Lovers' Dance (22 page)

“Good. I’m leaving now. Bye.”

“Meet me at the bloody station,” Nathan managed to yell before Matt hung up.

Matt stared at nothing for a second, then uttered a foul curse to vent his frustrations.
How had they found out?
It didn’t matter how. When Matt found out who the person was behind this intrusion into his private life, he would destroy them. He grabbed his mobile and keys, dashing out Madi’s house. The only thing on his mind was getting to her. Everything else: his family, his friends, the bloody paps, none of that mattered. He needed to get to her so he could reassure her that this would blow over. Matt would make sure of it. As he got into his car, he felt uneasy guilt. He had wanted their relationship to be made public, but not like this. He wasn’t in control of how it had been presented by the media, and it was too late to put the genie back into the bottle. Matt put his foot down and the car responded immediately. If he had green lights all the way, he could be at the station in twenty minutes. He would wait for exactly fifteen minutes and, if Nathan hadn’t arrived by then, Matt would leave without him.

<><><>

When I drove into my parking spot at my building I was a bit flustered. There were a few vans parked outside the open gates and people hanging about. As soon as I drove past, there was a flurry of activity that I saw in the rear view mirror. Was that a camera? I laughed at the ridiculous thought, thinking about ways Dante and I could improve our choreography. With a smile on my lips, I reached into the back and grabbed my stuff. A bright light flashed and I spun around, then screamed in fright at the faces jostling outside my car.

What the fuck?
I sat frozen, gripping my bag to my chest as the strangers started shouting questions at me. The flashes of light became brighter.

“Ms DuMont.”

“How long have you been in a relationship with Matthew Bradley?”

“What’s the nature of your relationship with Matthew Bradley?”

“Did you enjoy your time in Venice?”

“How did you meet?”

“What’s the nature of your relationship?”

“Ms DuMont, how did you deal with your parents’ deaths?”

“Do you prefer the UK over the States?”

“Have you encountered any issues being in an interracial relationship, Ms DuMont?”

“What about the age difference? Ms DuMont? Ms DuMont?”

They were shouting so loudly I could hear every single question even though the windows were up. Oh God. What the hell was going on? I started to hyperventilate, could feel the sweat starting to trickle down my back. This was not good. My throat closed up as I sat, terrified and trapped in my Beetle.

Panic attack. Shit.
This was going to be bad.
It had been years since I had last experienced an attack, but I knew the signs. Shaking hands, dry mouth, unable to freaking breathe. I slammed my hand over the horn as the dizziness started. I kept my hand on the horn, eyes squeezed shut. Oh God, please let Dante be there. From my lips to God’s ear. I heard Dante’s strident voice, yelling he was going to call the cops if they didn’t get off his property. My palm was stuck on the horn, the noise blaring continuously. The door was abruptly yanked open.

“Come on, Madi.” Dante grabbed my arm, helping me out of the car. I stumbled, eyes closed and gripping my bag tightly as he muscled us past the crush of people. I couldn’t breathe, the only sound coming from my lips was a raspy wheeze as I huddled against Dante. He practically carried me into our building.

“Breathe, sweet cheeks. Come on, Madi, breathe. I’m here with you.”

After ten minutes of going through my breathing exercises, I felt brave enough to open my eyes. When I did, it was to see the familiar surroundings of our office. Dante peered at me, worry etched on his face as he cupped my face in his hands.

“What—what the hell is going on?” I cried, shaking like a leaf. “Were those reporters? I don’t understand. How do they know about me and Matt?”

Dante’s gaze travelled over my face, clinically assessing my state. “It’s been in the news since Wednesday. I tried calling you dozens of times, but your cell was off. What the hell have you been getting up to? Talk to me, Madi. Is it true? I mean, I saw pictures—”

“What?” I yelled, feeling my heart picking up tempo. “Pictures? Oh shit. How is this happening?”

