by Jena Petrie
As if unsure of what reply to give, he chewed the inside of his cheek. "We had fun. I... I didn't expect that. Hardly felt like an interview but in my opinion you need photos of me rowing to make this article stand out."
Action photos? Jeez, why hadn't she thought of that? An ideal addit–
"–Sherdon. Why not this weekend? My flat's got a spare room so you can stay there if you like. Or come early, stay later; whatever. What I mean is, write the article while you're there. That way I could settle any last minute queries and you'll finish the story more quickly."
Stay in his flat? Or should she substitute bed for flat? God, why had she forgotten? She knew his reputation; playboy extraordinaire. King of Flings. The kind of guy who picked up and discarded women quicker than yesterday's newspaper.
Kissing him had encouraged him into thinking she'd bend to his persuasion and sleep with him but no way would that happen. Going to Sherdon for action photos might be the best idea to have come out of this weekend but stay in his home? Not a chance. What she should have done was remember her ex, Sam. He'd sucked her in too, boosted her confidence then used her to promote his sporting career. Would Connor use her too? Slowly, she shook her head. "I can't."
Shutters lowered over his eyes and he turned towards the view. Dismissing her.
"Always stressed the working side of this agreement, didn't I?" But the words stung as she pushed them out.
"Everything's changed. You know it has." A hand swiped through his hair as he faced her again. "Listen, will you? That note on our door shows your vulnerability so in my opinion you need to move away from Mosgiel. Away from your boss and any other possible threats. Start fresh in another part of the country and Sherdon would provide you with an ideal opportunity."
Really.
"There, you could promote yourself as a sports writer, especially with this article on me under your belt. And with Sherdon being quite central, you could even hook into other events around the district. You know how much Kiwis love their sport—I'm sure you wouldn't be short of ideas, or sales, especially if you wrote for different magazines."
"But I've already told you, I don't want to move."
"Not even knowing the rowing community in Sherdon would support you? We might value our privacy at times, but we use the media when it suits. I even heard that my club needs a new cox'n so if you moved up, you could ditch the crew you're struggling with. And with the empty room in my flat waiting for an occupant, you'd be all sorted. "So, what do you reckon, babe? Good idea?"
To move up or move in? If the latter, not a chance. The suggestion coming this early after their meeting proved his bad boy reputation was spot-on after all. Sportsmen were all the same, it seemed. All out to get as much exposure as they could, through her. Using her like a rung on their ladder.
Using her, for their own personal gain.
When she turned her head away, he turned it back with a gentle hold of her chin. "Besides, I want to see you again. You've been good for me, too."
Yeah, right.
"This weekend's proved my initial feeling that we'd get on well. So come for the photos and stay a few days, have a look around, check out the sporting scene and ask other sportspeople what they'd think of having a dedicated sports writer in the area. Take as long as you want, but promise me you'll give it serious thought. Okay?"
Had it all worked out, didn't he? Been planning this for how long? "You hardly know me, so—"
"Not know you? After two days of living in the same building, next-door rooms and constantly in each other's company?" He threw back his head and laughed, but the sound grated like being forced through a faulty microphone. "Sure I know you. Only two days, but you've turned my life around. Anyway, don't forget Jerry's recommendation. It tells me a lot more about your character, like you wouldn't write for a women's gossip magazine, for instance."
"Oh!" No! Her hand covered her mouth. Oh, God no.
Connor's eyes squinted. "What is it?"
"J-just something I th-thought of. Remembered. D-doesn't matter right now. I'll deal with it when I'm b-back home." A ton weight rested on her shoulders, making her so weary, so listless, she slumped forward.
"I'm serious, Bailey. About everything. About your article, for instance. It's too late to focus on the Olympics. Your story needs to bring readers up to date with the present and the best way to show that is with current action photos.
