A Crazy Kind of Love by Mary Ann Marlowe (25)

Chapter 25

Naïvely, I thought I could go home and decompress. Alone at my apartment, I could brew some tea, take a hot bath, shut out the world. And wait for the world to forget about me.

But when the car pulled up at my apartment, photographers I’d worked with at other events were hunkered down outside my apartment. One of them had a big fancy camera—the kind with an external microphone. I lowered my eyes and put my hand up to block my face. While I punched in my key code, they pestered me with their fascination. They wanted to know if I’d intentionally dated Micah to get a story. They wanted to know if I’d fallen in love while in the trenches. They wanted to know if we’d split up because I didn’t need him for anything anymore. Or had we split up because he no longer needed me?

Apparently, they were building the story of beauty and the beast, and they hadn’t yet decided which part I’d played.

A woman who’d bothered to wear a nice two-piece suit pushed through to ask me, “Jo, what on earth were you thinking?”

The oppressive shit storm might have relented if those rubberneckers outside Micah’s hadn’t captured video of his alleged ex-girlfriend blubbering in the back of the car he’d deposited me into. Throw in video of an angry Micah yelling, “Just leave her alone now,” and you’ve got a recipe for the kind of chum that draws more sharks.

The reporters supplied their own narrative, painting Micah as a shallow playboy who’d dumped me in the same way as he’d dropped every other girl.

Exhibit #1: Inside Scoop posted the headline “Micah Sinclair Adds Another Notch to the Bedpost. Who Wants to Be Next?”

Exhibit #2: The Dish said “Coyote Micah Sinclair Gnaws His Own Arm Off in Record Time.”

Micah made no comment to dispel that interpretation, taking the brunt of the gossip. And nobody wanted the nuanced truth over a sensational lie anyway.

My phone turned into something that reminded me more of a sex toy than a communication device. I could ignore the chatter about me online, but the reporters kept intruding into my real life with their incessant attempts to milk an easy story, even though it wasn’t even big news. And I had one bitter thought—seeing cutthroat reporters in action brought home how badly I’d always sucked at this job. And I knew I couldn’t keep doing it.

But the road to freedom was paved in quicksand. I emailed Sang Moon-Soo to ask him again if he had space for me in his department. He’d published both articles I’d sent him, so I knew he was happy with my work. He wrote back, “Not yet. Unless you want to work freelance.”

I didn’t. I needed the health insurance of a salaried job, and with nothing else to fall back on, I had to suck it up and go in to the office.

As soon as I got to my workstation, Kristin and Jennifer were kind enough to come over and give me a hug, telling me not to worry, everything would blow over. Kristin whispered, “And we’re both dying of jealousy that you got to shag that beautiful man.”

Leonard kept me amused with his nonstop tales about all the times he’d almost been a part of the story.

Not surprisingly, Derek sided with the scumbag reporters, insisting I’d brought it all on myself. “You forgot your place, Jo. You’re the scenery, not the main attraction.”

Sitting at my desk, sharing the same hemisphere as Andy made me feel nauseated. But until the vultures lost interest, the attention made it impossible for me to work outside. When Andy eventually asked me to come into his office, he seemed neither contrite nor malevolent. For him, it was just another day.

He shuffled some papers on his desk, not even bothering to look me in the eye. “I know I’ve been a little hard on you lately, Scout.”

He had a nerve to act like he’d only slighted me. “Is that what you call throwing me under the bus with that article?”

Now he looked up. “I’ve been worried that you lack the guts to do this job. The fact that you were so willing to put yourself directly in front of that bus to derail a better story concerns me.”

“I thought you said the Micah story was better.”

His lip curled in amusement. “Hardly. The story wasn’t better. Having it come out yesterday, though . . . especially with that whole circus last night. Well, it all makes today’s story that much more potent.” He barked a harsh laugh. “Congratulations, you finally brought me something useful, Scout.”

My mouth felt dry. “You wouldn’t go back on your word. You promised.”

