Page 55 of Rumor Has It

Isaiah has been gone a while. I find him sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the blank television screen.

He swallows hard when he sees me. A flash of desire and something else crosses his handsome face. Yearning? Sorrow?

Why didn’t we talk our last night through? What if people at the club ask me questions about him? What do I say if they want to know if we’re dating? Would he say we are? When you’ve brought a man home to your parents’ for freaking Christmas, do two dates strung together by shimmery gold strips of condoms equate to a full-fledged relationship?

Isaiah’s thumb brushes over his chin, hiding a contorted expression. “Monty is on his way.”

“Okay.” My lower lip wiggles.

I should have expected he’d need his security guy.

But Isaiah’s rigid posture gives away what he really means before he says it.

“Something’s come up, Cassidy. I have to leave.”

Chapter Twenty-one

ISAIAH

I’m a mere three paces inside the living room of my open-concept house in Nashville when a pissed off Vespa verbally accosts me.

“You do not pay me enough for this kind of shit,” she grouses, stomping down the floating staircase.

I already knew my assistant’s knickers were in a twist when I took her call right as Cassidy and I were getting ready for the New Year’s Eve party. But I’d put off dealing with it.

The way you put off dealing with everything.I scold myself.

At Kingsbrier, I felt like the luckiest bastard in the world. Cassidy was all mine. Now, she no longer is. I’m paying the piper for shirking my duties and having hope for my future.

Cassidy looked stunning in the dress she chose for our date. I can’t get past the crushed look I put on her face when I canceled our plans. I even asked her to come with me, deciding I’d wing what I’d say once we arrived in Nashville if she agreed.

The soft “no” she replied with plays on a loop between my ears. Perhaps thinking I imagined Cassidy’s hesitancy is a coping mechanism.

Kylie once told me I didn’t listen to her. I wonder if all there is to Cassidy’s refusal to come with me is that I’m too stupid to read between the lines. She lives, works, and plays in a small town. When we met, Cassidy flat out told me she had no reason to leave.

And tonight I told her I had no choice but to go.

I didn’t know how to say goodbye to Cassidy tomorrow, anyway. I spent the better part of the last week trying to merge the fantasy of her as a potential girlfriend with a reality I haven’t wanted to take part in. Jetting off, without a second thought to her feelings, I’ve blown the possibility that we could be more.

Vespa must’ve been watching out a second-story window for me to arrive. My assistant isn’t going anywhere tonight. Yet her heels—high enough that they’re registered as a deadly weapon— echo with each step from the staircase to where I’m standing in the entryway. She thrusts the snotty pink bundle she’s carrying toward me.

Monty appears at my side, putting a suitcase down by my feet.

“At least watch your language, V. There’s a kid in the room,” he mutters, returning to the car to retrieve the rest of the bags.

We’re both fatigued from the one-eighty our night took. I’m as big an ass for ruining Monty’s evening as Cassidy’s. I made him abandon his family on New Year’s.

I huff, shaking my head in agreement with my bodyguard.

Vespa needs to tone down her irritation. I have a few choice words for her on my tongue. Except the wailing baby takes one look at me and turns beet red, screaming louder.

Shit.Now I’m perturbed at Monty for not sticking like glue and protecting me from the fans who’ll come up to us on the street corner and shove their child into my arms. Then they snap away with their cameras like I’m Santa posing at the mall for a commemorative photo. I’m sure those kids love the lifelong remembrance of screaming bloody murder while a celebrity holds them like they are a freaking bomb about to blow.

This kid? She’s even worse. She cries whenever I’m around.

The first time she cried was on a day I visited her in the NICU. The nurse told me as much. I told her I was sorry for her loss and that her mom loved her, even though I’m not sure that’s true. As soon as the baby heard my voice, she howled. Whenever I went back it got worse. I swear she’s developed radar or sonar or whatever-the-fuck-dar, since she doesn’t even have to see me anymore. Just my proximity tips the scales and as soon as she cries, my hackles go up. I became conditioned to turn away from her nursery before I visited Texas.

The initial request from my PR team to do the interview with Gatlin held little appeal. I searched for ways to push it off and my therapist reminded me I had control over when the interview happened. They encouraged me to rip the bandage off. I’d been living under a dark cloud, anyway. I shouldn’t continue letting it weigh me down.

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