Scandal:The Complete Series(47)

A scary thought hits me as I close the cab door and watch her drive away. What if everyone’s right and I’m the fool? What if I’m the worst thing that ever happened to the woman I love, the exquisite Ella Wade?





—seven—


Ella


The doors of the Daily Scandal bang open as I hurry into the office for the second time today. I’m definitely not trying to go by unnoticed this time. I’m done trying to please Mark Devlin or his investors. All I care about is making sure no one takes advantage of Jim’s grief.

Of the million questions racing through my head only one burns to be answered. How did Mark end up talking with Jim without my knowledge?

I head straight for Mark’s office and, bingo, Jim is sitting on the brown leather armchair that gives the space a luxurious feel, complete with expensive bookshelves and an HD TV set.

Jim’s shoulders hunch forward, unable to hold his neck straight which is a huge shock to me. Jim has always been proud of his near perfect posture. He’s a tall man who always held his head high. It strikes me that the real shock is that Jim looks old and tired, nothing like the robust, energetic forty-year-old I have preserved in my memory.

It’s easy to deduce from Mark’s stunned expression that Jim didn’t inform him of his call to me. Jim is a very smart man. I liked having him as a father.

“Jim,” I say, acting surprised, “how nice to see you.”

“Look at you, all grown up and professional,” Jim says, patting me on the back cautiously as if too much affection could offend me.

I wrap both arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Jim says, his voice brimming with tenderness.

Seeing me must be like a reflection in time, shimmering to him through the years from the days Madison and I shared a room, a living reminder of what the poor man has lost forever. My dry throat feels parched, itching against the heaviness of the emotions of the past few days.

“I thought you took the day off,” Mark says.

As hard as he tries to sound casual, he can’t fool me. I’m familiar with the acute cunning he uses to hide his true intentions when preparing to skin a potential victim in order to extract vital bits of scandalous detail.

“Forgot my flash drive,” I say, shrugging, and for once I have the upper hand because, unlike me, Mark doesn’t know how well I can lie. Push a person to their limits and they’ll extend their limits.

“Since you’re here, would you mind having a word?” Jim says, doing his best to sound cheerful.

“Of course,” I say, leading Jim out of Mark’s office.

“I’ll be right here,” Mark says. I’m never sure of his intent. His words might be a plea, a request or a threat.

“How are you holding up?” I ask Jim when we sit down at a table outside the Daily Scandal building. “Did you talk to Mom?”

“I’m numb. It’s denial, I guess,” he says with a bitter smile. “Isn’t that how they say it?” He looks up. His face lightens into the saddest smile. “Seeing you helps. You are so beautiful, a reason to think life is worth living.”

My chest tightens and I have to open my mouth to take the next breath in. Jim’s suffering is devastating, unimaginable. I don’t deserve his affection. I feel inadequate, having barely any real life experience under my belt, to be able to support him.

“Listen,” he says, taking my hand in his, a dead serious expression overtaking his features. “I didn’t call you to commiserate. I called because I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Your boss called me at the hotel where I’m staying and said the police had given you the task of interviewing me before they met with me. Then, when I got here, they said you had left the office sick.”

“I feel fine,” I say, barely able to control my irritation.

“Why would your boss lie to me, Ella?”

I shrug as I try to find the answer to that question myself. “We had a disagreement,” I say in the end. “Maybe he didn’t want to burden you with all that. He didn’t want you to worry.”

Jim puts his hand under my chin, lifting it, locking his eyes on mine. “He can go to hell. That man, the Devlin character, he wanted me to sign a form agreeing not to talk to any other media and that my interview would be exclusive and that I’d get compensated.” He pauses, fidgeting a little as anger rises in his eyes. “He thought I’d want money.”

“Jim, I’m sorry, I had no idea,” I start to say when he interrupts me.

“Forget it,” he says. “I want to get to the crucial part. While I was going over that form, Devlin had a phone call. I fumbled with the papers on the desk and, you know me, I get clumsy when I’m upset.”