The room was set up like a classroom, with two empty chairs for the speakers at the front, and rows of already-occupied chairs for the audience. The camera stood on a tripod in the middle of the aisle and focused only on the two chairs where Shelby and the host would be sitting.
"Hi!" A short woman with dark curly hair and a bright smile hurried over. "I'm Melanie. We talked on the phone."
"Great to meet you."
"Do you need some water? We'd like to start right on time. The library has something following us this week and they want us out exactly at a quarter 'til."
"That's fine," Shel said, and the woman walked her through how the session would go. Intro. Chat. Q&A. Conclusion.
"Easy enough, right?" Melanie asked, and Shelby nodded, hoping it was as easy as it sounded and trying to ignore the portents of doom that had gathered in the car. Soon enough, they were settled, the camera was rolling, and Melanie was diving in.
"Good afternoon and welcome to Young Professionals Chat. I'm your host Melanie Hancock. For those of you just now discovering this channel, we're a social media education and networking resource for young professionals, just like our name suggests. Our interviews stream live, but you can always find video at our website."
She smiled broadly, then continued. "Today, we're talking to Shelby Drake, a certified public accountant who works in consulting and client management at Brandywine Financial Consulting here in Austin. Shelby, thanks so much for joining us."
"Happy to be here."
"You took the CPA exam relatively young. Can you tell us about that?"
As soon as the question was out, Shelby realized her worries were unfounded. She could talk about being a CPA until the end of time.
Melanie continued. "A lot of our viewers are college students still trying to decide on a career, so we like to talk with our guests about both the work and play aspects of their lives. I imagine a high pressure job like that means that you have a limited social life."
"Well, accounting tends to come in waves, with the most crazy times being around tax season. And that's often true even if you're doing work that doesn't specifically entail filing tax returns for your clients. But because of those built in highs and lows, there are periods where evenings and weekends are reasonably free."
"Now, you're not married, so I'm going to assume that you date. Do you tend to date within the profession?"
"Oh, not necessarily." There was really no reason for trepidation, but Shelby had the strangest sense that the chat was about to go off the rails.
"Are you seeing anyone in particular?"
"Um, well, that's--I mean, I'm not sure how I feel about getting that specific on a live show."
"Understandable. But we're really interested in how a professional like yourself deals with things like client relations if his or her partner has a job or a personality that lacks a certain decorum."
Her mouth went dry. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"Well, you and Nolan Wood have been seen together a few times, and I believe he escorted you to the DTRR benefit recently. And anyone who's lived in Austin for more than five minutes knows that his show can get a little raunchy. The name of the show itself is a double entendre, Mornings With Wood."
"I don't think any of my clients judge me by my friends. And I'd say most of my clients have a good sense of humor, too."
"But what if you and Mr. Wood were dating?"
"You want me to discuss hypotheticals? I didn't think this was that kind of program."
"It's a program for helping young people navigate professional pitfalls. I hope you don't think we're crossing a line, but since the rumors are that you're dating Nolan Wood--and since you're a professional woman with some very conservative clients--we're wondering how you separate, from a professional point of view--your work life from your private life, especially when it crosses into his and into the public."
"I--" She had no idea how to answer. Worse, all she wanted to do was bolt.
"Like this morning's episode, for example. He did a whole schtick on toothbrushes as vibrators. And when..."
Melanie's words faded out, overpowered by the memory of the disgust in her mother's voice when she talked about this morning's program. And the memory of just how racy last night's conversation at The Fix had become.
"I'm sorry," she blurted, interrupting Melanie. "Maybe you're trying to skew this program toward a tabloid audience and you're using me to do it, but I really can't speak to the subject. Nolan and I are friends. That's all." Not true, but also not Melanie's business. "And," she added, rising to her feet, "I think we're done."
She walked calmly out, knowing damn well she was still on camera. And though her shirt was damp with nervous sweat, she felt pretty damn ballsy for sticking up for herself.
That feeling vanished the moment she got home, intending to change her sweat-stained blouse before heading back into the office. Something was off. Just slightly askew. It took her a second to realize that the sweat jacket Nolan had left draped over the arm of her love seat was gone.
Not exactly a portent of doom, but seeing--or rather not seeing--sent apprehension flooding through her.
"Nolan?"
No answer. Not that she expected one. He should still be at the studio, prepping for the next day's show. She headed back to the bedroom, ostensibly to change shirts, but really because she hoped he'd be back there, sitting on the bed waiting for her.
He wasn't. But the drawer he used was open and empty a single sheet of white paper was on the bed, a message written in Nolan's choppy scrawl.
Heard the show.
Need some time.
N.
Chapter Eighteen
Shelby bent over the toilet and dry-heaved for what had to be the fifteenth time, but her stomach wouldn't calm down. Her body felt hot, then cold. Her skin clammy.
This wasn't illness, though. This was terror.
She'd lost him.
How could she have been so stupid? So insensitive?
How could she have ever, ever, said something to make him think she didn't want him.
She did.
Dear God, how she did.
