Earning Edie (Espinoza Boys #1)

by D. J. Jamison

  Yeah, right. Her tone told me that I better fucking worry.

  If she doesn’t ask you to close the door, you’ll be in the clear. Just be cool and act unconcerned.

  I stepped in the office.

  “Close the door, Nick.”

  Fuck.

  Tanya lined up pencils on her desk, her gaze fixed on her busy work. “I’ve heard a few interesting things about you today.”

  I dropped into a chair. “Well, I’m an interesting guy.”

  Tanya looked up with a stormy expression. “Don’t be cute with me, Nick. This is not that kind of meeting.”

  What the hell? “Okay. Sorry. I have no idea what you heard.”

  “I want you to answer some questions, and answer them truthfully. If I find out you lied to me about anything, and I mean anything, you’re out.”

  I held up my right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Do you live with your source in the graduate column?”

  “It’s not what you think—”

  “Damn it, Nick!” she exploded, coming half out of her chair and leaning forward with palms pressed to her desk sending all those neatly lined up pencils rolling. “That is a conflict of interest!”

  “Tanya, it’s not what you think,” I repeated. “I didn’t know her before I did the column.”

  Thankfully, Tanya sat back down, but the murderous expression didn’t entirely leave her face.

  “And now? ”

  “Her parents gave her a hard time after the column came out. Kicked her out. I let her move in with me as a favor because she’s saving up for college. I felt bad for the girl.”

  “Nick,” Tanya said, shaking her head. “What are we going to do if those parents come knocking at our door? What if they suggest that you wrote a she-said column because you liked some girl? Damn it. You never should have run with just the one source like that!”

  “Yeah, well all the editors slid it through! It was a good story, and I’m not the only one who got seduced by the idea of what a different take it was on graduation.”

  “Somehow, I doubt you’re the one who got seduced,” she said dryly.

  “Look—”

  “Are you sleeping with her?” she demanded.

  I flinched back. “I would not do a story just to get in some girl’s pants. Don’t you have any respect for my integrity? Damn!”

  “Answer the question.”

  I squeezed the arms of my chair in frustration. I had to hold on to my temper. My job was hanging by a thread as it was.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to sleep with her?”

  “Come on! Sean wants to sleep with half his sources. I really don’t think I need to testify about whether or not I’m attracted to this girl.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.

  She sighed and straightened the pencils she’d sent skittering across the desk. I watched, trying to think of what to say to salvage my job.

  “This is a difficult position you’ve put me in,” she said at last.

  Here it comes.

  “I understand,” I said quietly.

  “If everything you’ve told me is true—”

  “It is,” I said emphatically.

  There were a few omissions, like the fact that I’d never told Edie I was doing the story and the fact I’d conducted a covert interview at an underage party, but no way was I going to add kindling to the fire.

  “Okay. So let’s run it down. You met this girl the night you did the interview.”

  I nodded, and she continued, checking items off on her fingers. “You let her move in after the article published. You have not slept with her, and it’s been,” she glanced at her calendar, “a little over a week.” She rolled her eyes. “One week. Jesus. You’d have to be an awfully quick worker to be ahead of that schedule anyway.”

  It wasn’t that quick. I’d started sleeping with my college girlfriend Mel after only three days. I opened my mouth to correct her on the sex appeal of one Nick Espinoza, but quickly thought better of it. My mouth snapped shut.

  Tanya looked at me in surprise. “No wisecracks?”

  “I need my job.”

  She nodded. “Good. Well, if all of that is true, then we can still head this off at the pass.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got to go interview the parents. Let them tell their side, and then they won’t have any room to come at us later.”

  “They’ve got no leg to stand on,” I argued. “It’s not libel. It’s all true.”

  “Says the girl.”

  “She’s not a liar.”

  Tanya leaned over and marked her calendar for the following Sunday. “Do it, Nick. Write the article, or pack your bags.”

  I dragged a hand down my face. Edie was not going to be happy. “What’s it going to be?” Tanya prodded.

  I stood up and extended my hand. “You’ve got a deal.”

  Tanya shook my hand, looking relieved, and I walked to the door, more than ready to get out of this meeting.

  “Nick,” Tanya said, as my hand closed on the doorknob. I turned back. “Don’t do this to me again, or you’re done.”

  I nodded.

  “And don’t sleep with that girl.”

  “Ever?”

  “That a problem?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on if she ever wants to sleep with me.”

  I grinned my most charming grin. No way was I going to commit to never sleeping with Edie, though the idea seemed pretty far from reality. It was the principle of the matter.

  Tanya glanced back to the calendar. “Fine. But don’t rush it, huh? Do me that little favor, and let’s get the parents’ side printed and in the clear before you get us in more hot water.”

  “Pretty sure managing my sex life is a bad idea, Tanya.”

  Before she could argue further, I opened the door and walked out.

  EDIE

  Nick entered the apartment that evening without his usual “Honey, I’m home” greeting. I might have let that go without comment. It was always just a joke; jokes get old. But he then stomped across the apartment without a word and slung his laptop bag on the counter with a huff.

