Wanting to reassure her, I put both hands on her shoulders. They felt frail, not a good thing for a massage therapist. “He’s right,” I said, trying to sound convinced when a small part of me was chanting,Fight, fight, fight.I knew the anger. I knew the sense of violation. I also knew the futility of going against a Goliath. “Life isn’t fair, Gracie. Things happen. People say things, and even when you want to hit back, it’s sometimes best to just let it pass.”
“But these go all over the country,” she cried, hands together now, picking at her thumb. “Everyone sees them.Everywhere.” She was thinking of her ex-husband.
I grasped her hand to stop the picking. “Your hair is different. You were smart about that. The hair in these shots is chestnut and curly. You’re a smooth-haired brunette now.”
“But the face is the same. I mean, sure, fine, great, you change your name and have plastic surgery—” She stopped short. She didn’t look back at Edward, but I sensed only sheer force of will kept her from it. I hadn’t known about the name change, but I did know that she was afraid of her ex, so it wasn’t a total surprise.
Our eyes held. I gave a tiny headshake to indicate that Edward knew nothing.
But he had certainly heard what she just said. I wasn’t sure whether he was making the connection between Grace’s experience and mine, whether he understood Grace because he understood me. But he approached us and said with quiet confidence, “You’re safe here, Grace. The Inn protects its own.”
Again, she looked from me to him and back. “Okay,” she said and pulled away. “Gotta go. I have a client.”
“We can get someone to cover,” Edward tried as she made for the door.
“No need.” She didn’t look back. “Thanks, though. I’m good.” Opening the door, she slipped out and was gone.
In her wake came a brief silence, the exchange of nervous looks, then Edward’s whispered, “Name change?”
“I didn’t know,” I said, only then seeing thatPeoplehadn’t been the only thing under his arm. A newspaper was there, trifolded in a familiar Thursday way. “Is thatThe Times?”
“Devon. Yes.” Something about the way he said it put me on the alert. “Luckily,Peoplewill overshadow it.”
I held out my hand. “What’s there?”
“A profile.”
“Of Grace?”
“Of me.”
I stared at him for a minute. Slowly, the meaning of his alert sank in. Unfolding the paper, I scanned the front page. There on the lower half, relatively small but still front-page visible, was a photo of Edward in his office. He was standing at his desk, seeming to be studying papers there. The fact that it was a profile shot taken from ten feet away, rather than a close-up face shot, took nothing from its compelling nature. Edward was eye-catching in any pose, but eye-catching here was dangerous.
“It can’t mention me,” I warned, knowing that if it was done, it was done, but I was shaken.
“No. I was careful with what I said. But Quillmer did his homework.”
“His homework.”
“He mentions where my wife and I lived, and that our daughter was killed in an accident.”
“Edward, howcouldyou—”
“Ididn’t,” he cut me off, upset himself. “He already knew I was from Boston, because my work history is out there for everyone to see. I didn’t tell him anything that hadn’t already come out in press releases when we bought the Inn. We discussed the hacking scandal, and I detailed the steps the Inn is taking to restore the integrity of our computer systems—and I needed to do that, Maggie. I inherited a crisis, here. Anything I can do to rebuild public confidence is crucial. From that angle alone, I couldn’t refusethe interview. But I swear, I focused on work. I told him what I wanted to do with the Inn, and I thought that was the gist of the piece. He didn’t ask anything personal, and I didn’t offer it. Maybe that made him curious.” He slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “But here it is.”
“Did he name me?”
“No.”
“Nothing about the trial?”
“No.”
“The Mackenzie Cooper Law?”
“No. He must have known that would have been overstepping. Hell, the Inn pays a shitload in annual advertising, so he needs me, too.”
“But he knows.”
