by Ashlee Price
“That’s not funny.” He sits beside me. “How’s Alexa?”
“Better now. Inside the room, mesmerized by her mice.”
He lets the towel fall to his shoulders. “I’m sorry I overstepped my bounds.”
“Oh, now you admit it.”
“Ingrid…”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off. “I didn’t handle it well, either, but hey, everything got resolved by that jar of seaweed moisturizer.”
I ruffle his hair.
“Hey,” he complains.
“Alexa’s happy,” I say seriously. “Isn’t that what matters?”
He nods. “She’s got us wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?”
I chuckle, continuing to flip through the channels. When I get to the news channel, I stop, seeing Damien Shore’s face on the screen.
“He’s engaged?” I ask in surprise as I read the ticker beneath his face.
Conner shrugs. “Apparently.”
“I thought he was married.”
“Divorced,” Conner corrects. “Twice.”
“I’ve finally found love,” Damien Shore says on the TV, turning to the brunette beside him, who looks at least a decade younger than him. “And I think it’s all because I’m a changed man. Being in prison gave me time to reflect on my life, and…”
I shake my head, changing the channel. “Can you believe the man?”
Conner gives another shrug. “Maybe he has changed.”
“Or maybe it’s a publicity stunt,” I say, stopping at the travel channel. “He seems too desperate to prove he’s a changed man. Besides, you don’t say you’re a changed man. You just change.”
“You know, you could interview him and find out.” Conner sits back. “It is a love story.”
“A fake love story.” I set the remote control down on the coffee table. “I’m sure I can find something else, something better.”
“What’s wrong with the ex-dog handler couple?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, eyes on the screen. “It’s not powerful enough. My instincts tell me it’s not the right story.”
“And your instincts are always right. So just keep looking.”
“Yeah. I have to. The deadline’s approaching.” I glance at the calendar on the wall. “You know, I didn’t think it would be this hard. Maybe it’s because the assignment is so vague. Like, it could be anything. Or maybe true love stories don’t really exist. That’s why there are books and movies. Maybe it’s just a wild goose chase.”
He turns to me. “If the assignment was easy, we’d all get the job.”
“I know, but I didn’t expect it to be this hard.” I sigh. “Maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe I’m not looking at this the right way.”
“Hey.” Conner places a hand on my lap. “It’s not your fault you haven’t found a story yet, okay? You’re a great journalist. The story’s elusive. That’s why you just need to look harder.”
“It’s not about looking hard enough. It’s about knowing where to look.”
“Well said.” He pats my thigh. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find your story soon.”
I take his hand off me. “I hope so.”
I glance at the calendar again. “I really hope so.”
His phone rings and he picks it off the counter. I lower the volume, trying to listen in on his conversation, but he simply nods, puts the phone down, and returns to the couch.
“That was Cassie,” he says.
My eyes grow wide. “Cassie?”
“Yes. She’s probably going to call you in a minute, too. She wants to see us all tomorrow, just to check on our progress.”
“Great.” I stand up, pouting. “Just great.”
Chapter Thirteen
Conner
“I expect nothing less than great things from you,” Cassie tells me, pulling her oversized gray leather chair forward so she can lean over her sleek black desk. “Personally, I’m betting you.”
I grin, sitting back. “Did you tell the others that, too?”
“The first, yes. The second, no. I do believe that of the four of you, you’re the one who has what it takes to pull off this job.”
“Thanks. You’re too kind, but I’m afraid I don’t agree. I believe we all have what it takes. That’s why we’re all being offered a chance at the job, right?”
She narrows her eyes at me curiously.
I know what she’s thinking. The old me would have done anything to get this job, even if it meant sleeping with her. The old me wouldn’t have cared about the others.
But that’s the old me. The new me cares, at least about one other.
“Well, if you say so.” She sits back.
“Are we done?”
Cassie nods. “You can send Ed in if he’s already here.”
I get off the chair, pick up my coat from the other chair, and head towards the door.
“Oh, one more thing,” she calls after me.
I turn around.
“I found out something about you and Ingrid.”
I tense. What exactly did she find out? That we have a child together?
“You two did work for The Dallas Times together at one point. Did you sleep with her?”
“No,” I lie. “And frankly, I don’t know how that’s significant.”
“I just wanted to make sure you don’t mix business with pleasure—I mean, personal matters. You know, no conflicts of interest.”
I nod. “I understand.”
She clasps her hands over her stomach. “Also, I don’t want you not to bring your A game just because you don’t want to hurt her feelings or something like that.”
“I’m focused, and I’m bringing my A game,” I assure her.
“Good. Like I said, I expect something great from you.”
I give another nod, about to turn around and leave, but the picture on the shelf behind Cassie catches my eye. It’s a picture of her and an older man, one who I think I’ve seen somewhere before.
“What’s wrong?” Cassie asks.
“Nothing,” I tell her, dismissing my suspicion.
For all I know, it could be anyone important. As the Deputy Chief of the News Division of a large media company, I’m sure Cassie has her connections and no shortage of photo opportunities.
