Tornados are not a terribly common natural disaster in San Francisco, and so I was somewhat shocked at the state of affairs when I walked into the damage control meeting the next day. We really should have called the weather channel to report this unique phenomenon; I had never realized it was possible for so many people to rapidly whirl around you without them being propelled by a cyclone.

“Where have you—”

“—seven different news stations—”

“—employee morale at an all-time low!”

“Is the wedding still—”

“—potentially devastating for the company, not to mention—”

“—been trying to get into contact with you—”

“We’ve been saying ‘no comment,’ but—”

“Jennings is the critical—”

“—have to get in front of this!”

Faced with a bunch of near-screaming hyperactive businessmen hopped up on sugar, caffeine, and I-didn’t-want-to-know-what, I did the only thing I could do.

I clapped my hands like a goddamn kindergarten teacher.

Surprisingly, this worked, either because of the bone-deep memory of kindergarten disciplinarians or because everyone was just shocked that I had dared treat them like children.

Before anyone could ponder that too deeply, I took a breath, and also, control of the meeting. “First things first. What have we tried so far?”

There was some shuffling of feet, and after some teeth-pulling it turned out the answer was ‘not much.’ There had been a noncommittal official statement about the separation between personal and private lives, but with Grant and me both going incommunicado, no one had been willing to step up to bat and risk proposing some big gesture.

I felt guilt twist my stomach as I remembered those long, lazy hours at the beach, while these people had been sweating bullets.

That sympathy evaporated, though, with the devious suggestions that began pouring out of these people’s mouths like sewage out of storm drains:

“Deny, deny, deny—”

“—know an actor who’d take some cash to say it was him—”

“—we can get a background check on these girls, dig up some dirt on those sluts and throw the limelight on them—”

“—he goes up onstage, makes a tearful speech about how he regrets framing Mr. Devlin—”

“—call the press and make it clear that if coverage doesn’t cease, donations to their newspaper will be!”

“Stop it!” I threw my hands up in the air. “None of these are doable. Setting aside the fact that they’re all morally reprehensible, none of them would work on Jennings. He’s not going to be fooled by any half-assed smokescreen. Now, tell me, does anyone have an idea that might work for him?”

Silence. Then, in a small voice: “We can contend that Mr. Devlin was drugged—”

“No,” Grant said, “not that.” Then he wavered. “Well, maybe—I mean—dammit, we have to do something. Anything, but—oh, damn it all to hell, no! We’re not saying that!” He slammed his fist down on the table, before whirling to his feet and out the door.

I was after him like a flash, but I was too late to save the section of the wall his fist was already hammering into dust.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, corrupt—”

I grabbed his arm, and he sagged immediately to avoid pulling me into the wall with his fist.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Hey. Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”

“How could I have been so stupid?” he whispered. “It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, I knew they had the camera but I didn’t think, I just didn’t think, I never think and it all goes to hell—”

“You can’t blame yourself, Grant—”

“How can I not blame myself? My stupid need to get my dick wet is threatening hundreds of jobs.” He sagged, almost fell forward, letting his forehead rest against the edge of the hole he’d made in the wall. “You told me to take it seriously, and now I do, and I don’t know what to do. How do people live like this? How do they care about things all the time and not go stark raving mad?”

“Well, sometimes they do go mad,” I said, reaching up to rub his back slowly. “But most of the time, they talk to their friends, and they help each other see that nothing is insurmountable.”

“This feels insurmountable,” he said, but his eyes closed as I rubbed his back, and his voice relaxed, slipping into its broad Australian vowels. It made him sound so young. “How do we distract from something this big? Jennings isn’t going to listen to some song and dance while our house is on fire.”

And somehow, just like that, I knew what to do.

“We don’t distract,” I said, feeling the warm glow that spreads through your body when you come up with an idea you just know is right. “We don’t dodge. That’s what everyone expects us to do, the sleaze move.”

“If we don’t do that, what can we do?”

“We can get in front of it.” I was so excited I hugged him, reaching up on my tiptoes to plant a smacking kiss on his cheek. “You’ll face the music! Own up to your mistakes. Oh, Grant, don’t you see? Call Jennings, ask for a meeting to show him you have nothing to hide. You made a mistake, a regrettable one with humiliating consequences, but you’re moving forward and that’s all that matters. That’ll prove you’re not the person the media’s making you out to be.”

Grant’s eyes opened, and he stood up straight, looking down on me as if I were the eighth wonder of the world.

“You have the best ideas in whole damn universe,” he said, and kissed me.

His lips were rough, burning, possessive, as if he were claiming a trophy he had won in combat, and all I wanted to do was grab onto him and kiss him back until our clothes spontaneously combusted and we didn’t even care.

I pushed him away. “Less smooches, more calling Jennings!”

Grant made a pained face but pulled his cell from his pocket. His voice when the other end picked up was upbeat and plain, like a Boy Scout called to testify in a court of law.

