What kind of slanted garbage was this? How did Ivy get made out to look like that?Hewas the one who’d run off. And he was also the one who’d allowed her to withhold the interview.
His fist clenched so tight it hurt. His jaw did the same. It felt like fire was racing through his veins. This was an outrage. Ivy’s worst nightmare come to life and magnified a million times over. His mind raced for a way to fix it. To somehow champion Ivy in a way big enough for…for everyone who saw this ridiculous article to be set straight. For the slimy creator of the magazine to eat his or her words by way of public embarrassment.
This wasn’t about Easton dodging a lawsuit or a TV show anymore, this was about him defending a woman who didn’t deserve any of this. And he’d make it his life goal to do that very thing.
But first…
Easton exed out of the text thread, scrolled down to Ivy’s name, and pressed the call icon. Why call Marsha about making a deal when all he could think about was Ivy? He had to apologize. He had to make it right. He had to…had to at least hear her voice.
He put the device on speaker, a bit of déjà vu coming on as it went straight to voicemail once more, the same automated message that said her mailbox was too full. Only after seeing the article, that made more sense; probably a bunch of messages from vicious paparazzi. Should he text her instead? May as well. He could barely contain the anger coursing through him as he tapped out a message instead.
Easton:I’m so sorry, Ivy. I was a jerk to take off without letting you explain. I got angry. And scared. But I don’t want to lose you either.
He decided not to mention the article. If she hadn’t seen it for herself, the last thing he’d want to do is make her aware of it. He read over the text once before hitting send, then paced back and forth along the dirt ground. “Where are you, Ivy? And what’s the deal with your phone?”
A new level of desperation tore through him. One that had him dying to drive straight to LA. It would only take him, what, five or six hours?
The red hawk circled overhead once more, crying out its lonely call. Easton related. If he could verbally cry out, loud enough to reach Ivy, he would, right there with the dry rocky land surrounding him. And once he found her, he’d apologize for leaving her in the fray of his mess. For making her the subject of ugly, inaccurate gossip with no one to defend her.
And then, he mused, once they’d made up, he’d bring her out here to enjoy the sunset. And he’d see what kind of dorky fun facts they could exchange about wildlife and petroglyphs and…and the unexplainable connection between a man and a woman in love. That was a topic he knew little about. But his fascination for it was rampant now. Because there was no real explanation for it. No reason he should feel more connected to her than anyone he’d known save his own sister. Yet this connection, of course, wasnotthe brotherly sort. It was unlike anything he’d known, and he desperately wanted it back.
Wait,maybe he could still get ahold of Ivy. She might be with Marsha Langston. Heck, they worked together. The idea sparked new hope within him. And suddenly he was scrolling back to the unknown number, clicking the call icon, and tapping the screen to put it on speaker. This time it rang.
Once.
Twice.
“Hello, Easton.” The expectant tone in the woman’s voice made him bristle.
“Marsha,” he said, pacing faster now. He wanted to hurry back to the tent and start packing up, but he’d lose reception just a few yards in.
“Thank you for calling,” Marsha said.
“Do you know where Ivy is?” he asked. “Is she at work today?”
A quiet pause. “I’m not sure,” she finally said. “The poor girl is stuck doing grunt work after the stunt she pulled. She doesn’t report directly to me anymore.”
Gruntwork? Easton gritted his teeth, hating the idea of anyone pushing Ivy around in a job she’d given her life to.That,on top of the stupid tabloids?
He forced his mind back to the matter at hand. “What kind of offer do you have? Will it give Ivy her job back? And make the media eat their own words for slandering her name?”
“We might be able to arrange that. But I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. You see, I’ve never made an offer like this to any prior contestant and I don’t plan to in the future. I’ve got to make sure the deal stays private, which means you’ll need to sign an agreement, in person this time.”
A fresh dose of irritation pushed through him. “Okay, but did you see the article they published about the runaway bachelor? They basically bash Ivy and put me on some freaking pedestal.”
“Which one?”
The two-word question felt like two great swords going clean through him. One from the back—he hadn’t expected the first article. And one from the front that he somehow failed to see coming—Easton should have guessed there would be more.
“In order for this to work, I need you here in LA by tonight.”
“Perfect.” Adrenaline surged through him. Finally an action he could take. One that didn’t include wearing a deeper path into the dirt under his boots. “Send me the address and I’ll head out now.”
“Good. Where are you calling from?”
“Southern Nevada,” he answered. “About an hour from the airport.”
“You’ve been camping?” she assumed.
