No Bunny But You (Holiday Romance Series) (17 page)

She turned for the front door, saying in a
tear-strangled voice, “I have to go now.”

Drake watched her disappear out the door, closing it
heavily behind her.

“I know, Molly, I know,” he said to the door. “Even
if it means my career.”

Turning to stare unseeing at the game highlights
showing on the television screen, he mused aloud, “I didn’t have
the chance to tell her I’d already decided to give the Bloggie
back. It’s funny…, but she somehow makes it easier for me.”

* * *

“Levi.” Drake held the phone to his ear. The morning
after the Bloggie Award Ceremony, he’d woken with even more clarity
and resolve. He had to come clean, but he had to check on something
first.

“Hey, Drake.” There was murmuring in the background
and his friend then returned to the phone. “Sorry, I have to give
my assistant some directions. So, what’s up?”

“Did you happen to watch the Bloggie Award Ceremony
last night?”

“Ahhh, no. Now, if it had been the Golden Globes or
the Oscars, that would be different.”

“Don’t be an arrogant smart-ass,” Drake told his
friend as he pushed a hand through his hair.

Levi chuckled.

“Listen, Levi, I have a question that you—having a
degree in entertainment law—might be able to answer.”

“I’ll try. Shoot.”

“Is there any likelihood of me having legal
consequences from having had Molly help with the blog…? When I tell
my bosses about having used her expertise, am I opening myself—or
her—up for any legal action?”

“Wow,” Levi said, his voice sharpening. “What
happened at these Bloggies?”

“I won. I mean, the blog I write won.” Drake looked
at the award, still sitting on his lamp table. He still couldn’t
believe it. He’d always thought he wrote well, but this writing had
been about crap he didn’t even know.

“Your blog? The one
you
write?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” He rubbed a hand over his
face. “The one I have written with the information Molly supplied.
I don’t anticipate continuing with it, though.”

“That means
you
won,” Levi replied. “Wait a
minute. Did you get that news blogging job?”

“No. No, but I—I need to come clean about this blog
thing. I stood on that stage last night and imagined the other home
improvement bloggers sitting in the audience, who honestly deserved
that award, and I—I knew I needed to end this farce.”

There was a hint of laughter in Levi’s words. “After
you learned to fix your toilet?”

Drake chuckled in response to this mild teasing.
“Yes. At least I got my dripping faucet fixed out of this
mess.”

His friend was silent for a moment before asking,
“Does Molly know you’re going to do this? Have you told her?”

“No.” When he thought about her tears and her
insistence that he was too nice a guy to lie, he was tempted to
think she might really love him. “Not yet. But I will.”

“So, you’re wondering if your bosses could bring
legal action against you?” Levi asked.

“Yes, I just want to prepare myself.”

“Ummm. I think it’s unlikely. Network people don’t
want to draw negative public opinion. Even if there were a few
do-it-yourselfers who get up in arms when this gets out and want to
lynch you and the network, most people won’t really care. Networks
are viewed as being big and powerful. The opposite of writers.
You’re not big enough news, buddy. And it’s not like you knifed
somebody or killed someone when you were driving drunk.”

“You mean, I’m not bad enough?”

Levi laughed. “There’ll be some backlash, but not a
lot.”

“And there’s no chance that anyone in this mess will
come after Molly?” She’d only been helping him and he couldn’t
allow Molly to somehow get crap about it.

“Naw. I wouldn’t think she’ll be more than a blip on
the screen. You don’t even have to tell them who was helping you or
where you got the information.”

Relief flooded Drake. He might have to find a new
career, but knowing Molly was in the clear helped a lot.

* * *

The next morning, Drake looked grimly around the
conference table, seeing as he expected, not only Mike, his boss,
but Jerome, the big network boss, and several others from the
Weblog Award organization, including its president, Sal
Robinowitzc.”

“I appreciate your all coming today,” Drake began,
his throat feeling dry and scratchy.

“What’s this all about, Drake?” Jerome leaned
forward, his cufflinks subtly winking from the wrists of the
tailored shirt that extended just beyond the sleeves of his
jacket.

“I’m glad you asked,” Drake started. “I have a
confession and…an apology to make to you all.”

