Pitching for Her Love (7 page)

But of course I had never seen it before.  It was a picture of me.  The picture of me and Grayson from Saturday night, in my car.  The moment that would have been our first kiss.  And from the number of papers this man kept laying down in front of me, he had sold the image to every newspaper in Chicago.  The headlines reading:

“Curvy New Girlfriend for Chicago’s Most Eligible Man”

“Riot’s Star Finds Love with Voluptuous Journalist”

“Grayson Hunter Hits Home Run With Journalist Grace Taylor”

I was stunned.  I knew there had been some paparazzi, and I knew that it had bothered Grayson, but I had no idea things like this could happen so quickly.

“Ms. Taylor?” the bookish man said.

I swallowed and looked at each of the papers again.

“I uh-well I’m not really...I’m not sure what to...” I said, letting myself trail off.

“So I’m assuming that this is, in fact, you?” he asked, apparently irritated with my surprise.

“Yes, this it me,” I managed to get out.

It was then that I saw Megan walking quickly toward me across the office, a few papers clutched in her hand.  All of the excitement and happy jealousy that had appeared on her face last week was gone and replaced with worry and nerves.

“Well, now that your office staff are arriving, we are leaving.  Please be advised that there will be an additional service charge for last evening,” he said, and before I could answer, he turned on a polished heel and walked off.

“Grace?” I heard Megan’s voice say.  It was tentative and soft, not the boisterous and confident sound I was used to.

“Hey,” I said, still looking at the newspapers and headlines splashed across my desk.  Their focus on my appearance seemed both deliberate and intentionally controversial.  The picture wasn’t a bad one necessarily.  In fact, I found myself thinking, it would have been quite romantic had it been a candid shot from a friend. But the fact that some anonymous photographer had taken it made it extremely impersonal and, if I was being honest, a bit scary.

The phones were still ringing, but they had become little more than a dull white noise in the back of my auditory conscious.  Megan might have been saying something, but I couldn’t hear her.  All I could hear was “Curvy” and “Voluptuous,” as if those were the only words that could define me in the context of my potential relationship.

“Grace?” Megan repeated, and I shook myself out of my daze.

“Yeah?  Hey, I’m sorry.  Just in a bit of a weird place right now,” I said and managed half a grin, which she returned with a weak smile.  She handed me a large coffee that I could smell was pumpkin spice flavored, my favorite, and put a small hand on my shoulder.  Even in her heels she still stood about an inch shorter than me, but her touch was comforting nonetheless.

“Has it been awful this morning?” she asked.  “Did anyone say anything to you?”

I shook my head. “No, not at all.  The barista downstairs gave me a weird look, but I didn’t think anything of it,” I said.

“Are these all reporters calling?” she asked as she motioned to the Post-it notes on my desk.

“I guess so.  The call service had to send people here last night I guess to handle all the volume.  Apparently Bernie started getting calls at home too,” I said, not having realized that I had even retained this information.

“I can’t believe it,” Megan said.  “I mean, I knew it was a big deal to be going out with Grayson Hunter, but I had no idea that the media would swoop in so quickly.”

Then her face changed to one of horror and realization.

“Do you think anyone from
Top Press
is going to try and interview you?  Or make you into a story?” she asked.

At this, I laughed.  “Megan, unless it’s you, I doubt it.  We’re basically the only entertainment people here,” I said.

“That’s true,” she said, and she seemed satisfied.  “So what are you going to do?  Return these calls?”

“Do you think I should?” I asked, becoming more and more aware of the phones ringing in the background.

“No, not at all,” Megan said firmly.  “They should have some professional courtesy.  We’ll talk to Bernie when she’s in and see what she thinks.”

With that, Megan walked to her desk, unplugged her phone, and then did the same to mine.  There were a few other desks in our area whose phones were ringing, so she did those as well, until the only phone we could hear was the one coming from Bernie’s office, which we didn’t dare touch.

“That’s better,” Megan said and sat down in her chair.  I followed suit, but not before sweeping the newspapers off my desk and into the trash.  I did the same with the Post-it notes and felt a small wave of relief at the sight of my clean desk.

