There’s no way I’d have pushed as hard, or felt as free if I hadn’t closed that door.”
Marni bit her lip. Well, then. Maybe she could settle on a similar career, with half the success, and keep her family ties. Just sort of distance them a little. Like, from the opposite coast. California, from what she’d seen since getting off the train that morning, was pretty.
The train.
She sighed.
And Hunter.
She was standing in a tidal wave of misery. As if she’d just wrenched open that door and let all the pain she’d tucked away pour out. She’d left him there, sleeping. She hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t left a note. Nothing.
He’d figure it out, she knew.
The man was FBI. All he had to do, if he cared enough, was run her name and he’d know she was a reporter. Would figure out that she was a liar.
That she was a heartbroken, miserable liar was still her own secret, though.
“Can I ask a personal question?” she blurted.
“All questions should be personal. Otherwise they’re a waste of air,” Robin declared.
Right. Marni grimaced.
“You want a drink?” Robin offered after a few seconds of pained silence as her niece tried to figure out how to word her nosy question so it didn’t come out like a waste of air.
Tequila would be nice.
Marni settled for ice water.
And used the couple of minutes while her aunt was gone to pull herself together. She wasn’t a sucky reporter, dammit. She was just an emotional mess after leaving the man she loved. She was pathetic, not talentless. There was a difference. This was an interview, not a desperate plea for some answer that would paint a clear path for her own life.
Treat it like a biography, she decided. She was writing Robin Clare’s life story. What information did she need to tell it right?
With that perky little pep talk ringing in her head, Marni lifted her chin and offered a bright smile of thanks when her aunt returned.
“So, my question is about relationships. You’ve achieved so much with your career. The stories you’ve broken, the places you’ve traveled, they’re remarkable for anyone, let alone a woman who began reporting when it was a completely male dominated field.”
“World’s still dominated by men, girly. Don’t let anyone tell you different,” Robin broke in.
Marni made a mental note that her aunt still faced gender bias, wondering if it was as strong now as in the past, or if her views were a by-product of years of fighting prejudice.
“Did you feel you had to choose between your career and your emotional life?” Grimacing, she wet her throat with her ice water, then reframed that. “What I mean is, did you ever have a man who wanted more from you? Who resented your career?”
That wasn’t quite the same as asking if she’d ever screwed over the man she loved for a hot story. But Marni figured that was the kind of question you eased into.
From the knowing look on her aunt’s face, she’d picked up the subtext without much trouble, though.
“I made a decision early on that my career was my priority,” Robin said slowly. As if each word were a bomb she was carefully setting on the painted concrete floor between them. “Because of that, all of my relationships have been based on a framework of distance. On the knowledge that I’d need to pick up and go at a moment’s notice. That when I’m focused on a story, it gets all of my attention. I’ve had plenty of wonderful men in my life. But none took precedence over the story.”
Marni looked at her hero. In her forties, Robin had seen and done everything Marni dreamed of. Except maybe that jumping out of the airplane thing. And now she was facing the rest of her life without the emotional accomplishments the rest of the Clare clan deemed mandatory. Family, marriage, children.
She didn’t seem to mind.
“Do you regret it?”
“Regret it?” Robin’s eyes rounded in shock, as if Marni had just asked if she’d offered blow jobs in exchange for inside scoops. “Girly, I love my life. I have success, travel, money. I’m living in one of the most exciting cities in the world, I mingle with the famous. I have lovers when I want, and privacy when I’m through with them.”
“I take it that’s a no.”
“Not just a no. That’d be a hell no.”
Misery settled in Marni’s stomach.
She wanted to hear that it sucked.
That the life of an ambitious reporter, totally focused on chasing stories,