Page 44

chapter thirty-three

Jillian

M eghan and I slipped out of the bathroom into the wide lounge, where gray leather loveseats were clustered together and big, leafy plants filled the corners, making the room feel less sterile.

People stood around chatting in groups, some of them making their way into the adjoining meeting rooms for their first conference sessions.

A few expo booths were scattered along the edges of the room; there were journalism software demonstrations, podcast equipment vendors, and a university booth advertising their graduate programs.

We spotted Graham and Chase standing in front of a massive arched window that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, offering an expansive view of the city.

“Where’s Xander?” Meghan asked, scanning the room.

“He spotted one of his old buddies from his Tribune days and took off,” Chase said, taking her by the hand. “Ready to go?”

They told us goodbye and wandered off together, staring down at their conference maps.

Suddenly, it was just the two of us. And for the first time since that morning in the parking lot, Graham really looked at me, studying my face closely with his arms folded against his chest. A few seconds passed without either of us saying anything, so I looked down and said, “Well, I’m going to find where I need to go. ”

Just as I turned away, Graham’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, and he pulled me toward him with gentle dominance.

His eyes never left mine. “Hey,” he said, sliding his fingers down to my palm.

I could feel his body heat and smell the mint on his breath.

After hours of barely even glancing at one another, the sudden closeness nearly stole the breath from my lungs.

“Whatever happens,” he started, squeezing my hand, “this is going to work out. I promise.” I didn’t even question how he knew. He just said those words with so much authority and confidence, I believed him. His steady demeanor flipped a switch in my brain, and I felt the panic begin to melt away.

Because if he was saying those words, that must’ve meant he didn’t regret getting involved with me.

“I hope you’re right.” I adjusted my fingers to squeeze his hand back. “I’ve been spiraling since we left Woodvale.”

“I know,” he said, glancing past me at the dwindling crowd. Everyone was finding their way to their first session. "I have half a mind to blow this off, but considering the network’s footing the bill, it wouldn’t exactly be ethical."

Something about this ethical dilemma after everything else we’d already done struck me as something so ridiculous, I actually laughed.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“Ethics.”

Graham looked down at the ground between us, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh. Right. We might not be the poster children for that.”

He let go of my hand and stuck his in his pocket when a group of fellow journalists moved past us.

For half a second, I considered suggesting we ditch the conference like he said.

We could get out of here and find somewhere to talk about our situation alone.

How far away was Central Park? We could walk for a while, find a bench under the shade of a tree, and hash this out. Make a plan.

I thought about all the times my mom had warned me not to let worrying ruin a good thing.

Like our family trip to Myrtle Beach, the one where I’d spent half the time pacing the hotel balcony, fretting over some stupid rumor an ex-friend was spreading about me back home.

“You stewin’ down here ain’t gonna stop what’s goin’ on up there,” my mom told me. Repeatedly.

I wasted days refreshing my phone, convinced my whole world was falling apart, while the ocean was right there, waiting.

And my current predicament wasn’t all that different. Nothing we could do here in New York would change whatever might happen when we returned to Indiana.

I shook my head to clear the panic from my mind. “Maybe we should leave Woodvale in Woodvale, and try to enjoy ourselves today. The time's gonna pass either way, right?” I adjusted the strap of my tote bag on my shoulder again. “And the outcome’s gonna be the same. Nothin’ we can do from here.”

Graham was smirking.

Almost annoyingly so.

“What?” I asked him, letting out a little giggle.

“You’re laying that accent on pretty thick there, Tennessee.”

My cheeks felt a little warm because I hadn’t realized I’d let my accent slip out so much, but at least it was making Graham smile.

He liked it. As I stared up at the stubble on his chin and those deep blue eyes, all I could think about was how much I wanted him to be the man I could take home to Tennessee with me someday.

I could definitely see him sitting on the porch swing with my mom, drinking her dangerously sweet tea, and listening to her tell stories about me as a child.

He was the first man in a long time who had me thinking that way.