Photos. Action. Rowing! Oh, God. She fisted her hands. "Okay. I'll come, and thanks for the suggestion. It's great. But no more pretending we're a couple, okay? We've done with this farce. We have to show everyone we're a couple of professionals and there's nothing romantic or sexual between us. And for that reason I won't stay in your flat. But I have a request and I'm sorry for the short notice but I'm organising our rowing club's fiftieth anniversary dinner in two weeks and we need a speaker." Talk about clutching at straws! Once training started again he'd never be allowed a weekend off, especially at such short notice.
"Two weeks' time and you're still without a speaker?" Disbelief filled his tone.
"Friday, I learned the other one had cancelled, just before my friend rang to tell me about your visit. After that, the dinner completely slipped my mind with everything that followed, until just now, when you triggered my memory."
"Why me?"
"You'd be ideal. I know that, after hearing your talk to the kids, and your reputation as a speaker."
"That's all? Nothing about us?" His grip of her shoulders dug in but she refused to wince. "There's something there, Bailey, and you know it. Are you sure that isn't why you asked?"
"No. Yes. I'm sure."
"If I came, what then?" Hands dived into his pockets like fish hiding from a predator.
"I'd meet you at the airport on the Saturday, you'd give your talk that evening and leave next day."
"So the invitation to come is just for the dinner. Nothing for us? Nothing—?"
"Like my going to Sherdon will be just for the photos. Besides, if you come down, we'd have to make sure everything was above board to prevent any nasty rumours, so we'd find a rowing family to host you. We—you and I—shouldn't meet privately except for when I pick you up and drop you off."
"And you don't care." Poison dripped from his voice as he bent to retrieve his hoodie from the ground. "You're denying there's anything between us."
Seriously, him and her, together? Olympic gold medal rower and country club cox'n. Six foot three and five foot two. Fat chance of anything coming out of such extremes. "Nothing on my part." Probably just as well with his new attitude; as hostile as a terrorist and as aggressive as a stalker as he stomped forward, his face grim, fingers clenching, unclenching, stretching.
"The date?" Two words, thrown at her like hailstones.
"Saturday. November sixteenth. Is... Is that enough notice? Would you do it? Could you?"
He threw the hoodie into the air, catching it again. "Not up to me. You'll have to send an official request, explaining the situation and the arrangements for my transport and accommodation. The secretary will advise if I'm to go."
Protocol, that's what he'd given her, proving his unwillingness to come. Frustration tightened her hands into fists as he threw the jacket hood over his head, leaving the rest of the garment hanging. Hiding his face from her view. Only a couple of seconds latter he disappeared down the path.
While a lump of lead settled in her heart.
Even if rowing accepted the dinner invitation on his behalf, he'd refuse to come. Probably just as well, because his reference to trashy magazines had sparked a memory.
The name of the note's author might be elusive but she knew who he was: a reporter whose behaviour at a Council meeting and later his article in a women's gossip magazine, had been responsible for completely destroying the reputation of a popular local identity. If that journalist wrote about her or Connor, he could not only ruin her dream of becoming a respectable freelance journalist, he could also totally destroy Connor's professiona
l reputation.
Oh, Jeez. Bailey's massively deep breath did nothing to calm her. From now on she'd have to stay away from Connor; that funny, carefree, hunky and complex guy.
Walking was such an effort but she forced herself to return to her clothes, toss her cap on, tie the hoodie around her middle, and grab the shirt.
Trouble was, Connor had done so much for her, there was no way she could abandon that gorgeous national hero to cope alone with the sleazeball's poison.
She'd have to keep in touch and help with the fall-out.
CHAPTER 6
Inside the house she shared with her two flatmates Bailey paused to check the time on her watch. Forty-one minutes since she'd said good-bye to Connor; to a possible relationship. Tears gathered in her eyes and threatened to fall. Blast that damn reporter.
Foot against the door, she slammed it shut. So typical of her life, being given an opportunity that raised her hopes then dropped her in a sink hole so deep she struggled to climb out. With her bag in one hand and jacket in the other, she headed for her bedroom.
"Oh, you're back," Lauren called from the kitchen and Bailey stopped, eyes closed in surrender.