“Do you think Bernie is upset?” I asked, taking a sip of the delicious spicy coffee.

“Not at you,” Megan said through a mouth of scone.  “It’s not your fault these vultures have no professionalism.”

“Yeah, but I
did
go out with the subject of one of my pieces.  I’m not sure if there is a rule against that, but I can’t imagine she’ll be thrilled,” I said.

Megan’s mouth twisted to the side in thought, and I turned back to my computer when I thought she wasn’t going to answer.

“She’ll be annoyed, but it shouldn’t be at you,” Megan said with an air of finality.

I was able to sit at my desk and work in relative silence for the next few hours.  The remainder of the staff came in and paused when they noticed their phones disconnected, but after answering their first calls, they returned them to that state.  I was alarmed that I hadn’t seen Bernie yet, or received an email, but it was entirely possible she had decided to let the whole thing blow over from home.

Amanda called my cell phone around mid-morning, expressing sympathy but also commenting that I had looked gorgeous and had nothing to be sorry for.  Megan had just asked if I wanted to go out for lunch when my phone rang again, and I answered it instinctively, believing it to be Amanda again.

“Hello?  Grace?” I heard Grayson say when I answered.

“Grayson?” I said as quietly as I could. The last thing I needed was for everyone to know who was on the phone.

“Yes. Listen Grace, I am so sorry for all of this.  Stan told me that the media has been all over you.  I told him to make it stop, so he’s calling all his connections right now and the calls should stop,” he said.

I didn’t say anything.  I didn’t know what to say.

“Grace?  Are you there?” he asked again.

“Yes,” I said.

“Please say something,” he said.  “I feel so bad about this.”

“I don’t think there is anything to say,” I said, and now Megan was beside me.

“Will you see me again?” he asked, the confidence and charisma gone from his voice. It reeked of quiet desperation.

“Look, Grayson,” I said, “you’re a really nice guy and I had a great time, but I’m not sure this is something I can do.  I’m not even looking for a boyfriend really.  I don’t think I’m the girl for you.”

I caught a glimpse of Megan out the corner of my eye as she nodded quietly.

“No, Grace, you are,” he said with more conviction.  “I hate this part of my life, I really do, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t figure something out.  I had more fun with you than I have in a long time.  Please give me another chance.”

I stayed silent.  I thought back to the amazing time we had, and how happy I had been when he leaned down and whispered in my ear, and how I had looked forward to kissing him.  I thought of the way he looked when he smiled, the line of his jaw and the smell of his aftershave.

“We don’t even have to go out,” he said.  “We can stay in.  I’ll cook or something. But please give me a chance to make this right.”

“Grayson, I—” I started.

“Just think about it,” he interrupted. “Please.  I know you don’t owe me anything, but I want to show you that I can be more than this.”

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“Thank you,” he said, clearly relieved.

He explained that he would be going out of town on Wednesday for an away series but would love to have me over to his place for dinner the next night.  I agreed, but only after he offered to send a car for me.  Now that everyone had seen my car, I felt very uneasy driving it around, especially if I would be seeing Grayson.

Megan was apprehensive, and I was surprised at how quickly her opinion of Grayson had changed.

“It wasn’t his fault this happened,” I said.

“I know, but it wouldn’t have happened with Greg,” she said.

“Greg was boring and arrogant,” I said, and she shrugged.

“Why are you suddenly acting like this is a terrible idea?  You guys pushed me to go on this date in the first place!” I said.

“I guess I just didn’t realize what this side of the media would be like.  We’re always on this side.” Megan motioned to her desk and cubicle. “I just want you to be okay, you know?”

I did understand what she was saying, but it frustrated me nonetheless.  She had wanted me to go out with Grayson because he was hot and famous, exactly the reasons I hadn’t wanted to.  Now, after getting to see a different side of him, I wanted to date him because he was the first guy I had been out with in months that had given me butterflies and made me excited.  Why couldn’t she be happy about that?

