Various States of Undress (26 page)

She squeezed his hands and pulled away, not looking at him. A moment later she walked away.

Brett wanted to go after her—wanted to chase her, plead with her. But he didn't. She was right—his brother needed him. His mom did too. Georgia knew all of that, and if he went after her now, she'd just send him back.

“Go,” Margot said. “You're a fool if you don't.”

Georgia loved him—he didn't question that. But he didn't want to think about—no, didn't want to believe—that they needed time apart. Time to reset their lives, separately. It was going to happen, wasn't it? And there was no way to prevent it, short of his quitting baseball and following her wherever she went. She'd never forgive him if he did that, and eventually their love would be ripped apart by resentment. He'd had enough resentment in his life already.

After a moment, he put his head in his hands. “I hope she'll wait for me.”

“Son, there's always hope. Me and Buddy—”

“Oh, Mom,” Brett said tiredly.

“Yeah, I know what you think, but I've got a right to feel however I want to. I choose to feel hope.”

Brett's lifted his head. “You could at least be hopeful about things that are good for you,” he said. “Isn't it obvious where Buddy's priorities lie?”

Margot shook her head. “Everything will be fine.”

“How? Where was he last night?” Brett knew his voice was getting louder, but he couldn't seem to stop it. “While you were in the emergency room? After you'd been admitted? When I called and called him for you and he didn't answer?”

“I don't know,” she whispered.

“He was at the WHAP station taping that bullshit interview!” Brett said. “Not here. Doesn't that tell you something?”

“No. I just—”

“He doesn't—he doesn't value you, Mom, and it's because you don't value yourself.” Brett took a shaking breath. “It makes me sick. It makes my heart sick.”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes going hard. “So what? Men don't value me.”

“I do!” Brett yelled. “Joe does.”

Margot turned her head to the side. “I'm tired.”

“Look at me, Mom. Open your eyes and look at me!”

“Hey. Easy,” Joe said.

Brett glanced at the doorway and saw his brother standing there. Despite everything that had just happened, Joe's gaze was steady. His hands were steady. Everything about him was in control, and it made Brett feel about as big as a wad of chewing gum for yelling at his mother when she was lying in a hospital bed trying not to cry.

He raked his hands through his hair. “Oh shit. I'm sorry.” He walked around the bed and touched his mom's shoulder. “I'm so sorry.”

“There's a lot of sorry going around today,” Joe said. “There's no way to avoid it, either.”

Brett looked at him. “That's the truest thing I've heard in a long time.”

“Well, the good part is, sorry doesn't last forever.” Joe came forward and took his mother's hand. “What does last forever, Mom?”

She didn't answer, and tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.

“What does?” Joe prompted.

Brett answered for her. “Forgiveness lasts forever.”

Even as he said the words, he knew that it was easier said than done.

Chapter Fourteen

F
RIDAY MORNING
, G
EORGIA
stood in the living room of her apartment, staring at the large table. Her laptop—which hadn't been opened in two days—sat on the surface. She didn't want to lift the lid because she knew it would be a virtual Pandora's Box—virtual being the operative word. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from clicking open the browser and reading the news. Depressing. And the news that was sure to be out there on her? Even more depressing.

As she stood there, hesitating, Courtney shifted on the barstool near the counter, and every now and then she sighed. Finally, she let out an exaggerated yawn. “You going to make a decision? I'm getting bored.”

Georgia laughed bitterly. “A decision about what?”

“I don't know, girl. Your laptop. The furniture. The apartment. Your life.” Courtney stood up. “Pick one.”

There were too many to pick from. What if she picked the wrong one? But what if she didn't pick anything? “I know I'm running out of time,” Georgia said.

“That's for damn sure. You can only stall the president of the United States for so long. Your parents are worried.”

“I know that too.” Georgia walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. “I've talked to them. I've talked to my sisters. It's not like I haven't said anything.”

“Didn't you tell them that you're doing fine?” Courtney asked in a dubious tone.

“I
am
fine,” Georgia lied.

“What did you tell them about your internship?”

“I didn't, aside from telling them I wasn't on the air anymore.”

“Okay. I'm not trying to pry, Cherry Blossom, but we have to figure something out. Like where you're planning to live,” Courtney said.

Georgia uncapped the water and took a long drink, searching her mind for a response—anything that would get Courtney to back off for a little while longer. She came up blank because, ever since she'd walked out of the hospital on Tuesday, her mind had been a void. An endless chasm full of stupid.

And Brett was gone, as of this morning, to join the Cardinals on the road. She'd stuck by her decision to stay away from him, but knowing he was leaving and knowing he had left were two different things. Maybe she'd made the wrong choice. Maybe walking away from him had been the worst, most selfish choice.

He'd needed her in the hospital. That need was written in his eyes, and she'd turned the entire situation into being about herself and her own pain. She'd held an impromptu pity party under the guise of being brave—saying that she was walking away so she wouldn't hurt him anymore. That kind of passive-aggressive shit wasn't like her at all.

But really? She didn't know what typical behavior was for herself anymore. She didn't know who she was—personally or professionally. All she knew was that she loved Brett, and he deserved more than what she could offer right now. Everything else was up in the air. Everything.

“Georgia, where do you plan to live? Here?”

“No. I could move down the street to Graceland,” Georgia suggested.

Courtney shook her head. “Yeah, real funny.”

“Elvis wouldn't mind.”

“Elvis is dead, so you're probably right,” Courtney shot back. “Now come on. I don't want to have to be the one to tell your parents what's up.”

“Of course not. I'll do it.” But even as she said the words, her heart began to beat faster. She wasn't sure she could make the word “failure” come out of her mouth—even though she knew all her parents wanted to do was support her.

“I have a suggestion, but I don't think you'll like it,” Courtney said.

