On the Move (12 page)

They arrived just in time for the meeting. They were shown to the same small conference room as before. Vicky had a feeling that this meeting would be every bit as uncomfortable as the first.

Mathew Knight arrived with the ear-tugging Mrs. Parsons in tow. They didn’t even bother to sit down, the two of them stared down at Brandon like a judge and his bailiff.

“These are driving directions to our PR firm in downtown Charlotte.” Mr. Knight tossed a piece of paper at them both. Brandon didn’t even bother to swing it toward him from his position at the end of the table. Vicky did it for him.

“The name of the firm is Adopholus & Sons. You’ll report there on Thursday for an all-day session where you’ll learn how to handle yourself in front of television cameras and reporters.”

They wanted him to do media training, Vicky thought. Brilliant.

She glanced over at Brandon. His face looked as hard as the table they sat at.

“Here’s Thursday’s itinerary,” Mrs. Parsons said, her eyes as cold as glass, too. “And just so you know, Mr. Burke, I’ll be there, too.”

“I’m not going,” Brandon retorted.

“You’ll go, and you’ll go happily,” Mr. Knight said, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Brandon—” Vicky said. “Do I have to call Scott?”

He shot her a look. She warned him with her eyes. His lashes lowered. “Fine. I’ll go. But not without
her.
”

“What?” Vicky exclaimed, snapping her gaze on Brandon again. “I don’t need to go. I can’t go. I’m quitting. Remember?”

“You’re quitting?” Mr. Knight said. “You mean, you’re no longer Brandon’s agent?”

“Well, yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“I’m not going without her,” Brandon said again.

“Brandon, I can’t go,” she said. “And you know why.”

“Then I suggest you call Scott,” Mr. Knight said.

“Scott will fly down and be with you,” she said to Brandon, pasting a politely professional smile on her face.

“Fine,” Mr. Knight said. “I don’t care who goes, as long as
he’s
there,” he said, wagging a finger at his driver.

“Whatever,” Brandon said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his own arms.

Why did he have to make things so difficult?

Because he hated authority,
a voice answered. Because he couldn’t stand being told what to do. Because, ultimately, Brandon sought to control his own life by forcing his will on others.

Much as she’d forced her will on him—and so now he did it back to her.

She almost groaned.

“You’ll need to memorize these before you arrive,” Mrs. Parsons said, laying another sheet of paper out before Brandon. “They’re phrases we’d like you to use when dealing with media. Phrases like ‘no comment’ and ‘my media spokesperson will issue a statement shortly.’”

Vicky caught Brandon’s eye, but not by word or deed did he let it be known that he might have a bit of a problem memorizing said phrases. That, she realized, was how adept he’d become at keeping his little secret all these years.

“You’ll be filmed using these new phrases,” Mrs. Parsons added. She straightened, tapped the ends of the folder that’d been holding her papers on the edge of the table. “You’ll also be taught how to use the media to your advantage,
not
your disadvantage. How to smile into the camera. And, most importantly, how to be polite…to everyone. There’s also some other information we expect you to memorize. You’ll need to be at Adopholus & Sons an hour early so we can go over what you’ve learned, you and—” she shot a look at Vicky “—whoever.”

Brandon’s jaw jutted out. He spun the paper around. Vicky wondered if he realized it was upside-down. She had a feeling Mr. Knight did, and that he interpreted the gesture as Brandon’s disinterest in what had been put before him. She saw the car owner’s eyes narrow.

“See that you’re there,” Mr. Knight snapped out before storming from the conference room, Mrs. Parsons in his wake.

“At least she didn’t grab your ear and pull you from the room,” Vicky said.

He stared at the table blankly.

“So, what are you going to do about the reading thing?”

He got up from his chair. “The same thing I always do.”

She stepped in front of him before he could dash out of the room. His cheek was twitching again, something she knew from experience was never a good sign. “I’m sorry I blackmailed you, but you really shouldn’t try to get even with me by insisting I stick around to do media training.”

“Who says I’m trying to get even?” he asked.

“Aren’t you?”

He scooted close to her. “Maybe I want you there.”

That was his other defense mechanism, she realized. Whenever he was feeling particularly threatened he made a pass at her. But it wasn’t going to work this time. She’d started to develop an immunity. Well, all right, maybe only a little one because she still got that strange feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever he stared down at her the way he did, but it wasn’t as bad as before—or so she told herself.

“Brandon, look. I really am sorry I strong-armed you into coming here. It was unprofessional, but you had me up against a wall.”

He leaned close to her, his eyes clearly saying,
I’d like to press
you
up against a wall.

“Stop it,” she said. “Stop giving me that look. I know you’re not really interested in me. You’re just trying to throw me off guard. To…to get back some of your own confidence by making me grow weak at the knees. And you do, all right,” she said, deciding honesty was the best policy. “I desire you for some
insane
reason. I don’t know why, but you do. You’re rude and obstinate, but you know what? My body doesn’t care. There. It’s out in the open. So you can just stop making those smoky eyes at me. I’m onto you. What’s more, I’m not going to that meeting with you. I quit. The only reason why I dragged you to this meeting today was because Scott threw me a bone. He promised to find me another job within SSI, and so I just might be able to escape this debacle of an assignment with my dignity intact or a nice reference instead of none at all. Either way, I’m gone. You did what you set out to do. You drove me away. Congratulations. You now have nobody in the world who gives a damn about you. Not your stupid career. Not how much money you make. But
you.
”

She tried to read his expression, but his eyes told her nothing. They were as blank as the walls around them.

