Not My Type (29 page)

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I stared at him, surprised. The last thing I’d expected from this Hollywood version of Landon was self-awareness and a near apology.

His grin returned when he glanced up from his jeans and caught my expression. “Yeah, I was a jerk. But if you print that, I’ll have my manager force your editor to make you print a full retraction.”

I mustered a smile, still shocked. I had expected to find Landon still as self-absorbed as ever. There were clear signs of his narcissism in his appearance, but it looked like the dark side of the celebrity experience had taught him some cynicism with a tiny dose of humility.

“This is already not the conversation I imagined us having,” I said.

He laughed. “I’m sure you thought I’d ooze the plastic charm I’ve learned to turn on for my media interviews, and then you’d walk away more sure than ever that you were right to dump me.” He propped his elbow on the sofa back and chewed on his thumbnail for a second. He did that when he was thinking hard. “You always could see right through me.”

“No way,” I said, almost snorting. “If I had, we never would have lasted four years.”

He winced. “Fair enough,” he said. “I hope I didn’t treat you that badly though. We had some good times, right?”

I sighed. “No, you didn’t treat me badly. You just didn’t treat me well.” For most of our relationship, everything had been about him. We went where he wanted, hung out with his friends, talked about his plans. And I let it all happen, so wrapped up in basking in his reflected glory that I didn’t bother to assert myself. He never abused me, verbally or otherwise, but that wasn’t the same as being treated well. When I realized it at the end, I knew I had to demand better. When I didn’t get it, I walked.

“I know,” he said and sighed. “Self-awareness is . . . uncomfortable. It’s been a hard year. ”

When my eyebrows shot up, he shook his head.

“I know. Poor little rich boy, right?” He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m cash rich and friend poor. I’m not going to cry you a river, but I lied when I said that curiosity was the reason I told my manager to book this interview.”

“Then what’s your real reason?” This conversation was so far off base from what I’d anticipated that I had no idea what to expect next.

“I want to apologize,” he said. He sat up and looked me in the eye. “I can’t afford to lose the few true friends I’ve had in my life. I didn’t do right by you, and I’m sorry for it. Can you forgive me?”

It was a sincere apology, and for that reason, it tugged on my heartstrings. He wasn’t trying to charm me. He had abandoned all of the usual tricks he employed to endear himself: the flashing dimple, the flirtatious grin, the touchy-feely thing he liked to do to make you feel special.

That’s probably why it worked. “I did not see that coming.”

He didn’t say anything, just sat waiting, his expression hopeful.

A small laugh escaped me. “Leave it to you to even steal my anger. But I’m glad to give it up.” When his face reflected confusion, I explained. “I spent months hurting, being mad at you for not thinking I was worth marrying.”

“I always thought you were worth marrying!” he objected. “You broke it off!”

“Honestly, Landon. How many more times do you think you would have postponed the wedding because things weren’t convenient? Would we even have been married right now?”

He hesitated then shook his head. “Probably not,” he said.

It hurt to hear it, but only my pride. It was final proof that my heart was no longer invested in him.

“I know. And I knew it then. Then I started this new job and a new relationship. When the marketing blitz started for your tour here, I braced for the worst and found . . . well, that I didn’t need to brace for anything. I was fine. So, yes, I accept your apology.”

Annoyance tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re in a new relationship now?”

“Yes.”

“Is he good to you?”

“Very.”

“Dang.”

That made me laugh. “You can’t tell me that you don’t have a million girls dying to date you,” I said.

“They want to date Landon Scott,
The It Factor
sensation,” he said. “You dated me when I was just Landon. I miss that. I hoped maybe we could look at a new beginning. Wishful thinking, huh?”

It was funny. In all the mourning I’d done for our relationship, I had never once wished for us to get back together. And here he was, telling me it had been very much on his mind. But I had no stars in my eyes as I studied him now, and I offered him a shrug of my own.

“Yes,” I said. “That would be wishful thinking.”

“What about if this new guy weren’t around?” he asked.

“To be honest, we kind of hit a wall a few days ago. I haven’t heard from him, and I don’t know if I will.” When I saw interest spark in his eyes, I rushed to explain. “It doesn’t matter though.” His face fell. “Even if I weren’t involved with anyone, you and I wouldn’t work. You’re still talking about being with me because of what I offer you, not because you’re thinking about how we balance each other.”

His head drooped in defeat. “I’m an idiot.”

I scooted over and covered his hand with mine. “You’re not. I can tell you’ve grown. I have too.”

When I withdrew to a safer distance, he smiled again. “Actually, it’s kind of nice to see how together you are.”