But she'd felt trapped. Closed in. Downright scared. Because how could she--her of all people--live in that spotlight that he did? And not just any spotlight, but a downright raunchy one.
Surely he understood that. He knew her, after all. He had to know that her reaction wasn't about him. It was about standing in that spotlight where people like her mother would see her and frown and wag judgmental fingers.
That's what she was scared of.
Not Nolan. Because how could she ever be scared of the man she loved?
* * *
"You really ought to take her calls, dude," Connor said as they sat in the KIKX break room after the show. "She's been calling every day like clockwork."
"Maybe I should," Nolan said. "Hell, maybe I deserved it. Maybe she's right to be embarrassed by me."
"Bullshit," Connor said. "I mean, come on, man. You make people laugh. You make people think. You damn sure make people talk, and that's a good thing."
"I don't know. Maybe. I only--"
The intercom buzzed and the receptionist announced a call from Amanda.
"I'll take it in here," he told her, then went to the phone and punched the button for the proper line.
Connor stood and walked to the door, signaling that he'd catch him later.
"Amanda? What's up?"
"It's me," Shelby said. "I figured you'd talk to Amanda, but please, don't hang up."
Surprisingly, he didn't. The phone was still to his ear. And as hurt and as angry as he was, the sound of her voice only underscored how damn much he missed her.
But missing her wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.
"You haven't returned any of my calls," she said.
"There's nothing to say. I've been in a relationship with a woman who didn't respect me. I'm not going there again."
"No. No, don't
you dare lump me in with Lauren. I respect you, Nolan. Hell, I need you. I was just caught off guard. Scared."
"About what?"
"Being caught in the spotlight like that. With my mother freaking out about toothbrush vibrators and people asking me about the stuff between us that you talk about on your show. I can't riff about sex like you can. And I'm not comfortable with people looking that closely at my life, much less my sex life. But it's not you. Don't you get it? Don't you understand the difference?"
"Baby," he said softly, his heart squeezing tight in defense against the words he had to say. Because even though she didn't realize it, she'd just told him that there was no way for them to be together. Not ever. "I do. I get it."
"Well?"
"Don't you see, Shelby? That's the life you'd have. We can't be together behind concrete walls. If you're with me the walls are glass. I can shield you some, but not completely. Because even if I don't talk about our sex life, I'll still be talking about vibrators and hard-ons, and your mother will be mortified and your clients will raise their eyebrows. It's the one constant of what I do, and there's no way around it. And we both know I can't quit. It's what I am. It's who I am."
"I know." He heard the small sob and it nearly broke his heart.
"It can't work, Shelby. And you're the one who just told us why."
* * *
For days, Shelby battled her thoughts, trying to decide what to do. And trying to figure out who she was, and what she wanted.
All she knew for certain was that she wanted Nolan. What she didn't know was what she was willing to give up. Or, for that matter, how to convince him.
The answer to the first question came to her on Wednesday after work when Frank called her into his office and told her that a local radio station, KIKX, was looking to hire a consulting accountant for a long-term project.
"It's just the right kind of client and the right type of work to get you squarely on partnership track."
It was, too. That job would probably seal her fate, and she'd be a partner within the next two years.
She turned it down. Because the only thing she could think about was the no-dating policy between Brandywine employees and the employees of clients. And the thought of not being with Nolan for that long was impossible to bear.
Which told her what she was willing to give up.
Now she just had to figure out how to get him back. And when she realized that it was Wednesday evening and the night of the Mr. April contest, the pieces fell into place.
Shelby knew exactly what to do.
She just hoped it would work.
* * *
By the time Shelby reached the bar, the contest was already underway, and she saw Nolan standing shirtless on stage as the final guy walked to the microphone, flexed his muscles, and told the audience to vote for him.
As he walked back to stand in the line with the other men, Beverly Martin, a local film actress who was the contest's emcee, started for the mike, presumably to wrap up the contest and tell the audience to cast their votes.
"Wait," Shelby called, sprinting for the stairs that led up to the stage.
Beverly took a step back, clearly confused, as Shelby bounded onto the stage and grabbed the mike.
"It's okay!" A voice shouted from the back of the room, and Shelby said a silent thank you that Brooke had gotten her text message begging her to please ask Jenna to let Shelby have this moment in the spotlight.
Now that she was here, though, staring at hundreds of faces, she thought she just might die of mortification.
Swallowing, she turned to look behind her, needing to see Nolan. He stood shirtless with the other guys, his eyes wide, and his weight shifted forward, as if he was ready to leap to her rescue.
And that alone gave her the courage to go on.
"Um, hi. So, right. I realize this is a little over the top, but I just wanted to tell you why you should vote for Nolan Wood."
Behind her, all the guys started to mumble, and someone from the audience shouted, "Anything for a rating, Wood! Awesome stunt!"
"No, it's not a stunt. I mean, I guess it is. But it's not his stunt. It's mine. And it's not for ratings." She looked over her shoulder at Nolan, then bit her lip before continuing. "I've got a much bigger prize in mind.
