Page 28 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

I remain at the top of the stairs long after the party has found its rhythm again—unnoticed and unmissed.

The truth is, it’s never enough to just coast. I’ve always needed to be doing something—something meaningful.

I think that’s why Chicago never felt quite right, even when I was successful.

Sure, I was good at my job—great, even. But making money for clients and seeing campaigns hit their targets didn’t feel like it mattered enough.

I wanted more. I wanted to do something that left a mark.

Maybe that’s why I latched onto helping Dan—because it felt like I could really make a difference, like I could help him reclaim the life he deserved.

Only I didn’t stop to think if that’s what he wanted.

I was too busy trying to prove that I wasn’t just some high-powered career woman who could only solve problems with a press release and a social media campaign.

I wanted to show him I could be more than that—someone who actually makes things better, not just more efficient.

Try this for an impact assessment—a document that’s required after every PR engagement—I’ve bulldozed right through his boundaries and made a mess of it all.

I didn’t listen. I didn’t ask. I just assumed I knew best, because that’s what I do.

I charge in, convinced I’m saving the day, without stopping to think if anyone actually needs saving.

And now, instead of helping Dan move forward, I’ve dragged him back into the one place he was trying to leave behind.

Thank goodness for small mercies—I’m relieved Chloe took herself off to bed a while ago and won’t see me like this. No one seems to have noticed my absence, sitting here, elbows on my knees, chin resting on my hands. Out of sight, out of mind…

It’s probably for the best. I wouldn’t even know what to say if someone did come up.

I’m stuck in this awful limbo between wanting to run and hide and needing to do something—anything—to fix the colossal mess I’ve made.

I thought I was being clever, orchestrating Dan’s big comeback like I was launching a new chip brand in the Midwest. But all I did was bulldoze through his boundaries and make it all about what I thought was best.

The worst part is, I wasn’t thinking about him.

Not really. I was too wrapped up in proving to myself that I could make something good happen here.

That I could do something right. I wanted to give him back his purpose, his pride…

but I didn’t stop to consider whether it was what he actually wanted.

Now I’m stuck here, hollow and aching, wondering how I managed to destroy the one good thing I’ve had since I landed in this state. I drag my hands down my face, trying to shake off the sting of tears, when I hear voices drifting up from the kitchen.

It’s Dan and James, engaged in a heated conversation. I know I shouldn’t listen, but I can’t help but overhear snippets of their exchange.

“She had no right, no right at all,” Dan says, his voice tight with anger. “Coming in here, trying to manage my life, my career. She doesn’t understand.”

His brother’s voice is more measured. “I’m sure she meant well, Dan. She’s just trying to help.”

“Help?” Dan scoffs. “By pushing me back into the spotlight? By disregarding my wishes, my privacy? No, that’s not help. That’s her trying to control everything, thinking she knows best.

“It’s not just about protecting Chloe, James,” Dan says.

“It’s about not getting sucked back into that world.

You know what it’s like—the endless scrutiny, the expectations, the way people pick you apart just because you exist. I promised myself I wouldn’t let Chloe grow up in the shadow of that.

We’ve built something good here—quiet, stable.

I’m not risking that just because Rachel thinks I need to feel like a star again.

I don’t want to have every aspect of my life in the public domain. I’m done with all that.”

Each word feels like a punch to the gut. Is that really how he sees me? As some sort of controlling, manipulative pain in the ass?

I hug my knees to my chest, fighting back tears.

I never meant to hurt Dan or overstep my bounds.

I only wanted to support him, to get him out of his funk, to help him see the possibilities that lie ahead.

But in my eagerness to help, I’ve lost sight of what really matters: Dan’s happiness, his autonomy, his right to make his own choices.

As their conversation continues, I realize I can’t bear to hear any more.

Quietly, I slip back down the stairs and out the front door, desperate for some air.

The cool breeze does little to soothe my troubled heart as I walk aimlessly down the driveway, wondering how I could have been so blind, so insensitive to Dan’s true feelings.

I need to make this right, to find a way to apologize and rebuild the trust I’ve so carelessly shattered.