“My only lingering side effect is paying off that stupid wedding,” I joked.

He looked amazed. “No way,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re still dealing with that. I’ll have my accountant cut you a check today.”

“No!” I said. “That wasn’t a guilt trip. It’s been a good lesson for me on the dangers of pride.” When he looked confused, I sighed. “I’m handling it, and I’m going to keep handling it. When I’ve cleared the debt, I’ll throw myself a ‘welcome to adulthood’ party. I don’t need you to do anything for me. Really.”

He looked torn. “I don’t feel right about that. Please let me do something. I want in on the grownup club.”

I was all for making amends, but I still resisted his charm. “We should probably just congratulate each other on being adults and toast with some root beer.”

He perked up. “I have a minifridge full of it. It’s the only thing I put in my contract rider.”

“How unsurprising,” I said. “Some things will never change.”

He pushed himself up and sauntered over to the dorm fridge by the huge mirror in front of his makeup chair. “Look,” he said, flinging the door open and pointing. “Would you like A&W or A&W?”

“A&W, please.”

He grabbed two cans and returned to the couch. “I need to ask you another question.”

I sighed and waved my minirecorder at him. “No, I need to ask
you
questions, remember? That’s why I’m here.”

“One more,” he said. “Then we’ll do this interview.” He popped my soda open and handed it to me and then did the same to his, taking a long swig before resting it on the arm of the sofa. “Does your boyfriend balance you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Perfectly.”

He nodded. “Lucky guy.”

“I hope he still feels that way, but if I think about it much longer, my brain will cramp. Are you ready for my deeply considered and thoughtfully phrased questions? Because I have, like, one of those and then about forty of the regular kind.”

He snorted. “What angle are you taking?”

“After listening to you, I want to focus on the downside of the celebrity experience. Do you trust me to do right by you if we go there?” I asked. “I definitely won’t take the poor-little-rich-boy slant, but I do think it would be eye-opening for your fans who want their own fifteen minutes of fame to realize that your life isn’t all limos and A-list parties.”

He considered the question for a while. “I’m sure my manager will kill me, but yeah. Let’s do it. I trust you.”

With a smile, I pulled out my notebook and set the recorder on the table. “Spill it,” I said. “Start with the best stuff first. Is it possible to get tired of screaming girls and red carpet premieres?”

“You have no idea,” he said, and the heavy truth in his tone sent a little shiver up my spine.

This was going to be
good.
Maybe good enough to make “Single in the City” a tiny dot shrinking even smaller in my rearview mirror.

Dear Readers,

Thanks for all the love over the last few months. Being able to spill all the ridiculous details here every week gave me something to look forward to when the dates themselves didn’t. Your comments and hilarious insights on each of my romantic misadventures made a grim situation bearable and transformed it into something fun.

How would I have ever dragged myself into the dating arena again without you guys to cheer me on? Only the fact that dozens of you admitted to infinitely worse dates helped me suit up for another round the very next week. Take, for example, the week when the Bachelor Reject scheduled two ladies at once—on purpose—so he could “compare and contrast.” Luckily, the other girl, Abby, was totally cool, and we passed a fun evening sharing a running commentary on our date, and I made a new friend. (To clarify, it was her, not the Bachelor Reject.)

You know, experiences like this one don’t usually dish out the lessons you’re expecting when you first jump into them. That is definitely true with this dating gig. My LDS Lookup experiment failed miserably for me, but I have a confession: I never wanted it to succeed. I took on this column because I needed the job, but I was nursing a broken heart and had no interest in finding love. I went out of my way to accept dates with guys when I knew there was no potential, but for the record, I totally believe that online dating works for those who want it to. Many of my friends and family members are living out their happily-ever-afters because of sites like LDS Lookup. I turned down some great guys in order to protect my heart. I kept my dates to the guys who weren’t looking for commitment, and I got what I was looking for.

That’s one of the major lessons I learned from this whole experiment. Online dating and regular dating are the same in key ways. You find what you’re looking for. Your payoff is proportionate to your intentions and your input. There are great guys out there. There are creepers. It’s your average singles dance, just . . . online. It takes common sense and solid self-esteem to navigate either dating environment safely. I didn’t approach this with a good-faith effort, and I deserved every dating disaster I experienced. I didn’t want love out of LDS Lookup, and I didn’t find it.

But the joke is on me, right? Because love found me anyway. I squared my shoulders and put my dukes up, but stupid Cupid delivered a knockout blow I couldn’t duck. I’m dazed; my head is spinning; I desperately need someone in my corner to say I’m going to be okay, and yet . . .

