Page 32 of Shadowed Agenda
“The one that someone manipulated to make it look like you,” Regan said. She was sure everyone had seen it. Pavlo had joked about it on Char’s morning show.
“It was a photo of my team boarding our plane. Cade, one of my partners you haven’t met, was dealing with a hostage situation. An ambassador had been kidnapped. His captors were demanding the release of political prisoners. Regardless of the outcome, Cade felt they were under orders to kill him. They sent in my team to extract the guy.”
“Did you save them?” Regan asked, surprised he’d shared confidential information.
“Of course,” Pavlo snorted and put his arm around her shoulder. “It’s what I do. I don’t need saving, but thank you for your efforts.”
He pressed his lips to the top of her head and pulled her closer.
The chaste kiss overwhelmed Regan. It was more intimate and passionate than their previous kiss, melting her resistance. She could no longer deny she had feelings for Pavlo. The tension from the past two days faded. She leaned into him, grateful for his strength.
“We’ll figure this out,” Pavlo murmured as they walked down the hallway. “I have painkillers and a microwaveable heating pad in my suite.”
“I can’t believe the bad timing,” Regan said, recognizing the figure walking toward them. It was Isla.
“You should have stayed for the sundaes,” Isla said, noticing Regan’s arms wrapped around her stomach. “Are you feeling okay? Please don’t tell me you’ve caught something. We just started the book tour. It could ruin everything.”
Pavlo’s body tensed. Regan could feel his anger simmering. It fed the rage that ripped through her. She stepped out of his safe embrace into Isla’s personal space.
“You selfish bitch.” The words flew out of her mouth.
Isla stepped back, the force of Regan’s reply taking her off guard. Her eyes widened.
“You used me so the Senator would feel indebted to you,” Regan spat and clenched her fists to keep her from decking the woman. “You have a meeting lined up with him before he returns to Washington, so you could talk him into letting you do the publicity for his new book.”
Guilt flushed Isla’s face, confirming everything Regan had said. Isla took a few more steps backward. “You don’t understand,” Isla stammered and held up her hands. “The amount of attention you’d attract with just one photo of you with Mrs. Aster is a publicist’s wet dream.”
“You mean the attention you would receive as you reminded everyone you were my publicist,” Regan seethed.
“And starting your own business.” Pavlo’s harsh voice cut in, and she turned to look at him. He nodded. “I’ve poked around. You’ve been busy this past month. All you need is your name on the expensive downtown office you signed the lease for, and you’ll be ready for business.”
Where had Isla gotten that kind of money? Regan’s skin crawled as she realized the extent of Isla’s betrayal. She’d been paid handsomely to talk her into accepting the Senator’s request. It was the only explanation.
“Other authors would die for this chance, Regan. Don’t blow it.” Isla had pulled herself together and was diverting attention away from herself.
“Attention!” Regan shrieked, her body trembling from anger, not fear. “I have been threatened and attacked twice.”
“I didn’t know the Senator’s crazies would target you when you refused,” Isla said, washing her hands of any part she played in instigating the situation. “Gage said he hadn’t expected the backlash from the Senator’s supporters. If you hadn’t been stubborn and agreed to the book signing, none of this would have happened.”
“Whose idea was this book signing? Yours or Gage’s?” Regan asked.
There was no need for Isla to speak. The deep grooves in her forehead and pinched lips answered it.
“Don’t come near me. You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me. I work for your publisher.”
She was right. Regan couldn’t fire her, but her publisher had other publicists. Isla might open her new firm earlier than expected.
Regan headed to her suite. Pavlo didn’t follow. She could hear him say something to Isla, his voice low and menacing, but she couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter. All Regan wanted right now was a couple of Pavlo’s painkillers, a tub full of bubbles, and a good night’s sleep. She’d love to add a glass of wine, but painkillers and wine never went well together.
Regan reached her suite and froze. Her hands curled into tight balls, refusing to reach into her purse for her key card. How could she spend another night in that suite or any other room in the hotel knowing how vulnerable she was?
“We were going to my suite for painkillers and a heating pad, remember?” Pavlo’s gentle voice broke through the icy spell. His warm, calloused hand cupped her elbow, and he led her to his suite a few rooms further along the hallway before she could argue.
Pavlo opened the door, and Regan entered. He pointed to the couch. She sat down as he left the room.
He returned a moment later with a glass of water, a pill bottle, and a heating pad over his shoulder.