"I didn't kindly push him out," she admits. "He said horrible things and basically accused me of being a slut and sleeping with his son. Oh, and when I grew sick of you, he said I could come and have sex with him any time I wanted. You know, because the two of you are so similar and all." She lets out an angry little sound that's a cross between a growl and a squeal. "The man is a pig."
Fuck. Tell me all about it. The worst part? He's my father. And supposedly I'm just like him.
"He said that to you?" I ask weakly, wincing when she stands to glare down at me, her expression one of pure fury.
"Yes! He made me feel like the cheap hussy everyone else seems to think I am. And look, we proved him right by having sex." She throws her arms up in the air. "I'm exactly what everybody says I am. A stupid whore who sleeps her way around, who just falls into bed with her boss because she's too dumb to know better."
I stand, grabbing hold of her shoulders and giving her a little shake. "No. Stop calling yourself such horrible names. You're nothing like that. We've been fighting this and trying to do the right thing for months, Bryn. Months. You didn't just fall into bed with your boss because you're too dumb to know better. I hope you came into my bed because you care for me as much as I care for you."
Bryn
I STARE INTO Matt's eyes, shocked by his words, by his easy defense of me. I . . . I don't know what to say. I'm overwhelmed, upset, embarrassed. At least my name isn't in the article though, it doesn't need to be. There's the photo as proof it's me. Everyone at the winery will see the article and the picture, and I'll become a mockery. People in the community will hear the rumors and know I'm the one who's supposedly having a torrid affair with my boss.
It's the type of humiliation I've been trying to run from since Brian Fairbanks chased me around his office. I'd kept myself above it all, all these years. Running just ahead so that it never touched me.
But look at me now, neck deep in a huge scandal, and I have no one to blame but myself.
"Say something." Matt gives me another little shake, rattling me out of my thoughts. "I need to know if you're as invested in this as I am."
"Invested in what?" I ask, feeling like I'm in a daze.
"Invested in us," he says, his mouth grim, his eyes dark, fathomless. "Tell me. I need to hear you say it."
"I-I don't know how I feel, Matt," I say truthfully, horrified when I see the devastation cross his face.
God. I can't get this sort of thing right no matter how hard I try.
"So you don't want to be with me," he says, his voice dull as he releases his hold on me.
"I never said that." I watch as he turns his back on me and runs his hand through his hair, an exasperated little sound escaping him.
My heart, my entire body aches to go to him. Offer him comfort and let him know we won't let this stumbling block break us. We can survive this.
But I don't know if that's the truth.
"I don't know what I want," I say when he doesn't speak. "Last night was . . . it was amazing. One of the best nights of my life, but after seeing this article today and the photo, I don't know what to think of it. Of us being together. Will we be dealing with this sort of thing for the rest of our relationship? Can we survive this type of scrutiny?" I'm scared not only of the media but of what others might think of us together. His friends, his peers in the industry. I don't want to bring him down.
I don't want to embarrass him.
He turns to face me, his expression full of confusion and anger and frustration. I feel terrible. I'm the one who's doing this to him, who's putting him through all this. "This is a fluke, Bryn. I'm pretty much out of the public eye and have been for over a year. No one cares that I have a winery in the Napa Valley, except for people in the freaking Napa Valley. Otherwise, I'm long forgotten. Some new young ballplayer has taken my place, and I'm fine with it. I've moved on. But my dad? He hates that I'm out of the public eye. Hates that he is too. He's fed the media stories about me for years."
"You really think he's behind this?" I ask incredulously. My grandma may drive me crazy and has heaped on plenty of helpings of tough love, but she would never blatantly sabotage me or spread such lies.
He grabs his phone, punches a button and holds it to his ear, his expression grim, eyes blazing with anger. He must be listening to his voicemail or something. I wait nervously, wrapping my arms around my middle, my mind racing.
What if the photographer took more pictures? What if they release more to the media over the next few days? God, what will that do to us?
"He left me a message asking if I'd seen the article, sounding like a smug ass**le," Matt says, knocking me from my thoughts. "And hell yes, I do, especially after what you just told me. If he said those kind of things to you, then he could definitely be behind this. I mean, no one else would mention my dad and he just happens to appear in this stupid article. He's our unidentified source." He exhales loudly and pushes his fingers through his hair. "Wonder how much the ass**le got paid for spreading these lies. I wonder who he got to follow us."