I’m deliriously happy.

How clichéd is it to fall in love with your best friend’s brother? But that’s what I did. And that’s me. A walking cliché.

I don’t know if things will work out for me. I’ve made more wrong turns with this guy than I ever did in my “Single in the City” flops, but there is no way I can maintain the Lookup facade now. Not only is my heart not in it but now it belongs totally and utterly to someone else.

Don’t worry, readers. “Single in the City” isn’t going anywhere. Indie Girl is leaving but not leaving you in the lurch. Remember my partner-in-crime from the date with the Bachelor Reject, Abby? Through the magic of Facebook, we’ve become good friends, and I know you’ll find her as funny and insightful as I do. She’s ready to take over here, but with one major difference: she really is looking for love, so I hope you’ll sit tight for the journey as she begins her adventure in this space next week.

Again, I can’t thank you enough for the support, jokes, and advice you’ve offered me throughout the months of this crazy experiment. I am overwhelmed and humbled to have hundreds of strangers cheer me on and so often cheer me up. I wish for you only the best, like you’ve wished for me week after week. If you remember to, wish me luck just a little longer. I’ll need it more than ever. I just shouted my love from the roof tops, and maybe only awkward silence will greet me . . . but here’s hoping I get way more than I deserve from a seriously amazing guy.

Ciao, peeps. I can’t say it’s been real because it hasn’t been at all—but it’s about to be.

In the mean time, I wish you all love.

Sincerely,

Indie Girl

Chapter 20

I sat at my work desk and pushed Send, knowing it meant a countdown of mere minutes before Ellie would erupt when she got my e-mail. I settled in to wait by opening up my interview with Landon and reading through it. It was a great article, as good as anything I’d done at
Real Salt Lake
so far. Forging a new peace between us had allowed the interview to go to deep places, revealing things Landon had never admitted to in any interviews before. I knew he was allowing me that level of access partially out of a sense of penance for four years of neglect, but I think it also made him feel lighter to unburden himself as he talked about the traps and pitfalls of the celebrity life.

The Landon from a year ago would definitely have spent the whole time whining about his bad luck. The Landon on the dressing room sofa three days before had been far more reflective than I had ever known him to be. He recognized that he’d been incredibly blessed with success, but he was losing his illusions about the Hollywood fantasy and was groping his way toward moderation, a foreign principle in the culture of excess surrounding him.

Writing it had been cathartic, and it gelled into a story I knew had real dimension, something lacking in most media coverage of “pop-lite” stars like Landon. I worked nonstop over the weekend to shape the hour’s worth of notes I had into a story that spoke the truth. It allowed me a glimpse into the good man Landon was becoming, but it didn’t tempt me down the what-if path. That door was closed. I had moved on even if I hadn’t heard from Tanner since early on Saturday. I had texted him to tell him I’d be eating Sunday dinner at home and that the coast was clear at his parents’. He responded with, “Thanks. Sorry I’ve gone dark. I’m trying to get to a good place with all of this. Still need space. I’ll call you.”

I would have texted him back with a promise that I was making everything better, but until I knew for sure that Ellie would go for it, I couldn’t offer him anything concrete. I needed more than empty words to give him. I needed actions that spoke as loud as his had when he had patiently waited for me to take notice of him and when he’d carved out every spare minute, and even some he couldn’t spare, to make time for me. Calling him to say “I’m not sure what to do either” wouldn’t move us forward, so the next step was clear. Ellie
had
to take the bait. At any moment, I expected to hear her calling my name in anger, demanding to know what my latest “Single in the City” column was all about. If Ellie agreed to run Landon’s story in exchange for printing my Indie Girl good-bye, the interview would make a huge splash in the Utah market. I was glad, not only because I was finally sure that Chantelle’s crazy suggestion would work but because I knew that what I’d told Landon was true: the article would make a lot of Hollywood hopefuls think twice about the high price of fame.

I pulled out the card I’d stuck in my bottom desk drawer this morning. It had arrived in a padded envelope the day after our interview with a fat check from Landon inside, written for an amount nearly double the wedding debt I had left on my credit card. My mom and dad begged me to take their advice and keep the check, especially when Landon made it clear there were no strings attached. I reread the card again and smiled. “
Dear Pepper, it’s a strange thing when a check like this becomes pretty much pocket change, but I’m only telling you the truth about that so you’ll feel better about taking the cash. Compared to the high price I paid in losing you because of my own self-involvement, the money is nothing. Thanks for being open and honest with me yesterday. I tried to do the same in return, and I hope that you got what you needed for your article. Regardless of how you portray me, the money is yours. It is
totally
separate from the interview. I know I don’t even have to say that, but I want to be clear. I trust your judgment to write your story however you want. Either way, I’ll get what I deserve.”

