Going Deep (21 page)

He closed his
eyes, absorbing the hits, each one more painful than the last. A jingling sound
roused him. Doyle shook the tumbler he dangled in front of Jason’s face. The noise.
Ice cube. A chip off the solid block in his gut, no doubt.

“Scotch,” he
said. “It’ll warm you up.”

Nothing would do
that now, but he took the offered drink, downing it in one gut-searing gulp. He
held the glass up.

Doyle tipped the
decanter, splashing two fingers of rich amber liquid into the glass. “Don’t let
McCree mess with your head like he did last year with Jeff. You’re going to
break records this season, all on your own. We’ll get this sorted out.”

Yeah, right.
Jason downed the amber liquid and held his glass up for another refill.

“Pull yourself
together, son.” He refilled the glass and corked the bottle. “The PR gurus will
be here any minute.”

Six mind-numbing
hours later—and not a single viable idea to show for it—he escaped the public
relations posse and sat alone in the locker room. He’d been desperate to get
out of the conference room for while, away from the PR spin and bullshit.
Between all those supposed great minds, all they’d managed to come up with was
wait and see. Wait and fuckin’ see.

“Hey.”

He didn’t move.
At that very moment, counting the flecks of color in the industrial grade
carpet between his knees was a better alternative than seeing the pity on his
brother’s face. “Hey.”

Jeff sat on the
bench beside him. “They say everyone has their cross to bear. I’d say the name
McCree is engraved on the Holder family cross, wouldn’t you?”

“There are six
hundred fifty-three red flecks in one square inch of carpet,” he said. “How
many do you think that is in this whole room?”

Jeff sighed.
“Forget about the goddamned carpet, and focus. You’ve got to keep your shit
together and fight this. I let McCree get to me last year, and it almost cost
me my career. With your help, I fought back and won. The man is pissed, and he
knows he’s got nothing he can throw at me, so he’s going after you. Its
delusions brought on by the steroid use. Everyone in the Mustangs organization
knows he fabricated every word, and we’ll all fight this with you.”

Jason nodded—all
he could do with the massive lump in his throat.

“We’ll get
through this.”

He nodded again.
Let them have their optimism.

“Come on.” Jeff
stood. “I’m taking you home with me tonight.”

“I’m not a
child.” Jason straightened, bracing himself with his palms on his thighs. “I’ll
be fine. Carrie will be back tomorrow morning. I need to see her.”

“You sure, man?”

“I’m sure.”

* * *

“That’s not the
article I submitted,” Carrie said for what seemed like the hundredth time. She
couldn’t understand why George wasn’t listening to a thing she said. A brick
wall would be easier to reason with.

“It’s the edited
first draft,” the editor-in-chief argued. “We all agreed it was better than the
final draft you sent in. We’re going with it.”

“
I
didn’t
agree,” she countered. “Those are unfounded accusations from a man who
destroyed what few brain cells he might have had with steroids.”

“They are one
man’s version of the truth. The man is entitled to his opinion.”

“And I’m
entitled to mine. This is wrong.”

“It’s called
selling newspapers. Get over yourself. This article will make you a household
name.”

“That’s because
Jason Holder is going to sue me, and the newspaper, for libel. I’m about to
become
the news. Not a good thing, George. Not at all.”

“If it comes to
that, we’ll provide you with a good lawyer and of course, give your trial a
couple of columns above the front page fold.”

Carrie
disconnected and slammed the handset back into its cradle.
Damned
technology. They’ve taken away the satisfaction of a good hang-up. No matter
how hard you punch the off button the person on the other end only hears a soft
click.

This article was
supposed to raise awareness of the dangers of steroid use, instead, it was
going to ignite a firestorm of controversy, and very likely destroy at least
two careers. Hers and Jason Holder’s.

