Half a year later, with the three-day-a-week show enjoying strong ratings, I honestly don’t know how much longer I can put up with Jack’s overblown ego and sexual advances.
But as repulsive as he is, he’s right about one thing: Reyes is a hot commodity. I haven’t forgotten the fawning waitresses at the restaurant or the gorgeous brunette glued to his lap at the club. I can’t blame any of them for wanting him. He’s hot as hell, filthy rich and single. Judging by the pictures floating around social media, he had no shortage of women back in Baltimore. There’s nothing to stop him from enjoying the same status here.
The thought depresses me as I drive to the Gazette, weaving through downtown traffic.
It’s nearly eleven o’clock. I know Reyes’s ribbon-cutting ceremony is probably almost over. I should swing by for a few minutes, just as a show of friendly support.
Oh sure. Let’s totally pretend your body hasn’t been aching for his since he laid that hot, explosive kiss on you. Let’s pretend you didn’t rush home to get yourself off while reliving every toe-curling moment of it. Let’s pretend you aren’t dying for more.
Before I can stop myself, I’m parking half a block from Fifth and Magnolia and digging around in the console for spare change to feed the meter.
There’s a large crowd gathered in front of the sparkling glass skyscraper. I see a ton of reporters and cameramen snapping photos and taping footage. Curious lunchtimers had wandered by to watch the proceedings. There’s even a sprinkling of Renegades fans wearing Reyes’s new jersey, which has been selling like gangbusters.
I spot Dustin Leary, the Gazette’s new business reporter, camped out near the front with one of our photographers.
I ease my way through the tight throng, murmuring apologies. As I get closer to the front, I can see Reyes standing at a podium. His deep, delicious baritone pours over the crowd as he discusses SACRET’s goals and objectives. Standing directly behind him are the mayor, the Renegades owner, Brigham Malone, and several business associates and supporters.
Beaming like a proud uncle, Brigham postures for the cameras, milking the exposure for all it’s worth.
Reaching my coworker’s side, I say cheerfully, “Hey, Dustin.”
“Emerson.” He looks surprised to see me, his boyish face flushing as he lowers his recorder. Fresh out of college, he’d been assigned the ribbon-cutting ceremony while our senior business reporter is on vacation.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks a little suspiciously.
“Just thought I’d stop by and see how things are going,” I say, smiling at the photographer standing on the other side of Dustin. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t sent here to check up on you.”
“That’s a relief.” He grins sheepishly, the tips of his ears reddening before he turns his head to listen to what Reyes is saying. “I’ve been trying to score an interview with this guy for the past two days. It’s damn near impossible to get through to him.”
“He doesn’t really do a lot of interviews,” I explain, watching Reyes and trying not to be distracted by the memory of those full, sexy lips dominating mine. “He prefers to let his public relations people handle media requests. But if you ever do get an interview with him, make sure you stay focused on the association and not his personal accomplishments. The work they do is very important to him, and that’s what he wants to talk about. So you can bring up football for context, but don’t dwell on it. Mention it once or twice and move on.”
Dustin eyes me with a little bit of awe. “How do you know all that?”
“Reporter’s instinct.” I smile innocently. “Didn’t they teach you that in Journalism 101?”
“Apparently not,” he mumbles.
I just chuckle.
We stand there listening to Reyes for a few minutes. He’s a compelling speaker, holding the audience totally captive.
In the middle of describing the association’s research partnerships, he looks over the crowd and finds me, his eyes locking onto my face like a big jungle cat’s.
My breath catches in my throat. I can’t tell if he’s surprised or pleased to see me.
As his gaze lingers on mine, a faint smile curves his lips.
I swallow, feeling my palms grow moist.
Without breaking the flow of his speech, he slides his eyes away, leaving me weak and tingling.
“Did you see that?” Dustin exclaims, staring at me in disbelief. “He looked right at you and smiled!”
“Did he?” I feign nonchalance. “I didn’t notice.”