But first, I need to take a long, hard look at myself and my motivations.

Because if I can’t be a friend without turning everything into business, then perhaps I have no business being in his life at all.

As I near the end of the driveway, I spot the journalist and photographer huddled together, reviewing the photos they’d taken earlier.

“…run with this one, Rhodes losing his cool,” the photographer says, flipping through the images on his camera. “Definitely caught him at his worst.”

The journalist nods, scribbling furiously in her notepad. “This is gold. We’ll run with the angle of the fallen star, the has-been who can’t handle the pressure of a comeback. ‘Dan Rhodes: Anger Issues and a Career in Shambles.’ It’s perfect.”

My heart sinks as I realize the gravity of the situation. Not only have I jeopardized my relationship with Dan, but I’ve also inadvertently fueled a media frenzy that could destroy his reputation and any chance he has at a peaceful life with Chloe.

I can’t let this happen. I won’t let my mistakes ruin Dan’s future.

With renewed determination, I approach the journalist and photographer, clearing my throat to get their attention. They look up, surprised to see me standing there.

“Excuse me,” I say, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

The journalist arches an eyebrow, her pen poised above her notepad. “Oh? And what might that be?”

I choose my words carefully. “Dan Rhodes isn’t some washed-up actor with anger issues. He’s a devoted father who’s been through an unimaginable loss. He’s a man who’s trying to do right by his daughter, to give her the love and stability she needs.”

The photographer lowers his camera, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “But the photos… the way he reacted…”

“He reacted like any protective father would when his privacy is invaded,” I counter, my voice growing stronger with each word. “He’s not interested in fame or a comeback. He just wants to be left alone to raise his daughter in peace.”

The journalist studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “And why should we believe you? What’s your stake in all this?”

I meet her gaze head-on, my resolve unwavering.

“Because I care about Dan and Chloe, and I made a mistake inviting you. It wasn’t my call to make, and I can’t bear to think I was responsible for a sensationalized headline.

If you have any shred of decency, you’ll respect their privacy and let them be. ”

A heavy silence falls, broken only by the distant sound of laughter from the house. Finally, the journalist sighs, tucking her notepad into her bag.

“Fine,” she says, her tone clipped. “We’ll drop the story. But you’d better hope Rhodes appreciates what you’ve done for him.”

With that, she unlocks her car and the two of them get it in. I watch them put on their seatbelts, my heart pounding in my chest as the weight of my actions settles upon me.

“Actually,” I rap my knuckles on the passenger window of the car. There’s a hesitation before it rolls down. “I’ve had a few glasses of wine, any chance of a lift into Biddeford if it’s on your way?”

“Things that bad back in the house?” The journalist chews on her bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

“Sure. Jump in. Excuse the mess.”

I slide into the backseat, my heart still racing from the confrontation. The leather seat feels cool against my skin as I buckle up, trying to hold back my tears.

“You sure you don’t want to join us for a drink?” the journalist asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Might help take the edge off.”

I shake my head, mustering a weak smile. “Thanks, but I think I need some time alone to process everything.”

The photographer shrugs, fiddling with his camera. “Suit yourself.”

“Where do you need to go?”

“The White Pines Motel.”

“I know it,” the journalist says as she presses the ignition.

As the car pulls away from the curb, I lean my head against the window, watching the twinkling lights of the house fade into the distance. The gentle hum of the engine fills the silence, and I find myself lost in thought, replaying the events of the evening in my mind.

Winding through the dark, tree-lined roads, I come to a sobering conclusion: I need to focus on my own goals and aspirations, and leave the messy business of relationships behind.

Every time I’ve opened myself up to the possibility of something more, I’ve ended up hurt, disappointed, and alone.

I just don’t seem to be able to play nice with others.

Better to stick to the things I can control, like bringing in a huge account for Channing Gabriel.

The car pulls up to the motel, and I thank the journalist and photographer for the ride. As I make my way to my room, a wave of determination washes over me. I unlock the door, step inside, kick off my shoes, and just flop onto the bed, completely and utterly exhausted.