Chapter 14

Wednesday 6.35pm

Evelyn

I don’t know what I expected to happen when I saw Connor take the stand, but seeing him in a suit and tie has been more than enough to make my already scattered concentration ten times worse. My nerves are already shot to bits. Rebecca, my lawyer, and I rehearsed four times beforehand, but my hands are still carrying a tremble.

The drink was her idea. A drink to settle my stomach and to debrief after going on the record as spending the weekend with Connor. She’s talking to me as I run a finger around the rim of my wine glass, but even talking about Rick isn’t taking away the anxiety that’s curling through my body. I still don’t know if it’s enough to keep Connor out of jail. And after seeing him in a suit and tie, my hormones are in overdrive again.

I keep picturing him standing beside me on the beach, me in a white gown as we exchange vows in front of my family. Every time I get to the part where we kiss, all the guests fade into a blur, and I start slowly unbuttoning his shirt. I run my hands down his chest, unbuckle his pants, slide my hands down…

“Evelyn? Are you listening to me? This is important.”

I snap out of it and take another gulp of my wine. “Sorry. You were saying?”

Rebecca sighs. “If Myer’s lawyer keeps pushing, we’re lined up and ready to go with an interview.”

I nod and scan the upmarket bar for any of the reporters who’ve taken to following me everywhere I go. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this. The last thing I want is more exposure by being interviewed. I’m receiving so many emails; I’ve had to stop checking them. Thankfully, my home address isn’t public, so the only messages of support I’ve received at home are from friends or friends of the family.

I did receive a sternly worded letter from my old Sunday School teacher, and there have been a few noses put out of joint when I visit the store in Sanctuary Cove. I can only imagine how many more whispers and asides are to come when summer brings back the other residents whose houses share the beach with mine, but my mother is right. The gossip will die down, and the haters will move on when someone else does something they think is scandalous.

“He’d be a fool to push for a trial. According to my contact, they’re close to bringing more charges. He needs this to go away and fast,” Rebecca says.

I should feel happier that this looks like it might be resolved without me having to go to court, but my mind keeps circling back to Connor in his suit and what I plan to do to him when this is all over.

“Oh brother, you really are smitten, aren’t you?”

Heat creeps over my cheeks as I take another sip of my wine. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. I promise to pay attention.”

She chuckles and drains the rest of her club soda. “It’s okay. You’ve had a brutal day. We’re done here, anyway. I have a deposition in the morning. I’ll walk you to your rental.” She leaves a generous tip which makes me antsy I’m going to be footing this bill along with the others piling up. I still don’t know how I’m going to pay for all of this. The longer it drags on, the more my savings account dwindles.

Rebecca’s heels clip-clop down the sidewalk along with mine as I slide my handbag over my shoulder. “I’ll contact you the second I hear anything, but I’m hoping we can have this wrapped up by the end of the week.” I dig around in my purse for my keys and pull out the car keys the rental agency gave me. She pulls out her cell and dials. “You did great today. You kept your cool. Didn’t let him get to you. You’re a great study.”

I can’t find a smile when she walks away and starts talking legal speak to her assistant. With a weary sigh, I get in my car and pull the door closed and sit for a while. My new cell chirps and I groan. I’ve stopped answering numbers I don’t recognize. I know the digits of the phone Connor uses when he calls, and he hasn’t got a new cell yet, so I just let it go to voicemail. I put the borrowed car in drive, and swing out into traffic, not sure I’m ready to go home to an empty house just yet.

The wine is sitting in my empty stomach, so I swing by a drive-through and order a burger. I reach out my hand to pay, and the girl’s bored expression switches immediately.

She nearly squeaks at me. “OMG. You’re the woman on TV.” Whatever professionalism she has crumples when her expression hardens. “Myers was my teacher senior year. I hope he rots in hell.”

I swallow, no longer hungry. “I’m sorry.”

A car horn beeps behind me, and the girl scowls. “I heard your boyfriend beat the shit out of him?” She grabs my sack of food and soda and hands them to me.

“Um, yeah. He did.”

The horn honks again, and the girl rolls her black-rimmed eyes. “Is the food for him?”

I shake my head. “He’s still being held in custody while I try to clear his name.”

The girl’s eyes pop. “You mean like, your boyfriend has been falsely accused?”

