Chapter Twelve

 

“Miss Wallace, this is Daniella Nault with the Star Report,” the caller said after Jen answered the phone.

Not another one. Didn’t these reporters have better things to do with their days than call her? Since the pictures of her and Brett had shown up Monday, she’d been getting a constant string of phone calls and e-mails from various reporters. If being a celebrity was anything like this, she had a new appreciation for the men and women in Hollywood.

“I hope I’m not catching you at an inconvenient time,” the reporter said.

In Jen’s opinion, there was no convenient time for this woman or any of her colleagues to call. “Actually, I’m expecting guests.” Normally, she didn’t think of her sister and niece as guests, but if it helped get her out of this conversation without appearing like a rude witch, she’d use their upcoming visit.

“I understand and won’t keep you long. I was hoping to set up a time for an exclusive interview with you. Ideally it would be in the next couple days so it can make the next edition of the Star Report. If that’s not possible, I totally understand, and we can schedule it for a time more convenient for you. But I would require you not give any other interviews in the meantime.”

The easiest thing would be to end the call and hope the reporter didn’t call back. Unfortunately, the easiest thing would also be rude. As a rule, unless left with no other choice, she remained polite no matter the situation or person she faced. The constant calls and surprise visits by reporters all week were making it difficult to follow her personal rule.

“Ms. Nault, I have been contacted by a handful of other publications.” Jen prepared to give the same speech she’d given to the last three reporters who’d called from major magazines.

“This isn’t the nineteenth century,” the reporter said with a little laugh. “Call me Daniella.”

If the reporter thought being on a first-name basis would change anything, she was about to be disappointed. “Daniella, I know it’s not the answer you were hoping for today, but I have no plans to do interviews with anyone. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t, but it seemed like the polite thing to say.

The first three publications had offered her a not-so-tiny sum of money to sit down and give them an interview they could get out to their readers before any of their competitors. The Star Report would most likely do the same. No matter what dollar amount the media giant presented her with, she’d refuse it.

“I truly understand your desire to protect your relationship, Jennifer. Really, I do, and in your shoes, I’d have my reservations as well.”

Well, this is a different approach. The other reporters had become argumentative when she refused. “Thank you.”

“But I still must ask you to reconsider. Many consider the Sherbrooke family American Royalty. People care about them and want glimpses into both their private and public lives.”

Jen didn’t disagree with the reporter’s comments. People did love to read about the Sherbrookes. When it came to her and Brett’s relationship, she didn’t care about what the public wanted.

“And people across the country are especially intrigued with Brett Sherbrooke right now. He’s spent much of his life in the military and outside the public spotlight. Then suddenly he’s running for a seat in the United States Senate with you by his side,” Daniella said. “Readers want to know all they can about him and you.”

The woman was good, Jen would give her that much. Not once during their conversation had she lost the friendly tone in her voice or given any hint at the frustration she was probably feeling because Jen refused to fall into line.

“I have River Michaels, the magazine’s executive editor, here with me, Jennifer. Before you refuse again, he’d like to discuss compensation with you.”

“Really, that won’t­—”

“Thank you for taking our call this afternoon,” a male voice said, cutting off the rest of Jen’s sentence. “As Daniella explained, we’d love to do an interview with you. Naturally, we’ll compensate you for your time.”

The executive editor rattled off a figure roughly five times what Jen made in a year, and she almost dropped the cell phone. The other publications had presented her with large dollar amounts too, but nowhere close to what the Star Report was willing to pay her.

When the doorbell rang, Jen started for the door. Before opening it, she peeked out a front window. She’d opened the door once earlier this week without checking because she thought it was Brett. Instead of finding him, she found a photographer and reporter from the Providence Gazette waiting on the other side. It had taken at least ten minutes to get rid of them.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Michaels.” Jen opened the door and let her sister and niece inside. “My answer is still no.”

“I’ll give you my direct line and my e-mail address as well as Daniella’s information. If you change your mind at any time, please consider contacting us first.”

The man rattled off the information, but Jen didn’t even search for a piece of paper to write it on. No amount of time or money would change her mind on this one.

“Hi Auntie Jen,” Bella said when Jen put the cell phone down. “Where’s Bo?”

“In the backyard.”

Bella left without a backward glance.

“You look frazzled,” Kristen said once her daughter was out of hearing. “Is the media still bothering you?”

Jen nodded and flopped down onto the sofa. “Yep. That call was from a reporter at the Star Report.”

“I love that magazine. It’s the only one I read every week anymore, and it has great crossword puzzles.”

“It might be your favorite, but I don’t need them doing an article on me. You don’t even want to know how much they were willing to pay me for an exclusive interview.”

