More than the Game by Jenni Bara
12
@EdwardDCampbell:So proud to be there to cheer on our girl today. After three years of hard work, finally the ribbons are being cut on the new NIC wing of @oceanregionalmed. Join us at noon! Pictures to follow
Beth reached for one handle of the oversized scissors while Austin took the other, fake smiling for the cameras as they officially opened the NICU at Ocean Regional Medical Center. Helping Hands had provided the funds for the much-needed addition to the hospital, which could now handle babies born as early as twenty-eight weeks.
Beth had anonymously donated most of the initial funds to get Helping Hands off the ground, but she never did things like this. Right from the start, she’d told Austin she didn’t want to be the face of the charity. Beth never knew when her past might blow up, and she didn’t want the work they did to be cast in a poor light because of her. Austin respected her decision and let her stay in the background—usually. But given Marc’s need for positive publicity, Austin suggested she, as the Helping Hands board member who had driven the hospital addition project, come to the event. He kept assuring her that the best way to keep the press saying good things was to give them plenty to talk about.
Her father helped make that work, because now that she was getting useful attention, he praised her on Twitter every chance he got. And when he’d found out she was coming to the grand opening, he had decided to show up too.
Her parents moved in for a group photo next. “Ms. Evans, could we get pictures of you and Mr. Demoda?” a photographer called out. She hadn’t seen Marc in days. Not since he’d flown out of her house like his hair was on fire, telling her he couldn’t stand another minute of everyone treating her like the Queen of England. If he hadn’t looked so lonely and miserable, she might have gotten mad.
Her eyes cut to him, standing off to the side and watching. Marc flashed her a damn dimple, and her heart picked up a couple of beats. He was wearing a charcoal suit—probably Armani—with a light gray button-down. The dark colors should have been depressing, but with Marc’s complexion and stylish hair, he looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ magazine.
Standing next to her, Marc placed his hand low on Beth’s back, tucking her against his warm chest. Her nose was suddenly full of the spicy, clean scent that was Mark Demoda. She swallowed hard as her body broke out in goosebumps. Marc noticed, and rubbed her arms lightly with his large calloused hand—which did nothing but intensify the problem. She shivered.
“They always keep hospitals cold; you should have worn a suit like your mother and sister. There’s nothing to this dress,” Marc commented softly in her ear so that no one else would hear. At least he didn’t realize the effect he had on her.
“I knew I could count on you for a compliment,” Beth sassed back, knowing her stylish dress was correctly business casual.
“I didn’t say you didn’t look good,” Marc said. “I was questioning your judgment.”
“You and my father both.” Beth smiled and pinched his arm—the one that was out of view of the camera—but Marc laughed.
“Mr. Demoda, can you give us your thoughts on the project?”
Austin had prepped him well. Marc sounded informed as he smiled down proudly at Beth. She wanted to roll her eyes; he was pissed, about having to come here today as well as about her brothers’ recent takeover of his house. He’d given her crap for a good ten minutes when he’d first arrived.
Tuesday, for the Metros game, the boys had gone over at her insistence. She was trying to work the favor for Austin, but the guys all had fun. Marc was all they’d talked about for the last few days. She wasn’t responsible for the rest of the nights, or that they were dragging Marc out to Poison in the city tonight. Beth wondered if he knew about tonight’s plans yet. She doubted it: Planning wasn’t her brothers’ thing.
Marc moved back toward Austin, and Beth finished answering questions, adding a mention of Helping Hand’s carnival next week. She threw out a few of the big names who would be there, and said she hoped they would get a good turnout.
“We know Marc rarely does that kind of thing; will he be there next Saturday?” a reporter asked. She confirmed, having no idea if it was true. But it seemed like the right answer. After all, she was here because of him.
Finally the questions died down, and the press slowly left. Marc came up behind Beth and took his jacket off, placing it around her shoulders.
“No sense freezing to death.”
The jacket was huge, enveloping her in his warmth. He pulled her tight against the wall of his chest, so that her entire back rested against his heat. The tension built in her stomach as his steady hand slid up to rub her shoulders. She melted deeper into him.
“Elizabeth.” Her father walked toward them looking unhappy, and she straightened herself up. “We all need to get back to work. Not everyone has the entire afternoon to fritter away. This already took far too long for a simple photo op.”
Beth didn’t have the afternoon free either.
“I’ll take her home, Secretary Campbell,” Marc said formally. Kiss-up.
“Good. And please don’t make a scene,” her father said, looking only at her. “We don’t need another mess to clean up for you.”
“Of course.” She forced a smile and turned to Marc. “We better go.”
“Sure,” he agreed, but questions lingered in his eyes until Paul cleared his throat.
“Remember to have your people reach out about next week’s rally,” Paul said.
Marc frowned, but gave him a clipped nod.
Marc waited until they were alone outside the hospital before he asked, “Why do you let your father talk to you like that, Beth?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like you can’t get anything right.” Marc shook his head.
“You mean how he questions my judgment? Like my dress?” Beth pointedly reminded Marc.
Marc’s eyes automatically moved to her dress and down her legs, which his jacket now covered to her knees. “And don’t forget the shoes.”
“There is nothing wrong with my shoes!” Beth eyed her well-loved light blue heels. “I like to have heels on when I stand next to Austin. I look tiny compared to him otherwise.”
