For the Record (Record #3) Page 8

  The girl scurried through a closed door and a minute later she reappeared with a guy who Liz could only assume was Easton. He appeared to be college age, with perfectly tousled dark brown hair and light brown eyes. He was tall and trim and carried himself powerfully. His smile made the redhead receptionist swoon, but Liz just returned it with mild indifference. He was cute, but he wasn’t Brady Maxwell.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, leaning forward against the desk and twirling his tennis racquet.

  “Tana and Hank are out today. Are you free for an hour?” Liz asked.

  He straightened and smiled again. “Sure. Let’s walk,” he said, and then strode toward the courts. He opened the door for Liz and she followed him out. “You’re playing with Tana and Hank, so you can’t be too shabby. How experienced are you?” he asked.

  “I’ve been playing my whole life. Very accomplished at hitting balls,” she responded, straight-facedly.

  Easton cracked a smile and nodded. “Where have they been hiding you?”

  “I’ve been—” Liz cut herself off. She had been about to tell him she was the editor of the paper, but, well, she wasn’t anymore. And anyway, he might not know what had happened with her. It would be nice to be around one person who didn’t know that she’d had an affair with a politician. “I’ve been busy. Haven’t been around as much.”

  “Well, let’s get started. Need any pointers?” he asked. “I can show you some good footwork, the right swing, how to move your body.”

  Liz rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, no. I just need someone to beat.”

  “Then we should probably find you someone else,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

  After his first serve, Liz knew she was going to lose pretty handily. Her body protested with every swing, and the worst part was that it was clear that he was holding back to play with her.

  “You’re so good,” she admitted when they took a short break. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one, and thanks,” he said, offering her a bottle of water. “You’re really not bad.”

  “Ha! You make me look like a joke.”

  “You’re just out of shape.”

  “Wow.”

  “No seriously. If you were out here every day, we’d be more evenly matched.”

  “I’m shocked you’re not on the UNC team,” she said.

  “Well, I want to go to law school.”

  “Oh,” she said flatly. Law school only made her think of Clay and how he was now clerking for the Supreme Court.

  “Don’t oh me. I want to be a politician.”

  “Oh!” Liz said, shaking her head. Damn, she could not escape her life. “Well, that’s nice.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “I really do. Let’s just play.”

  And then they were back into the game. This was what she had come here for, after all. She put all of her energy into the athleticism of the sport. Focused on trying to crack through Easton’s advanced passes. She was good, but not that good. Having the added pressure of wanting to beat him made her work twice as hard, and by the time they left the courts, she was breathing heavy and slick with sweat.

  “I’m going to fit you into my schedule three times a week. We’ll start off slow, but you should start running laps at least twice a week otherwise. Doctor’s orders,” Easton told her.

  “I can’t commit to a training regimen,” she said. “I graduate this semester.”

  “I’m going to save some time anyway,” he said as they walked into the air-conditioned lobby. He grabbed something from behind the counter and handed it to her. “Here’s my card. Figure out your schedule and get back to me.”

  Liz slipped the card into her bag. Tennis had helped her forget her woes today. It might not hurt to start coming in more often. Maybe then she could think about something other than her failed attempts at living the life of a politician’s girlfriend.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said noncommittally. “Thanks for the lesson.”

  As soon as she got home, Liz hopped in the shower. She was toweling off her hair when she saw that she had missed Brady’s call. Finishing with her hair, she slipped into sweats and then called him back. She was still frustrated about what had happened earlier, but tennis had improved her mood immensely.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  “I called Erin.”

  “Oh,” she said, perking up. She hadn’t thought that he would.

  “You were right,” he admitted.

  “Damn.” She hadn’t really wanted to be. “What did she say?”

  “To be honest, after she told me, there was a lot of crying, and then she hung up on me.”

  “She did!” Liz cried. “What for?”

  “It wasn’t a mutual breakup,” he said stiffly. “She didn’t tell me exactly what she told the paper, but I can only guess that it’s negative from the way she was on the phone. She sounded like a mess.”

  Liz stood up and started pacing her room. “What does this mean for us, for you, for the campaign?”

  Brady sighed and for the first time she really heard uncertainty crack through his confidence. “I guess we’ll find out when the story hits, unless I get some information from Heather beforehand.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything to that reporter,” Liz said, feeling defeated.

  “You were just trying to find out information. You didn’t know what Erin had done or what kind of damage it could do. For all we know it could still be minimal.”

  “Or it could be disastrous.”

  Chapter 9

  TWO WRONGS MAKE A RIGHT

  Liz had gone through a million scenarios of what Erin’s article could be about. All she really assumed was that it wasn’t going to be pretty. Brady had broken up with the woman because of Liz. It wasn’t a huge leap for Erin to guess that.

  When Liz opened up the Post article in her email the next morning, it was clear that wasn’t the only leap Erin had taken when speaking to the press.