Dante shook me by the shoulders. “Is it true? Are you hooking up with some old, white dude? Some rich, white man?”

I blinked hard. Swallowed hard. Sweated hard. “He’s thirty-seven, that’s not old.”

Dante’s hands fell to his sides as he regarded me with something I wanted to call disbelief; it looked more like revulsion.

“You got a rich, sugar daddy? Do you know what they’re saying about you? Have you seen what’s on the Internet?”

“What?” I whispered, stomach falling to the floor. “What are they saying, Dante? This isn’t supposed to be happening.” On shaky legs I hurried over to the desk we shared. The computer was on, it was always on. I sank into the seat, unable to comprehend what was going on. How on earth had this happened?

“Madi, the phones haven’t stopped ringing. Reporters have been out front since Wednesday afternoon. We’ve had to cancel classes—”

“What?” My attention diverted from the computer screen to Dante’s serious face.

“I had to, sweet cheeks. A lot of parents have been asking questions—”

“What? Why?”

“Because they’ve seen pictures of you wearing next to nothing with a half-naked white man on a boat,” he said, frigid, artic. Dante was pissed. I didn’t blame him. This would impact our bottom line. Fuck. Would we lose business because of this?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dante asked in a hurt voice. “We’ve been friends almost twenty years and you kept this from me. Why?”

My chest was tight as I peered into his soulful brown eyes. “I don’t know,” I whispered in a small voice. “I’m sorry, D. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think anyone would find out.”

Dante folded his arms, shaking his head slowly. “Just explain to me how you managed to get yourself involved with this guy. Do you know anything about him? Are you on fucking drugs? I—” He exhaled loudly, then took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t understand, and I need you to explain it to me. The things they’re saying about you, your mom—”

“What?” I jumped off the seat, banging my knee underneath the desk. “My mother? What on earth are they saying?”

Dante came over to the desk, planting his strong hands on my shoulders and shoved me back down in the seat. He leaned over and clicked a few keys. His aftershave wafted up my nose. Dante always smelt nice, like the forest, fresh, yet earthy, untamed. It was a scent I had grown used to over the years. It reminded me of home. He was my home away from home.

“Read that, Madi.”

I grimaced at the picture of me standing in the circle of Matt’s arms on his boat. How the hell had these pictures been taken? Who had taken them? Shaking my head, I ignored the pictures and read the article. There was a link to another webpage. I read that one and four others. Each article had comments posted. After reading the comments—people were such racist bastards—I ended up huddled under our desk, crouched in the corner like an injured creature, rocking back and forth like a terrified child. There were pictures of the crash. The one I survived, the one that had taken my world away. On one website, they had shown old footage of the crash site. That was the final push that led to me cowering under the table.

“Madi,” Dante coaxed on his knees, with a hand outstretched. “You’re not a kid anymore. Come out from under there.”

I shook my head and squeezed myself in further. This was a bad dream. I would wake up in my bed and breathe a sigh of relief any second. This was all a bad dream. 

<><><>

“Get in,” Matt said impatiently to his friend clutching a briefcase. Before Nathan had a chance to close the door, Matt pulled away from the station. He had tried calling the number for Madi’s studio but it was constantly engaged.

“Have you seen the articles?” Nathan asked in a harassed voice as he buckled up.

“No,” Matt gritted out. “I left Madi’s place right after talking to you.”

“You were at her place? I thought you were holed up at your house. For God’s sake, Matt.”

Matt sent him a sidelong glare. “Are you here to help or do I have to boot your arse to the kerb?”

Nathan sighed, rubbing his nose bridge as if trying to ward off a headache. “I am here to help. How far is it?”

“Ten minutes, depending on traffic. Have you finished the statement? I want to read it. Bollocks.” Matt slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration as the lights changed against them. “I hope the press isn’t there.”

Nathan snorted and Matt punched the steering wheel. The whole situation was a mess and all he could think about was how she would react to being thrust unceremoniously into the public limelight.