The check was in my purse, ready to deposit. She didn’t know it yet, but Ginger was about to take full possession of The Zuke while I paid off my credit card and used the remainder for a down payment on a boring, reliable used car. I wondered if I could muster a tear when I surrendered custody of the green Camry.

Nope.

“Pepper!”

I jumped. Chantelle’s head shot up at Ellie’s holler, and I shoved Landon’s card back in my desk and spun my chair around. Ellie stared me down from her desk fifteen feet away, trying to pin me with her gaze.

“What is this?” She stabbed her finger at her screen.

“My ‘Single in the City’ column. What do you think?”

She flushed red and hopped up. “I think we’d better step back to the break room to discuss my opinion.”

I swallowed and stood. Besides Chantelle, Denny and Janie were also in the office. They watched, frozen in surprise, as I trailed after Ellie. Chantelle whispered “Good luck,” as I passed. Every step toward the break room felt like swimming through Jell-O, and I clung tighter to the only defense I had, the thin sheaf of papers in my hand.

When I rounded the corner, Ellie was waiting, standing at the table with her hands on her hips, her jaw clenched tight. She pointed at a chair. “Sit, please.”

I sat.

“The agreement when I hired you full time was that you would keep up your Indie Girl gig. If you don’t fulfill your end of the deal, then we no longer have one. Let me ask you again. What did you just send me?”

“It’s exactly what it looks like. I’m quitting Indie Girl, but before you fire me, I think you should know that I’m pretty sure you’re going to like the Plan B I’ve worked up.” I set my papers on the desk and pushed the top one toward her, hoping she didn’t notice the slight hand tremor as I did so.

She hesitated for a moment before snatching it up.

“What is it?” she asked, skimming it.

“It’s a 2,500-word exclusive with Landon Scott.”

She shot me a startled gaze. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

She reread the page and then held her hand out. “I need the rest of it.”

I placed both palms on top of my little stack. “I can’t give it to you.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “You work for us. You can’t publish this anywhere else.”

That was the opening I’d hoped for. “No, you’re right. I can’t publish this anywhere else. But I also don’t have to publish it here if I don’t work here either.”

She leaned across the table. “You are a schemer.”

I didn’t flinch. “I’m learning from the best.”

She didn’t react, but when she realized I wouldn’t either, she took the seat opposite me. “So your terms are that I either let you out of ‘Single in the City’ or I lose the exclusive?”

I nodded. “That’s the upshot.”

She watched me, calculating how serious I was. “I’m not sure that the right to this exclusive offsets losing the column.”

I slid the two bottom sheets from my pile and pushed them toward her. “You won’t lose it. This is who I think should replace me. Do you remember the date with Bachelor Reject?”

Her lips twitched. That had been a pretty funny recap. “Yes.”

“I’ve kept in touch with Abby, the other girl. She should take over, and she’ll do a way better job because she’s into it. You’ll get the added bonus that in all probability, she’ll fall in love and readers will follow her on that journey. I asked her to write up the last date she went on like it was a ‘Single in the City’ column. She’s a great blogger, but I didn’t know if she could write for the magazine. I think when you read through it, you’ll see she nailed it.”

Ellie took the pages and read through them. A minute or two later, she looked back up. “She can write,” she acknowledged.

“She’ll be great,” I said.

“I’m not sure her finding a relationship will make good column fodder.”

I shrugged. “Readers would have gotten tired of my schtick soon anyway. Do you really want to read about someone for a whole year that’s such a loser she can never get a second date? I think it was already starting to wear thin. Abby will inject it with new life.”

She considered that. “I’d have to pay her, plus your salary, instead of getting a two-fer.”

I nodded. There was no way around that. “True, but this Landon Scott piece is going to drive major traffic to the magazine. You’ll get thousands of readers who have never clicked through to us before, and you’ll have the chance to convert them into subscribers. And as for me, I’m still willing to do the grunt work and pay my dues. I’m not going to go all diva and demand special assignments.”

She snorted. “Not now anyway. I have no doubt you’ll be trotting in soon with a new scheme to get yourself off of the grunt stories too.”

I grinned. “Probably. But haven’t I offered added value every time we’ve bargained?”

She drummed her fingers on the first page of the Landon article. “Yes,” she conceded. “You have.”

I figured it was now or never. “So . . . do we have a deal?”

