The Taming of a Wild Child. Kimberly Lang

focused instead on looking casual and carefree as she left Donovan’s office. Donovan was right: coming here had just given that one sentence legs to stand on, so she forced herself to look unbothered. Normal.

      She pasted a false smile on her face and kept her head up as she exited the building and crossed to the lot across the street where she’d parked. Once safely inside, with the doors locked and the AC running full-blast, the pride that had buoyed her out of there deflated.

      Not only was she never drinking again, she was going to go online today and order herself a chastity belt. Maybe she should just drive straight to the convent and beg to be taken in for her own protection. There had to be something really disturbingly wrong in her brain for her to be in this position.

      To be honest, one line in a newspaper was nothing. She’d had far more accurate and damaging reports printed about her before. Her mother’s garden club might be twittering about it—but, honestly, it would pass. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d downplayed something until it went away. No, she had to face the fact that she’d grabbed on to to the flimsiest of excuses to go and see Donovan and ended up having her worst suspicions confirmed.

      It was one thing to have no shame; it was another thing entirely to realize she had no pride, either.

      That’s not true. She did have her pride. The fact she’d gotten the information she wanted and was currently sitting in her car alone was proof she possessed a spine and self-control. Her dignity might be a little dented, but her pride was intact.

      If feeling a little shaky.

      In a way, she should be glad that Donovan was at the center of this debacle. It wasn’t as if their paths crossed often—they traveled in different circles—so she wouldn’t have to face him repeatedly, knowing the whole time that he was able to picture her … Ugh.

      Time would work its magic, and probably by the time she saw him again this would be an even fuzzier memory—and hopefully she’d be past the chemical reaction he seemed to cause.

      Her mom’s ringtone sounded again, and this time she answered. “I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to call you back. I’ve had a busy morning.” That was true; panic had kept her quite busy.

      “Where are you?”

      “I’m on my way to Connor’s studio.” That wasn’t a lie, either; the St. James Media building was sort of on her way. “I’ve got some work to catch up on.”

      “And are you going to tell me what that comment about you and Donovan St. James is about?”

      Lorelei forced herself to laugh. It sounded fake and hollow to her ears, but her mother didn’t seem to notice. “There was an after-party and we were both there, but … me and Donovan St. James? That’s insane.”

      That wasn’t a lie, either.