Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) (12 page)

She
wasn’t sure if it was a generous gesture on the Michael’s part or just a
publicity stunt.

“Jeff,”
she began, her voice cracking, “I’m not sure I’m the best—”

“Don’t
get skittish on me. You’ve never been chicken about anything before—even
stories that were way over your head.”

“I’m
not skittish. It’s just that I know Michael…I mean, I knew him…a little. We
grew up in the same little town and—”

“What?”
Jeff’s bushy eyebrows shot sky-high. “You’ve known Martin all this time and
never told me? Why the hell were you clamming up, girl? Perfect. Get an
interview with him, and I mean more than just the press conference.”

Allison
gulped. “I’m not sure—”

In
his brusque way, Jeff simply talked over her, dismissing her attempt at
explanation. “You’re welcome. I know you’ve wanted better stories to cover. Do
a good job with this one and then we’ll see.”

Allison
didn’t try to object again. This was her job, and she wasn’t going to blow it.

She
just hoped Michael wouldn’t throw her out of his art show and gala the moment
he caught sight of her.

*
* *

“Think on the bright
side,” Lori said, sipping her pink mixed drink and arching her back in a way
that highlighted her figure in an automatic attempt to attract any eligible men
at the trendy bar. “Maybe this will give you and Michael the chance to work
things out and realize you’ve been in love all along.”

Allison
rolled her eyes, and Elizabeth cackled mockingly.

Elizabeth
was as cynical as Lori was romantic. Elizabeth had short black hair and Lori
had waist-length red curls. The two were as different as possible, and they’d
both been Allison’s best friends since college.

“Maybe
at least you’ll get laid again,” Elizabeth put in.

“Stop
it.” Allison was mortified by the knowledge she was blushing. “Nothing is going
to happen. I’m just hoping he won’t have his security throw me out on the
street.”

“Of
course, he won’t do that. He wouldn’t have been so mad at you if he hadn’t
developed strong feelings.” Lori nodded her pretty head resolutely. “You know
it as well as I do.”

“He’s
an ass,” Elizabeth added.

“I’m
siding with Elizabeth on this one,” Allison said. “He had a right to be mad at
me, but I did apologize.” She’d had three weeks to get over the knowledge that Michael
wasn’t going to forgive her or even speak to her again.

It
hurt, but she’d concluded it was probably for the best. She didn’t have a
chance with him anyway, so at least this way she wouldn’t hold out any hope.
She certainly wasn’t going to mope or pine over him.

And
she was still annoyed that he’d taken the dog that was hers as much as his.

“He
was heartbroken,” Lori insisted. “Give him some time. I bet anything that he’ll
see you at the gala, and he won’t be able to resist his feelings anymore. We
have to find you a great dress.”

Allison
groaned.

“We
do need to find you a dress,” Elizabeth agreed. Before Allison could object to
this traitorous sentiment, her friend went on, “So you can be cool, collected,
and gorgeous and show him what he can no longer have.”

“I
think you’re both blowing this out of proportion. I’ll just be there as a
journalist. I'm not going to be filling up my dance card. He’ll probably barely
notice me. He certainly won’t notice what I’m wearing.”

“Did
he or did he not give you one of the best nights of lovin’ you’ve ever had,”
Elizabeth demanded.

To
her dismay, Allison felt her cheeks redden again. She was rarely embarrassed
with her friends anymore, so she didn’t like the fact that she felt so
self-conscious now. Over Michael. “Yes,” she admitted.

Elizabeth
and Lori spoke at once, as if they’d planned it beforehand. “He’ll notice you!”

*
* *

The benefit was taking
place on Saturday, but Allison took the train into New York on Thursday
afternoon. She needed to spend Friday doing some background research on the
preparations and the people involved.

If
things had ended reasonably well with Michael, she would be excited about the
opportunity to write this story. As it was, though, she felt heavy and anxious,
and she was dreading seeing Michael again.

Maybe
he wouldn’t be around for the preparations. Maybe she wouldn’t have to see him
until the press conference he was holding on Friday afternoon.

Maybe
he wouldn’t even notice she was there.

She
didn’t believe it for a moment. Michael had always been scarily observant. He’d
see her for sure. She could only assume he was still furious with her. He’d be
suspicious and angry at her presence. He might have her thrown out.

It
was a significant fear, and it went beyond her lingering feelings for him. She
had to do a good job on this story. Her career was at stake.

On
Friday morning, she dressed in a vintage jacket and a stylish pair of slacks.
She wore her favorite ankle boots and pulled her hair back with a clip in an attempt
to look professional.

She
looked fine. Attractive. Like the reporter she was.

Michael
would have nothing to sneer at.

Not
that it would keep him from sneering.

She
called Elizabeth on her way to the downtown building where the benefit was
taking place. She needed a pep-talk, and Lori would just put ridiculous,
romantic notions in her head.

What
she needed was Elizabeth’s no-nonsense cynicism.

That
was exactly what she got.

By
the time Allison arrived, she was ready to handle anything that occurred.

As
it happened, nothing occurred.

She
should have known she was working herself up over nothing. Michael wasn’t even
around. The galleries that were housing the charity art show and the huge
ballroom where the gala would take place were bustling with activity.

She
and the other journalists were given a boring tour by someone in the PR
department, and the woman explained the plans for the next day in clipped,
business-like tones. Allison took notes, but nothing she heard was actually
interesting enough to write about.