Before I could let myself think about it, I grabbed Graham by the front of his shirt and pulled him behind the nearest pillar, hiding us from the few people who remained in that lounge. Graham barely had time to register this slightly aggressive maneuver before my mouth was on his.

His eyes widened with shock, but a second later, his hands cradled my face and he kissed me back with the same level of urgency.

“You make it so hard to be good,” he whispered against my lips when we came up for air, his voice low and rough.

His thumb stroked my cheekbone before he reluctantly dropped both hands to his side, glancing past me to make sure no one was looking in our direction.

I grinned at the messy lipstick smudge on his chin as I leaned on my hands against the pillar. “You’re going to need to wash your face. You’re a mess.”

“You say that like it’s my fault,” he said, his jaw clenching from the smile he was trying to suppress. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Oh, it definitely is,” I said, pulling myself off the pillar. As I started to walk off, I shot him a flirty look over my shoulder. “Try to behave today.”

“I already failed,” he called after me, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I pulled the conference guide from my tote bag as I walked, skimming the schedule like I hadn’t just made a wildly impulsive decision in the middle of this convention center lounge.

Just before I turned the corner, I glanced back at Graham, expecting to catch him still watching me with that sexy smirk.

But he wasn’t.

His head was bowed, with one hand gripping the front of his hair like he was trying to hold something in. Or hold himself together. I froze when I rounded the corner, letting my tote bag awkwardly slide off my shoulder.

Was he only trying to pacify me with that promise he’d just made? Did he not really believe everything was going to work out?

A woman in a teal volunteer t-shirt stepped up beside me, toying with her lanyard as she smiled. “Hi there! Can I point you in the right direction?”

Sure, if you’ve got a shortcut out of this disaster.

***

By the end of the day, I’d gone to three breakout sessions, one panel discussion, and a keynote speech about exposing corruption no matter what the cost. Meghan was practically vibrating next to me the entire time, taking notes as if she didn’t already know enough about this particular topic to be teaching it herself.

Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, I’d escaped down to the hotel for a criminally expensive packet of ibuprofen to take the edge off the ache crawling from my lower back down into my legs.

At least I finally had an appointment with a rheumatologist the next day—and with any luck, I’d finally get some answers.

For now, I had cocktail hour.

The ballroom was packed wall-to-wall with media professionals one-upping each other beneath oversized glass pendant globes that dangled from the ceiling.

I was dying to talk to Graham again, just to be reassured he wasn’t regretting everything we’d ever done, but he was over by the wall, deep in conversation with an acquaintance.

Meghan said the man worked for the IndyStar .

I tried not to stare, half-listening to the conversation around me. Xander, Meghan, Chase and I hovered around a standing table where we sipped our drinks and critiqued the charcuterie board.

“Someone recognized me from YouTube,” Chase shared, popping an olive into his mouth.

Xander didn’t even look up from the slice of prosciutto between his fingers when he asked, “Because of your ghost hunting channel, or was it your viral ‘shit’ incident?”

Chase’s proud smile faded. “Doesn’t matter. I was recognized.”

After that exchange, the rest of them started arguing about how to spend the rest of our night.

Xander suggested a rooftop bar in Hell’s Kitchen, which made Meghan groan about the overpriced drinks.

Chase launched into a monologue about the best comic book stores within walking distance, until Xander pointed out they were likely closed at this hour—or would be before we could get out of here.

Meghan declared she wanted to go to Grand Central Station so she could feel something , which made Xander roll his eyes. “Pretty sure you can feel something at the bottom of a bottle on a rooftop bar,” he said, his arm brushing against mine on the table. I instinctively pulled away.

“How about this? We’re literally a block from Time Square,” I said, cutting through the noise. “Why don’t we start there, grab some street food, and walk around? See where the night takes us?”

There was a pause, and to my surprise, it was Xander who nodded in agreement. “That’s probably the best idea.”

I blinked. “Great. It’s a plan.”

Xander’s fingers wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle. “And we all agree we’re ditching Graham, right?”

“No,” I said quickly—maybe too quickly. “Absolutely not.”