“I promised I’d push Eden’s story. And I did.”

“You promised you’d push it till next week!”

“Your words, not mine.”

“You bastard. If you run that story . . .” I searched for a suitable threat. “I’ll write a scathing report on you and send it to HR.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you’ll tell them I did my job? Who do you think brings in the money to pay their salaries?”

“You are a pathetic little man.” I gritted my teeth and choked back threats to shove a pen up his ass. “You have no ethics, no integrity.” I realized I sounded like L.L. Stylez, and a light went off in my head. I needed to leave with or without a fallback. I could go home to Atlanta if it came to that. I put my hands up. “I can’t do this anymore. You’re a poison, Andy.” And now I channeled Eden.

He yawned. “Anything else, Josephine?”

I wondered if I could get off on a plea of temporary insanity, but I counted to three and resisted the strong desire to strangle him. “I hope one day you’ll get what’s coming to you, Andy.”

As I turned to go, Andy said, “Wait a minute.”

I stopped in the doorway, praying he’d reconsider running the story about Eden to keep me there.

But all he said was “Leave your camera here. It’s not your property.”

I dropped the camera on his desk and walked out the door. When I got halfway across the room, my knees wobbled. I put my hand on a desk and caught myself.

Zion jumped up and put his arm around my back, taking my weight and helping me to a stool. “Are you all right?”

I laughed, but only to keep from crying. “I think I just quit.”

“What?”

“I kind of told him I hope he dies.” I stewed in my indignation. “That dirty little man is planning to run a story he promised me he wouldn’t run until next week.”

“The story about Eden?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Because it’s already live.” He went to his desk and fetched his tablet.

I read the first lines, heart sinking. Eden Sinclair pregnant? Josephine Wilder, a day after her breakup with Micah Sinclair, has confirmed the news. There is still some speculation . . .

“Oh, holy shit. He totally used me! This is completely misconstrued.”

A photo loaded with my name sideways along the edge. That picture of Adam with his arms around Eden, hands flat on her midsection. The quality was subpar because Andy had to zoom in so far on that photo. I should have known he’d figure it out. I should have deleted it when I had the chance.

I read the text again. “Now I get it. He totally planned this.”

Zion rubbed my shoulders. “Josie, you need to calm down.”

I was shaking from anger. “That fucker. I’m going to bring him down.”

“Go home. Get some lunch. Take a nap. Those are my orders. Okay? Do you hear me?”

I nodded, but I had no intention of going home. I dropped from the stool, trying to figure out how I’d ever fix this. “I’ll see you later, Zion.”

Zion called after me. “Go home, Josie. Don’t try to do anything right now. Wait until it blows over.”

But I was already emailing Eden before I’d left the building.

She didn’t respond. I wasn’t surprised. I hadn’t talked to her since Micah’s story ran, assuming I’d have time over the next week to figure out how to explain it and warn her to go ahead and share the news with her family when Adam came home. For all I knew, she’d already written me off the day before when the story on Micah ran, and this article was the final nail in my coffin. It looked so bad, even Micah might conclude Eden’s suspicions had been justified all along.

I dodged a lone reporter, jumped on the subway to Park Slope, and walked to Micah’s. There were no cameramen out today. I figured they’d all be swarming outside Eden’s door. If I brought the paparazzi nightmare to her stoop, she really would never talk to me again. I knocked on Micah’s door, but there was no answer, so I sat and waited. He’d have to come out or come home eventually.

After an hour, a woman approached and started up the steps. She wore a housekeeping outfit and carried cleaning supplies.

I stood. “Are you Anna?”

She nodded.

“Can you let Micah know I’m out here?”

She let herself in and then peeked out. “Mr. Sinclair is not home.”

The temperature had dropped as a dark cloud obliterated the sun. I walked down to the corner coffee shop, ordered a hot tea, and sat at a corner table near the front, hoping lightning might strike twice and Micah would stroll in again. I took out my phone and started an email to Kate in human resources.