Looking down at the polished surface of the table, he
took a breath and plunged in. “I wrote a blog about home
improvement projects—about dry wall and flooring and putting in a
steam bathroom.”

Drake looked up, holding the gaze of his boss before
turning toward the president of the Weblog Awards. “I just won a
Bloggie for writing about those kinds of projects. I know you all
assumed I must be an expert at home improvement, but I’m not.”

Several spoke up at once in response to this.

“Yes.”

“Of course, you won fair and square,” Sal
insisted.

“Aren’t you an expert?”

Nodding, Mike asked in a fatherly voice, “What’s the
problem, Drake?”

“Until a month or so ago, I’d never worked with my
hands, at all.” He met their gazes. “Not a moment. The only thing
I’ve ever done to accomplish a home repair was to pick up the
phone.”

“That can’t be true,” Mike protested.

“Don’t be silly.” Jerome Willstock frowned at
him.

Drake lifted a hand in response. “Did I ever actually
say I’d done any of these projects? Did I actually state that I’d
done those projects? I just wrote how to do them.”

Sal dropped his gaze to the table, as if thinking.
“No, I don’t think you ever did say you’d done those things. Not on
any of the blogs I saw. It was just assumed.”

“You had to have done the projects or you couldn’t
have written about them so knowledgably,” Mike insisted. “What’s
this all about?”

Drake cleared his throat before saying, “I owe you
all an apology. I—I’ve never done any construction work until just
recently. No home repairs. No upgrades, nothing.”

A confusion of voices rose in response to this.

Raising his hand to speak, he said, “I got the blog
information from---a friend. Someone who’d done a lot of that kind
of work as a kid, in, um, his work and at his own home. But until
recently—and at my informant’s insistence—have I never done any
work with my hands.”

“But how could that be,” Mike started to say in a
confused voice. “You wrote like an expert. You
are
an expert
on these things.”

“No.” Drake met his gaze steadily. “No. My friend did
the work—or had done those things in the past—and gave me the
information. I wrote the blog, but I’ve only recently done any of
the work, and then not with a lot of skill.”

Still frowning, Jerome asked, “So, you faked it
all?”

Drake felt his jaw clench briefly. “As I said, I’ve
never done home repair until recently.”

“But what about the House Today spot?” Mike asked
plaintively. “You did that. I saw you.”

“Yes, I did. I recently learned some rudimentary
plumbing, but that wasn’t until a few weeks ago.”

“That wasn’t faked?” Jerome was annoyed and it
showed.

“Well. I did learn how to do that kind of repair—not
with much expertise—but I got through the spot.”

Sal spoke up then. “This puts an entirely different
spin on the blog award.”

“I know,” Drake said. “There were others up for the
award who both know their stuff and wrote their blogs.”

“All those blogs were written by someone else?” Mike
shook his head, seeming to be having a hard time accepting the
truth.

“It’s as good as plagiarism, even if you did do the
writing yourself,” Jerome snapped in response. “You’re fired, of
course.”

“I expected to be.” Drake’s jaw felt tight and his
belly seemed filled with radioactive sludge…but he felt better for
coming clean. “I’m sorry, Gentlemen. I apologize for the
deception.”

At least he’d finally done the right thing. Now, he
just had to make things right with Molly.

If he could.

* * *

“Thanks.” That same morning Molly accepted the tissue
Cheryl handed her. “I’m sorry. I came over to see how you’re doing
after the lumpectomy, not to talk about my miserable love
life.”

Cheryl laughed. “Hey. I don’t mind. I’m sick to death
of talking about and thinking about my boob. Cancer-free now is
what the doctor said. They caught it very early and the radiation
is typically very effective, he said. Only time will tell. Anyway,
I’m putting it all behind me now. So, this guy, Drake, hasn’t
called you since you made your big declaration?”

Petite with short dark salt-and-pepper hair, her
friend certainly looked healthy. The older woman shifted on the
couch, lifting a slender leg to tuck under herself. “You haven’t
talked to him at all?”

“Not really. I stopped by his place last night,
but…he didn’t really say much. To be honest, I didn’t give him much
of a chance,” another tear trickled down Molly’s cheek, “and now
I’m wondering if I should have ever said anything, about wanting
more or about the blog. Maybe I should have just kept boning him.
At least, I’d have something.”

