We ride the elevator down together and I step out on the ground floor, crossing the large lobby area. The doorman isn’t here. Weird. In all the times I’ve been here, I’ve never seen the entrance area unsupervised. When I step outside the building, I realize why the doorman isn’t in his usual spot: he’s out here, talking sternly to a young man, camera hanging from his neck. A reporter, clearly. My stomach constricts when I hear him utter the name “Daniel Bennett.”
“He’ll want to give his side of the story to the press, with everything they’re saying out there. This is for his own good,” the reporter says.
“You’re not going inside this building. If you barge in again, I’ll call the police,” the doorman says.
“Tell him I’m down here, then. He’ll want to say something in his defense. Unless what they’re saying about him is true, and that’s why he’s taking the coward’s way out, ignoring everything. I can write about that too if I don’t get anything. Won’t reflect well on him at all.”
Something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s because I was already so worked up on Daniel’s behalf since I saw those comments, or because the idea of people trashing him even more makes me see red, but this is the last straw. I stride toward the pair of them with determination.
“Don’t you dare write more lies,” I tell him, fighting to keep my temper under control. “Daniel is a good man, and all those things are just that—lies.”
“And you are?” he asks, brow raised.
“We’re dating. And I know Daniel hasn’t cheated.”
Loud honking startles me. Daniel’s car is right at the end of the ramp coming out from the underground garage. He gestures to me in a “come here” motion with his head, and I don’t hesitate. Without another glance at the reporter or the doorman, I practically run toward the car, hearing the reporter fire off question after question behind me.
By the time I climb in the car, I realize I’m shaking. Daniel drives off right away.
“Caroline, what happened? Was that a reporter?”
I nod, trying to speak past the lump in my throat.
“You didn’t tell him anything, I hope?”
Swallowing hard, I fiddle with my thumbs, then tell him exactly what happened.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask quietly.
“For jumping to my defense? No. But this might make things hard for you, Caroline. They might try to contact you again.”
“I’ll just ignore them.”
“Not so easy sometimes.”
My stomach grumbles loudly as I sink lower into my seat, enjoying the soft, welcoming leather. “Crap, I forgot about the sandwiches and the coffee.”
Daniel puts a hand over my laced fingers, which are still slightly shaky.
“I’ll get some food into you right away.” True to his word, he pulls in the parking lot of a diner a few minutes later. “Be right back. Wait here.”
> He returns with coffee, sandwiches, donuts, and muffins.
“What’s all this?” I ask, pointing to the sweet stuff.
“I have three sisters. Sugar’s the answer to everything.”
“That’s a gross generalization of the female population.”
“Subjective, I admit. But I’m taking my chances.”
As he drives away, speeding in the direction of the airport, I down a sandwich and a muffin.
“You’re right. I do feel a bit better. I don’t know why I got so worked up.”
“It’s normal, don’t fret about it. But since you feel better, I want you to listen to me.”
“Oh no, you’re going to admonish me. Can I go back to pretending I’m still scared?”