Reyes finishes his speech to loud, appreciative applause. Flanked by his uncle and the mayor, he dramatically raises a pair of large scissors and cuts the ceremonial ribbon. Cameras flash as the crowd erupts with cheers and whistles.
While he shakes hands and poses for pictures, I glance around to find a pair of blue eyes watching me. They belong to Braxton Malone, who stands nearby gazing at me with an almost hopeful expression.
I smile politely before returning my attention to Dustin.
“Do you think I should try calling his office again?” he asks nervously.
“You could, but I’ve got an even better idea. Since you’re here, why not go over there and talk to him?”
Dustin looks uncertain. “Right now?”
“Yes, now. You’re a reporter, Dustin. Interviewing people is a big part of the job.”
“Yeah, I know.” But he doesn’t move, watching as braver reporters swarm Reyes.
“Don’t worry, Dustin. He won’t bite, I promise.” I start backing away. “Good luck.”
“Where are you going?” he asks anxiously.
“To the office. I have an article to write. You got this.” I give him a reassuring smile, then turn and start heading to my car.
“Miss Sartori?” a voice calls out.
I glance over my shoulder, surprised to see Braxton Malone approaching me with a shy smile.
He didn’t inherit the dark good looks of the other Malone men. His features are clean-cut and fair like his mother’s. His hair is the color of sun-bleached wheat and neatly combed back from his face. He’s tall, like the others, but without the muscular build, more on the rangy side. But he’s cute in a preppy way, and those deep blue eyes don’t hurt either.
I wait patiently as he catches up to me.
“Hello.” His voice is smooth and refined. “You’re Emerson Sartori, aren’t you?”
“You got me.” I smile quizzically. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, nothing exactly,” he says sheepishly. “I’m a huge fan of yours, so I just wanted to come over and introduce myself. My name is—”
“Braxton Malone. I know who you are. You’re the U.S. attorney’s son.” I laugh at his pained grimace. “I’m sorry. I guess you get tired of hearing that.”
“Sometimes,” he admits. “But I suppose it comes with the territory.”
“Afraid so,” I say with a rueful grin.
He smiles at me. “I’ve seen you on television. You’re very knowledgeable about sports. It’s impressive, especially for a wom—” He breaks off, catching himself just before he completes the sexist remark. “You and your, uh, co-host seem to have good onscreen chemistry.”
I almost laugh outright. “Chemistry . . .” Yeah, like a chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong and exploding in your face! “Yes, I suppose that’s an accurate observation. So you’re into sports, Braxton?”
“Well . . .” he hedges, his elegant hands fidgeting nervously. “I spend a lot of time in court or preparing for court. So I don’t have too much free time. But I—”
“I see you two have finally met,” drawls a deep voice.
We look around to see Reyes sauntering toward us with a sardonic expression.
When my heart somersaults, I berate myself for being such a silly schoolgirl. But it’s not entirely my fault. The man is too damn gorgeous for his own good. He’s wearing a well-cut navy suit that fits his powerful frame to perfection. His black hair, thick and l
uxuriantly wavy, just begs to be touched.
Braxton seems irritated by the intrusion. “Finally met?” he repeats, his eyes shuttling between his cousin and me. “Do you two already know each other?”
Reyes smiles, watching me intently. “Emerson and I are old friends, Braxton. We go way back. Isn’t that right, Emerson?”
I nod, fighting the hypnotic pull of his eyes.
Braxton bristles, visibly drawing himself up higher as if to match Reyes’s height. It doesn’t really work, because he’s still a good two or three inches shorter.
“I can’t say I’m terribly surprised that you two are already acquainted.” His smile is brittle. “My cousin has always been popular with the ladies. Isn’t that right, Reyes?”
Reyes tsk-tsks him. “Now, now, Braxton. That’s not a good look.”
Braxton’s eyes narrow. “What?”