Kristen nodded. “You’re probably right.” They’d had a similar conversation after the first three magazines called offering money in exchange for a sit-down meeting. While Kristen understood why Jen turned them down, she’d admitted the payday associated with an interview would be hard to pass up.

“I’m not trying to sound like a bitch or anything, but what did you expect? You’re dating a member of the Sherbrooke family. The media circles them like flies circle a pile of poop.”

Her sister made a good point, but she could’ve done without Kristen’s gross comparison. “I guess I didn’t think about it at all. Until he entered the election, I don’t remember ever seeing him on magazine covers like his cousins, so it never crossed my mind the media would want all the details about our relationship.” Friends, family, and maybe coworkers, sure, but not the entire world.

“Unless you plan on ending your relationship soon, I think you better get used to it, sis.”

She’d already reached the same conclusion. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure how to get used to random people asking for interviews or snapping pictures of her. “Trust me, I know.”

“Did you ever find out who took the pictures in the garage?” Kristen asked.

“Nope.” She’d called the Providence Gazette and asked. They’d refused to give her the information. She’d gotten similar responses from the Boston Times and Worcester Daily News. When she got nowhere, Brett offered to call and inquire. While she appreciated the gesture, she’d flat-out told him no. She didn’t want him doing anything that could negatively impact his senate run. Especially since in the end, it didn’t really matter who had snapped the pictures and sent them in. The damage was done.

“I still say it must be someone you work with. Everyone in your office uses the same parking garage, and they know you. The newspapers would’ve had to get your name to run with the story from whoever sent in the photos.”

She’d reached a similar conclusion. “I can’t question everyone I work with.” If she could, she would’ve already done it.

“You didn’t notice anyone around?”

Really, it was one of the dumbest questions she’d been asked in a long time. “Uh, I was a little preoccupied when the picture was taken.”

“Good point.” Kristen picked a loose thread off her shorts. “So what’s on the agenda for this weekend?”

“Tomorrow we’re going to a fund-raising event in Boston. I don’t know much about it except it’s black tie and being held at the Harbor House. I shouldn’t be home too late on Sunday. Brett is meeting with several representatives from a conservation group Sunday afternoon.”

“The Harbor House. Wow, I’ve read about the place. Mia Troy had her wedding reception there. You’ll have to tell me all about it,” Kristen said. A huge fan of the actress, Kristen had followed every detail printed about Mia’s engagement and wedding. “The later you come by on Sunday, the happier Bella will be anyway. All week she’s talked about having Bo at our house.” Kristen paused and checked the doorway leading into the kitchen. “If Bella does another great job taking care of Bo this weekend, Dan’s agreed to let her get a dog this fall. We haven’t told her yet. We’re waiting to see how it goes first.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Jen’s mind her niece would do a wonderful job again. “I hope you’re both prepared for a permanent four-legged friend of your own.”

Her sister smiled. “I told Dan the same thing.”

***

Brett kept his sunglasses on as he opened the door into his house. It looked like the twenty-hour days had finally caught up to him. The nausea had started while still on the highway. At first he’d chalked it up to the fast-food burgers he’d grabbed at a rest stop on the Pike. When the aura started, he knew his upset stomach had nothing to do with food.

Crossing the kitchen, he focused on getting to somewhere he could lie down. When he reached the living room, he paused long enough to close all the blinds, blocking out as much sunlight as possible. Without even removing his tie or shoes, he hit the sofa and closed his eyes.

Someone bashed a mallet against a gong, and Brett forced his eyes open. He had no idea of how long he’d been lying there or what time it was. There was no light in the room to help him gauge it either. He did know he was on the sofa in his living room and he still wore his shoes. The mallet-wielding jerk beat their gong again, and he groaned as the severe throbbing on the right side of his head intensified. He wished a slow, painful death to whoever was making all the noise outside.

The opening theme song to Star Wars drifted out of his pocket. Jen. He’d set the ringtone for her weeks ago so he’d know without even looking if a call was from her.

Careful not to move his head too much, Brett pulled the device out. “Jen,” he said, the sound of his own voice extremely loud to his pounding head.

“Hey, you. Are you not home yet?” Her voice seemed several decibels louder than usual. “I’m there now.”

There wasn’t a mallet-wielding idiot outside hitting a gong. The noise he’d heard was his doorbell. “I’m here. Give me a minute.”

Brett let the cell phone slip to the floor. Slowly he swung both feet off the sofa and pushed himself up into a sitting position. For his efforts, the throbbing in his head intensified.