No getting away with slinking off to her room and wallowing in self-pity, damnit. Shouldn't have banged the door shut of course; that had been asking for trouble. Inevitably, questions would come now so why hadn't she used her brain instead of her heart?
"Great friend you are," Lauren continued from the doorway, arms folded and a sly expression on her face. "Skiving off with no warning. Very secretively too, since you didn't even say who you were going with, or where."
"I texted," Bailey protested, dropping her belongings to accept the glass of wine Lauren passed over, and automatically following her into the living-room.
Hang on.
Clear liquid splashed over Bailey's fingers at the abrupt stop. These were her two best friends. Girls she'd flatted with since moving to Mosgiel three years ago. Girls who had their preferred seats in this room yet here was Lauren lowering herself onto the sofa beside Gemma, leaving her favourite chair opposite, vacant for Bailey.
Uh-oh. Looked like a confrontation had been set up for a Q and A. And she was supposed to keep the private aspects of her weekend away from the public? Could be tricky, if these two wanted more detail.
At the other end of the sofa Gemma raised her glass in a toast. "Welcome back, Bailey. Ignore Lauren's tone, won't you? She's just green with envy because her fairy godmother didn't wave a wand and whisk her off to places unknown for a surprise weekend, like you. At least, we presume that's what happened?"
To hell with it. She'd have to face the music some time. May as well be now. Carefully, Bailey placed her glass on the small side table and collapsed into Lauren's big chair. "Sorry, guys. Short notice you know, but at least you got my message." She caught the cushion Lauren threw, shoved it behind her and pushed back into its softness.
"Yeah, we got it." Gemma set her wine glass down as if likely to drop it during the coming interrogation.
Damn Connor and his insistence on privacy. To ease her anxiety, Bailey drank some wine. Far more than the sip she intended but her insides bounced like a rowing single caught in a gale. "Except for the fairy godmother."
Lauren turned to Gemma. "A guy then, do you think, since she's ruled out a godmother."
"Yeah, and a good offer." Gemma readjusted her back cushion.
"Someone she already knew?" Lauren's fingernails tapped against her glass.
"Y-e-a-h." Gemma's slow response sounded reluctant. "Except don't we know all her friends? So—"
"A new bloke? But that won't be right either," Lauren argued. She's too wary of guys—"
"Mm." The sound came through Gemma's closed lips as if in response to her wine rather than the conversation. "True."
"She's been cautious with men for as long as we've known her, so she'd hardly just up and go away with one at short notice."
"Unless he's The One." Her face suddenly excited, Gemma had swivelled around to face the flatmate beside her.
But Lauren frowned. "Get real, Gemma. Bailey's a career girl. That's why she shies away from dating."
"Then why would she suddenly go away with a guy? You're not making sense, girlfriend." Gemma leaned back against the sofa cushion. "Okay, so that scenario can't be right. What if she'd been kidnapped?"
"There'd have been a ransom note." Lauren, sensible as always, sipped her wine as if they discussed this subject every Sunday evening.
"Not if she escaped first," Gemma warned as she checked the level of her glass's contents.
Lauren tucked her arms against her sides and took a deep breath. "Sque-ezed between the bars of her prison—"
"Ran to the road and hailed a friendly motorist—"
"And now plans to write her story, earning her a huge pay—"
"And lots of kudos," Gemma added, her face showing excitement.
Lauren nodded in apparent agreement. "An exclusive, for the tabloids."
"The gossip papers, to promote her career."
Bailey jerked upright. "I'd never do that! Surely you know me better than to suggest..."
Each face opposite showed a grin and she relaxed against the cushions with a brief laugh. "You two are nuts, you know that?"
"Yeah, we know. But you still love us."
"Of course."
"And because we love you, we're concerned, see. You work for the local newspaper and they like stories that stir up controversy—"
"And gossip." Lauren's deep frown showed intense worry.
