Page 55 of The Maine Event

Confused by the hostile exchange, I approach Dan and the unwelcome guests. Why is he so upset by a little media attention? This could be great publicity for his career.

I touch Dan’s arm lightly. “Why don’t we just answer a few questions? It couldn’t hurt, right?”

Dan pulls away, his jaw clenched. “Rachel, please stay out of this.”

Undeterred, I turn to the reporter with a bright smile. “Hi there! I’m Rachel Holmes, Dan’s PR consultant. While we appreciate your interest, this is a private event for friends and family. If you’d like to schedule an interview, I’d be happy to arrange something later.”

“Actually, we were invited,” the greasy-haired photographer waves an invitation in the air before he snaps a few shots of me and Dan, the flash blinding us momentarily. Dan shields his face, his frustration palpable.

“No interviews,” he snaps. “I want you both to leave. Now. This is private property.”

I try to smooth things over, maintaining my professional composure. “As I mentioned, we’re not answering questions today. Please respect Mr. Rhodes’ privacy and leave the premises.”

The reporter scowls but finally relents. “Fine. But this isn’t over. The public deserves to know what’s really going on with Dan Rhodes.”

As they reluctantly depart, I close the door and turn to Dan, perplexed by his reaction. Why is he so resistant to the idea of relaunching his career? I only want to help him reach his full potential.

But the look on Dan’s face stops me cold.

“Where did they get that invitation?” Dan asks, with a mix of anger, hurt, and disappointment.

My heart sinks as I realize I may have overstepped. “I only wanted to help?—”

Dan brushes past me without a word, leaving me standing alone in the hall, my mind reeling. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I’m not so sure. I need to find a way to fix this, to make things right. But first, I need to understand why Dan is so opposed to returning to the spotlight. I really thought he’d turned a corner agreeing to this party.

Deflated, I wander into the living room, feeling like an outsider. The once lively atmosphere now feels stifling, and I can’t shake the sense that all eyes are on me. I carry on past them to the stairs and head up to take a moment to collect my thoughts.

As I sink down onto the top step, my head in my hands, someone asks Alexa to play some music, and moments later the buzz of conversation resumes and the party’s back on.

I sit there on the steps, my heart pounding in my chest, trying to make sense of how the night unraveled so quickly. Just an hour ago, everything felt perfect—Dan and I, tangled up in thewarmth of the boathouse, so close to crossing that line I’ve been teetering on since the moment I met him. But now, the party that was supposed to be his big comeback has turned into a circus, and I’m the one responsible. I thought I was giving him back his purpose, his passion, but all I did was drag him back into the spotlight he never wanted to face again.

My stomach twists with guilt and frustration. I was so sure I knew what was best for him—so sure that I could make it right. But now all I can think about is the hurt in his eyes, the way he looked at me like I’d betrayed him. The noise of the party filters back through the air, but it feels distant—like it belongs to someone else’s life. All I know is that I’ve made a complete mess of everything, and for once in my life, I have no idea how to fix it.

I remain at the top of the stairs long after the party has found its rhythm again—unnoticed and unmissed. The truth is, it’s never enough to just coast. I’ve always needed to be doing something—something meaningful. I think that’s why Chicago never felt quite right, even when I was successful. Sure, I was good at my job—great, even. But making money for clients and seeing campaigns hit their targets didn’t feel like it mattered enough. I wanted more. I wanted to do something that left a mark.

Maybe that’s why I latched onto helping Dan—because it felt like I could really make a difference, like I could help him reclaim the life he deserved. Only I didn’t stop to think if that’s what he wanted. I was too busy trying to prove that I wasn’t just some high-powered career woman who could only solve problems with a press release and a social media campaign. I wanted to show him I could be more than that—someone who actually makes things better, not just more efficient.

Try this for an impact assessment—a document that’s required after every PR engagement—I’ve bulldozed right through his boundaries and made a mess of it all. I didn’t listen.I didn’t ask. I just assumed I knew best, because that’s what I do. I charge in, convinced I’m saving the day, without stopping to think if anyone actually needs saving. And now, instead of helping Dan move forward, I’ve dragged him back into the one place he was trying to leave behind.

Thank goodness for small mercies—I’m relieved Chloe took herself off to bed a while ago and won’t see me like this. No one seems to have noticed my absence, sitting here, elbows on my knees, chin resting on my hands. Out of sight, out of mind…

It’s probably for the best. I wouldn’t even know what to say if someone did come up. I’m stuck in this awful limbo between wanting to run and hide and needing to do something—anything—to fix the colossal mess I’ve made. I thought I was being clever, orchestrating Dan’s big comeback like I was launching a new chip brand in the Midwest. But all I did was bulldoze through his boundaries and make it all about what I thought was best.

The worst part is, I wasn’t thinking about him. Not really. I was too wrapped up in proving to myself that I could make something good happen here. That I could do something right. I wanted to give him back his purpose, his pride… but I didn’t stop to consider whether it was what he actually wanted.

Now I’m stuck here, hollow and aching, wondering how I managed to destroy the one good thing I’ve had since I landed in this state. I drag my hands down my face, trying to shake off the sting of tears, when I hear voices drifting up from the kitchen.

It’s Dan and James, engaged in a heated conversation. I know I shouldn’t listen, but I can’t help but overhear snippets of their exchange.

“She had no right, no right at all,” Dan says, his voice tight with anger. “Coming in here, trying to manage my life, my career. She doesn’t understand.”

His brother’s voice is more measured. “I’m sure she meant well, Dan. She’s just trying to help.”

“Help?” Dan scoffs. “By pushing me back into the spotlight? By disregarding my wishes, my privacy? No, that’s not help. That’s her trying to control everything, thinking she knows best.

“It’s not just about protecting Chloe, James,” Dan says. “It’s about not getting sucked back into that world. You know what it’s like—the endless scrutiny, the expectations, the way people pick you apart just because you exist. I promised myself I wouldn’t let Chloe grow up in the shadow of that. We’ve built something good here—quiet, stable. I’m not risking that just because Rachel thinks I need to feel like a star again. I don’t want to have every aspect of my life in the public domain. I’m done with all that.”

Each word feels like a punch to the gut. Is that really how he sees me? As some sort of controlling, manipulative pain in the ass?

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