Reading it back, I realized how insane it all sounded. Most people would rightfully say I was only bitching about how the sausage was made. Complaining about a lack of ethics in tabloid journalism was akin to complaining about a lack of dryness in water.

I sent it anyway. More than likely, I was already out of a job. If Andy hadn’t taken my statements as a resignation, surely, he’d started the paperwork to have me terminated.

As I swirled my tea, I began to relax. For the first time in a day, nobody pursued me. Nobody expected me to be anywhere. Nobody expected me to hunt humans for sport. I was nobody. I had no agenda. It felt liberating. And it gave me time to think.

I stared at the picture of Micah in concert I’d used for my screen saver. It took me right back to that moment before we’d been together, back to when I thought I’d have been happy to spend one blissful night with him. Why did everything have to get so complicated?

My heart wanted Micah. I was miserable without him. It didn’t take a genius to realize that he’d likely be the great love of my life. If I let him go, I’d probably regret it forever. On the other hand, forever with Micah might turn out to be a month. He’d burned through so many women so fast. What if he tired of me and my pain-in-the-ass never-ending disease? Was it worth the risk? Was “happy for now” enough?

I could honestly say it beat the shit out of “unhappy for now.”

Still, he came with so much baggage. I wasn’t just dating him. I was dating the media, and through them, the entire world. And I was dating his sister, to be honest. But Micah knew how to handle the media. They’d grow bored with us in time. And if I could get Eden to stop hating me, I’d be friends with my boyfriend’s sister. So there was that.

I closed my eyes and resolved to filter out the less valid objections, throwing out fears of the unknown and external pressures I had no control over. And that’s when it hit me: I’d done everything to Micah I’d worried he’d do to me. And in the process, I’d behaved exactly like my dad—for different reasons, to be sure. I’d let everything outside our relationship drive me away from Micah.

And he’d done nothing but show me devotion.

But it was very possible that the double-barrel shotgun stories in the paper two days in a row had opened a fatal wound in my relationship with him. And I couldn’t find him to assess the damage or repair it. I needed to find him and explain everything.

It suddenly occurred to me that I had access to world-class celebrity stalkers. I texted Zion, I can’t find Micah. Call or text me.

Within minutes, he wrote, Josie where are you?

My phone rang a minute later. Zion.

“Josie, Adrianna’s not answering my calls. I’m sure she thinks the bus is coming for her tomorrow.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Think about it, Jo. First Micah. Then Eden. She doesn’t know you’re not giving up the information. I think Adrianna’s going into a media blackout just in case.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t worry, Jo. Tomorrow there won’t be a story about her, right? Because neither of us have given it to him. And these stories will blow over, too. Go home and wait it out.”

“Zion, the stories will blow over for the rest of the world, but Eden will never forgive me. And I can’t blame her. She can never get back the moment when she and Adam would tell their parents first. And how can I prove to her I wasn’t the one who leaked?” I choked back a sob. “I need to go see her. What if Micah’s with her? What if she convinces him I’m everything she feared?”

“Stay where you are. I can come get you.”

I knew if I told him where to find me, he’d take me home, so I lied. “You’re right. I’ll go home and wait for you.”

There was only one place I could go if I wanted to deal with the fallout. It took me about an hour to take two subways to Brooklyn Heights and walk six blocks to Eden’s apartment. As expected, a cameraman perched outside, biding his time. And it was Derek.

He wouldn’t let me go by without a challenge. “Hey, Jo. What are you doing here?”

I shot him a dirty look as I passed and climbed the steps. The air outside smelled of cigarettes. Inside, voices rose in argument, and I feared I might be too late. My hand trembled as I knocked.

Eden opened the door slightly. “No fucking way.”

“Eden, can I talk to Micah?”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you. Go back to the sewer with the other rats.” She closed the door, and the arguing started again inside, louder, but still muffled. I glanced at Derek, then put my ear to the door. A low male voice rumbled, but I couldn’t make out the words. I stood outside and waited, hoping. I thought about knocking again, but Eden would just answer and send me away.

