“You figured wrong. I told Smith that you guys were to leave the island. You’re all fucking fired.”
Betrayal made her skin prickle with realization. Stomach churning, Marjorie jerked her hand from Rob’s, the conversation finally sinking in. “‘Boss’? These men are your employees?”
Rob turned to look at her, frustration clear on his face. “Let’s just go to the gazebo and talk, Marjorie, please. I’ll explain everything.”
“Start explaining now,” she said, hands on her hips and a horrible, nightmarish ache in her heart. This was beyond hurt, beyond disappointment. She felt like ice, all frozen inside. Somehow, though, she managed to stay upright even though it felt like her heart was breaking into a million tiny pieces.
“Fine,” Rob said, and raked a hand through his hair nervously. He looked around and then gestured at a nearby carved stone bench. The camera crew stood there awkwardly for a minute, until Rob turned to them. “Get the fuck out of here. You’re all still fired.”
Trembling, Marjorie sat on the bench and clasped her hands on her knees, forcing a calm to her expression that she didn’t quite feel. She watched, sick to her stomach, as Rob sat next to her and then rubbed his face again.
“I’m not the man you think I am, Marjorie,” Rob told her, clearly miserable.
“I think I’m starting to understand that.” Her voice shook a little despite all her attempts to appear strong and in control. “So who are you really?”
He gave a small, ironic chuckle and a shake of his head. “I kept waiting for you to google me, you know? To look up all my dirty misdeeds and then throw them in my face. I just never expected you to actually trust me. No one does, you know.” He rubbed his jaw and glanced over at her. “For the record, all the shit in the tabloids is fake.”
“What . . . things in the tabloids?”
“The coke, the models, the late-night parties. It’s all just PR. That, and once your rep hits a certain point, you can’t blow your nose in public without everyone assuming you just did lines in the bathroom.”
“Rob, I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Marjorie told him. “Start over. I don’t know what any of this means. Is Rob even your real name?”
“It’s my real name,” he agreed. “Robert Cannon, owner of The Man Channel and a few other networks.”
“The Man Channel,” she murmured, trying to think. “It sounds sexist.”
“It is. We specialize in lowbrow humor, tittie shots, and whatever we can get away with on basic cable.”
She recoiled. That sounded . . . revolting. “Why? Gosh, why?” It was exactly the sort of thing she hated. “Why peddle women?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. Because there’s money to be made there, and I’m good at it?” He rubbed his neck, clearly uncomfortable with having to explain himself. “When I was a kid, I grew up in a group home because no foster home wanted an eight-year-old boy with attitude problems. I had nothing to my name but three shirts and two pairs of pants. Nothing. Nada. When I hit eighteen, they tossed me out, patted me on the back, and told me to go earn a living. So I joined the Army. And after two years in the Army, I didn’t re-up. I hated it. I wanted to be my own boss. My own man. All my life, I’d answered to someone. So a buddy and I got drunk one night and we started spitballing ideas. I don’t know who came up with the whole ‘Show Me Your Tits’ idea for a show, but it worked. We started doing videos and they got carried on late-night TV, and then eventually we made our own network. I bought out my buddy and continued expanding on things until I made The Man Channel a household name. I made it from nothing.”
“I think it’s awful,” she told him with a small shake of her head. “You’re preying on women.”
“I’m not ‘preying’ on anyone,” Rob said in an irritated tone that told her he’d had that conversation before.
“You are. I’ve seen clips of the show. The women are drunk or pressured by the men to the point that they feel like they have to give in. That’s not fair.”
“It’s just a stupid show, Marjorie.”
“It wasn’t so stupid when they came after me,” she said quietly.
To that, he said nothing.
“And those men with the cameras are your employees,” she said slowly. “And they’re here to mess up Logan’s wedding.”
“Yes—no, actually. Okay, fuck.” He raked a hand through his hair again. “Where do I start. So I came to the island wanting a business deal with Hawkings for a new channel. I figured if I caught him on vacation, I might loosen him up. I had no idea he was here to get married. Anyhow, I nearly drowned and you saved me, and from that point on, it became my goal to find out who you were, because I was already half in love with you at first sight.” He looked over at her, and his expression was tender and hopeful.
Hers remained horrified.
He sighed. “Right. Anyhow, I was leaving that night when I ran into you in front of the hotel, so then I decided to stay a few more days to get to know you. In the meantime, Logan finds me in the bar and won’t give me the time of day. Said I was not doing the kind of business he was interested in and to get off the island because I was fucking up his wedding. I got pissed and told my Tits crew to come here and make a nuisance of themselves. Once they accosted you, I told them to leave. It seems they don’t take orders very well.” He grimaced.
Recognition dawned on her face. “And this is why you stood me up yesterday. Because Logan would see you and know you were spending time with me.”
“Yup. And I never wanted to hurt you at all. Not in the slightest.” The look on his face was fierce. “But I was trapped. Logan thinks I’m using you to get to him, and that’s not true.”
She didn’t know if she believed him. She wanted to, desperately, but years of long, lonely experience had taught her that hot, interesting guys didn’t go for the six-foot-tall chick. So she was leaning more toward Logan’s suggestion, too, which hurt. Bad.
“So Logan thinks you’re using me.”
He nodded.
“And yet you slept with me last night, knowing that today I’d find out who you were?”
“Can’t blame a guy for wanting a little taste of paradise before being condemned to hell.”
Her jaw dropped. “That is repulsive.”
He rubbed his face again. “I wasn’t going to touch you, Marjorie. I really wasn’t. Hell, you wouldn’t take no for an answer, and you were so sweet and so fragile that I felt like if I turned you down, I’d have hurt you even more.” The smile he shot in her direction was bitter, tormented. “I was fucking stuck. Either love you and leave you, or just leave you. I chose to get one night out of things, at least.”
He was right, she realized with a sick feeling in her stomach. She’d been so relieved when he showed up and made her feel pretty again that she’d all but begged him to take her virginity. Oh sweet mercy, it was so shameful. “You must have had a good laugh at the ignorant virgin who thought you were her knight in shining armor.”
“I never laughed at you. Not once,” Rob said, his face solemn. “I never cared what anyone thought about me until I met you. I grew up thinking I was completely unlovable and didn’t give a shit. Everyone in the world could think I was some sort of douchebag in a business suit and I didn’t care a whit . . . until I met you. You’re the only person I’ve ever cared about what you thought of me.” He reached for her hand and tugged it between his. “And I love you.”
Funny how the “I love you” didn’t come last night in bed when she’d told him how she felt. It only came now, when he felt cornered, trapped. Hot tears blurred Marjorie’s vision and she swiped at them angrily. “How can you sit there and tell me that you love me when all you’ve done is lie to me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From who you really are? Who’s going to protect all those women from you? The women you pay to debase themselves for your viewers?”