A Matter of Trust(30)

Those words sat in Brette’s head like bait. She simply couldn’t shake them, despite her hope of letting it go.

And she hated that it all tasted like a juicy filet mignon of a story, something she desperately needed if she wanted to put juice back into her writing career.

A career that seemed a little like the deflated T. rex she’d found this morning on Ollie’s floor. Sure, she could go back to writing speeches for Ella, and if Ella decided to run for reelection, she would put together a set of cover articles—or yes, even a biography—that would have Ella winning favor the likes of Duchess Kate. And it wouldn’t be lies—Ella had a heart of true compassion. But if Ella didn’t run, well . . .

Ever since Brette had lost the contract on her biography for Senator Carlyn Lynch, a woman intending to run for president, she hadn’t found one decent story, and especially nothing that would be worthy of a Time magazine or National Geographic spread.

It wasn’t Brette’s fault—the minute she’d unearthed proof that Carlyn had creatively diverted election funds to her personal account, Brette had been forced to confront Caryln. The woman had the good sense to withdraw from the race.

She took with her Brette’s faith in the honor and integrity of those in public office, not that she had much to begin with. If it weren’t for Ella, she might give up on politicians indefinitely.

Thankfully, Ella was one of the good ones. And not just with politics but with her inheritance too. She defied the odds that money corrupted.

But maybe Ella was exempt, having not been born into it. She could vividly remember the cost of food, clothing, a home.

Memories Oliver clearly didn’t share.

Ella was one of the few people who still possessed integrity. Who believed in and fought for justice. A true hero, someone who put others ahead of herself.

A rare find in today’s world.

Which was why her words about being the cause of Gage’s downfall wedged into Brette’s brain and wouldn’t shake free.

She came over to Ella, blowing on her coffee.

“What did you mean when you said you’re the reason he lost everything? That Dylan shouldn’t have been out there that day?”

Ella shot a look at her. “Wow, you don’t forget anything, do you?” Her bloodshot eyes betrayed a long night, and she’d bitten her nails down nearly to the nailbed, a habit she’d fought to break for years. She wore yoga pants and a long brown sweater. She sighed and added softly, “I probably shouldn’t have said anything . . .”

Brette pointed at her forehead. “Iron trap up here. I don’t forget faces, events, or details. And I have a gut sense when someone’s not telling me everything, especially you, El. Sure, Oliver might be missing—but let’s be honest. He probably sneaked back into Blackbear, went early to hike up some slope, and is probably sitting at the top of Timber Bowl, eating a power bar.”

Her words made Ella blink, and she let a faint smile curl up her face. “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am. And I’m also right about the fact that it’s Gage Watson that has you so rattled. I didn’t even have to know your history with him, the fact you fell for him hard three years ago, to know that seeing him last night nearly blew you over. What I don’t know is what happened after he kissed you on the dance floor. After he asked if he could see you in Vermont after he skied Terminator. And why you prosecuting him wrecked his life. Sure, that had to hurt, but c’mon, he should have known he’d have to face up to his mistakes.”

And that’s when Ella took a long breath. She caught her lower lip in her teeth as she exhaled.

“Oh my gosh, there’s more. You’re wearing the look you did when you caught Sofia with that TA. Like you have a terrible secret you don’t want to tell.”

Ella’s eyes widened.

“You’d make a terrible poker player. Sit down.”

Ella considered her a long moment. Then she tucked her hands in the sleeves of her sweater. “You can’t tell this story, Brette. Ever. To anyone. I could get disbarred. People’s lives would be destroyed . . . or more people’s lives.”

“The things you ask of me—”

“I mean it. You’re not an ace biographer right now. You’re my friend. My dearest friend from college, and don’t forget that I know what you did your freshman year during the homecoming game.”

“Wow, you are a politician. Okay. This is serious.”

Ella raised an eyebrow, and Brette sank down on the sofa. Held up three fingers. “Girl Scout honor.”

“You weren’t a Girl Scout. Just give me your word. This is just between you and me. Forever.”