  He muttered under his breath, and I caught a couple of words: “work” and “unbelievable.”

  After playing hooky with me that morning, he’d said he had to go into the office to catch up on a couple of things. I hoped I didn’t cause him trouble by encouraging him to go to Jumpin’ For Joy with me this morning.

  He spun on his heel and looked at me, finally. I realized, with surprise, that I’d been disappointed Nick hadn’t acknowledged me yet. Which was ridiculous. I was an uninvited roommate, after all.

  He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and turned to unzip his bag.

  “Nick?” I said tentatively. “You okay?”

  His hands shot up to his hair, and he shoved them through the strands. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until his hair stood up in odd spikes, the hair gel he’d styled it with that morning still doing its best to hold everything together.

  “Oh yeah. I’m great.”

  I’m a bit of an expert in sarcasm. So, I decided that changing the subject might be best.

  “You want take-out again tonight?”

  “Who cares what I want? Or what you want, for that matter? Tanya doesn’t give a damn about that,” he grumbled.

  I stared at him, mystified. Who was this Tanya? Did he, in fact, have a girlfriend after all? The thought bothered me more than I would have expected.

  Unable to form my confusion into a logical question, I settled for, “Huh?”

  He sighed and his whole body slumped against the breakfast bar. “Nothing,” he said morosely. “Just a crappy day.”

  “What happened?”

  He took a breath, opened his mouth. But no words came out. He closed it again and shook his head.

  “You’re going to hate me again.”

  “Why would you think that?” Even though h
is words concerned me — please, Nick, don’t turn into a jerk again — I patted the cushion next to me on the couch. “Come, have a seat. Talk to Mademoiselle Edie.”

  His lips twitched. “I can’t decide if that makes you sound more like a bad fortune teller or a woman who runs a whorehouse.”

  He crossed to the couch and dropped down next to me.

  “That’s a Madame, not Mademoiselle!” I hit his arm. “Don’t ever go to France.”

  “Will I meet an untimely demise there?” he paused dramatically. “Mademoiselle Edie.”

  I giggled. “Yes. You’ll call a French girl a whore, and she’ll bludgeon you with her heel.”

  He grinned, but it faded fast. He leaned forward and grabbed a few of the takeout menus scattered over the coffee table he’d bought a few days ago. Slowly, his living room was transforming into … well, an actual living room.

  I’d like to say I’d been a good influence on Nick in matters of cleanliness, but it was more likely his messiness was rubbing off on me. Combined with the fact that it was the opposite of what Deb would want from me, I’d embraced my inner slob.

  “So, pizza or Chinese?” he asked.

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong, Mr. Messy Hair.”

  His hands flew to his hair, and I smirked at the worried frown that immediately crossed his face. I chuckled and pushed his hands down. Then, I reached forward and smoothed his hair. It slid through my fingers like silk, even with the hair gel, and I may have pet him a few extra times in an effort to memorize the sensation. I was unlikely to come up with a reason to stroke his hair again, so I made it count.

  “There,” I said, and glanced down.

  That was a mistake. Nick’s gaze connected with mine, and I felt my heart trip over itself in its haste to make it clear this was intoxicating. I was stunned at my own boldness, and jerked my gaze away.

  Before it would be impossible to deny I had a crush on Nick Espinoza, I leaned back to put some distance between us. I did not want him to know that after messing up my life with his stupid column, I liked him anyway. That was not the point to being here.

  “I screwed up your life with my column,” he said, and for a split-second I felt an irrational fear I’d spoken my thoughts. But he kept talking without noticing my reaction. “And now, I have to make the situation worse. I don’t want to do it, Edie. I honestly feel sick about it.”

  “What do you mean? Worse how?”

  He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He reached out and folded my hand into his, but he didn’t look at me.

  “My boss is making me write a follow-up column.”

  “Oh.” What did that mean, exactly? A follow-up? “Like an update on my life, you mean?”

  I really, really didn’t want that.

  He finally looked at me. “Worse,” he said miserably. “I have to let your parents tell their side of the story.”

  “Oh. Oh, God.” I pulled my hand away from him. He scooted closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured into my ear. “I don’t want to do it.”

  I jerked away from him. “Then why are you?”

  I stood up and began pacing. Nick watched me with a pained expression, and stood up too.

  “Someone told my boss you lived here. I told her we didn’t know each other before the column, and that nothing was going on between us. But it wasn’t good enough. If I don’t write this column, she’ll fire me.”

  Damn. I met his eyes, and I could see he honestly felt bad about it. That was more remorse than he’d ever shown about the first column. Maybe I’d begun to make him think about his actions, even if it didn’t help in this situation. I watched him, trying to decide if I should give him the forgiveness he wanted.

  I wouldn’t — couldn’t — ask him to choose my happiness over his job. I was living with him, as dependent on his paycheck as he was. But beyond that, it wouldn’t be right. I’d said those things about my parents; they should have the right to respond. I hated to think of their angry words in print, but there wouldn’t be many people I knew who read it. These days, my social circle was small anyway: Nick, Lily, Tequila and my boss Joy.

  “Okay,” I said quietly.