“Good day,” I tell her.
Stepping outside, I find only Tiffany sitting in the hallway.
“Is Ed here yet?” I ask her.
“I don’t think he’s coming,” Tiffany says, standing up. “Maybe his leg is hurting and he’ll just call in his report.”
“I see.” I glance around. “Where’s Ingrid?”
Tiffany shrugs. “Maybe she left already.”
I’m not surprised. She looked upset earlier, after coming out of Cassie’s office. There were actual tears brimming in her eyes.
“Why are you still here?” I ask her.
“I wanted to talk to you.” She steps forward, lowering her voice. “I told Cassie I already had a story, but I lied. I don’t. I was wondering if maybe you could help me.”
I blink.
She touches my arm. “I know it’s selfish of me, and maybe it’s wrong, but you could just help me come up with some ideas, you know, point me in the right direction. After all, you are so good at this and I’m… I’m not even a journalist. I’m a blogger.”
I eye her hand. “I’m sure you know a lot of people with great love stories to share.”
“Actually, I don’t know anyone.” Tiffany shakes her head. “Most of the people I know have no luck with love. Just like me.”
She traces circles on my arm.
“We’re the same, you know. People throw themselves at us not because they love us but just because they want to feel good. So we throw them away after we’ve had our fun.” She leans over to me, whispering my ear. “But if you throw myself at me, I promise I won’t throw you away. We’ll have endless fun, and then I’ll have something to write about—our own crazy love story.”
I grab her hand. “Tiffany…”
I stop because I suddenly spot Ingrid coming out of the restroom at the end of the hall. Our eyes meet.
Shit.
“Why don’t you post something on your blog about finding a story?” I suggest before letting her hand go. “You should get plenty of ideas from your followers.”
With that, I leave her, running towards Ingrid, who’s already running away.
“Ingrid, wait!” I call after her.
She slows down but doesn’t stop walking. “What?”
“I thought you’d already left.”
“You mean you thought you and Tiffany were alone and it was a good time to whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ears.”
I shake my head. “Ingrid, it’s not like that. I…”
“Save it. I don’t care.”
I frown but drop the subject, switching to the one I originally wanted to talk to her about. “Are you okay? You looked upset earlier after talking to Cassie. What did she say?”
“I’m fine,” Ingrid answers. “Cassie didn’t say anything. I’m just disappointed in myself. I should have a few great stories to choose from by now.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I tell her. “Even Tiffany doesn’t have a story yet.”
She stops and turns to face me. “Oh, is that what you were talking about? Is she asking for your help?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“Why don’t you, then? She seemed like she was promising something nice in return.”
She continues walking.
I roll my eyes but go after her. “Ingrid…”
“Ingrid?”
I turn my head at the voice at the same time Ingrid does. A man is approaching us with long strides, his beer belly bouncing. Smiling, he takes off his cap, revealing thinning golden hair. His eyes, blue like Ingrid’s but a lighter shade, are fixed on her. Just her.
I frown.
I don’t have a clue who this man is, but I already don’t like him.
“Rick,” Ingrid greets him, making my heart sink. “What are you doing here?”
“Work,” he answers. “Which sure hasn’t been the same since you stopped reporting to the office.”
Is he flirting with her?
Ingrid shrugs. “Yeah. Well, you know, I’m busy.”
“Don’t I know all about it? Say, do you already have a story? Because if not, I have something that might interest you.” He rubs the stubble on his chin. “Scratch that. I have something that will interest you.” He gives her a nudge on the shoulder. “Between you and me, it could get you the job.”
“You’re kidding,” Ingrid tells him.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Rick grins.
“What’s it about?” she asks.
“Royalty. You know people dig love stories that involve royalty.”
“You mean real royalty?” Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow. “Here in America?”
“Vacationing and potentially staying for good,” Rick says.
“Tell me more.”
Rick waves a finger. “Nah-uh. If you want all the juicy details, you know what to do.”
Ingrid frowns. “Really? You’re going to bribe me into going on a date with you?”
“Is it working?” His grin makes me sick to my stomach.
For a moment, Ingrid falls silent, thinking—wait, she’s thinking about his proposal?—then she crosses her arms over her chest and sighs.
“Fine. Just one dinner. And I get to pick where.”
No way.
“Ingrid.” I grab her arm. “Can we talk for a sec?”
“Um, who are you?” Rick asks.
“Sorry. Where are my manners?” I offer him my hand. “Conner Blake. I’m Alexa’s…”
I pause as Ingrid glares at me.
“I’m Ingrid’s friend.”
“An old friend who’s just visiting,” Ingrid says to my dismay. “I’ll call you and let you know what time and where.”
Rick’s grin widens. “You know I’ll be waiting.”
Ingrid walks away, and I follow her. “Ingrid, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to meet a colleague for dinner and he’s going to help me with my story,” she says. “That’s all.”
My eyebrows furrow. “You’re seriously going on a date with that… that jerk?”
“Why not? You sleep with women for stories. Why can’t I go out with a guy for one?”