He moved across the room about as fast as a turtle going up a hill covered in wet cement but somehow he managed to reach the front door. Despite still wearing sunglasses, when he opened the door and light hit him, he flinched and touched his forehead.

“You not feeling well,” she said.

“Migraine.”

She moved inside and closed the door, once again blocking out the early evening sunlight. “C’mon, let’s get you in bed.” Jen slipped an arm around his waist.

At a different time, he would’ve had a great comeback to her statement. Tonight he was finding it hard to form simple one-word sentences.

With slow, controlled steps, he walked alongside Jen to his bedroom. When they reached it, she immediately closed all the blinds and pulled the covers back on his bed.

“You’ll be more comfortable without this,” she said, undoing his tie. She tossed it on the nightstand. “Do you have anything you can take for your head?”

Brett sat and kicked his shoes off. “No.”

“Lie down and I’ll go pick something up. I’ll take your keys so I can let myself back in.”

They only had tonight alone together. He didn’t want to waste it with her playing nursemaid. His migraine had its own ideas though. “I’m sorry.” He eased his head down to his pillow.

“No reason to be sorry. Rest.” Jen’s lips brushed against his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

***

Brett opened his eyes. The world around him was pitch-black and he was lying down. He still wore the clothes he’d left in this morning, minus his tie and jacket. However, someone had unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly, the memories from the last several hours trickled back to him. He’d come home with a migraine. Sometime after his return Jen had arrived. She’d helped him into bed before going and buying him some medicine. He remembered her coming in to check on him periodically while he rested, although he couldn’t say exactly how many visits she’d made. He also remembered her rubbing his back while he lost the contents of his stomach in the bathroom. Afterward she’d handed him a damp facecloth and helped him back to bed. For all he knew though, that could have been five minutes or five hours ago. Regardless, he did know his head no longer felt as if someone was trying to split it in two.

Sitting up, he switched on the bedside lamp and checked his watch. Eleven o’clock. He’d been asleep longer than he’d thought.

The closing credits to the second Lord of The Rings movie greeted him when he entered the living room. All the lights in the room were turned off, but the television provided enough illumination for him to make out the sleeping form on the sofa.

Brett knelt down and ran a hand over her hair. She’d kicked off her shoes but still wore her shorts and T-shirt. A half-empty bowl of popcorn remained on the coffee table along with a full glass of water. He suspected the popcorn had been her dinner tonight. He certainly didn’t have many other options in the house. He’d been too busy to go shopping this week. Not that he’d been home much to eat anyway. He’d eaten at more restaurants and rest stops this week than he cared to remember. Since they’d planned to visit Tuscany, the Italian restaurant in town, tonight and then attend the fundraiser tomorrow night, he hadn’t seen his lack of food as a big deal.

Jen would never complain about her lack of food choices or the fact he’d spent their one night alone together in bed. Still, he’d find a way to make it up to her. Eventually. Considering his hectic schedule leading up to the primary, it might be a while.

Brett slipped his arms under her. He’d already won the award for world’s worst boyfriend tonight. He couldn’t let her spend the whole night on the sofa too.

Jen’s eyes opened before he could lift her. “Hey, you’re up.” She placed a hand on his cheek and smiled. “How are you feeling?” she asked, sitting up.

“Better.” He moved onto the sofa next to her. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

As he expected, she shrugged a shoulder. “No big deal. We’ll have other Friday nights together.”

He disagreed. “Yeah, it is a big deal. You came up so we could go out and have fun, not so you could act as my nurse. And then fall asleep on my sofa.”

“Wrong. I drove up to see you, and I am seeing you. Besides, sometimes we all need someone to take care of us.” She jabbed him in the shoulder “Even you, Buster.”

“Buster? You can’t think of anything better?”

“Maybe after you win the election, I’ll change it to Senator Buster, but until then you’ll have to live with plain old Buster.”

“I guess that means I should come up with a nickname for you too?”

She considered his words before answering. “You can, but I warn you I have veto power over anything you come up with. So it better be something good.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be better than Buster.” He moved in to kiss her but then remembered his mad dash to the porcelain god hours ago and stopped. Instead he kissed her hair. “I’ll make tonight up to you soon. Promise.”

“How about instead you promise to take a leave of absence from Homeland Security? You’re stretching yourself way too thin. I bet you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. Between the hours and the stress, it’s no surprise you got a migraine today. Keep up this pace and you’ll probably be getting a lot more. And I won’t always be here to take care of you when you do.”

Carl had given him a similar lecture during their last meeting. The biggest difference between his and Jen’s was the tone. Jen’s voice contained worry and compassion; neither emotion had been present in Carl’s.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Brett, I’m serious. Winning the election won’t matter if you’re too run-down to take office.”

