Page 82 of Spin Control

I sit back up and look at the camera, trying very hard to keep my voice even when I ask, “Am I fired?” I don’t succeed.

“No,” Clint says slowly, and I all but sob in relief. I thought firing me would be step one in Clint’s crisis plan. “But I am recalling you from this client.”

I close my eyes against the burn of humiliation and the stab of fear. I’ll probably be put in what is, effectively, time out. Not a formal probation or suspension, but relegated to an office where I’ll do no substantive work until I fade from headlines and memories. Until Wes Grant moves on. Until I’m once more a block of ice with nothing but her career to focus on.

I swallow the pain and open my eyes. “Understood.”

“And now,” Clint says. “I need you to tell me the full story.”

So I do. And when I’m finished, he nods once. “Thank you.”

“What should I expect?” I ask.

“I tried to shut the story down, Elizabeth. I really did. But it’s The Drift. They didn’t give a heads up as a negotiating tactic. It was a power play.”

“Shit,” I breathe. The Drift is the absolute worst gossip rag in London. They’re ruthless and run headlines that would make even William Randolph Hearst blush. “Does Martine know already?”

Clint nods. “The journalist sent both me and Marcus the email.”

“Marcus?” I yell.

“Yes,” Clint says. “He called three minutes after I got the email and threatened to come to New York and personally break my nose if I did anything other than support you and Wes. Not that he needed to do that. I was going to make the same call to him.”

My jaw drops open and for several moments I’m completely speechless.

Then I burst into tears.

Clint laughs. Laughs. It takes everything I have not to scream at the top of my lungs. Instead, I take a deep breath and grit out, “What is funny about this?”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

And then I freeze.

Because I don’t just like Wes Grant.

I love him.

I am in love with him.

And it took a crisis for me to realize it.

“I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun,” I murmur, suddenly understanding Mr. Darcy with piercing clarity. “Oh my God.”

On screen, both Clint and Michelle are smiling. “Have I entered the Twilight Zone? Is this an elaborate prank? Did…did Wes put you up to this?”

“No,” Clint says, serious again. “Unfortunately, this situation is very real. There is a story coming out tomorrow, and none of us can stop it.”

“But the good news is that you’re in love!” Michelle says, cheerily. “I’ll email you the disclosure forms.”

I stare at the screen, trying to figure out what the hell to do now.

“I need…to call David,” I say, my brain whirring to life. “I need to write a statement. I need to write Wes a statement. Oh my God, I have to tell Wes.”

“Elizabeth,” Clint says. “I’m taking care of it.”

“No, this is my mess. I need to—”