Page 95 of The Heartbreaker (Chandler Brothers 3)
Yet here she was, back home, engrossed in work, being berated by a concerned friend, and all Sloane could think of was the people she’d left behind. This life no longer felt like hers. In fact, she hadn’t thought about it once since she’d taken off for Yorkshire Falls.
Annelise rapped on Sloane’s desk with her knuckles. “You’re not paying attention to anything I’ve been saying.”
Her friend deserved better. “Annelise, I really am sorry,” Sloane said. “I’ve just been through a major life crisis and … I guess I had to do it alone.” She expelled a long breath. “I’m still coming to terms with some changes.”
“I know.” Reaching for her cell, Annelise pulled up the article Sloane had avoided, not wanting to know when her life became public and she’d lost Chase to success.
Annelise pushed the phone’s screen in front of Sloane. “Michael Carlisle’s not your real father; some man named Samson is. And what a scandalous history is involved in that story,” she said, but her voice had softened, no hint of anger in her tone. “I had to read about it in the paper. I wish you’d felt you could confide in me.” She sounded more hurt than angry.
Sloane read the headlines. FATHER FRAUD OR FATHER FIGURE? SENATOR MICHAEL CARLISLE REVEALS HIDDEN FAMILY SKELETONS. “Ugh,” she muttered. But as she scanned the contents of the article, she read not just an unbiased accounting of the facts, but a rosy picture of the life Sloane had led and the reasons behind it, no dirt heaped on the senator or his character.
And that, Sloane realized, was because the author was Chase Chandler, the article having been picked up by the major newspapers, the Washington Post included. Headlines and innuendos weren’t of his choosing, she was sure. Pride swelled inside of Sloane as she accepted he was living his dream at last.
He’d broken the story of Michael’s secrets, Sloane’s parentage, and her shooting in a way that dignified everyone involved, including Samson. She chuckled, imagining how difficult Chase had found that particular task. Still, the story was out now, she thought, and said a silent prayer that Michael’s career hadn’t suffered because of decisions he’d made in the past.
Slowly she met her friend’s gaze. “It’s been a wild ride,” she admitted, patting her shoulder softly. “Sometimes a dangerous one.”
Annelise nodded. “And I can see how something like this would send you reeling.”
Sloane sighed. “That’s an understatement. I’m not sure I could have shared or explained this to anyone. I’m glad it’s all public now.” She spread her hands in front of her. “And thank you for understanding.”
Annelise nodded. “I’m your friend, Sloane. And that means I’m available for discussion. If you ever decide you want to talk about this guy you’re mooning over, I’m here.”
“What makes you think I’m mooning over a guy?” Sloane asked after pausing to join her friend for a sip of coffee. The drink was too sweet and she grimaced. “Am I that readable?”
“You sure are. Your emotions are plastered across your face. You’re miserable and it isn’t family issues bothering you, and before you ask how I know … Well, I can just tell.” Annelise leaned forward, her elbow brushing fabric swatches laid out on the table. “By the way, I like this pattern.”
“It’s called a trellis.” Like some of the hangings on Norman’s bird-filled walls, Sloane thought.
And that was another weird thing. The little hole-in-the-wall diner with no real sense of style appealed to Sloane far more than the places she frequented in D.C. The ones who paid the finest decorators to create an atmosphere customers would want to return to. Sloane missed the tacky birds.
“Okay, your body may be here, but you are still lost in thought.” Annelise picked up her purse. “Call me when you want to talk, okay?”
Sloane nodded. “Will do. And thanks again.”
Long after Annelise walked out the door, Sloane forced herself to work her way down the list of phone calls, accomplishing some things and crossing them off her list, and leaving messages on others, with follow-up notes on her pad.
By the time her cell phone rang, she was ready for any distraction that wasn’t decorating related. “Hello?”
“Hi, sweetie.”
Madeline’s voice came through over the phone and Sloane was so happy to talk to her with no secrets, no problems between them. “Hi, Mom. Where are you?”
“In the mall, taking your sisters shopping. Or actually, chauffeuring your sisters while I pick up a few things myself. I just wanted to hear your voice, so I thought I’d call.” Madeline laughed, but the shakiness was obvious.
A brush with death would do that to even the strongest person, Sloane thought. “I’m fine,” she assured Madeline, even though her stepmother hadn’t asked. Madeline wouldn’t want her to know she was still worried. “I’m trying to get back into the swing of things at work.”
