Chapter Sixty-one

Ellen had just stepped out of the shower when her cell phone started ringing. She ran into her bedroom, picked up her BlackBerry, and checked the display screen. It was a 215 area code, a Philly phone number she didn't know. She pressed Answer.

"Hello?" It was Marcelo, and Ellen warmed to the sound, sinking onto her bed and drawing her pink chenille robe closer around her.

"Hey, hi."

"I got your message. Sorry I couldn't get back to you until now. Are you at home?"

"Yes, I'll be back to work tomorrow, like I said. If you're free, we can meet in the morning and talk over this thing with Sarah."

"I don't think it can wait. I'd like to come over tonight, if I may."

Wow. Ellen checked her watch, 9:08. Will was in bed, fast asleep. "Sure."

"It's not a social call," Marcelo added, and she felt herself flush.

"Understood?"

"I'm on my way. I'll be there in half an hour."

"Great," Ellen said, and as soon as they hung up, she bolted to the closet. She changed her clothes four times, ending up with a light blue V-neck and jeans, but instead of a tank top underneath, she went with a lace-topped ivory camisole.

Though her underwear was the last thing on her mind.

Chapter Sixty-two

By the time Marcelo knocked on the door, Ellen's hair had dried loose and curly to her shoulders and she had doused herself with perfume, made up her eyes, and patted concealer on her telltale sunburn.

"Hello," Marcelo said, unsmiling as he came inside.

"Good to see you." Ellen knew she couldn't kiss him hello, but she didn't want to shake his hand, so she settled for closing the door behind him. "Can I take your coat?"

"That's okay, I won't be staying long."

Ouch. "Would you like a drink or something?"

"No, thanks."

"Do you want to sit down?"

"Thanks." Marcelo crossed to the couch and sat stiffly down, and Ellen took the chair catty-corner to him. He said, "I thought it would be better to talk here than in the office, since we're conspiring."

"I'm really sorry about what happened."

"I know." Marcelo looked tense, a new tightness around his mouth. "I've been struggling with what to do, how to handle the situation." He linked his fingers between his legs, leaning forward slightly. "To start with, I shouldn't have done what I did' started anything romantic with you. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Ellen swallowed, hurt. "You don't have to say you're sorry, and it wasn't so terrible."

"It was, especially considering how it turned out."

"But we can set it right."

"No, we can't."

Ellen felt like they were having a lovers' quarrel, and they weren't even lovers.

"I'm your editor, and there's no way we can be together, in the end."

"But we just started." Ellen was surprised at the emotion in her voice. "Other couples at the paper date."

"Not editor and staffer. Not a direct report." Marcelo shook his head, downcast. "Anyway, to the point. I lied to my staff. I've never lied to my staff, ever. I showed you a favoritism I wouldn't have shown anyone else, and I did it because I care for you." His voice softened, but his gaze remained firm. "But now I know what to do."

"I do, too." Ellen had thought about it on the plane, but Marcelo held up his hand.

"Let me, please. That's why I came here tonight. I don't want you to come in to work tomorrow morning."

No. "Why not?"

"I'm going to hold a meeting of the staff and I don't think you should be there. I'm going to tell them what happened. Not about my' feelings, I'm not that crazy." Marcelo smiled. "I'm going to tell them that I lied about your whereabouts because you had a personal matter that you didn't want me or them to know about, and I thought it was the best way to handle the situation."

"You're going to tell the truth?"

Marcelo chuckled. "It's not that crazy. We're a newspaper. We care for truth."

"But not now, not this way." Ellen couldn't let him do it. It was career suicide.

"I'm going to apologize and say that I realize, in retrospect, that it was poor judgment on my part."

"You can't do that, Marcelo." Ellen didn't know where to begin. "It undermines your credibility forever. They're already talking about you, and this will only add fuel to the fire. You'll never live it down."

"Reporters are intelligent and verbal people. They talk, they speculate, and they gossip. There's nothing to be done about it."

Ellen leaned forward, urgent. "That's not the way to handle this.

One of us has to admit that they were lying, and that person can't be you."

"If I tell the truth, it will pass."

"No, it will follow you forever. I can't let you do it."

"You have no say," Marcelo said with a sad smile, and Ellen realized that if he wouldn't do it for him, maybe he'd do it for her.

"You'd hurt me more if you did that. They'll think we're sleeping together, and I'll be branded forever. It's better for me if you suspend me for lying to you."

"You want that?" Marcelo frowned.

"It's the only way. If you suspend me, I look like just another employee who lied to the boss. Everybody lies to the boss."

"They do?" Marcelo looked horrified, which Ellen thought was adorable.

"If we tell them I lied to you, then I'm just somebody who played hooky."

"Hooky?"

"Ditched work for the day. I even have a tan. But, on the other hand, if you tell them you lied for me, it makes it a bigger deal and it never goes away."

Marcelo pursed his lips, searching her face, and Ellen could see she was making headway.

"You're a journalist, so you should know. Employee lies to boss. That's no story. Boss lies for employee? A headline."

"I don't know." Marcelo ran his fingers through his hair, muttering. "Que roubada. What a mess."

"Marcelo, if you care about me, you'll suspend me without pay."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes. For a week."

Marcelo's lips flattened to a sour line. "Three days."

"Done."

Marcelo eyed her, his regret plain. "It's a disciplinary action against you. It jeopardizes your job."

Ellen knew that, but this wasn't the time to cry about it. She'd gotten them into this mess and she was going to get them out. "Look on the bright side. If you fire me, you have to take me out. I could lose a job, but gain a boyfriend."

"You're killing me." Marcelo winced, rising, and Ellen stood up, too.

They were standing about three feet apart, so close they could embrace, but nobody was touching anybody.

"I'm joking," she said, but Marcelo turned away and walked to the door, where he stopped and flashed her a final, sad smile.

"Then why aren't we laughing?" he asked.

For that, Ellen had no answer.