“I am too. I’ve been considering it all week. And you and Carl are probably right.” Brett stood and held out his hand. They were both tired, and Saturday was going to be a long night. “Ready for bed?”

“Are you trying to change the subject again?” Although she hadn’t answered his question, she let him help her up.

Another time he’d have to say affirmative, but not tonight. “No. I’m tired and you were just asleep. I think we both need some rest. But tomorrow before the fundraiser, I’ll spend some time thinking about what you said.”

“You do still look awful.” She tugged on his hand. “C’mon, Buster, I’ll tuck you back into bed.”

***

No matter the time or place, Brett preferred to drive himself. Despite Carl’s suggestion he hire a car for tonight’s event, he drove them into Boston. After handing the waiting valet his keys, he walked around and opened Jen’s door.

“Ready?” He gave a slight nod to the reporters and photographers waiting outside the Harbor House.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Just remember what I said. If anyone asks you a question and you don’t want to answer, simply say you have no comment.” He whispered the words as he slipped an arm around her waist. “I’m the one running for office. They can bother me all they want. They don’t need to annoy you too.”

“I think the media disagrees with you.” She leaned closer when she spoke, her breath a warm caress against his skin. “I’ll try not to let them bother me.”

He didn’t like it, but he knew she was right. “There won’t be as many reporters inside.” His press secretary had granted access to only a select number of media outlets, leaving everyone else to hang around outside for whatever leftovers they could get.

Several reporters called out to them as they walked toward the main entrance. He paused long enough to give a few short answers and tried to ignore the cameras around him. After all the media attention he’d received over the past few weeks, he had a better understanding of the hell the media regularly treated his family members to. Next to him, Jen remained silent, her back as stiff as a kitchen table.

“Mr. Sherbrooke, besides your parents, will any members of your family be in attendance tonight?” a reporter called out as they reached the door.

“Will President Sherbrooke and the First Lady be here?” another reporter asked.

He expected a few of his relatives would be here, including his parents, but he didn’t intend to share the information. “I’m not certain.”

“Mr. Sherbrooke,” a male reporter called out. “Is Mia Troy expected? She was a big supporter of your uncle during his presidential campaign.”

“As far as I know, she will not be here,” he answered. “If you’ll please excuse us, Jen and I don’t want to be late.”

The door opened before he touched the handle. The earpiece in the doorman’s ear and the slight bulge under his jacket suggested he wasn’t a Harbor House employee but rather part of the security team hired for the event.

His parents descended on them before they crossed the marble-tiled atrium. Lily Pierce, his press secretary, and Carl weren’t far behind them. Both his parents managed only a brief hello before Carl reached them.

“Excellent, you’re here,” Carl said before turning his attention to Brett’s parents. “It’s nice to see you both again.” Extending his hand, he looked in Jen’s direction next. “Carl Filmore.”

“Jennifer,” she said, shaking the campaign manager’s hand.

“Yes, I know, and later we should sit and talk. But right now I need to borrow Brett.” Carl looked in his direction. “Samuel Castle is here and wishes to have a word with you.”

Brett recognized the name. Samuel Castle owned not only a multinational food manufacturing company that had its headquarters in Springfield but was also the co-owner of the New England Rebels. Lawrence Castle, Samuel’s brother and the other co-owner of the professional football team, had already publicly endorsed Vince Reed. According to Carl, Lawrence had donated a lot of money to his campaign as well. The two brothers were well known for sharing the same views, so Samuel’s presence tonight made Brett curious. And while he wanted to hear what the man had to say, he didn’t want to leave Jen on her own either.

“Brett, don’t worry. We’ll keep Jen company while you’re away,” Mom said, reading his mind.

He’d rather do it himself, but what he wanted wasn’t important tonight. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Brett didn’t care if there were people around them. He kissed Jen’s cheek before leaving her in his mom’s capable hands.

***

Samuel Castle was here. She wasn’t much of a football fan, but she’d heard of the man. Jen looked around the ballroom to see if she recognized any of the other society bigwigs. Immediately she spotted actor Anderson Brady, perhaps her only celebrity crush, standing alongside an older gentleman and an impeccably dressed woman. She smiled as she remembered her conversation with Brett about how she hadn’t realized who he was when she first learned his last name and how she’d gone to graduate school with a man named Anderson Brady.

“Brett looks worn out. He’s trying to do too much.” Mrs. Sherbrooke’s voice was barely audible over the hum of the other conversations. “Right now he needs to concentrate on the campaign and forget about his position with Homeland Security.”