  As usual, it started out with the punch: Erin condemned Liz and Brady for sneaking around behind her back. They had worked so hard to portray their relationship as a positive aspect of his life that they were both so eager to share with the public, but now not only did they have the stigma of having hidden it, but Erin was making it seem as if the relationship had never stopped. She went as far as asserting that Brady had cheated on her on at least two occasions, but was certain it was more.

  She claimed that when Brady had driven Liz home from the restaurant, the night that Liz had first met Erin, something had happened, and then again in October—both of the times the reporter had asked Liz about, and he’d included her own words stating she did see Brady the first time but had no comment on the relationship. It made Liz’s heart heavy.

  She couldn’t stop herself from reading the rest of the article numbly. Erin spoke briefly about her relationship with Brady. She alluded to his always being distant and said that their time together was rocky. Not how Liz remembered it, but she had only met Erin once. She talked about how wronged she was by a man she had loved. That Brady had kept the breakup hush-hush. Again she asserted that was because he was still sneaking around with Liz at the time.

  “God, I can’t believe this,” Liz grumbled, closing her computer and walking out into the living room.

  “Hey!” Victoria said. “I was just coming to get you. You were gone yesterday, so I didn’t get the chance to tell you— Wait, what’s wrong?”

  Liz had tears welling in her eyes. Had it really only been a couple weeks since all of this had started? It felt like a lifetime.

  “Did something happen?” Victoria asked.

  “Brady’s ex-girlfriend spoke to the press saying he cheated on her with me while they were dating.”

  “Well . . . did
n’t you?”

  “I mean, yeah, that one night in October, but we stopped. We didn’t go farther, and nothing happened before that. And it all just looks so bad,” Liz explained.

  Victoria moved her to the couch and made her sit down. She plopped down in the seat next to her. “How badly does this set you back? Can’t you just tell them to fuck off?”

  Liz laughed bitterly. “I wish. I spoke to the press. I feel kind of like an idiot. I mean, what use is all my reporter knowledge that I’ve built up for years if I can’t even handle the press in my own situation? I feel so shitty about it. I’m ruining everything.”

  “Okay, melodrama, calm down for a second. You’re not ruining anything. People make mistakes. Brady isn’t going to dump you for making one, and he’s what matters here, right?”

  “No, I mean, yes. He is what matters. And you’re right: he isn’t going to leave me because I spoke to the press. I just feel like I should be better,” Liz tried to explain. “I feel like I mar his perfect reputation.”

  Victoria shrugged. “Would you rather deal with this bullshit and have Brady or be alone and not have to deal with any of this?”

  Liz gave her a look. “I’m just saying it’s difficult.”

  “Every relationship is difficult. And I respect your decision to blubber . . .”

  “I don’t blubber!” Liz cried. “You’re so bad at this comforting thing!”

  “Maybe, but you’re not crying anymore,” Victoria said, shooting her a wicked smirk. “I think you should come to terms with your relationship with Brady. As far as I see it, it’s never going to be easy. You had to fight to get him and you’re going to have to fight to keep him. The lowest lows bring the highest highs. And when you find someone who brings you both, that doesn’t mean you should walk away; it means you have something special.”

  Liz smiled despite everything. “When did you become the bearer of wisdom?” Wherever it had come from, Liz liked it. It was clear from Victoria’s face that she was happy and maybe even feeling similarly with Daniel.

  “Happens to the best of us,” Victoria said casually.

  “Or the worst of us,” Liz teased.

  “Lowest lows and highest highs, bitch.”

  “Well, thanks for dealing with my lows lately.”

  Victoria beamed. “I have to listen to you so I don’t feel guilty burdening you with my highest highs.”

  “Oh, God, I don’t want to know if you and Daniel had a threesome,” Liz said, pretending to cover her ears.

  “Better!” Victoria squealed. “I got into three of the top genetics PhD programs in the country!”

  “Victoria! That’s amazing! Which ones?”

  “MIT, Berkeley, and Johns Hopkins. I’m still waiting to hear back from a few others, but I would be perfectly content at any of them.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” Liz said. “Did Daniel get into any of the same schools?”

  Victoria brightened further. “Johns Hopkins for now. He didn’t apply to Berkeley and MIT.”

  “Well . . . what are you two doing this weekend? I’m flying up to D.C. to go to some banquet. Have you been on the Johns Hopkins campus yet?” Liz asked excitedly. “You could do a tour and finally meet Brady!”

  “Oh, hell, yes, you know I’m in. I have to convince Daniel, but I can think of a few ways,” she said mischievously.

  “I don’t even want to know!”

  “Let me talk to him and I’ll get back to you. It’s kind of last minute, but I’m a last-minute kind of girl!”

  Liz’s name appeared in the campus newspaper again later that week. Luckily it wasn’t on the front page this time. She only saw it because a few people in class glanced over at her and snickered. She dug the newspaper out of the trash once they were gone and read a watered-down version of what the Washington Post had run. Wonderful.