She stared at
the front-page story. How had something that was intended to do good turn into
such a disaster? She glanced at her watch and jumped to her feet. She was due
at the Dungeon in an hour. A session with Master would clear her head, allowing
her to come up with a solution, a way to make this right. And if all else
failed, she’d ask permission to bring her outside life into the relationship.
If there was man alive who could help her find a way out of this mess, it was
her master.

He always knew
what to do. His quite control of every situation always calmed her. He cared
for her. She knew he did. He’d said he wanted to keep their vanilla lives
separate, but she needed more now. He was her master, and she needed him in all
aspects of her life, not just for the few hours a week they were together. With
her mind made up to tell him how she felt and ask—beg if need be—for his help, she
headed for the Dungeon and the man she loved.

* * *

Jason closed the
curtains and stopped in front of her. His angel, so sweetly submissive, waited
for him to take what she offered. With one finger beneath her chin, he tilted
her face upward. So many plans, now nothing but rubbish. This was the moment he
would have taken her blindfold off and asked her, pleaded with her, to be a
part of every aspect of his life.

But that was
yesterday’s plan. Today he didn’t have a life to offer her. Linking his angel
to him would subject her to media scrutiny of the worst kind. In order to prove
his innocence he would have to bare every dark corner of his life to public
eyes. Even this one.

He wouldn’t drag
his angel down into the pits of hell with him. He had to let her go.

“I won’t keep
you long, angel.” He sat on the edge of the platform bed, admiring her perfect
body, committing the image of her expectant face to memory. In a few minutes,
if he meant anything to her at all, her sweet smile would be gone, replaced by….

No, he wouldn’t
go there. Sure, she might mourn the loss of their relationship, but she would
get over it. She’d move on. It wouldn’t be long before another Dom took her
under his protection. She was much too special to be alone for long.

If he had a
career after this debacle, perhaps he’d ask to be traded. Being in the same
town with her, knowing she was on her knees for another man and that he might
run into her here would be too much.

“I was going to
remove your blindfold today,” he said. “But something happened yesterday, and
that’s no longer possible.”

She gasped and
turned her head toward his voice. “What happened, Sir?”

“I can’t say,
angel. It wouldn’t be fair to bring you into the mess my life has become in the
last twenty-four hours. For the foreseeable future, my career—hell, everything
I’ve ever done is going to be dissected with Draconian precision. I can’t and
won’t let the rumormongers touch you. You’re everything I ever dreamed of. You’ll
forever be my guardian angel—the woman put on this earth to show me who I am,
who I was meant to be.”

Nausea roiled in
her gut.
His career.
Rumormongers
. Her mind spun like a cyclone,
sucking everything into a vortex, scrambling it like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle
and tossing it all back to earth in an unrecognizable heap. No matter how she
sorted the fragments, they fit together into one inevitable, unfathomable
conclusion.

No. It couldn’t
be. Please, God, don’t let it be him.
Maybe, sweet God, maybe she was
wrong. She forced a plea past numb lips. “Please, Sir. Let me help you.”

“There isn’t
anything you can do. I’m a public figure, angel, and people who have in the
past built me up in the public eye, are at this very moment doing their best to
tear me apart. I won’t bring you into that.”

“Who is doing this
to you, Sir?”
Oh please, please don’t say my name or I’ll die right here.

“I don’t know. A
newspaper reporter I don’t even know. A colleague with an axe to grind. People
who don’t know me at all.”

She was going to
be sick.

“Sir, please.”
She had no idea what she was begging for. Please what? Let me explain? No.
There was no explanation for what she’d done. No way to fix it.

 “It doesn’t
matter who, angel.”

Oh God. Yes
it does!

“Everything I’ve
worked for my entire life will be called into question, and everything I
accomplish from here on out will have an asterisk attached to it. It’s the kiss
of death in my profession.”

She tried to
choke back the sob, but it wouldn’t be stopped. She doubled over, the pain too
much to bear. This was all her fault. If she’d never sent the rough draft of
her article, if she’d waited a few minutes, read it over again she would have
realized what McCree’s wild comments had been meant to do. She’d played right
into his hands
. Stupid, stupid fool.