Lifting her eyebrows, her friend nodded as she
grimaced comically. “And been less tense, too.”

Chuckling a moment as she wiped her damp cheeks,
Molly’s laughter shifted into a hiccup as she blew her nose. “I’m
such a putz.”

“I wouldn’t say that, honey.” Cheryl patted her
shoulder, before gathering her empty cup of tea, disappearing into
the kitchen. She returned and sat again at the opposite end of the
couch. “If you didn’t give him a chance to say anything last night,
why don’t you call him now?”

Molly turned a shocked face to her. “Are you kidding?
I can’t do that. Did the chemo screw up your brain?”

Her friend shook her head, laughing. “No, I hope not.
The surgery left me with a scarred boob and just gave me a shorter
haircut. I’ve been thinking about this Drake guy and what a mess
he’s in. It can’t feel good, even if he doesn’t return the—what did
you call it? The Bloggie?”

Nodding, Molly swiped the tissue over her cheek
again. “It’s a Weblog award.”

Cheryl twisted the square cut garnet ring on her
right hand. “He can’t be feeling good. You also called him a
phony--” She put out a hand to stop Molly’s protest. “I know. I
know. He has been a phony, but he hasn’t had many other great
options. And it’s not like he was doing scary things like that kid
who stole airplanes and faked his way through all kinds of wild
situations. I think they made a movie about him after he went to
jail.”

“No…. Drake’s not that big a phony.” Molly fell
silent, thinking about how great Drake had looked in his tux, the
top buttons of his formal shirt undone and the jacket thrown
carelessly over the back of his couch.

She swallowed, seized suddenly with the memory of
what all they’d done on that couch last time.

Finally, she said in a tight voice, “He looked okay
last night when I stopped by his house. No, Cheryl. I don’t think
I’ll call him.”

* * *

“Ms. Summers, please tell me where I can find her?”
Drake stood on the woman’s wide front porch. He shoved his hand in
his pocket. “She won’t answer her phone. I’ve been by her house
several times and she’s never there. You’re my last hope. I thought
about showing up at her place with balloons and flowers or
something, but I can’t even find her.”

He’d been going crazy, trying to get hold of Molly
now that he’d realized his fear of rejection might be causing him
to lose the best thing in his life.

The older woman smiled. “Balloons and flowers. What
are you doing? Apologizing like a husband who forgot Valentines or
proposing or something?”

“Neither—right now. I mean, I’m apologizing, but I
thought the proposal should come after that.” He’d thought long and
hard after he got fired from the blog. Being jobless didn’t make
him a great candidate for marriage, but once he got on his feet, he
wanted nothing more than to buy her a big rock and marry Molly.

Hell, just the thought had him smiling.

Drake didn’t know what had taken him so long. Every
success had been better when he shared it with her and every
struggle had been made easier when she was there with him. He’d
lived in the safe zone too long. Protected his dignity at all cost
and it was costing him the only woman he’d ever really loved.

“Can you tell me where I can find her?” Drake shifted
his feet on the concrete of Cheryl’s big front porch. “Please?”

To his frustration, she’d ignored all his calls. Now
that he was trying to get her, she was nowhere to be found. Every
time his cell rang, he grabbed it up, hoping Molly was calling him
back. Just in the last couple of hours, Drake had been jolted by
two calls from Mike, his former boss, putting the phone down in
frustration each time Molly’s name hadn’t been the one to show up
on the screen.

Cheryl sighed and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Drake, but I
promised her. She...she doesn’t want to see you.”

“You talked to you? About us?”

“Yes, just this morning. She stopped by for tea and
told me everything. I promised I wouldn’t talk about it or talk to
you or anything. I can’t break my promise.” She looked regretful,
as if she really wanted to help.

“That’s crazy. She doesn’t even know what I want to
say. How can she know that she doesn’t want to hear it?”

“I know, but I promised.” Cheryl shrugged again.

“Okay. How about this,” he stopped, his brain in
rapid-fire mode. “How about I guess? You don’t have to even tell me
if I hit on the right answer. Just pause a little in your
response.”