“Jealousy. By the way, your father wants to introduce you to someone, so you’d better run along. You know how General Brigs hates to be kept waiting.”
Braxton hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave me alone with Reyes. He glances over at his father, who’s shaking hands and schmoozing with potential voters.
After taking a picture with an elderly couple, Brigham looks in our direction. Something about the way he stares at me sends a sliver of unease down my spine. We’ve never met before, and he probably doesn’t even know who I am. So the hostility in his eyes seems unwarranted.
“It’s just as well,” Braxton says grudgingly. “I have to get back to the office, anyway. You’re not the only one with a business to run, Reyes.” He bows slightly to me. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Sartori. I certainly hope this won’t be the last time.”
His gesture is so formal that I almost curtsy. “It’s always an honor to meet a fan,” I say with a gracious smile.
His eyes flare in appreciation. When he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, Reyes’s jaw muscles flex.
“Cousin.” Braxton gives him a stiff nod before turning and walking away.
“Well,” I murmur, staring after him. “That was interesting.”
“What?” Reyes grumbles.
“He said he was a huge fan. Funny, I never pictured Braxton being interested in sports.”
“Maybe he’s only interested in you,” Reyes says darkly.
I look at him and grin wryly. “I see there’s still no love lost between you two. I remember the way you used to come back from Piedmont Bay complaining about your annoyingly uptight cousin. He was the bane of your existence.”
“Some things never change.” Reyes twines a lock of my ponytailed hair around his finger, gazing into my eyes as he murmurs, “You should rethink this.”
“Rethink what?” I half whisper, resisting the crazy urge to lay my cheek in the curve of his big palm.
“Tying up all this beautiful hair. It’s fucking criminal.”
“Except it’s not.” Breathe, Emerson. Take deep, easy breaths and pretend that his eyes aren’t liquefying your bones. “Anyway, you see that guy I was standing with? The one who’s staring at us right now?”
“Nervous-looking kid with the old-school crew cut?”
I grin. “His name’s Dustin Leary. He works with me at the Gazette, and he’s been trying to set up an interview with you. So how about it? Wanna cut the kid some slack or what?”
Reyes lowers his gaze for a moment, his long black lashes sweeping down with the motion. When he lifts them again, there’s a calculating gleam in his eyes.
“Okay,” he agrees.
I’m suspicious. “You’ll do it?”
“Sure. On one condition.” His eyes stay focused on mine. “Have dinner with me on Saturday.”
My pulse stutters even as I groan, “C’mon, Reyes. We just had dinner together. Besides, I’m not in the mood for snooty maître d’s and—”
“At my house,” he interrupts. “I’ll cook for you.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “You’ll do what? I didn’t even know you could boil water.”
His lips twitch. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
So true, I think sadly.
“So what’s it gonna be?” he drawls.
I waver, unable to deny that I want to spend more time with him. A thousand nights wouldn’t be enough.
“How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?” I challenge.
He chuckles softly before turning to look at Dustin, who’s still watching us like a hopeful puppy.
His eyes bulge when Reyes mimes lifting a phone to his ear and mouths Call me.
Dustin beams and gives an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Reyes turns back to me, one eyebrow cocked. “Now what were you saying?”
I bite my bottom lip. “I don’t know, Reyes—”
“A deal’s a deal, Em. Look, I have to tie up some loose ends here before I head out of town for a few days. I’ll send a car for you on Saturday at six.” Without waiting for my response, he turns and walks back toward the building, unbuttoning his suit jacket.
I watch him go, admiring the way his long, powerful legs propel him forward with unerring purpose.
It suddenly occurs to me that I didn’t give him my address. I open my mouth to call out to him, then decide against it.
He’ll find me, I think as I head for my car.
He always does.
Chapter Nine
EMERSON
I can’t function on saturday.
From the moment I wake up, all I can think about is my upcoming date with Reyes. I can’t deny that I’m excited about spending an entire evening alone with him. No gushing waitresses, no staring strangers, no old acquaintances to interrupt.