I didn’t say anything to her for a while, and eventually the phones were plugged back in and work resumed.  I supposed that Stan really did have some influence.  I had a number of emails from friends and family asking if I was really the girl in the picture, but I ignored them for the time being.  The questions from unknown senders had stopped.

Bernie came in around one, her silver-blond hair cropped close to her head, except on top where it twisted to one side in a whirlpool.  I tried to keep my head down, but without even looking, she summoned me.

“Grace. Office. Now.”

I felt the eyes of everyone within fifty feet on me as I gathered what courage I could and walked into Bernie’s office.  She was waiting by the door, which she closed behind me after I passed her.

“Sit down,” she said, her voice not exactly cold but certainly stern.  I did so without a word.

“Is it you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. 

She nodded; she knew it was.  “Is this something serious?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.  “That was our first date.”

She sat in silence for some time, drumming her maroon fingernails against the polished wood of her desk.

“Do you know why I gave you this piece?” she asked. 

I jumped a bit; I hadn’t been expecting that question.  “I assumed it was a mistake,” I said, and she cracked a small smile.

“I gave it to you because I didn’t want it written by a fan girl.  I wanted a piece that could be read and appreciated by all the young women who read
Top Press
and look to us for advice from level-headed and intelligent women.  I don’t know if dating this man will do any damage to your reputation, or to
Top Press
”—she paused and pursed her lips—“but it shouldn’t matter.  This is 2015; you can date who you want, Grace.  But be ready for it.  I realize the calls have stopped, but if there are more, I am instructing the staff to send them to you.  No one will be fielding these questions or acting as your press secretary.”

I had found myself nodding continuously as she was talking, not retaining much of what she was saying but knowing that I wasn’t getting fired.

“Does that make sense?” Bernie asked.

“I don’t want anyone to field anything or help, or do anything at all,” I said.  “I just wish I had been more careful or that I had—”

Bernie cut me off by putting one hand in the air.

“I don’t want to hear about your personal life in the office or on the front page of the
Tribune
.  But I can only control one of those.  You can go,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said and walked out.  I wasn’t sure whether I felt any better or not.

Megan met my eyes immediately, and when I was back at my desk she whispered,  “What happened?”

“It’s fine. She just said that it’s on me whatever happens,” I answered.

“That seems...nice of her,” Megan said.  She sounded skeptical, but I just shrugged and went back to work.

The awkwardness with Megan continued the rest of the day, but luckily she had a meeting late in the afternoon, so I was able to sneak out without having to say goodbye.  I took a cab home, anxious about being on the street and being seen by anyone.  My apartment was warm and safe when I got there, and I lit a pumpkin-scented candle before pulling a nice bottle of red wine from the cupboard.  Once I was there, I sent both Amanda and Megan a text letting them know I wouldn’t be able to make it to the gallery event that evening.

Both my mother and sister had left messages on my voicemail during the day, but I was only able to listen to them for the first time when I was home.  My mother said that she and my stepdad were a little concerned because some of their friends had insisted they had seen me in some tabloid magazine with a ‘sports player.’  At least I knew where I got my athletic enthusiasm from.

My sister’s message was better.  Despite living in Ann Arbor with our mother and stepfather, she was a bit more in touch with everything going on in the world of pop culture.  She congratulated me on the hot date and said she would talk to Mom and Harry and not to worry about it.  By the time the messages were through, Megan had texted me.

“Sorry that today was weird.  Just worried about you.  X,” her message said.

“No worries. This has been a weird day all around,” I responded and put my phone in my room on silent for the rest of the night.  It was
The Bachelorette
elimination tonight, and I was going to take the rest of my evening to relax in peace.

T
he best thing about my relationship with Megan was that our awkward times or fights were few, far between, and easily forgotten.  The next morning it was as if nothing had happened the day before.  The rest of the office had become sympathetic since being forced to forward me all the calls regarding my relationship with Grayson Hunter.  When I spent most of Tuesday saying “no comment,” even Bernie seemed to feel a little guilty.