“But if it’s what you want, you have to fight for it, right?”
“I suppose.”
Becky gave her a challenging look. “Okay, then. I will if you will.”
“Meaning?” Melanie asked cautiously.
“I’ll keep fighting for what I have—what I want—with Jason, if you’ll keep fighting for Richard.”
“This isn’t about Richard and me. What’s going on with us isn’t personal,” Melanie replied irritably. “It’s about the Carlton Industries contract.”
Becky gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, sweetie, it might have started that way, but it’s taken on a whole new twist. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. The sooner you wake up and accept that, the better off you’ll be.”
“It’s about the contract,” Melanie insisted stubbornly.
“Fine. Whatever gets you to pick up the phone and call the man,” Becky said.
“I will not call him. The ball’s in his court.”
“Not if you packed up all the balls and brought them with you when you left his house,” Becky said, then sighed heavily. “Okay, never mind. I recognize that tone. I’ll stop pushing. Just promise me you won’t shred the file.”
Melanie stared at the file she’d been fingering throughout the conversation as if it were some sort of talisman that linked her to Richard. “Fine. I won’t destroy the file.” She stared hard at Becky. “And you won’t call Jason.”
“But—”
“No, buts,” Melanie said firmly. “Let the man grovel for once. You know he will.”
“Eventually,” Becky agreed confidently. Her cheerful mood returned. “Before I land him, the man is going to have groveling down to a fine art.”
“Now there’s a goal.” Melanie regarded Becky wistfully. “I wonder if Richard knows the first thing about groveling?” She thought of how goal oriented he claimed to be and sighed. “Doubtful,” she concluded.
“Maybe he’s trainable,” Becky suggested.
Destiny had had a certain amount of luck teaching him manners, but she’d started at a relatively early age. Melanie had a hunch she was catching Richard far too late to change his ingrained habits.
Too bad, too, because more than once over the weekend, she thought he’d displayed amazing possibilities …and not one of them had anything at all to do with his candidacy for City Council.
She was still pondering that when the phone rang. Becky picked it up.
“Hart Consulting,” she said cheerfully, then listened, her expression going from surprised to dismayed so quickly that Melanie’s heart was thudding when Becky finally handed over the receiver.
Becky punched the hold button before Melanie could speak. “Prepare yourself. It’s that columnist from the morning paper. He’s asking about you and Richard.”
“About the consulting?” Melanie asked hopefully.
Becky shook her head. “About the weekend you spent together. He seems to have details.”
Oh, hell. This was a publicist’s worst nightmare, even when she wasn’t personally involved. Worse, it was too late to duck the call. Melanie sucked in a deep breath and prepared for some fancy tap dancing. She had to find out how much the reporter knew, or thought he knew.
“This is Melanie Hart,” she said briskly.
“Pete Forsythe, Ms. Hart. How are you? We met at the heart association gala last month.”
“Of course, I remember you, Mr. Forsythe. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for confirmation on something I heard this morning from an extremely reliable source.”
“Oh?”
“It involves you and Carlton Industries CEO and chairman Richard Carlton.”
“Really? I can’t imagine where you’d hear anything linking the two of us in any way. I barely know Mr. Carlton.”
“But you do know him,” he persisted.
“We’ve met.”
“Is there any truth to the rumor that the two of you are involved? That you spent this weekend with him at a family cottage at the beach?”
Melanie’s laugh sounded forced, even to her. “Don’t be ridiculous. As I said, I barely know the man. Sorry, Mr. Forsythe. I can’t help you.” She hung up before he could press her into saying something she’d regret, something that would send Richard into a blind rage.
“Is he going to print an item anyway?” Becky asked.
“More than likely.”
“Are you going to warn Richard?”
Melanie considered it and decided it wouldn’t help anything. She hadn’t given anything away. Richard might be angry enough to call Pete Forsythe and protest the man’s intrusion into his privacy, which would only add fuel to the fire. Better to let Forsythe think that there was no fire, that the rumor was off the mark. Maybe then, if he had even the tiniest shred of integrity, he’d have second thoughts about printing it.