Defeated, I turned to leave. My legs felt like Jell-O as I descended the steps and walked up the sidewalk.

Derek followed behind, asking me, “Jo, are you trying to get Micah back?”

My stomach rumbled, and I realized how hungry I was, absolutely ravenous. I didn’t have anything in my bag with me. Not a snack box. Not a single bag of gummy bears.

The camera floated in my peripheral vision as Derek kept pace alongside me. “I guess Micah’s not a big fan of the media now either, huh? Good job finally breaking him of his fame-whore ways.”

My legs started to shake again, and I stumbled. Each step I took felt heavy. I had the ludicrous thought that the gravity of the earth had increased. I put a hand on a tree for balance and pulled out my phone to call Zion, but my hands shook too hard. And I couldn’t remember how or what I was doing. I leaned against the tree and slumped to the ground. I just needed a few minutes so I’d stop feeling so dizzy.

The townhouse door opened, and Micah emerged with Eden’s hand wrapped around his bicep. He stopped and peeled her fingers off, yelling, “It’s my decision, Eden.”

She let go of him and shouted, “You never think, Micah. I’m just asking you to take some time and think.”

But he was already halfway down the steps, casting his eyes frantically up and down the street. He shot a shitty look at Derek and then looked down at me. “Oh, my God. Josie!”

He ran down the sidewalk and fell on his knees, screaming at Derek, “You just stood there and rolled tape? Did you call an ambulance?”

Derek laughed. “Hey, man, she’s drunk.”

“She’s not drunk, you asshole.”

Micah bent down and grabbed my phone off the sidewalk. He punched in the numbers and then paced around with one hand tearing out his hair. “Zion, it’s Micah.” Pause. “Yes, she’s here with me. What should I do? Should I call an ambulance?” His panicked sobs slowed as he listened. Finally, he nodded, and said, “Okay. Thanks.” He dialed again, “Eden, I need you to do me a favor.”

He spoke to her for a couple of seconds. Then he sat flat on the ground and lifted me in his arms, across his lap, caressing my hair and talking. “Josie. Oh, God, are you okay? Can you sit up?”

He leaned forward and laid a kiss on my forehead, then rocked me until Eden came outside and gave him a glass of orange juice. He stroked my hair while I sipped on it. After a few minutes, I sat up on my own. Together, Eden and Micah looped their arms around me and helped me stand up and walk back up the steps into the townhouse.

Once inside, Micah sat me on a sofa and dropped beside me, elbows on knees, looking like he’d been through hell. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Josie, I’m so, so sorry.”

He threw a glance at Eden. Eden backed out of the room and left us alone.

Micah’s voice broke when he started to talk. “Josie, you scared the hell out of me. When I saw you lying on the ground, I thought the worst.” He grabbed my hands like he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t leave. He pulled me toward him, and his arms around me made me feel safe and protected. I wrapped my arms around him, too. He hugged me tight, and his heart beat fast in his chest.

“Micah.” I leaned back to look into his eyes.

A tear rolled down his cheek. He scrubbed it off and swallowed. “Yesterday, when you asked for time, I let you go because I believed you’d come back in time. And I know I said I’d wait for you. I meant that. I would wait for you for the rest of my life. But today I realized I could lose you, for real, forever. And what if you never came back? You’re everything to me. I love you, and I need you.” He held my face in his and said, “Anika Jo Wilder, I don’t want to wait for you.”

He was right—today might be the only day we ever had. I tasted the tears running over my lips. “Micah, are you going to still want this tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” He laid a kiss on my forehead. “And the day after that. As long as you’ll have me. No, longer than that because I won’t let you go again without a fight.”

He’d just said the magic words. “You won’t have to. I love you, and I trust you. And I need you, Micah. I can’t possibly live without you.”

He smiled that big smile, the one that made his dimple appear.

Then he kissed me proper. And, oh, how I’d missed that. But we had a mess to clean up. “Micah, can we talk about the news story? I want to explain everything to you. And to Eden.”