She
tried to snoop around on her own, but there was too much security, and she
wasn’t able to get to the places she wanted to see. The art show was featuring
Virginia artists and landscapes of the Virginia coast. Allison wanted to get
some more information about how Michael had made the choices of what to
include, but she couldn’t seem to get any information beyond the canned
platitudes.

She
talked to a few people—one of the caterers, an electrician, and a friendly
elderly man who was wandering the halls. Allison didn’t really know who the man
was, but they had a long conversation about Virginia, the storm, and his
eccentric opinions about the activities planned for the next day. He said his
name was Ray, and talking to him was the highlight of Allison’s day.

Otherwise,
she felt like a flop when she gathered with the others for the press conference
Michael had organized at four o’clock that afternoon.

She
was near the back, and she held her breath as he arrived—exactly on time—and
walked over to stand in front of the bank of microphones.

He
wore a black suit and a blue tie. He looked as slick, cosmopolitan, and
controlled as a lawyer or a politician. He wore his professionalism like
armor—and he felt miles away from her. Nothing at all like the handsome,
compelling man in ill-fitting clothes she’d made love to just a few weeks ago.

He
explained his purposes for the benefit and what they could expect the next day,
but he told them nothing Allison hadn’t already known. He emphasized the
destruction of communities by the storm and his personal connection from
growing up nearby and being in the area at the time of the storm.

Not
once did he meet Allison’s eyes. Not once did he even appear to notice her. She
raised her hand and shouted out questions with the rest of the reporters, but
he never acknowledged her.

Not
once.

It
was possible he hadn’t seen or recognized her, but she didn’t believe it for a
minute.

Maybe
he was just trying to pretend she didn’t exist.

She
wasn’t going to be able to do a good job with this story unless she was able to
interview Michael, like Jeff had instructed. She couldn’t imagine he’d grant
her an interview, though.

As
the press conference ended and she’d gained nothing worthwhile, she felt a
sinking in her stomach. She dreaded the idea of failing in this assignment.
She’d just have to think of a more creative way to approach the challenge.

She
was mulling over ideas as she started to leave the building with everyone else,
planning to go back to her hotel room and plot out an appropriate strategy.

She’d
never let a few obstacles stop her before. She was hardly going to give up now.

A
hand on her shoulder stopped her before she could exit the building. “Excuse
me,” a female voice said.

Allison
turned to see an attractive brunette with sleek hair and long legs highlighted
by a pencil skirt. “Yes?”

“Mr.
Martin would like to speak to you.”

“Excuse
me?” A chill ran over Allison, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Mr.
Martin would like to speak to you,” the woman repeated.

Allison
knew she should jump at the opportunity, but a sudden rush of nerves made her
ask, “Are you sure you have the right person?”

“Ms.
Dent?”

“Yes.
That’s me.”

“I
have the right person.” The brunette didn’t look friendly. In fact, she looked
cool and a little disapproving.

Allison
suddenly realized what might be happening.

Surely,
Michael wouldn’t really throw her out or tell her not to come back tomorrow.
Yes, she’d batted the idea around, but she’d never actually thought he would.
She was a professional journalist, and she had legitimate press credentials.

If
he dared to throw her out, then she would tell
that
story.

She
squared her shoulders and steeled her nerves. Then she followed the brunette to
find out what Michael wanted to say to her.

*
* *

Infuriating was what it
was.

Michael
was used to being in control of things—circumstances, other people, his
behavior, his own mental processes. He hated feeling helpless, out of control.
He hated when his own mind wouldn’t do as he instructed it.

He’d
dated Gina for months before he’d found out what she wanted from him. They’d
been engaged. He’d given her a ring. He'd been planning a life with her.

But
he’d managed to put Gina behind him a lot more quickly than he had Allison.

Allison—whom
he’d been with just a couple of days. Who had lied to him and tried to use him,
exactly like Gina had. Whom he hadn’t seen in weeks now.

Allison—whom
he still couldn’t stop thinking about.

It
was bad enough that he kept picturing her smile, kept remembering her laughter,
kept imagining her moving beneath him. She didn’t deserve this sort of
obsession, and it infuriated him that she’d gotten so far under his skin.

But
now she was here, covering the benefit he’d been using to get her off his mind.

He
had no idea what she was really doing here, and that infuriated him even more.

So
he paced as he waited in the room he was using as a temporary office until the
benefit was over, and he’d worked up a fair amount of anger by the time his
assistant led Allison into the office to see him.

When
he’d first seen her during the press conference, shoulder to shoulder with the
rest of the reporters who’d become the bane of his existence, he’d felt a pang
of bitter pain so sharp he’d lost his breath.

He
assured himself he’d hid his reaction and acted as if nothing was wrong.

But
knowing Allison was a journalist and
seeing
her as a journalist were two
different things.

And
the lie she’d told him still stung.

She
looked wary and determined as she stood in front of him now. She also looked
beautiful, her brown hair slipping out of the clip she’d tried to secure it in.

Michael
dismissed his assistant and met Allison’s eyes, trying to figure out what he
wanted to say to her.

“Well?”
he prompted at last, when all she did was stare.

“
You
summoned
me
.”

He
was annoyed by the flicker of admiration he couldn’t help but feel at her cool
nerve, but he squelched it. “What are you doing here?” The words were more
predictable than he would have preferred, but at least they got to the heart of
the issue.

“What
do you think? Covering the press conference and the benefit.”