  She tossed it back into the trash and exited the room. She had never thought that newspapers were going to be the death of her. Only a few weeks dating Brady and she already despised reporters, media, and everything else in between.

  She wasn’t looking forward to her meeting with Professor Mires. She had put it off as long as she could, but she had to face her mentor. Professor Mires hadn’t seemed upset when she had seen her yesterday, but Liz wasn’t sure.

  Walking into the journalism building, she pushed her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and straightened out the front of her skirt. Here goes nothing.

  “Hello, Professor Mires,” Liz said, walking into her office.

  “Liz, we’ve been working together for nearly three years. You can call me Lynda.”

  “Yes, Professor Mires.”

  Her professor chuckled and shook her head. She was a pretty woman who tended to wear hippie clothing with long skirts. Liz found that hard to reconcile with the high-end reporter Professor Mires had been in her younger years. “Please take a seat. How have you been?”

  Well, that was a loaded question if Liz had ever heard one. How was she doing exactly? Angry that she was in the paper again. Disappointed about getting kicked off the newspaper. Elated that she was back with Brady. Happy that graduation was looming closer so she could escape it all. But of course she didn’t say any of those things.

  “Fine,” she answered.

  “Of course you are. Now, I wanted to talk to you about your final term paper for the internship through your Morehead scholarship,” Professor Mires said, jumping right in. “I’m going to need a rough draft before spring break so that we can get it cleaned up and out to the graduation department in time. How does that sound?”

  Spring break. Well, that was coming up fast.

  “Sounds fine.”

  “Perfect. Now let’s discuss what you were doing . . .”

  Professor Mires trailed off as Liz’s phone blasted to life. She quickly apologized and silenced the ringer. She would deal with that after her meeting with Professor Mires.

  After a thirty-minute conversation about her work for her internship and the avenues they had been working toward regarding her final paper, Liz was free to go.

  When she stepped into the hall, she fished her phone back out of her purse and pulled up the missed call. The caller ID read NANCY—NEW YORK TIMES. She dialed the number and waited.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Nancy. How are you?”

  “Hi, Liz. It’s been an interesting afternoon to say the least. How have you been?” she asked.

  “Just fine, ma’am. I’ve been keeping up with my classes and working on my internship term paper. I’m looking forward to seeing you and getting back to work at the New York Times over spring break.”

  Nancy cleared her throat. “That’s actually what I want to speak with you about.”

  “About travel arrangements? I believe the university was going to have me leave on Monday,” Liz told her.

  “Unfortunately, Liz, the New York Times is going to have to terminate any further work with you,” Nancy said.

  Liz’s breath caught in her throat.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she managed to get out. “I don’t . . . understand.”

  “After your relationship with Congressman Maxwell surfaced, we were willing to look the other way. In fact, I fought for you to stay on over the summer, because I believed things would blow over,” Nancy said, and then sighed. “But everything didn’t blow over. With your appearance in the Post today, I couldn’t seem to justify keeping you on to my superiors. We can’t have one of our own reporters continuing to surface in the news.”

  “So . . . so you’re firing me?” she gasped.

  “Officially, since no paperwork has been signed and we only had a verbal agreement, we’re withdrawing our job offer,” Nancy explained.

  Same fucking thing.

  “I see,” she muttered.

  “I do apologize for this
, Liz. I was very excited to work with you all year and then again this summer, but my hands are tied.” Her apology seemed sincere. She didn’t sound cold, just resolute. At least Nancy was the one delivering the news and not some person Liz had never met.

  “I understand,” Liz said. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind . . . or your superior’s mind?”

  “I’m sorry. I think this is a final decision,” Nancy said. “Good luck with all that you pursue. I know you’ll find something else. You won’t waste your talents.”

  What did she say to that? She mumbled something numbly and then got off the phone. She couldn’t keep talking to Nancy about the job that she would never have again. Her dream job. Gone. Poof!

  In a matter of weeks, everything that she had worked toward had completely fallen apart. No job. No internship. No paper. No prospects. How had she gone from complete and total success and control of her career path to this mess? And what was she going to do now? She had no path. The last four years had been wasted. If the New York Times wasn’t going to hire her after they had already put the offer on the table, who would be willing to work with her?

  She wanted to just go home and figure out how to fix everything. She wasn’t crying as she had this morning only because she was in shock.

  Professor Mires walked out of her office at that moment and paused with her hand on the door. “Oh, Liz, I thought you would already be gone.”

  “Sorry. I had a phone call,” she said hollowly.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine.”

  Professor Mires narrowed her eyes and pushed her door back open. “Take a seat, Liz. What is this all about?” She didn’t sound unkind, just concerned.

  Liz knew that she should have held it in, but she just couldn’t do it; it all spilled out. She had to have a release somehow from all the pressure of carrying all of her troubles around. After she finished, Liz slumped back into her chair, exhausted.

  “This is all . . . unfortunate,” Professor Mires said, choosing her words carefully. “I’d heard about your relationship with the Congressman, but I didn’t realize it had resulted in all of this.”