Wallowing in self-pity won’t help Brady.
No kidding, but I don’t know what to do.
Maybe I should call his mom. Despite what he said, I’m sure she’d want to know. We were supposed to meet at the stadium, but there’s no way I’m going to watch the game while Brady is about to be arrested and charged with assault. I’m sure Molly would feel the same way if she knew what was going on.
I’m mulling it over when a hotel employee in a sharp black suit comes rushing over, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
She goes straight to Mike’s aid and I look at him for the first time since Brady smashed his face in. His jaw is swollen, the flesh a mottled shade of red and purple. He’s going to be sporting one hell of a bruise come morning, but there’s no permanent damage.
“Hello, Mister?”
“McConnell,” he says, gingerly touching his jaw.
“Mr. McConnell, my name is Sierra Rodriguez and I’m the front desk manager. If you’ll come with me, I can get you some ice, or, if you prefer, we can call an ambulance?”
My blood runs cold. Surely he doesn’t want an ambulance. It would be a gross exaggeration of the situation.
Yes, and it would also garner more sympathy for him as the victim.
He shakes his head and winces in pain. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure an icepack will be fine.”
I exhale. It’s a minor victory, but I’ll take it.
Sierra leads him across the lobby and I follow, hitching my bag up on my shoulder.
If she knew what an asshole he was, she wouldn’t be so accommodating.
She takes him to a small office behind the concierge desk, and when she leaves to get ice, I slip inside.
I created this mess. I have to be the one to put an end to it.
Mike’s hunched over a small desk and if getting punched in the face has diminished his ego, he doesn’t let it show.
“What the hell do you want?” he snarls.
God, he is such a prick. How Jenna ever thought he was cute is beyond me.
“What I want is for none of this to have ever happened.” God knows I didn’t want to be blackmailed. “But since that isn’t on the table, I’ll settle for you agreeing to not press charges against Brady.”
“Why would I ever agree to that?” He points to his swollen jaw. “He assaulted me. That’s a crime.”
Pot meet kettle.
“So is blackmail, but that didn’t stop you, did it?”
He has the decency to look mildly chagrined. “That was different.”
I don’t bother asking how because there’s no way I’m going to agree with his screwed-up logic and it really doesn’t matter at this point. Brady made a snap decision—to defend me—and I will not let him spend the rest of his life paying for it.
“I’m in a bit of a time crunch, so I’m going to make this easy for you.” I glance out the door to ensure Sierra is nowhere in sight. “If you press charges, I’m going to do exactly as Brady suggested and file a police report for blackmail. Then I’m going to march right over to Dr. Barnes’ office and tell her all about your secondary income.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” He sneers. “If you expose me, you expose yourself, then all of this was for nothing.”
Maybe that punch scrambled his brains, after all.
“If you think I’m going to sit by and let Brady catch charges to protect my secret, you’re delusional.” I level him with a hard stare. “You may be comfortable ruining people’s futures, but I’m not.”
I couldn’t live with myself if I sat idly by while Brady faces assault charges on my behalf. If there’s any shot of protecting him, I’ll take it and to hell with the consequences.