Before we’d made a move, a knock on the door brought Eden back through the living room, and I worried for a moment it might be Derek, invading her personal space further. I followed Eden to the foyer, relieved to discover Zion standing in the open doorway. There was no sign of Derek or any other paparazzi out front.

Eden led us all into the kitchen. Despite everything, it took me a moment to recover from the shock of seeing Adam at the table, nursing a beer in his own home. I hadn’t realized he’d come back from Japan already.

Micah said, “You remember Josie, right? You guys met two weeks ago.”

He nodded, and then his eyes tracked Eden. I guessed he planned to follow her lead where I was concerned. Was I still the enemy? Had she forgiven me? Or did she just feel bad for my collapse?

Micah held a chair out for me, and I sat. Zion had brought my glucose meter. While I messed with that, Micah went to the fridge and rummaged around. He came back with everything he could find and laid it before me. A cornucopia of options. My numbers were still low, so I grabbed the lone piece of fruit but snagged a couple of pieces of cheese as a chaser.

Once he had me all settled, he came back, and the four of us sat around the table, occupying our hands with our food and drinks, waiting for someone to break the ice.

Finally, I said, “Eden, I want you to know that I didn’t tell Andy about you. He had Derek following you, and they saw you coming from the OB/GYN and then watched you buy prenatal pills. He wanted to run the story on Monday, but I worked out a deal. He promised he wouldn’t run the story about you for another week. But he broke the promise.”

“What was the deal?” She gripped her beer bottle and took a swig.

As hard as it was, I maintained eye contact with her. I needed her trust. “First, I had to tell him who Micah was seeing.” I licked my lips. It sounded every bit as bad. “Knowing that it was me, I figured that was my information to give. Little did I know, he had already figured that out and only needed me to confirm it.”

“That makes sense.”

“But there was one more thing.” I took a sip of juice, postponing the inevitable. “He asked me to confirm that I knew you were pregnant.”

She sucked on her teeth, glaring.

“I figured it was better to buy you the week. You were planning to tell your mom and Micah soon. And he wouldn’t postpone the story forever. But he obviously had nothing but circumstantial evidence, and he tricked me into giving him the proof. And I’m very sorry.”

Her expression darkened. I wished I could go back in time and do everything differently. How could I go on with her hating me? I was prepared for her to shut me out, but instead she relaxed and took my hand. “And I’m so sorry about what happened before. I had no idea you were so sick.”

“I know. And I understand why you were angry. Under the circumstances, you had every right to be.”

Zion interrupted, phone in hand. “Hey, guys. I got a text from one of our coworkers. Derek just posted video on the site.”

Eden threw a sideways glance at Adam. “Can you grab my tablet?”

Adam hopped up and came back a moment later. It amused me that one of the biggest rock stars in the world turned into a puppy around Eden. I looked over at Micah and recognized that same expression on his face. I thought he’d do anything I asked of him.

Eden’s fingers flew across the device until she had the video up from earlier. She motioned for me to come around the other side of the table, and I watched over her shoulder as she hit Play.

Typically, Andy had gone for the most vicious headline:

“Micah Sinclair’s Ex-girlfriend Stalks Him, Passes Out Drunk on the Street.”

I cringed seeing myself stagger down the steps. She upped the volume when Micah came out. Then Derek said, “Hey, man. She’s drunk.”

The video ended, and Eden narrowed her eyes. “Does Andy know you’re diabetic?”

“Yeah. Why?”

She smiled for the first time since I’d gotten there. “Would he really think you were drunk?”

“Yeah, he’s an idiot.”

She locked eyes with me, and I could see the wheels spinning. “How badly do you want to keep your job?”

“Actually, I think I might have already quit.”

“You think? What did you say?”

“I basically told him, ‘I hope you die,’ and walked out of the office.”

Her lips twisted as she worked that out. Then her expression softened, and she nodded. “Jo, would you like to get even with Andy?”

I locked eyes with her. “Absolutely.”