She picked up the Landon article and glanced over it. “If the rest of the story is good, then yes. It’s a deal.”

I sat back and exhaled. “It’s good. I promise.”

“I’ll see,” she said and gestured for the rest of it. “I’ll take that now. I have a few minutes between appointments this morning, and I’ll look at it then.”

“Thank you, Ellie.”

She shook her head and then got up and walked out. “I’ll tell Denny to run your last Indie Girl piece,” she called over her shoulder.

Battling her exhausted me, but it was the only shot I had at making a relationship with Tanner work. I’d done everything I could, and I believed Tanner cared for me enough that it was going to pay off. Now I just had to sit back and wait to see if I knew him as well as I hoped.

When I walked back to my desk, Chantelle shot me a look that demanded to know if I was still okay. Ellie was rustling her stuff up and preparing to leave to do Ellie Stuff, so I flashed a subtle thumbs up at Chantelle. She nodded and went back to whatever she was working on.

“The column is live,” Denny said, eyes glued to the screen.

Chantelle and Janie scrambled to click on it.

Ellie shook her head again and headed out with a terse, “See you after lunch.”

I sat down and texted my parents to let them know that Indie Girl had checked in for her last hurrah. I noted the time on my monitor. Almost ten. When would Tanner see it? I was banking on his curiosity luring him to it in spite of our argument. I’d have read it if our roles were reversed.

Denny finished first. He swiveled to face me and sat back. “Whoa.”

A moment later, Janie chimed in. “Yeah. Whoa.”

Chantelle turned away from her computer. “You did it.”

“I had to roll the dice,” I said. “I hope this works.”

Excitement glowed in Janie’s face. “This is so cool! Did you send this to Tanner? What did he say?”

Denny and Chantelle both looked expectant.

“Nothing. Yet,” I added when Janie’s face fell. “I didn’t send it to him, and since it just went up, I don’t know if he’s read it yet.”

Denny shrugged. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t come running.”

I reddened. “Thanks.”

Chantelle switched off her monitor and grabbed her purse. “I have to review the new exhibit at the Anders Gallery, but I expect to hear all the juicy details when I get back later.”

“This is going to be awesome!” Janie said. “I’ll be gone all afternoon, so I hope Tanner does something soon.”

“Me too, Janie,” I said. “Me too.”

* * *

Janie was destined to leave disappointed. By noon, there had been no word from Tanner. Not an e-mail, call, or text. Nothing. The column itself generated a ton of feedback from readers. Dozens mourned my leaving. Even more people congratulated me on finding love. A handful wished me luck, realizing that I hadn’t quit “Single in the City” for a sure thing. In fact, my romantic future looked less certain by the second.

Denny left to get a sandwich and offered to grab me one, but even if I weren’t burnt out for the rest of my life on that particular food, I couldn’t have eaten. The cold, hard knot in my stomach left no room for anything else. If it got any bigger it would push on my lungs and make breathing hard too. I refreshed the column’s web page and scoured the comment trail. There was nothing there from Tanner either. No “I hear you” by TG. Nothing.

Courtney had texted an hour before. It was another “Whoohoo,” which I took to mean she approved. But beyond begging me to tell Tanner about Indie Girl, she had made a point of staying out of our relationship. I didn’t want to put her in the middle of it now by asking if she had heard from him.

I needed something else to do before I lost my mind obsessing over this. It was only my love life at stake. Certainly, I had more pressing things to get to, like Mooli.

I tried to immerse myself in the world of designer vegetables but gave up within a half hour, sure that I had never hated vegetables more than I did at that moment. Denny wandered back in and raised an eyebrow. I shook my head. No Tanner. I spent another hour aimlessly clicking through some of the local news feeds, trying to find inspiration for a new article. Despite my stern self-talk not to, I clicked through to the
Bee.
No articles from Tanner had posted that day. Slow news day, maybe?

By midafternoon, both Ellie and Chantelle, plus two of the ad reps, had made it back in. Chantelle didn’t even wait for the door to close behind her before demanding, “Well?”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

She looked disappointed and dropped her stuff on her desk. “At least half your plan worked,” she said.

I shot her a pointed glance not to bring that half of the plan up in front of Ellie. She nodded and turned to her monitor. I stared blankly at mine, trying to cheer myself with all the “Single in the City” comments bemoaning my departure, but it didn’t help. If I didn’t hear from Tanner, then the half of the plan that worked didn’t really matter anyway.

In the comment trail, one troll had left a truly lovely gem. “Good luck to the loser who dates you. He must not know about all your flame outs here, or else he’s too dumb to run the other way.”