“You are tiny, even in those sexy little heels.” His voice was thick as he stared at her legs, and her insides throbbed. But then he frowned. “Everything about you is tiny.”
And that reminded Beth of where they stood. That wasn’t a compliment; it was a reminder that she was not the leggy, big-boobed type of woman he preferred.
“It’s funny how you surround yourself with big men,” Marc went on. “It makes you seem smaller. My jacket swallows you.”
“Yeah, I’m tiny,” Beth snapped and sped up. Marc mumbled something, and she practically shouted at him as she whirled around. “What?”
“Nothing.” Smiling, he placed his hand on her back and edged her toward where he had parked the car.
“You said something,” she hissed once they were inside.
“I love it when you get all feisty,” Marc said as he started the car. “Sometimes when a girl gets all riled up, it’s bitchy, but with you, sweetheart, it’s sexy.”
“I’m not riled up,” she said, glaring.
“Ooooh yes you are.” He laughed.
He glanced at her legs more than once as he drove; finally, steaming, she said, “They’re not gonna get any longer.”
“Huh?” Marc looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“My legs. They’re short no matter how many times you look at them wishing they would grow.”
Marc had the nerve to smile. “You’re right. How about your boobs? Should I watch ’em just in case?”
“Well, I went to see the surgeon yesterday, but even though I explained it was an emergency, he said he couldn’t fit me in for implants till September, so I wouldn’t bother.” Beth smiled sweetly at him.
“Now, that’s a shame,” Marc said, but his smile grew.
“On a positive note, he said that he would happily squeeze you in for an ego-ectomy tomorrow,” Beth said flippantly. “He knows your neck must be tired carrying that big head. Apparently he’s a fan of yours, hotshot.”
Marc threw his head back and laughed. When he finally stopped, he said, “I’ll have to call and cancel. After a few more weeks, you’ll have cut me down to size.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beth asked.
“Sweetheart, when I’m with you, no one gives me the time of day. You are the complete and total center of attention in any room. It doesn’t matter if it’s your brothers, your parents, or the press. Half the time I think people forget I’m there.”
“I don’t do it on purpose; it just happens,” Beth mumbled.
“I know you can’t help it.” Marc looked over at her again. “That makes it all the more deflating. You’re not trying for attention; you just naturally command it.”
“Too bad I’m not better at it.” Beth turned to look out the window; that was honesty she hadn’t meant to release.
“Better at what?”
“At being the center of attention. It’s why my father talks to me like I’m a child. I make scenes without meaning to. I’ve done it my entire life. It embarrasses both my parents.”
“What?” Marc looked genuinely shocked.
“I embarrass them. And unless it’s on Twitter, they don’t have many good things to say about me. When I was ten, they went to Washington, and I stayed back out of their hair. Originally my parents thought they would leave me with a nanny, but Lynn Evans wouldn’t hear of it so I moved in with her. I became the daughter Lynn always wanted. I lived with them whenever my parents weren’t in Jersey, which was most of the time.”
“What could you do at ten that would embarrass them?” Marc asked, looking sideways at her.
Beth looked away. “I talked too much, couldn’t sit still, put runs in my tights, spilled on my dress. People always noticed.”
“That doesn’t seem like a reason to send a child away.”
“Maybe not to you, but dumping red wine on President Clinton didn’t go over well, and neither did my game of hide-and-seek with the Secret Service.”
Marc laughed. “Jesus, you were always feisty, huh?”
“I tried hard not to be, but I told you—I can’t help it. When I got older and became a dewy-eyed optimist, Dad wanted to strangle me because I would say the darndest things. For a while, after I won the gold medal, I was his golden girl. But we all know what happened next.”
“You quit to be with your brothers,” Marc said.
She turned to look at him. “No. I took my clothes off for Corey Matthews—and, as it turned out, the rest of the world.” Marc said nothing. “These days I prefer to stay out of my father’s way.”
“As long as you stay out of the media, you can’t screw up again?”
“Oh, I screw up plenty. But I do it quietly.” Beth looked out the window again as they neared her house.
“It doesn’t seem like you screw up, ever.”
“How about last Sunday?” Marc didn’t reply, so Beth assumed he agreed.
Neither of them spoke for a while, until Marc finally broke the silence. “Beth?”
“Yeah?”
“You know we need to… to go out together. Like on an actual date?” She couldn’t tell if the hesitancy was because he knew she wouldn’t want to, or because he didn’t want to either.
“I know.” It didn’t thrill her, but he was right. If they didn’t go out, the press would start hounding them for pictures. And if there wasn’t a story about them to print, the rags would make one up.
“Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night? We’ll eat at Slush. The jackals love to swarm there, so they’ll get plenty of pictures,” Marc said, then added, “I promise not to care if you spill on Hollywood’s hunk of the moment or the ‘It’ girl in the next booth.”
Beth laughed. “So long as you know what you’re getting into.”
“I don’t think I have any idea, Beth.” Marc sounded worried.
“The good news is that if you don’t embarrass easily, most people find me fun,” Beth said with a shrug, trying not to make a big deal out of her insecurities with the media.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re definitely fun.” Marc laughed, but she could see the disappointment in his face but she didn’t know why it was there.