Spin Control (18 page)

"Think about it," he intoned. "Have you seen anything but good things about me in the papers?"

I contemplated his point. Ever since Michael and I
had started working with Devin, it felt like the vehicle
was always in reverse. Almost every night we were at a
benefit, a bar, a party, making sure that he was cast in
the most favorable light possible and constantly steering him away from lecherous photographers-or Miranda Hamilton. I was so caught up in this world that I
didn't even bother to realize that we might have actually been making progress.

This was it. This was what I was going to tell Gwen
first thing Monday morning. Michael was right, Gwen
only dealt in facts, not emotions, and if I had pulled together all the good press-and point out the lack of bad
press-surrounding Devin, she might deem the project
complete, exonerate me, promote me. No more Devin.
But then again, no more Michael. I felt as if someone
had just punched me in the stomach.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Devin asked.

"Just putting all the pieces together, that's all."

With no warning, he leaned in and planted a sloppy,
uninvited kiss on my lips. "You are so beautiful. Even
more beautiful than you were the night of that benefit a
few years back, in that picture of us"

I backed away from him and almost lost my balance.
My jaw tightened. "Why would you bring up the night
of the benefit?" Light bulb. "You jerk! You almost cost
me my job! Why on earth would you have sent that picture to my boss?"

He tried to look sheepish. "Seemed like the thing
to do. And for the record I am so attracted to you
right now."

I glanced down at my wrinkled white blouse and
black pants. I looked like a hostess at the Olive Garden,
not to mention that I felt like I was trapped in a coffin,
even though I had the cheerful sky above me and a
soothing breeze blowing past.

"You need to leave. Now," I demanded.

"I'm sorry, I just got caught up in the moment."

"What moment? And even if there was a `moment,'
that's not a license to maul me"

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"For crying out loud, Devin, you need to pull yourself together. I have not once in the last few months
given you any indication that I wanted this to work out
between us"

"Oh come on, maybe just a little fling?"

I looked into those blue eyes, wondering how they
had such a power over me when we dated, and how they
were repulsing me now. "I may not always have a grasp
on what I want in life, but I know that you're not it."

I must have stung him. He immediately swung
around toward his black limo sedan, got in the back
seat, and slammed the door.

As I watched his car pull away, all I could think of
was not Devin but Michael: how I should have given
him a chance to speak his mind at the coffee shop.
Maybe he did have a valid reason for not wanting to
work together. Maybe I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Maybe I should've told him how I really felt
about him.

I needed to call him, invite him over to talk. I ran up
my stairs, but I froze once I got to my phone. Fear and
anxiety lumped in my throat. How would I even address all this? How would I explain my erratic behavior? "You could say sorry for starters," I said to myself.

I finally found the courage to pick up the phone, but
not to dial his cell phone. I'd dial the first few numbers,
then hit the power button on my phone.

For now, I had to focus on casting Devin out of our
lives. After all, if Gwen realized how much progress we
had made with Devin, she'd have to accept that the
project was successful. And Fox himself complimented
us on a job well done last night; shouldn't that speak
volumes? I dragged my laptop out of its case and fervently started taking notes of the last two months. I
couldn't help but smile, knowing that at least one loose
end would soon be wrapped up.

But none of this stopped me from continually glancing at my phone. Maybe Michael would call, and I
could explain my behavior, and he could explain his,
and things would be all better. But as the hours went on, all was silent in my house. "Forget it," I grumbled
and dialed Michael's cell. It rolled immediately to his
voice mail.

"Hi, Michael, it's Kate." I hoped he wouldn't notice
my trembling voice. "I'm sorry for running out of the
coffee shop like that. I do want to talk, really. So, um,
give me a call, and I hope to hear from you soon"

I tossed the cordless on the couch and watched it
bounce off right onto the floor. I went back to taking
notes on the computer and doing some online research,
but in the back of my head, all I wanted was that phone
to ring, and that it would be Michael on the other end.

It had been a long time since I looked this forward to a
Monday. Today I was going to have a clean slate. I was
going to show Gwen all the newspaper articles, the
columnists, the thank-you notes from charity event organizers, all boasting of how Devin was now a good
guy, or at least as such in the eyes of the media. I had
worked all weekend gathering up the evidence.

Granted, Gwen and Fox Underhill hadn't placed a
timeline on the transformation (unless the words "do it
soon" could be construed as a timeline), and they might
still want us to have more substantial proof, but just like
everything else in my job, I'd put a spin on it. "Tell me
one item in a paper or magazine that has reflected
poorly on Devin," I would say. And they couldn't, either. "Look at the praise he got from Partnership for the
Homeless. You can't tell me this isn't progress?" Of
course, in this grand scheme, Gwen would smile know ingly and approvingly, forgetting how I had wronged
her just the Friday before.

Most of all, though, I couldn't wait to share the plan
with Michael. He hadn't called me back all weekend,
and yes, I had come up with a hundred excuses for why
he never returned my call. ("Maybe he lost his phone"
and "He hates me and never wants to speak with me
again" were the two competing favorites.) But as much
trepidation as I felt to see him, I had to do it.

I stepped into the office at 8:30. I unloaded my briefcase on my desk, hung up my tan belted trench coat,
and peaked around the corner into Michael's office.
The lights and computer were both off, and his chair
was tucked neatly under his desk. It was uncharacteristic for him to arrive later than 7:30. Maybe he had an
early-morning meeting, but the urge to talk to him at
this moment overwhelmed me.

