Indigo Nights (Nights #3)(61)
“You know, from the internet.”
Amber used her pass to unlock the door and we stepped inside. Amber rushed us into a conference room where Bryan was waiting for us.
He cocked his head to the side and said, “How are you holding up? Don’t let these bloodsuckers get you down. We know the truth. I f*cking found you on YouTube.” Amber had said something similar. I didn’t understand it. “It had nothing to do with who you’re dating. The press are just looking for bodies to pick over them. You’re going to be the next Martha Stewart, so consider this your coming-out party. You just need to stay strong.”
“Hang on.” I put my hands up. “We need to back up here. What are you talking about? Why are you both mentioning Dylan and the press?” My gaze flicked between them. “Have they discovered we’re dating? Why are they so interested?”
Amber and Bryan glanced sideways at each other. “Have you not seen the story?” Amber asked in a small voice.
I heard the rumble of a tidal wave in the distance, a warning that things were about to get serious. “What story?” I asked, and I took a seat. “You guys are really starting to freak me out.”
Bryan took a deep breath and shook his head as he took a chair opposite me.
Amber sat next to me and said, “Have you not seen it? There’s an article in the Sun-Times about women sleeping their way to the top—they mention you in there.”
Sleeping my way to the top? My stomach churned. Baking was something I’d done on my own. I hadn’t had any help from Jake, and I hadn’t met Dylan until recently, and anyway how would he help? This was why I wasn’t convinced about extending my time on A Chicago Saturday. “But you asked me to meet with you before I even met Dylan.”
“Exactly,” Bryan said.
“We know,” Amber said, trying to reassure me. “It will blow over. And it’s just small town gossip. Ignore it.”
“I don’t understand how dating Dylan matters. I mean, I know he’s rich and well-known, but he can’t get me my own show. Can he?”
“And that’s what I told the press when they called. I told them Dylan has no creative control over A Chicago Saturday or WCIL. He just doesn’t get involved with daily operations.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean ‘doesn’t get involved’?”
Amber shrugged as she fiddled with her phone. “I’ll show you what they wrote. Be strong. I think they’re just trying to start trouble, or they’re na?ve about how much the moneymen get to control creative content. Really, who knows?”
Moneymen? Why would Dylan have creative control over A Chicago Saturday? Investors?
“But while we’re getting our cards out on the table, it would have been good to have a heads-up. We could have had a PR plan, just in case something like this caught fire,” Bryan said.
Amber offered me her phone. “It Still Pays to Sleep with the Boss.” What the f*ck? I began reading the article.
New baking sensation A Chicago Saturday’s Beth the Baker just happens to be sleeping with the owner of WCIL and Raine Media . . .
I couldn’t read any more. Dylan owned WCIL? That couldn’t be true. I dropped the phone on the desk. He would have told me. He assured me he’d never lie. I stood up, aware that Amber and Bryan were speaking but I couldn’t make out the words. I turned to the door. “I have to leave.”
Had I been unknowingly sleeping with my boss? There must have been some kind of mistake. They must have this all wrong. I spluttered out some excuse to leave. I fumbled in my bag, pulled out my phone and pressed call as I hit the sunlight.
I spotted a cab where I’d been dropped off, and I headed toward it. Dylan would explain. He’d be able to make sense of it. He’d tell me that he used to own Raine Media. His phone rang and rang. I climbed into the back of the cab, mumbling Dylan’s office address at the driver.
The phone went to voice mail. I couldn’t remember that ever happening before. He always picked up. The rumble of the tidal wave grew nearer. It was as if I’d woken in an alternative universe where nothing was as it should be.
We pulled up outside his office; for a fleeting moment I thought that maybe he didn’t actually work here—there was a possibility that everything I thought we’d had was a gigantic lie. I tried to shake off that feeling. I imagined Dylan grinning at me as I surprised him in his office and he pulled me into his arms, telling me that the Sun-Times had mixed him up with someone else, or had thought he owned Raine Media when in fact he owned a different media company. Yes, that’s what would happen.
I headed inside. “Beth Harrison for Dylan James,” I said to the security guard at the front desk. “If you could just call up for him—”
He handed me a security pass. “Take lift five to floor sixty-two. His assistant will meet you there.”
Everything felt unfamiliar as I made my way to the lift. I wanted Dylan to make me feel better, to make me feel good in the way no one else could. Perhaps I’d become more dependent on him than I had realized. How could I have gotten myself in so deep, so quickly? I didn’t really know anything about him. I hadn’t been to his office before, and I’d only met his business partner at the gala. I’d never met his parents and other than the fact that he was in the Navy, I knew nothing about Dylan’s brother. How could he be bringing up where we lived our lives when we knew so little about each other?