  Nick collapsed onto the couch and dropped his face into his hands. “I’m sorry.”

  This time, I sat close to him and wrapped my arm around his waist. I leaned my head on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  I felt him tense up, so I pulled away. He turned toward me, his eyes intense.

  “It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have let it get to me so much when they threatened to kill the column. I never would have acted so irresponsibly—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He sighed and slumped back against the couch. He was still wearing black slacks and a gray striped button-down. Usually he changed the second he got home. His shirt was all wrinkled, and I kind of liked seeing him look a little less than perfect.

  “They gave me eight weeks to save my column. They said I had to start writing more compelling content to prove it was worthwhile.”

  “Ah, and this started when?”

  He smiled ruefully. “I found out the day you graduated.”

  My eyes widened, and he nodded.

  “Yep. I was trying to come up with a better column topic at the last minute, and I was having total writer’s block, and that party was screaming outside my door. And then I went into the hall, and there you were.”

  I had the urge to let him off the hook in that moment. It was the first time I realized Nick wasn’t solely responsible for his bad decision that night. Management had put pressure on him, and he’d responded to it poorly. But ultimately he made the decision to do what he did, so I swallowed down the words of sympathy I wanted to extend.

  Nick, unaware of my internal struggle, continued with the story. “I just stepped out to grab a drink and distract myself a few minutes. I wasn’t making any progress, so I needed a few minutes to clear my head. But it was so crowded down there,” he mused. “When I saw you, I didn’t think, ‘There’s a story.’ I thought, ‘There’s someone else who isn’t into this party either.’ You looked like you didn’t want any company.”

  “So you decided to come talk to me?” I said, my voice tinged with disbelief.

  He chuckled. “Yup. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t try to hit on me or puke on me, and in that moment, I just wanted someone to chat with, just to get out of my own headspace. Plus, I was curious why you weren’t down there. If you were shy, or antisocial, or if someone had harassed you.” He shrugged. “Anyway, stumbling on your story was an accident.”

  He turned and made eye contact for the first time since he’d started his explanation. His gaze was intense, like he was desperate to convince me of something.

  “I didn’t set out to make you into a story, but the more I heard the more compelling it seemed. I thought it was sad your parents weren’t more supportive, and I thought your story was a message that would be meaningful to other people. I didn’t mean for it to hurt you; it honestly never occurred to me there would be so much fallout. But I never got a chance to tell you what your story really meant. I got a lot of feedback on that column, and people were moved by it, by you. You put a face on a problem that’s probably not as uncommon as we think it is.”

  I chewed on my lip a minute, thinking over his words. Was it possible my story would make an impression on a distracted parent and encourage them to pay more attention to their kid? Or maybe simply show another student out there they weren’t alone in their frustration at being overlooked? Maybe.

  “I never really thought about it that way. If we had it all to do again, and I knew the full story, I wouldn’t volunteer to be your subject. But … I’m glad there’s some good to come out of it.”

  Nick grasped my hand and squeezed gently.

  “I am sorry, you know. I didn’t really act like it when you confronted me. But I’ve had a first row seat to how it’s affected you
r life, and I wish I hadn’t made things more difficult for you.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And I really don’t want to write this follow-up with your parents. I hope you know that.”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “I understand.”

  “I feel awful. I thought about calling Tanya’s bluff, you know, just telling her she’d have to fire me. But she’d probably just get someone else to write it anyway. This way, I have some control—”

  “Nick,” I interrupted. “It’s okay. I know you don’t have a choice. I don’t expect you to give up your job.”

  “I’d deserve it, though.”

  “If I wanted you to lose your job, I could have complained to your boss. Look, I don’t really care about the article. Most people I know probably won’t read it.”

  He made a pained face at that.

  “Sorry, just being honest,” I added.

  “It’s fine. I have no right to feel bad about anything, except what a jerk I was to you when we met.” He turned to me. “You can say anything you want to me. Have at it.”

  “There’s not much else to say.” I shuddered and waved my hands in the air. “Enough of that terrible topic. Let’s talk about something else.”

  I shifted forward, and grabbed up the takeout menus. “Do you feel guilty enough to buy me dinner?” I asked and batted my eyes at him playfully.

  He grabbed the Pizza Hut menu out of my hand. “Only if I get to choose what we eat.”

  I sighed. “Order away.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Week 3

  Headline: Two sides to every story

  Byline: Nick Espinoza

  Lead-in: The Lonely Graduate column printed recently raised a lot of questions about families, and their responsibility to support each other. But, as with everything, there’s more than one side to a story. This week, I talked with Edie Mason’s parents, Paul and Debra Mason, and Sheila Staples about their perspective on Edie’s solo walk across the graduation stage …

  NICK

  As much as I’d procrastinated, the day arrived that I had to interview Edie’s parents, so I headed over to Debra and Paul Mason’s unassuming ranch home.

  I had mixed feelings as I took a long drink of iced tea and looked around Edie’s former home. On the one hand, I dreaded this interview. On the other, I looked forward to it. I didn’t want to write a story that would hurt Edie again, but I couldn’t deny I was curious as hell to get a little sneak peek into her life.