“Because he can’t be trusted. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
Ingrid turns to face me. “Are you jealous?”
“No.” I place my hands on my hips. “Well, yes.”
“Well, you have no reason to be. You’re not my boyfriend, and you’re definitely not my husband. You have no say in the matter.”
The words, though true, sting, and I wince.
“Are you doing this to get back at me because you think I was flirting with Tiffany?” I ask her.
Her eyes grow wide, then narrow dangerously. “How dare you suggest such a thing? What? You can do whatever you want and I can’t?”
“So you are trying to…”
“I’m trying to get the best story I can so I can get this job,” she cuts me off. “Which frankly, you haven’t been helping me to do, even though you said you would.”
Ouch.
“That’s not fair, Ingrid. You know I’ve been passing leads to you.”
“And they’re no good,” she says. “So I’m going to try this one.”
I draw a deep breath. Once Ingrid makes up her mind, there sure is no way of talking her out of it. And while that can be an admirable quality, it can also be annoying, as it is now.
“I can’t do anything to change your mind, can I?” I ask her.
Ingrid shakes her head. “My decision is made. But you can do something for me.”
“What?”
“You can babysit Alexa while I’m out with Rick. But if you’re not up to it, I can just ask—”
“Me babysit my own kid?” I interrupt her. “Of course I’ll do it. You don’t even have to ask.”
She smiles. “Thanks.”
End of discussion. She walks towards the doors and I stand there, frowning.
I have a very bad feeling about this.
Chapter Fourteen
Ingrid
I feel like throwing up, I think as I drink from my glass of water, my empty plate in front of me.
It’s not just because I’ve eaten too much trying to limit my conversation with Rick, which somehow always strays to details about his life, which I find boring, or events in my life, which I don’t want to discuss. No, it’s mostly because my date is a lecher.
For the past hour and a half, I’ve been catching Rick staring at my breasts, peeling the top of my dress and maybe even my bra with his eyes. And when he’s not trying that, he’s dropping a not-so-subtle sexual innuendo or trying to reach across the table for my hand, if not my knee under the white tablecloth.
It makes my stomach churn.
The problem is, I knew what Rick was when I agreed to go out with him. I’ve seen that gaze before, at the office. Still, I agreed to this, so I have no choice but to endure it and wait until I finally get what I came for—the details of the story he promised.
But a person can only wait so long.
“Aren’t you going to tell me about that story now?” I ask as I set down my empty glass, which a waiter promptly refills.
No alcohol for me. It might make the dinner more bearable, but it would probably give Rick the wrong idea.
“You said you’d give me the details after dinner,” I remind him.
“But dinner isn’t done yet,” Rick says, wiping his mouth with the corner of the cloth napkin. “I haven’t ordered dessert. I’ve heard they make the best chocolate cake here. Do you want some?”
I’m well aware of the fact, having chosen the bistro myself. I don’t think I can eat another bite, though. “No.”
“Don’t you like
sweet, sticky stuff?” Rick asks. “Or are you saving your appetite for something else?”
I glare at him. You wish.
“Suit yourself.” He raises his hand. “Waiter!”
I let out a breath of exasperation as Rick smilingly orders his cake.
“You better not go back on your word,” I tell him after the waiter has left.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. The story’s all here.” He takes out a small notebook from his pocket, showing it to me.
I try to swipe it from him, but he jerks it out of my reach, then tucks it back in his pocket as he waves a finger at me.
“Now, now, you have to be patient.”
I roll my eyes, swearing that if he doesn’t live up to his end of the bargain, I’ll punch him in the face. If not in the balls.
The waiter arrives and sets Rick’s chocolate cake slice in front of him. He digs into it with his fork, then shoves the fork at me.
“Open wide.”
Unable to bear his company any longer, I get out of my chair. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.”
Without waiting for him to say anything, I leave, grabbing my purse.
One of the reasons I chose this bistro was because of its restrooms; they’re detached from the rest of the restaurant. Passing through the covered walkway that winds through the fragrant herb garden, I take sanctuary there now.
Leaning on the sink, I stare at it until I don’t feel like throwing up in it. Then I lock myself in a cubicle, sitting on the toilet without really doing anything, just passing the time.
Hopefully, by the time I return, Rick will be finished with his cake and finished with his excuses.
As I stare at the cubicle door, my thoughts wander to another man—Conner. I wonder what he’s doing with Alexa right now. Whatever it is, I wish I were there with them. I wish I’d listened to him and decided not to go on this date, which is feeling more and more stupid by the second.
Still, that look on his face when he admitted he was jealous was priceless. For once, I felt a power over him, and it felt good.
At the time, it made me want to go out with Rick all the more. Now, it just seems silly. Payback—and yes, this is payback—is a bitch that haunts both the one paying and the one making him pay.
It’s too late for regret now, though.
After five minutes, I exit the cubicle and wash my hands out of habit before remembering that I haven’t done anything to warrant it. Sighing, I dry them with a paper towel. Then I take a deep breath as I walk out of the bathroom.