“Carl and I have both told him the same thing,” Mr. Sherbrooke said. “Like with everything else, he’s determined to do things his way.”

The man’s voice was so low she almost didn’t hear it.

“Perhaps if you spoke to him, Jen. Maybe then he’d listen,” Mrs. Sherbrooke said, including her in a conversation she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a part of.

“I have, more than once, Mrs. Sherbrooke. And I think he might be coming around,” she said.

He’d told her earlier this afternoon he planned to take a leave of absence from Homeland Security. However, she didn’t think it was her place to share his intentions, no matter how much relief it would bring to his mom.

“His father and I would greatly appreciate any extra encouragement you can give him in that direction.” She touched Jen’s hand before she continued. “And call me Judith. Mrs. Sherbrooke is too impersonal, considering how important you are to my son.”

And just how should she respond to such a comment? “He’s important to me too.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. She’d fallen half in love with him while exchanging letters. Since their first face-to-face meeting, she’d fallen the rest of the way. She couldn’t admit the truth to his mother, especially when she hadn’t told Brett yet.

“I assumed as much.” The smile Judith gave her made Jen think the woman already knew the true extent of her feelings. “And I’m glad.”

A warm hand settled on her shoulder. A moment later, Brett pulled out the chair next to her and sat. “Hope I’m not disturbing whatever private convo you two are having,” Brett said as he put a hand over hers on the table.

“We were discussing how we all believe you’re pushing yourself too hard,” his mom said.

Brett squeezed Jen’s hand. “No need to worry, Mom. I’m going to concentrate on only my campaign for now.” He leaned into Jen’s side. “And you,” he whispered before moving away again. “I already let Carl know. Monday I’ll talk to Homeland.”

“Wise decision,” Mr. Sherbrooke said.

An excited vibe spread through the room as the buzz of hushed conversations intensified. Jen turned to get a better look at the entranceway, hoping for a glance at whatever celebrity had caught everyone’s attention this time. Only it wasn’t a celebrity, at least not a Hollywood one standing there.

“Did you know your aunt Elizabeth was coming?” Mr. Sherbrooke asked.

“Last I talked to her, she wasn’t sure,” Brett answered.

Jen watched the woman under discussion cross the room, and the fact the First Lady of the United States was Brett’s aunt hit her over the head like a baseball bat. Of course she’d known of the relationship for some time, but it had been an easy detail to overlook. With the woman coming toward them, she could no longer ignore the truth. The man she’d fallen in love with really did live in a world far removed from hers. Since he never acted as if he considered himself better than everyone else, she sometimes forgot that, but tonight the evidence was all around her. And for the first time since they kissed, she worried what it meant for their relationship.

On cue, both Brett and his dad stood when Elizabeth Sherbrooke reached their table. Jen guessed standing when a woman such as the First Lady approached a table was included on Jonathan Sherbrooke’s list of things every gentleman must do. Brett still hadn’t shared the list with her. Then again, maybe it pertained to all women. Brett had done the same thing when she’d walked in her living room the first time he’d visited her home. Thankfully, he hadn’t done it since. It’d be way too bizarre and annoying for him to stand every time she walked in the room or approached a table.

“Aunt Elizabeth.” Brett hugged the First Lady and then pulled a chair out for her. “I’m glad you made it tonight.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” the woman replied, her British accent still present despite the number of years she’d lived in the United States. “Warren wanted to attend, but it wasn’t possible. He sends his regards.”

Warren. Jen wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to hearing people address President Sherbrooke so casually.

“Jen, this is my aunt Elizabeth,” Brett said as he took his seat and once again slipped his hand over hers.

Brett’s aunt turned her gray eyes Jen’s way. For a moment or two, the woman studied her as if trying to peer into Jen’s thoughts. Perhaps happy with whatever she’d determined, a whisper of a smile formed. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Finally meet her? Did that mean Brett’s other family members had spoken to the First Lady about her, or had she read one of the many articles published along with the photos of her and Brett kissing? Jen wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“I look forward to getting to know you better this evening,” Elizabeth Sherbrooke continued. “My son, Jake, said you are quite adept at keeping my nephew on his toes.” A twinkle formed in the woman’s eyes. “Between us, I believe it’s exactly what Brett needs. Don’t you agree, Judith?”

“Fully,” Brett’s mom answered.

Reading between the lines and making assumptions could be a risky venture. However, in Jen’s head the women’s comments were their way of saying they approved of her and Brett’s relationship despite their different social backgrounds.

“I promise to do my best to keep him there,” Jen said. Her statement earned her nods from both Sherbrooke women.