The Divorced Heiress Is Entering a New Marriage

I

The next day, Logan and I sat on the couch. Logan lifted there for the television. I was nervous, not

certain what fresh hell might awalt us today. What lies could Mr. Hatfield Senior have concocted overnight?

“Ready?” Logan asked me.

I wasn’t. Not by a longshot. But I’d never be ready, so Illed, “Yeah.”

in on

Logan clicked on the television. A newscaster immediately popped the screen.

“As more details are revealed about the life of Angela Clives, birth mother of Hazel Whitaker, public opinion has started to shift. Peter has the story. Peter?

The camera switches away from the newsroom and to a reporter out on the street.

“That’s right, Janet,” the reporter Peter says. “In fact, many people are now angry at Mr. Hatfield Senior for attempting to tarnish the reputation of a woman who was taking such major steps

to clean up

her life.”

Peter turns to a twenty–something woman beside him.

“Tell the people what you were telling me,” he told her.

“Like, she wasn’t some kind of drug dealer or something. She was an addict,” the woman said. “She messed up, but she got help. She made something out of herself. For some rich guy to start turning it all around to try to tarnish a woman who didn’t even know her mother is frankly outrageous.”

My heart picked up speed as my hope soared.

“If Mr. Hatfield has actual evidence of Hazel Whitaker being a prostitute or a drug addict or whatever, he needs to share that,” the woman continued. “Leave the poor dead woman out of it.”

With the interview over, the camera switched away. Logan lowered the volume as the newscasters started talking about something else. Turning to me, Logan gave a small smile.

“Seems at least one person has changed their mind about your mother,” Logan said. “She, uh, might not have been terribly complimentary to you, but she wasn’t saying you were those things.”

She just wanted proof. I understood.

I dropped my head onto the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “I guess Mabel was right. There are no easy fixes here.” Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

Logan placed his hand on my knee. “We’ll get there. We’re near the end, I can feel it.”

I tilted my head to look at him. “You really think so?”

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you,” Logan said. “Our relationship is going to outlast public attention, and my grandfather.”

-I didn’t want the old man to die; I wanted him to accept us. But, knowing that unlikely while he was alive, I

sighed and leaned into Logan. His arm wrapped around my shoulders.

“I wish there was an easy answer to all this,” I said..

Logan turned and placed a kiss into my hair. “Hey, I have an idea. We’ve been cooped up and driven away from our regular liven. What if tonight, we just… didn’t.

I looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“For just tonight, let’s pretend that everything is normal,” he said. “Most people don’t really care about us.

I doubt anyone would bother us if we go to a lesser known spot.”

“You want to go out?” I asked, incredulous.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

His smooth confidence settled over me like a blanket, soothing my rattled nerves. “You really think people will leave us alone?”

“They like the drama, but they have no personal investment,” Logan said. “If we go somewhere my grandfather or other high society members don’t typically go, we should be fine.”

We made a few calls, inviting others. Maria agreed, though Rachel and Megan were both busy.

“You could bring Mike,” I suggested.

“He doesn’t like places like that,” Maria said.

Logan called Dylan on speakerphone.

“That’s the worst idea I’ve heard in a long time,” Dylan said.

“Does that mean you don’t want to come?” Logan asked.

“Of course I’ll be there,” Dylan said. “I’ll need to stop you before you punch anyone out.”

“I’m not going to punch anyone,” Logan said.

“What if they say something about Hazel? You know what, forget stopping you. I’ll come as backup.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Logan said. “We’re just going out to have a good time.” Quieter, he added, “But I appreciate the backup.”

The bar we decided to visit was one that Dylan knew of, where he sometimes met with clients outside of the high society circle. It was nicer than a dive bar, but not so mainstream that it would attract the attention of anyone who might care about me and the Hatfield drama.

That was the hope, anyway.

Each of us ordered a drink at the bar, then returned to a small four–person table along one wall. The place was crowded, but no one seemed to be looking at us overly long. A musician played a guitar in the corner of the room. Most people here seemed to be here for him,

“How about a toast,” Maria suggested. Everyone turned to Dylan.

“Me?” he asked.

“You talk the most,” I said.

Dylan rolled his eyes. “It’s not hard. Alright.” He lifted his beer glass. To a brighter tomorrow.”

“Cheers,” we all said, clinked our glasses and drank.

Behind us, the musician started a new song that seemed to be one of his most popular. Other people in the bar began to sing along.

The mood in the bar was jovial, and I began to relax.

“I have to tell you what happened at work,” Maria told me, and went on a tangent about one of her co- workers stealing soap from the breakroom sink. They had to set up a secret camera to catch him. When they asked him why he needed so much soap, he said, “Why not?”

As I laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation with Maria, a tall thirty–something man came up to our table. Maria and I were on the side nearest the wall, with Logan and Dylan sitting beside us, shielding us. The man didn’t seem to care about that buffer.

His eyes were hazy, he was most likely drunk. He stood between Dylan and Logan, though he was staring straight at me. His brow lower, as his mouth twisted into a predatory smirk.

“Hey, aren’t you that slut?” he said. “How much for the night, honey?”

“Excuse me?” I replied, aghast.

Beside me, Logan went very still. Dylan’s hand on the table curled into a fist.

The man didn’t seem to notice the lion’s den he’d walked into. He might have been too drunk.

“You’re that bitch from the news, right? The one who gets around?” the man continued.

Abruptly, Logan stood. The man was tall, but Logan was taller. He glared down in fury at the drunk. His entire body was taut, ready to strike.

“You have the wrong person,” Logan said, voice angry and low.

Dylan stood too, a half–second after Logan. “You’re going to want to move along, pal,” Dylan said. “We take exception to the way you are talking to my friend.

The man blearily looked from Dylan to Logan. “You want to take this outside?”

“If necessary,” Logan said.

“Logan,” I started. I didn’t want this evening to turn out like this. “Maybe we should just go.”

“Stay there, Hazel,” Dylan said. “This won’t take a minute. Logan and I are just going to take out the trash.”

Suddenly, a sharp female laugh came from the bar. Looking around the others, I spotted Tina sitting there, watching us, a great big grin on her face.

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