The car behind me honks twice, longer, and drawn out. I throw the food into the passenger seat and try to shove the drink in the cup holder and open my purse.

“Come on!” someone yells from behind.

I grab a card and hand it to her. “This is the number of my lawyer. She’s collecting the names of girls and women who are willing to lend their support so we can build a case against Rick Myers.”

She takes the card and stares at it. “I know a couple other girls who he felt up.” She extends her hand through the window. I have to stretch to clasp it, but she shakes it and bobs her head. “I’m Amber. Tell Connor he can eat for free as long as I keep working here.”

She tries to hand me my ten-dollar bill back, and I shake my head. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. I’ll be sure to tell Connor when I see him.” I wave and drive away, leaving my window down so my hair blows around my face and fills the rental with icy winter air.

I drive home with a smile on my face. Rick Myers may not go to jail for what he did to me, but justice is going to be served for the girls who weren’t so lucky to have Connor Slade around. My beach house is dark and cold when I arrive so I sit in the garage and eat my cold burger and fries, all in an attempt to delay going inside.

I stumble into the hallway, turning lights on as I go. With nothing else to do, I drag myself to where I keep my laptop and decide to wade through all the emails I’ve been receiving. By the time I’ve read a third, some of which are critical, my eyes are blurry. I delete the vindictive ones written anonymously and take my time replying to the kind ones who sympathize and tell me to stay strong.

There are several emails from women’s magazines. Half seem to think I’m a heroine and want to share my story so that I can empower women and warn of the dangers of date rape. The other half are trashy magazines who all want to interview me and sensationalize my weekend with a hot ex-con, also in the guise of empowering women.

One magazine is willing to pay for any additional nude photos of Connor or myself. I delete that one and all the others until I see a subject line with a bunch of seemingly random emojis including a monkey, a pair of shoes, and a dollar sign. I’m curious, so I click on it and hope it’s not a virus.

Ms. Jones,

By now, you’ll have a dozen emails asking you for your story. They’ll all be saying the same thing. We think you’re great; we think this story will resonate with our readers, blah, blah.

You seem like a smart woman, so I’m going to be straight with you. You are pretty much a Playboy pin-up, and Connor is the epitome of manhood. Put you two on a cover, and I can probably afford to pay off my house and go buy that pair of shoes I’ve been wanting to buy for a decade.

I can’t match all the offers you receive; we’re a small operation, and my staff are basically trained monkeys, but they love what they do, and they work for peanuts to put together a bloody great paper if I do say so myself.

I can offer you $5,000 for the exclusive distribution rights to your first interview without having to sell a kidney or put another mortgage on my house.

We attached the contract for you and your lawyer to peruse.

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me so I can at least tell the monkey’s I tried to get you.

Cherie White

Editor in Chief

Sanctuary South News

I don’t know why, but I start to laugh so hard my stomach muscles start to ache. I grab my cell and call Rebecca to see if I can reply.

“I was about to call you. I’ve been on the phone, and we have a verbal settlement. I’m on my way to the office.”

My own news slides away at the enormity of what she’s saying sinks in. “He dropped the charges against Connor?”

“Yep. And we’re looking at damages.”

My blood runs cold. “What?”

I can hear muffled voices. “I think we can get a reasonable amount out of him.”

I stare at the screen and the sum I’ve been offered. “How much is reasonable?”

“Well, I don’t want to talk it up before I get some numbers in front of his lawyer, but I think we’re in the range of 50K. Possibly more. I think some of his money is tied up in trust funds for his kids, but he has assets he can liquidate.” I’m so stunned I can’t speak. “Evelyn? You still there? I’ll need your signature on a couple things so we can move forward. I’ll start high and work backward ‘til he gets close.”

My stomach starts to churn. Kids. He has kids. “I don’t want his money. His kids shouldn’t be punished for this.”

Rebecca is quiet. “Is that what you want?”

I stare at the screen and nod even though she can’t see me. “It is.”

“Okay, then. I’ll have everything waiting for you to sign tomorrow first thing. I’ll put in a call to Connor’s lawyer and tell him the good news.”

I smile. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hang up and stare at the screen for a couple seconds before I reply. When her reply comes back almost instantly, I chuckle and leave her message blinking on the screen while I go open a beer.

Looking forward to working with you.

Seriously, anything to get those shoes.

Cherie