“Sir, I know you’ve seen the news and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you, but as you can imagine, I’ve been trying to take care of Lacey and make sure her needs are met through all this. She doesn’t deserve this shit-storm, if you’ll pardon my French, and I’m trying to do right by her.” A pause as he listened. “You’re right to be wary, and I want to talk about all your misgivings. Would you join me at our building tomorrow for lunch? I want to hash this out with you. You’ll see I have nothing to hide.” His eyebrow quirked in surprise at something, but his voice stayed even. “Yes, Lacey will be there too. I promise.”

* * *

Lunch was exquisite: artisan baguettes, a platter covered with slices of prosciutto, crisp slices of Asian pear topped with blue cheese crumbles and drizzles of honey, lavender-rosemary Madeleine's. And no one in the room was taking a bite.

“—and that’s the whole truth, sir,” Grant finished. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but I’m not going to lie about it either. It’s all in the past, and Lacey—” he reached across to me, taking my hand—is my future.”

He sounded so sincere even I almost believed he saw me that way. Still, Jennings kept his poker face firmly attached, and there was a pregnant pause before he opened his mouth to speak.

And then an intern burst through the door. “Mr. Devlin, this call, they keep insisting on speaking to nobody but you, I didn’t know what to—”

“We’re busy, Paula,” I said firmly. “And if you’ll recall our procedures for belligerent callers—”

“Oh, you go on ahead. I’ll be fine waiting,” Jennings said amiably. It was the first time I’d heard him speak in anything less than a roar, and for some reason that worried me. “As long as I have the lovely Miss Newman to keep me company.”

Grant shot him a look that told me he was wondering if Jennings had engineered this call himself just to get me alone, but removed himself graciously.

The second he was out of the room, Jedediah Jennings turned to me and took my hand. “Oh, sweet child. Now I want you to know—I want to believe that nice young feller. But I’m going to need you to tell me the truth.” His twinkly blue eyes were grave. “Don’t protect him now just because you love him, because there’ll be a line of gentlemen around the block to love you if he’s not the one. You’re a good girl, and I know you’ll tell me the truth, won’t you?”

“Of course I will, Mr. Jennings.” My throat was dry. Oh God. He was going to ask me about the engagement. He knew it was a ruse.

“Now, I could swear on a stack of Bibles, I must have told you before to call me Jed,” he said. “Lacey, what I need to know is: can I really trust Grant with my company?”

I took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, another moment to mentally smack myself upside the head for freaking out about the wrong question, and a third crucial moment to compose my answer.

“I can see why you would be uncertain,” I said, placing my hand on his where it covered mine. “A few months ago I would even be telling you not to, but— but you can trust Grant.” I leaned forward, urgent. “If you could see him as I do—he’s really stepping up to the plate, I’ve seen such change in him, I never dared hope—”

My voice almost broke on that last word. Hope and I had a rocky relationship, especially when it came to Grant, and what I could never really have with him.

Before I could try to repair the damage, Grant sailed back into the room.

“So sorry, everyone, had to put out a couple of fires with the personal touch.” He turned to Jennings. “Sir, I hope I addressed any qualms you have, but if you have anything more to ask or say—”

Not a thing, my boy,” Jennings boomed, standing. “Except congratulations, and to start calling me Jed, dammit! You’re lucky to have found this little lady, and I’m lucky, too. I’ll sign the papers and we’ll all move on.” Sotto voce—or as sotto as Mr. Jennings’s voce could go: “Everyone’s got a bit of a past. All you can do it keep it from dragging down your future.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” Grant said, with the grace to look repentant.

They shook hands, and as Jennings left, Grant swept me into a bear hug.

“I am so lucky to have you.”

“Damn straight,” I whispered into his ear.

I would have walked through fires to have this hug.

He laughed, and I loved the way his body felt against mine when he did.

“You said it, partner.”

I was glad he couldn’t see my eyes welling up as I dried them against his collar. Anyway, they were mostly tears of joy.

* * *

All that good luck must have made a huge dent in my cosmic bank account, because when we got back to Grant’s office, Portia was waiting for us.

She rose slowly, all blue and black and white, like a bitchy Siberian tiger stalking its prey. “Well, Grant dear, it looks like your inability to walk without tripping and falling into someone’s cunt has come home to roost at last. I’m only impressed that you somehow managed to get your dick stuck in two at the same time.”

I saw red, and words flew out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “Look, it was just a stupid mistake, it’s not as if he did anything really terrible—”

Portia steamrolled right over me as though I were a paper cup in the path of a tank. “I’m not going to let you throw your family’s name away like this, Grant. I’m moving the wedding up!”

Well, if that was all she wanted, that wasn’t too bad, I’d been expecting her to get out the iron maiden at least—

“The two of you are getting married this weekend!”

…holy fucking hell.