“I did care,” she said. “No matter what you might think, I did.”

Still, he said nothing.

She shook her head, fed up with the situation. As she left the room, she said, “Good luck with your career.”

She had a feeling he’d need it.

Maybe his fears stemmed from the coming media-training session and the pitfalls and perils of keeping his disability a secret. What the hell would he do if he was given cue cards to read? When he’d filmed things in the past, he’d always insisted he was given a copy of the script ahead of time. But that wasn’t possible this time.

“Damn,” he said, turning to the door.

Vicky found him attractive. Well, he’d known that. No woman would kiss a man back the way she did unless that man turned her on. The question was, what the hell was he going to do about it?

Above him fluorescent lights buzzed. Beyond the conference-room walls he could hear muted voices. The receptionist’s phone rang. He caught the buzz of an incoming call. Business as usual at KEM.

And he was about to lose Vicky.

“Damn,” he said, exiting the conference room and walking to the main lobby. Through the glass walls he could see Vicky stomping down the sidewalk that intersected the courtyard.

“Vicky,” he called.

She glanced over her shoulder. She’d nearly made it to guest parking, her rental car’s bumper nudged up against the concrete sidewalk. When she saw it was him, she flicked her head up, something he’d begun to realize she did whenever she felt confronted or threatened.

He raced to catch up to her, footfalls echoing off the walls of the building.

“Well?” she asked when all he did was stare at her.

He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and when nothing came out, shook his head.

“See ya,” she said, opening the door.

“Wait,” he quickly called. Damn. Why was this so hard? And just what, exactly,
was
hard? What the hell did he want from her?

“Look,” he said, taking a deep breath before plunging into…what? “I’m sorry.”

An apology, he realized. All this angst was over a simple “I’m sorry.” He’d really hit a low point in his life if he couldn’t say two simple words.

“Apology accepted,” she said, beginning to slide into her car.

“Wait,” he said, edging up to her driver’s-side door. “Look,” he said again. “I know I’ve been an ass, and I know I have no right to ask this, but do you think…” He shook his head, tried to put words to his thoughts, something that seemed damned hard to do lately. “Do you think you could maybe…stay?”

Her jaw dropped. No, that wasn’t exactly true. Her whole head lowered, her left ear turning toward him a bit as if she thought she hadn’t heard him. “Stay?” she asked again.

“Yeah, stay,” he said.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. But then she leaned back, her shoulder blades resting against her doorjamb. “Why should I?”

He should have known she wouldn’t make it easy. Then again, did he blame her? He hadn’t exactly been nice to her, especially kissing her as he had the other day, then leaving her hanging. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she laughed in his face.

“I need you,” he admitted. “Not to teach me how to read,” he said quickly because her eyes had narrowed. “I don’t need you that way. Well, maybe I do. I don’t know. I just don’t think…” He shook his head, taking another deep breath while he tried to wrap his mind around what he was trying to say. “I just don’t think I can do this without you.”

She crossed her arms in front of her. He had to admit, a part of him admired the way she held firm. On the heels of that thought he realized that if she’d truly been sticking it out as his agent just so she could make some money off of him, then she’d have been shaking his hand by now. Instead she stood there, her green eyes never wavering, her brown hair flitting about her shoulders. She’d left it down. Her glasses were nowhere in sight, either. She had such wide, expressive eyes. A person would always know where they stood with Vicky because everything she thought shone right through that gaze.

She was trying to decide if she wanted to kill him or forgive him. He could tell.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to hide his nervousness.

Nervousness?

Yes, damn it, he was nervous, because he hadn’t realized until exactly that moment how much he needed someone like her in his life. Someone who couldn’t be intimidated by him. Someone who gave him as good as she got. Someone who cared.

“If it makes any difference,” he said. “I never asked Scott to fire you. I don’t know why he told you otherwise, except maybe to make himself look better, but I swear, the word
fire
never crossed my lips.”

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. And yet, still…still, she didn’t look convinced.

“And you were right. I was mad as hell that you stood me up at the racetrack. I didn’t realize until you never showed how much I was counting on you to be there.”

Her lips began to relax, but her eyes were still narrow slits.

“And I kissed you afterward because of that anger. It was a lousy thing to do and I’m sorry.”

She tipped her head sideways, and Brandon thought that for the first time in his life, he was facing a woman he
liked.
Really, truly liked.

“All right, fine,” she said, pressing away from the side of her car and slipping inside. “I’ll see you on Thursday.” She began to close her car door.

“Hey, wait, whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, stopping her. “What about all that stuff I have to learn?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Brandon recognized that instantly. It completely negated everything he’d just said because he could tell Vicky thought his speech was just another in a long line of ploys he used to get his way.

Damn it.

That wasn’t the case. That wasn’t the case at all.

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said. “You always do.” She slammed the door.

“Wait,” he said again.

But she started the car’s engine and backed out of her spot without sparing him another glance.

“Damn it,” he said, wincing when her tires squealed. She was pissed. She might even change her mind about sticking it out as his agent. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Now what?