabloid style rag about Met’s determination to flirt his way through all of Denver while enjoying one night of drunken revelry after the other.
Of course, this assertion was accompanied by an equally horrid photograph of Met on his hands and knees outside Cody’s Bar and Grill. Met was on the ground. He looked to be either vomiting or perhaps about to throw up. It was obvious that he was inebriated. The story went on to assure readers that one of the other Hernandez brothers had come to pick Met up so that he wasn’t terrorizing the public with drunk driving.
“He lied to me,” she whispered. “He absolutely lied.”
How could he have lain beside her in a bed just last night telling her that he wasn’t going out every night and drinking until he was fall down drunk? How could he say that when he was right here doing just that? And the photograph had been taken at Cody’s! Did that mean it had been taken the same night she had met him there? Had he gone back after the two of them parted ways that night? What kind of liar was he? What kind of alcoholic liar would pretend to leave a bar only to go back in and drink himself stupid?
She felt her cheeks flaming red hot but could not tell if it was anger or embarrassment. She felt silly. She felt stupid and silly and absolutely naive in the worst sort of way. Who had taken these photographs anyway? She knew that Justin had taken pictures in the parking lot of the diner. He’d made that obvious when he had included one of those photos on that last “gift” he’d left on her porch. But how had the newspaper gotten that photograph?
Deep breaths. That was the only way she was going to get through this. She had to breathe deeply and try to think. Obviously, Justin had been selling photos of her and Met and maybe even Met to this tabloid rag. The Denver Tattler. She had never even heard of this rag! Was it even real?
That didn’t matter though. Not in the scheme of things. Not when Daphne’s sole job had been to manage the image of the Hernandez brothers in the local social circles. This paper was making her look as though she had totally failed! But maybe that’s what it was supposed to do. Maybe that’s why the person—presumably Justin—had released this the way he did. Not only was it embarrassing to her and damaging to his rival. But it also made Daphne look utterly incompetent at her job.
So, what could she do to combat this? What would turn this around and make it into a deeply personal and very frank admission to the public that yes, there was a problem but that the Hernandez men were trying to manage it?
Daphne stood up from her desk and started pacing. The e-mail to Carson was still on her screen. She knew it was the answer. She just wasn’t sure how far she was willing to go in order to fix this. Was it about her reputation or was it about his? Met would be furious, but at least his idiotic behavior wouldn’t have lasting effects on his family.
Did that make it all right to violate his privacy? Daphne put her hands to her face and pressed her palms to her cheeks as she struggled to decide what to do. Finally, she picked up the phone and dialed Carson’s number.
“Oh my God, I was just going to call you!” Carson gushed. “Did you see the latest issue of the Tattler?”
Daphne almost hated to touch on that topic. “Does anyone actually read that?”
“Not the people who count, but everyone else does.” He seemed to think that all of this was rather amusing. “Your boy really screwed up. Huh? And is that you?”
“I have some more information for you,” Daphne said in a halting voice filled with uncertainty. “I’m sending it in an e-mail. I want you to add a few things to the story mock up you sent me.”
“Add what?” Carson sounded eager enough to jump through the phone. “Are you sending me dirt?”
“I’m sending you damage control.” Daphne needed to make that very clear. “You get what I’m saying. Right?”
“Oh, honey, yes, I do! Bring on the juicy stuff, and let me get working!” Carson crowed. “I’ll be looking for that e-mail. Mwah!”
With those final dramatic words, he hung up and Daphne was left feeling sick to her stomach as she added a few details and sent what she had written to Carson.