"So, right, moving on. Why vote for him? Well, his abs are awesome and he's a really good kisser."
"Jesus, Shelby," Nolan murmured, which only made her laugh nervously and continue. "But all these guys look pretty awesome. So it has to be about more than that. And the thing is, Nolan's got this great way of looking at life. He embraces passion and silliness. And he sees sex--oh, God--here I go, talking about sex in front of all you people--but he sees it in all its incarnations. A covenant, a promise, an escapade. Fun. Silly. Reverent."
She drew in a breath and plowed on, afraid that if she paused, they'd kick her off the stage. "He's a guy who serves the community in so many ways. And he's a guy who really lives in it. A guy who truly made himself. A man who's so comfortable in his own skin he's willing to put all of himself out in front of the world. And that's something I really admire.
"The thing is, I'm not like that. I don't have that openness, and that scared me, and I screwed up. But that was my bad. Not his. Because Nolan is the best man I know, and I'm telling you this so that you'll vote for him. But hands off, girls, because he's mine. And when he talks about his Paradox on the radio, just so you know, that's me, and I loved every minute I had with him."
She wiped away a tear. "Hopefully I'll have more, but I'm so afraid that I lost him. And I really hope I didn't. Because I'm head over heels in love with him."
She stood for a second, and the room was totally and completely silent. Then she managed a tiny smile and said, "Ah, um, I should go," and started toward the stairs.
She didn't make it. Someone had her arm, and when she looked back, she saw that it was Nolan.
She only had time to gasp before he pulled her close, then bent her body back in a full-on Hollywood pose. He kissed her then, long and deep and wonderful, and when he put her back on her feet, her whole body was shaking.
"I love you," he said, and she burst into tears.
"I said it first," she managed, gulping a little.
"Yeah, you did." He pushed the hair off her face. "Let's get out of here."
"They haven't announced the winner yet."
He looked out at the audience, then to the other men. Then he looked at her face and his eyes locked on hers. "Trust me," he said. "I just won the only thing I want."
Epilogue
Tyree Johnson leaned against the oak bar and watched as Nolan and Shelby headed for the door. He wondered if he should tell them to stay a bit, since in about three minutes, Beverly would announce that Nolan had won the title of Mr. April.
But he decided not to. There'd be plenty of celebrating without the boy around, and from the look on Nolan's face, wild horses couldn't keep him inside the bar.
And about damn time, Tyree thought. There wasn't much around The Fix he didn't notice, and he'd seen the two of them flirting back in April. He'd known then and there that they'd end up together. He just hadn't expected it would take months for the two of them to figure it out for themselves.
With a sigh, he started to make the circle, shaking hands and chatting up the customers. It would be a damn shame if he couldn't manage to keep The Fix open, because from the looks of it, his little bar was turning into one hell of a matchmaker's paradise.
He paused for a moment when Brent called his name, and he turned back to see his friend and partner signal for Tyree to reboot the security cameras. He flashed a thumbs-up and was about to head to the office to deal with that errand when he saw a familiar young woman.
She was tall, probably five foot eight, with skin as dark as Tyree's and a wide, easy smile that reminded him of Eva's. He'd seen her at least once before in the bar--two, maybe three days ago--and it had been that resemblance that had caught his eye. He'd s
een that smile from across the bar, and it had felt like he'd taken shrapnel in the gut.
Tonight, he was more prepared, and he took a closer look at her face, realizing as he did that it wasn't just the smile that reminded him of his first love, but her huge wide-eyes and sculpted cheekbones as well.
Christ, he was a glutton for punishment. He should have just turned away the minute he saw her walk through that door. He had no idea who she was, but a storm of bittersweet memories had swept in through the door with her, twisting up his insides and making him ache with the pain of long ago losses.
Once in his office, he rebooted the security system, then sat at his desk. He knew he should either be out on the floor or taking care of the shit-ton of paperwork that came with running a bar. Instead, he reached down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, then pulled out the battered cigar box.
He opened it, pulled out a stack of photographs, then reverently thumbed through it. Him and Teiko, his late wife. His son, Elijah, at birth. Then himself at nine years old, standing tall and trying to hold it together at his mother's funeral.
Tyree drew a shaky breath, then ran his thumb under his eyes before continuing down memory lane. There was a photo of him and Charlie Walker, Reece's dad. And one of him with Reece's uncle, Vincent, just days before he'd been mortally wounded by enemy fire in Afghanistan, then died in Tyree's arms.
Another deep breath, and Tyree continued, finally finding the photograph he'd been looking for. Over twenty years old now, the colors had faded, so that Eva's dress looked pink rather than red, and the sky more gray than blue. But the love in her eyes was still there, and the face was still hers.
His heart twisted as he recalled their weekend together in San Diego before he'd been shipped out. They'd known each other only two short weeks, but he'd been madly in love with her.
He'd thought she'd wait, but by the time he returned, she was gone, and though he'd tried to track her down, he'd had no luck. Then he met Teiko, had fallen so damn hard, and, well, life went on. A wonderful, perfect life.
Or, at least, it had been until tragedy hit.