Just him and me in the privacy of his home.
As the evening approaches, I find myself vacillating between breathless anticipation and nervous dread.
At three o’clock, I abandon work to get ready. After showering and washing my hair, I stand in my closet for almost an hour trying to decide what to wear.
By five o’clock I’ve changed four times. Four. Freaking. Times.
Scolding myself for behaving like an insecure teenager, I finally settle on a slinky blue sundress, the color setting off my creamy skin and reddish auburn hair. I pair the dress with strappy high-heeled sandals I’ve only worn once.
I’ve always been a tomboy, so I was never big on wearing cosmetics. Being on television forces me to tolerate having tons of makeup caked onto my face for lighting purposes. When I’m not on camera, I prefer a more natural look. A little mascara, blush and lip gloss goes a long way.
After much deliberation, I decide to wear my hair down. As I appraise the shiny waves falling around my bare shoulders, I tell myself that my decision has nothing to do with Reyes’s comment on Wednesday.
I tell myself that. Doesn’t mean I buy it.
When my phone rings at five-thirty, I nearly jump out of my skin. Maybe he’s calling to cancel. Would that be good or bad?
I walk over to the nightstand and pick up my phone. I’m undeniably relieved to see Zoe’s number on the screen.
I hit the answer button. “Missing me already?”
“Of course.” She sighs dramatically. “This couple stuff is so overrated.”
“Hey!” Liam protests in the background. “I’m sitting right here!”
Zoe and I laugh. She left early that morning to spend the day with Liam. They both travel a lot for work, so they try to make up for lost time between business trips.
“What’ve you guys been up to?” I smirk. “Or do I even want to know?”
Zoe laughs. “Believe it or not, we didn’t spend the whole day screwing like rabbits. We went to breakfast at the Biltmore Estate and had a couple’s spa treatment, which was amazing.”
I whistle appreciatively. “Nice.”
“Totally.” I can hear the pleasure in her voice, which makes me smile. “After that we went to the park, strolled around and took a few rides on the Ferris wheel. And now we’re h
eading back to Liam’s to change for dinner. He made reservations at some fancy-schmancy restaurant. If the food’s good, I’m gonna spend the rest of the night showing him my gratitude.”
“Ew,” I laugh, spritzing perfume on my neck and wrists. “Didn’t need to know that.”
She cackles unabashedly. “So what’re you doing tonight? Working as usual?”
“No, for your information—” I stop abruptly.
But Zoe’s interest is piqued. “For my information what?”
“Nothing.” I still haven’t told her about my first date with Reyes, and here I am going on another one.
“Wait a minute,” she says with sudden excitement. “Do you have a date?”
I hesitate, biting my bottom lip. “Maybe.”
“Really? With who?”
I sit on the edge of my bed and close my eyes. “Reyes.”
Zoe gasps in shock. “You’re going out with Reyes Malone?”
“Um. Yeah.”
“Oh, my God!” she squeals in my ear. “That’s so awesome!”
My cheeks warm. “It’s no big deal.”
“Are you crazy? He’s your high school sweetheart and the love of your life! Of course it’s a big deal that you’re going on a date with him!”
“A big fucking deal,” Liam pipes up in the background.
I roll my eyes.
“When did he ask you out?” Zoe demands excitedly. “Did he call you?”
“No. I saw him the other day at his company’s ribbon-cutting ceremony.”
“What? You didn’t say a word about that!”
“Because I didn’t want you throwing a parade,” I say wryly. “Sorta like you’re doing right now.”
“Whatever.” She laughs. “So where’s he taking you tonight?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I hedge.
“Where?” Zoe presses.
I stare down at my freshly pedicured toenails, red and shiny. “His house.”
“His house!”
“He’s cooking dinner for me.”
“Ooh,” Zoe breathes. “Two childhood flames catching up on old times over wine and candlelight. Sounds very cozy and romantic.”
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