“Probably not, but I'll listen.” Georgia leaned against the counter. “Unless you suggest that I call Joan back.”

“Yep.”

“Hell no.” Georgia glared at her agent and walked to the bedroom. Courtney followed.

“She's called you a bunch of times. Listen, if you finish that internship, you'd be finished with Memphis in less than a month.”

“How could I go back to work for her?”

Courtney threw her hands in the air. “Don't! Make some demands. Work with Simone or the producer or—hell—that squirrely little camera guy. What's his name?”

“Wagner. He's not a nervous type of person, though.”

“Didn't say he was. He just looks like a squirrel.” Courtney folded her arms. “Think, girl. You're the president's daughter, and it's about damn time you get the respect that you've demanded from WHAP. That little TV station is a blip on the map for you. Finish up there, and you're going to go on to do great things.”

Georgia stared at her. Everything Courtney said was true—Georgia knew that. It was just hard to put into perspective. But she had to try because what else was she supposed to do? Sit here in a badly furnished apartment in a city she barely knew, with no job, nowhere to go, wallowing in doubt? Ugh. She might not know who she was completely—but she knew she wasn't
that
pathetic.

“Okay. I'll call Joan and tell her to come over. When she gets here, I'm going to play hard to get.”

“That's right.” Courtney smiled. “When she gets here, I'll play bad cop.”

“Scare the shit out of her?”

“No, I'll just put on my sunglasses and won't say a word. That's usually enough.”

Georgia laughed. It felt good. “Go ahead and say it.”

“Damn, some days I love my job!” Courtney danced out of the room. When she got to the front door, she slid her sunglasses on and went outside, all business.

Georgia picked up her phone from the bedside table, determined to remain calm and detached when she called Joan. She succeeded.

Twenty minutes later, she sat on the shitty Buddy Mambo sofa in her living room, steadily looking her ex-boss in the eyes. So far, so good because Joan looked nervous.

“Coffee?” Georgia asked in a pleasant voice.

“No.” Joan smoothed down her skirt. She folded her arms and then unfolded them. “No, thanks.”

“All right.”

“Georgia,” Joan began, looking down at her lap. “I want to apologize.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I let things get out of hand. WHAP's ratings were in the danger zone when I offered you that internship. My job was on the line, and I was trying to keep it. I lost perspective when I decided to use you, and though it sounds like I'm giving you an excuse, I don't mean to. My behavior was unprofessional, unethical and . . . tacky.” She looked up. “I'm sorry, and I hope you'll forgive me. I hope the Knox family will forgive me.”

What did Joan want? Because it wasn't just forgiveness—there had to be something else, and Georgia wanted to demand an answer. But in order to stay in control of the conversation, she had to keep to the high road.

“I don't know about them, but I accept your apology,” Georgia said coolly.

“Really?”

“Are you doubting me, Joan?”

“No. I won't do that again,” Joan muttered. “But there is something I can do for you.”

Ah. Here it came. Georgia wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn't. “Let me finish my internship at WHAP, I assume.”

Joan grimaced. “No. I wish I could make that happen, but I can't. I'm not the news director anymore. I was fired.”

“Oh.” Georgia raised her eyebrows. “I see.” She ought to feel vindicated, but instead, she felt—empty.

“I deserved it,” Joan said. “When I got canned, I asked the station owner to try and get you back. But it's kind of a mess. He's good friends with Fred Shipley, and since you were associated with the story on Brett . . .” She trailed off.

“Guilty by association?” Georgia supplied.

“No. It's more that he doesn't want the hassle of employing the president's daughter. Before I brought you on board, he told me that putting you on the air would be like walking a tightrope.” She sighed. “I got fired because of how I manipulated the news about Brett, but I never should have stuck you in front of the camera in the first place.”

“You think?” Georgia couldn't help but ask.

“I'd like to make it up to you in some way. I have a contact at a small magazine, and he's looking for an intern to research and write features on local history. Do you think you'd be interested?”

Georgia didn't respond. It sounded exactly like something she'd be interested in. Quiet work, interesting work. No cameras. But she didn't want Joan to do her any favors—especially since Joan probably wanted something in return.

“Why are you offering to help me? What's in it for you, Joan?”

Joan looked away. “I need to make sure you're not going to use your status as the president's daughter to make a big stink about what happened with your internship. That you're not going to take it public and ruin WHAP. If that happened, I'd never get a job in broadcasting again.”

“You want
me
to protect you? Seriously?” Georgia let out a bitter laugh. “I could throw a fit, couldn't I? But if there's one thing I've held onto through the last month, it's ethics. And my own dignity.”

“Dignity doesn't mean much to me right now. I'd like to be certain that I'll have a shot at repairing my own career.”

Georgia shook her head. “That's completely up to you, Joan. I don't want to have anything to do with your career, so don't worry.”

“Look—I know you're angry with me, and you'll probably be angrier when I say this. You're young. You're inexperienced. Nothing is black and white, Georgia. Maybe I've been the first bitch you've encountered, but I won't be the last.” Joan folded her arms. “Journalism is competitive, and competition is almost never fair. You're an excellent writer, and you have good instincts. I'd like to see you try again.”

“See me try again? You wouldn't be coming with me, right?”

“No.” Joan paused. “I don't want to move to St. Louis.”

“What?” A weird, almost hopeful feeling settled in Georgia's stomach. “Where?”

“St. Louis.” Joan stood up and touched her hand to her head. “Oh, right. That's where Knox is, isn't it?” She smiled.

Georgia just stared at her.

Joan went to the kitchen counter and unzipped her purse. “Here are the specifics. The internship is yours if you want it.” She pulled out some folded papers and placed them on the counter. “It was very nice of you to listen to me.”

“I . . . I can't believe I'm saying this, but . . .”