The cyclone
pulled at her, threatening her tenuous hold on sanity. She wrapped her arms
around her stomach, doubling over. She lost her grip, and her world spun
helplessly out of control.

Jason caught her
before she slumped to the floor. He cradled her in his arms, hating he’d done
this to her. He’d vowed to protect her, and instead, he brought her to this. It
wasn’t fair for her to suffer for something she had no control over.

He pulled her onto
his lap, tucking her head under his chin. Her tears soaked his shirt. Holding
her was pure torture, but he owed her that much. She’d saved his life. He could
give her comfort before he severed the invisible cord that bound them.

Her torrential
sobs eventually gave way to sobs punctuated by hiccups then she slipped into an
exhausted sleep. He sat on the floor, holding her until he was sure she slept
soundly. Only then did he ease to his feet and lower her to the platform bed.
He covered her with an after-care blanket from a stack in the cabinet. When she
woke, he would be gone. If she tried to use the phone he gave her, she would find
it disconnected, as was the email address he’d established for her and her
alone.

Chapter Fifteen

Carrie shivered.
She pulled the blanket tighter, but it was ineffective against the chill that
wracked her body from the inside out. This wasn’t the first time she’d woken in
the Dungeon, but it was the first time she’d done so alone. Master always held
her after a scene, staying with her until she was on solid ground again, able
to take care of herself. Often, he would even dress her, taking his time,
kissing every inch of her skin before covering them up.

Even with his
life shattering around him, he’d brought her here to explain why they couldn’t
be together, proof he thought enough about her to end it in person. His honor
prevented him from dragging her into his hell. The irony of that didn’t escape
her. Some angel she was. His hell was one of her creation and still, he held
her, cared for her as best he could. Her fingers clutched the blanket—evidence
of his regard for her. He could have left her naked and alone, but he’d taken
care to see she was safe and warm before he left. He’d even adjusted the
lighting, turning off the harsh spotlights over the platform bed.

Lights.
Her hand flew to her face. The blindfold was gone.

She sat up, holding
the blanket to her chest and looked around. Her clothes lay beside her in a
neatly folded stack—the blindfold atop them, securing a small white square of
paper. Her hand shook when she slipped the note out from under its tear
dampened black satin anchor.

Three words.
Three nails driven straight into her heart.

 
I love you.

* * *

It was a
nightmare. A living, freaking, cluster-fuck of a nightmare. She hand delivered
the retraction she’d spent the better part of the night crafting, but George
refused to run it. Newspapers were flying of the shelves. Her article was the
most viewed post ever on the Globe’s website and had already been picked up by
papers across the country. Any other time, she would have been ecstatic. It was
a reporter’s dream to have his byline on a piece that garnered so much
attention.

She stood ramrod
straight. This was no place to cower, and she would never bow down to the likes
of these people. They had no honor—unlike Jason Holder, the man they were
intent on crucifying for the sake of an increased print run.

 “If you aren’t
going to print the retraction,” she said, “then here.” She handed over the
other document that had kept her awake all night. “I quit.”

George took the
paper, scanned it, and dropped it to her desk. “The Globe won’t defend you if
you quit.”

“I know. There
isn’t any defense for what I did. I wrote something stupid and irresponsible,
and then I was stupid enough to let you see it. I’ll take whatever punishment
is headed my way.”

“Okay, then.” He
shrugged and shifted his attention to his computer screen. “We’re done. I’m
sure there are any number of reporters who’ll be glad to write the hundreds of
follow-up stories.”

She stopped at
her cubicle on her way out. The few personal belongings she kept there fit in
her handbag. A
sign I never belonged here
. Exiting the building, she
breathed a sigh of relief. She was leaving a monumental weight behind.

Caught up in her
own thoughts, she almost ran into the blockade of reporters on the sidewalk.
She raised her arm to shield her eyes from the camera lights.