After drinking more wine, Bailey toyed with the glass in her hand. "So far, I've got away with using my own style of writing but either that ends before the month's out, or I'm out."
"What?" both girls chorused from the sofa.
"Yup. Boss gave me the ultimatum on Friday."
"What did you do?" Lauren leaned forward, as if the answer concerned her directly.
"What are you going to do?" was Gemma's query.
"I am going..." Bailey watched the swirl of her wine inside the glass. "To write a freelance story for a magazine."
Both girls looked at each other, then slapped hands together in a high five.
The sound sped around Bailey's head like a pinball. "What?"
"You're going to ditch that job?" Lauren's eyes nearly popped out of her head.
"About time," Gemma added. "You know Big Bad John's a rotten egg."
"Yeah, but he's helped me a lot, and I always felt obliged—"
"But you never wrote gossip," Lauren pointed out. "We know. We checked. Every story of yours that paper published—"
"And other reporter's stories, to see if they'd changed at all—"
"So if you tell us you're leaving, we'll be thrilled," Lauren added.
"Even if I move away?" Bailey's stomach clenched as tight as her fingers around the glass. Hadn't read these friends wrong, had she?
"Is that what you're planning?"
Both faces showed deep furrows between the brows and upside-down smiles.
"Course not. Why would I leave you two? You're the best friends a girl could ever have."
"Oh, isn't that sweet." Getting up, Lauren went over and hugged Bailey, followed by Gemma.
Whew! Disaster averted. Bailey sipped her wine.
Until both girls paused half-way across the room, facing each other, and Lauren spoke.
"You realise this is just a red herring. It does nothing to solve the problem of who this new friend might be." Seated again, she dumped the spare cushion on the floor. "Who would be clever enough—"
"Manipulative enough," Gemma corrected.
Lauren glared at Bailey. "To persuade this scaredy-cat to abandon her own rules and go away with a stranger for a weekend?"
"At short notice," Gemma added, leaning forward so one elbow rested on her knee and the hand cupped her chin.
"Oh, stop worrying, you two!" Bailey gripped her glass to avoid it slipping through her sweaty hands. "I had
an opportunity so I took it. No big drama and anyway, you'd jump at the chance too, if it was offered and you qualified." Tipping up the glass, she drained her drink.
Woops. Damn thing had been full only a couple of sips ago.
The sun shone on the top of Gemma's head, creating a halo effect against the light as she refilled Bailey's glass. Sauntering back towards her seat, she addressed Lauren. "We can't have known this benefactor. How come I missed out? After all, I'm single too."
"Three's a crowd," Lauren reminded her. "You'd be in the way of a couple of love-birds."
"Wasn't like that!" Bailey shouted, on the edge of her seat now, staring back at her two best friends. "It was work, see." Without even looking at her glass she lifted it from the table beside her. Blast, Connor wanted privacy so she'd better not drink any more. At least, not till she'd eaten. Carefully, she replaced the glass and slid back in her seat.
The wine bottle slid through Gemma's fingers and landed with a soft thump on the coffee table cover as she turned to Lauren. "Work? How do we know they didn't combine—"
"Separate bedrooms, at my insistence." Damn. Too much information. Squeezing her eyes shut Bailey fisted her hands.
Foil rattled close to her face and she opened her eyes to find Gemma holding a bag of crisps. After grabbing a handful of the crunchy nibbles she popped them into her mouth and chewed, one by one.
"Of course you did." Lauren's understanding came through in her gentle tone. A tone that changed when she addressed Gemma. "Why take another risk after her past suffering?"
What? Eyes wide, Bailey gaped. "You know about that? How could you? I've never told. Not anyone."
Gemma chewed some nibbles. "Maybe you should have." Spoken like a parent who'd just repeated a basic rule to a small child for the hundredth time.
Bailey's fingers closed over the last of her snacks. Told them? What good would that have done?
Warm arms wrapped around her neck in such a surprising move, she almost swallowed the last crisp whole. Then Gemma's voice, soft in her ear, soothing.