I walked around the office in search of an answer.
"Good morning, Rita." I tried to sound nonchalant as I
brushed past the front desk. "You haven't heard where
Michael might be?"

"Got a voice mail late last night from him saying he
would be out a few days due to a family emergency"

My face fell. "Is he okay? Did he say what happened?"

"Just a family emergency. That's all he said." Rita
enunciated to me like a child who didn't quite understand an answer to a question. "Why don't you try his
cell phone?"

"Nah, if it's a family emergency, I won't bother him.
Thank you for your help." Rita shrugged, not nearly as
concerned as I was with Michael's whereabouts.

On my way back to my office, I saw that Gwen's
door was closed as she faced the window while talking
on the phone. She only closed her door for serious conversations; she usually enjoyed making everyone else
in the office uncomfortable with her loud voice and offthe-cuff remarks to clients. Maybe she was talking to
someone about me, trying to find out if any of her counterparts would take on a lying, back-stabbing sycophant as a charity case. I really needed to talk to
Michael so we could get things straightened out with
each other, and then with Gwen.

I went back to my office. What were the odds that
this was really a family emergency? I wondered as I
held the phone receiver in one hand and pushed down
the dial-tone button with the other. Would he have said
something that drastic just to avoid talking to me? I've
had plenty of "family emergencies" in my dayshopping, fatigue, or just not feeling like going into
work. Then again, if it really was a family emergency,
would I want to interrupt Michael with something as
minute as this? On the other hand, he might not even
have his cell on, and I could just leave him a message,
in addition to the other one I left him on Friday night.

I was about to dial when Gwen stormed into my office; she scared the receiver right out of my hand.

"You are a genius! An absolute genius!" She mindlessly waved a newspaper through the air.

"Huh?"

"I knew you and Michael were doing good stuff on
this project, but this blows me away!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You haven't seen today's Post?"

"Urn, no, I've been a bit, uh, preoccupied."

"You don't look at the papers every morning?"

"Yeah, uh, sure, of course I do." Why was I lying
again? Ugh. "You know what, Gwen? I don't look at the
papers every morning, unless it's to do the crossword."

Gwen barked out a laugh. "You're too much. Trying
to fool me into thinking you do the crossword"

So this is what telling the truth gets me? I needed to
see what was in that newspaper, what was causing
Gwen's sudden state of euphoria. She dropped the paper on my desk and plopped herself into the guest chair
and watched me while I read it.

There, on Page Six, was a prominent shot of Devin
whispering in Miranda Hamilton's ear. It must have
been taken the first night they met. The headline
blazed, "Taming the Devil in Devin?"

I looked up at Gwen, who was nodding vigorously,
encouraging me to continue reading.

Confirmed Manhattan bachelor Devin Underhill
appears to have met his romantic match in America's sweetheart, Miranda Hamilton. The two have
been seeing each other since Hamilton arrived in
New York three months ago to shoot her new
movie, "Talk Is Cheap." With a reputation as one
of Hollywood's most generous-and genuinestarlets, Hamilton seems like an odd fit for
Debonair Devin, but with his recent charity work, no doubt she was drawn to him, says a source
close to the couple.

"That's probably what attracted Miranda to
Devin, the fact that they both so strongly believe in
the power of charitable giving," the source says.
"Devin's really turned himself around and has become a better person, especially now that she's in
his life."

Witnesses knew how serious Underhill was when
they spotted him last week purchasing an engagement ring at Tiffany, running upwards of $300, 000,
according to the source.

While no one knows for sure when and how he
officially proposed, the source confirms that they
are both in Bermuda this week. "Don't be surprised if you hear about a mid-week wedding," the
source says.

I looked at Gwen disbelievingly.

"So, who was the 'source'-you or Michael?" she
gawped.

"Well, I certainly can't take credit for it." Why would
Michael do something like this and not tell me about it?
Worse yet, how could all of this be happening right before my eyes, and I missed all the signs? "You didn't
happen to hear from Michael today?"

"I heard about his family emergency. Maybe he's on
his way to Bermuda to be the best man!" How apropos
that Gwen thought this was the funniest thing she had
ever heard. "Fox, of course, is thrilled," she continued.
"I was just on the phone with him, and as far as he's concerned, we have done our jobs. Granted, he wishes
his son would have told him of his plans, but who can
complain when you're marrying someone like Miranda
Hamilton? I'm telling you, her walking into our office
was the best thing that ever happened to us"

"Speak for yourself," I mumbled inaudibly.

"What was that, my dear? You're not upset about this
wedding, are you?"

"No, no. I'm, uh, I'm surprised that it got to the Post
this fast, that's all."

She propped her middle-aged derriere on the corner
of my desk. "Kate, you know how difficult it is for me
to apologize, but I am sorry how I reacted on Friday.
Had I known what you were up to, you little devil, I
wouldn't have said anything! I was just keeping you on
your toes, that's all."

"Well, it worked"

"Don't look like you're at a funeral, Brown!" Gwen
leapt from my desk. "This is the best day ever in Burton
Relations. I get to retire, you and Michael are going to
be partners. There is one thing I think you should do,
however."

"What's that?"

"Fly to Bermuda."

"Excuse me?" It was more of a harsh statement than
a question.

"It'll be on me. Just take a little trip, say hi to the
newlyweds, and come back in a few days. I'm assuming since you and Michael were such great matchmakers, they'd want you down there with them."

"I'm not so sure about that, Gwen. They've been pretty private about this whole engagement" Private
and shocking.