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“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head a little. “Nothing. Well, I mean, not nothing, but nothing that concerns you.”
“Not nothing?” I repeat.
She lifts a shoulder, I take her hand in mine. I bring it to my lips and press a soft kiss to the back of her hand, and that’s when she starts to cry.
“Whoa,” I say softly. “What’s going on?”
She draws in a shaky breath, and I tug her hand and pull her into the family room. It’s quiet in here, the rather large room dimly lit by only a lamp on a side table.
I sit on the couch and pull her down beside me. “What happened?”
“After the fight with Sam, I felt…off. I hated it. I hated fighting with her just to divert attention from us. Everything about it felt wrong, and I went to the bathroom to pull myself back together. Only, when I came out, Rivera was there waiting for me. He…he…” She bursts into tears.
“Jesus, Jo. What happened? What the fuck did that motherfucker do to you?” I demand darkly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, her voice a quiet plea.
“Jolene. Talk to me.”
She draws in a shaky breath as she paws at her cheeks to wipe away the tears. Her hood is still up over her hair, and her face is scrubbed clean of the make-up she wore tonight, as if she went home and showered before she came here. Something about her appearance right now reminds me of the vulnerable fifteen-year-old I fell in love with all those years ago.
“Please,” I beg.
She nods a little, and when she starts talking, it sounds like reporter Jolene—as if she’s detached herself from the emotions of what happened, and it scares me that she’s so easily able to pull away.
“He asked if I was okay, and I said you and Sam are together now, and he indicated that when he caught me kissing you I was using my body to get a story. I said fuck you to him and slapped him across the face. He grabbed my wrist and then he pinned me up against the wall and he said I gave it to Marcus and you and now it’s his turn.”
My blood boils as the need to protect this woman at all costs kicks in. I jump to my feet and start pacing as I feel like a caged animal in my own home. “Fuck, Jolene! That’s fucking assault!”
“It wasn’t assault,” she says. “It was harassment. He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t try to kiss me or touch me anywhere private. Clothes never came off.”
“So what did you do?” I ask rather than pressing the issue. Maybe it’s not technically assault, but I still want to rip that fucker’s head off and shove it up his own ass.
“And then I kneed him in the balls and ran the hell out of there."
I stop my pacing as my jaw drops. “You kneed him in the balls?”
She raises a brow and nods. “Let that be noted for any man who chooses to cross me.”
I raise both brows back at her. “Duly noted. But talk to me, Jo. Are you really okay?”
She purses her lips for a beat, and then she shrugs. “Yes and no. I knew he wasn’t going to actually hurt me in that hallway. He was just trying to scare me, but I’m a female sports reporter. It’s hardly the first time some asshole has come onto me and made insinuations that I’ve slept my way to the top. I can’t let him get to me.”
“No, but you could report what he did to your boss,” I suggest.
“I could. And he could show Marcus those pictures he took of us.” She shrugs.
“Babe, it’s not the same. At all.”
“I know it’s not. And trust me, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I shake my head. “That’s not enough. We need that fucker fired.”
“And risk giving him even more fuel to come after me? No. Hard no. Do not get involved, Lincoln. Promise me.” Her voice is a clear warning, but it’s not a promise I can make.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