“How incriminating are the photos? They didn’t get any of us at my house in Venice, did they?” Matt asked, fingers tightening in fury. The first night in Venice, he had made love to her on the balcony of his room. God. He would kill someone if images like that appeared in the gossip sheets.

“Not of the house,” Nathan replied in a distracted voice, the briefcase open on his lap as he scanned the hastily written paper inside it. “Some of you two acting amorous on your boat. A few when you were shopping in Milan. The captions for those images were not flattering to Madison. They implied she was a gold-digger.” Nathan’s head snapped up and he glanced at Matt’s frowning countenance. “Matt, they got some old footage. I don’t know how, but there’s footage of the car crash she was in. And, of course, you know about her mother’s—ahem—youthful carefreeness. It was in that file I gave you.”

“Did they get the same photos you had?” Matt asked.

“Yes, and I’m honestly surprised they got their hands on them so fast. Don’t worry, Matt,” Nathan added in a show of support. “I’ll find out which bastard is behind this. I popped around to my parents’ house last night. Dad’s more than willing to use his media clout to find out who broke the story and where their sources are.”

“Can your father not apply pressure to stop—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is freedom of the bloody press and only the high court can issue a gag order. Wait, aren’t your parents close friends with that judge? Damn it, I can never remember his name.”

“Michaels.” Matt supplied the answer. Mention of his parents added another worry to the plate. “How did my parents react to the latest gossip on the good old Bradley name? I haven’t listened to the voicemails on my mobile, and there were many.”  

Nathan cleared his throat, then closed his briefcase sharply. “Not well, but you’re a grown man. What the fuck can they do? Disown you? Split your inheritance between your elder siblings? Sack you from the boards you preside over? Openly ostracize you amongst our circle of friends?”

Matt frowned at his friend before giving the road his sole attention. “Cheers, mate.” His fake camaraderie made Nathan chuckle. “Nothing like having my oldest friend list the manner in which my family will unjustly penalize me simply for being with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

Nathan’s chuckle broke off with a harsh cough. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were smitten with this girl.”

“She’s a woman, not a girl.” Matt’s tartness wasn’t unnoticed by his friend, who made no effort to hide the growing alarm on his face. Matt smiled to himself as he muttered, “My woman.”

“Beg pardon?” Nathan asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Nothing.” Matt turned down the road and the sight that met his eyes caused a sound of extreme irritation to fall from his lips. “The wankers are there.”

He could see people with cameras milling about and, like bloodhounds on the scent of prospective kill, they immediately noticed his car driving up towards the gates. Matt ignored the bursts of camera lights as he drove by. He ignored the shouted questions outside the vehicle. Spotting her car, he pulled up next to it and parked. The building was immense. It looked like an old theatre which had been converted for other uses. Matt felt the stirrings of pride inside him. This was hers.

“Ready?” Nathan asked as he peered at the small crowd converging on the car.

“Yes.”

They exited Matt’s car and were met with a surge of voices and flashes of cameras.

“Mr Bradley, how long have you been in a relationship with Ms DuMont?”

“No comment,” he muttered, head bent low as he muscled his way through the reporters.

“Mr Bradley, is it true you are behind a planned takeover of Hydroworld? Isn’t that a conflict of interest? Or are you intending to suppress their discoveries in order to maintain the grip your father’s company has on manipulating petrol prices?”

Matt’s lips compressed into an angry line as Nathan pushed past a couple of men and said, “No comment.”

“Is she good in bed, Matt?” someone had the cheek to yell, and the sound of masculine chuckles followed.

Matt stopped, hands curling into fists. Nathan grabbed his arm and propelled him forward. The door was a few yards away. Matt was seething. They were using the revelation of his relationship with Madi as an excuse to question him about his family’s business. More questions were lobbed at him as they neared the door that suddenly swung open. A casually dressed, red-haired woman strode out, gesticulating widely.