Chapter 8 #2
No, it wasn’t. I wanted a scoop. And not just against other news outlets. I wanted to scoop the police too. “What exactly are you suggesting we do with a truce? Work together?”
“That’s right. Seems like we might be real good together.”
Heat flushed my face as his eyes drifted to my lips.
We’d only shared a single kiss, but he was right.
Given the sparks that crackled when we were in the same room, we’d be incredible together.
The chemistry, mixed with our mutual dislike of one other, would ignite like fireworks. We’d probably set the sheets on fire.
Innuendo dripped from his words, but Dash wasn’t asking for sex, was he? He was asking for information. Slightly flattered that this request acknowledged my lead, I considered it. “You want me to hand over whatever I find about Amina Daylee’s murder. What’s in it for me?”
“Same. I’ll share what I find with you.”
“Including whatever you learn from your father?”
He thought about it, finally saying, “’Kay.”
Tempting. The proposition—the man—both tempting. My eyes narrowed as I studied Dash’s face. It seemed sincere. If he was lying, he was good at it, but I wasn’t going to hand over all my information on a Monday-morning whim. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“Good enough.” He stood from the desk and relief rolled over my shoulders. He’d been sitting much too close.
“Bye,” I said to his back.
Except Dash didn’t walk to the door as I’d expected. He crossed the aisle to Dad’s desk and sat in the chair. “What are you doing?”
He waved a hand at the chair. “Sitting.”
“Why are you sitting?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, Dash scanned Dad’s desk until his eyes landed on a framed photo next to a cup of pens. He picked it up, a smile spreading on his mouth. “You look different.”
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I used to work in TV.”
The picture he held was one Mom had had framed for Dad. It was of the three of us about a year ago. They’d come to Seattle for a visit—and to talk me into joining the paper and finally moving to Clifton Forge after hemming and hawing for years.
The day of the photo, they’d come to the TV station to see where I’d worked. My makeup had been heavy and my hair styled. I’d been dressed up in a navy suit, ready to go on camera.
“Huh.” Dash put the frame back and looked me up and down. “I like this better.”
“Me too.” I turned to my desk, opening a drawer for my calendar. Since his last visit, I’d made it a point to put everything in a drawer or cabinet before I left for the day. I flipped to today’s date, seeing that I needed to schedule a dentist appointment.
I’d do that after I got rid of Dash.
“Why’d you go into TV?”
I flipped a page in my planner. “You’re still here?”
Dash chuckled, angling his chair and dropping his forearms to his knees. “Until you answer the question.”
“Why? Why do you care?”
“Call it curiosity. I usually know a little more about a woman before I kiss her.”
“I find that impossible to believe.”
He dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. “Yeah. You’re right. I don’t always ask questions first. But I am today.”
“And if I answer them, you’ll leave me alone?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Scout’s honor.”
I frowned to hide the smile that threatened. Was this flirting? No surprise, he was good at it. God, he needed to leave. I didn’t feel like talking about myself, but if discussing my history was the ticket to a Dash-free office, then I’d spill.
“I went to college at Montana State in Bozeman. I majored in English because they didn’t have a journalism program. My favorite professor knew I wanted to become a journalist, so he got me an internship at the TV station. My boss at the station said I had a knack for it.”
I despised the word hypnotized, but looking back, a part of me had been spellbound by the glitz and glamour of television.
As an intern, I saw only the exciting events.
I accompanied reporters as they went into the field, armed with microphones.
I stood next to the cameramen as they filmed a crime scene with flashing blue and red police lights in the background.
I shadowed the producer for the evening news.
The evening anchor was a beautiful woman, smart and witty.
She wore designer suits and had a makeup crew to paint on her flawless face.
It had all seemed so special. So exhilarating.
In college, I’d lived with my parents, forgoing dorm life to save them money. So I hadn’t had a typical college experience. No sharing a bathroom with twenty other women. No fraternity parties or wild nights at the bars. I’d taken a heavier than normal class load and graduated a year early.
For a twenty-one-year-old who’d craved a new adventure, television was it.
“How long did you work in TV?” Dash asked.
“Too long.”
I’d given the best years of my life to that job. I’d been so desperate for excitement and to climb the ladder. I’d wanted desperately to sit in that anchor’s seat. I’d given up everything else, missing out on the chance to marry a good man and have children.
“Why’d you quit?” Dash asked.
“About five years ago, I interviewed a woman who left Seattle for Montana. She’d just won the Pulitzer for an undercover story about a mobster importing weapons.”
“Sabrina.”
“Uh . . . yes.” I blinked. I guess he’d dug a lot deeper into my history than I’d suspected. “Sabrina MacKenzie.”
“Holt now. I know her.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “She lives in Prescott. That’s where my brother lives too. Emmeline, my sister-in-law, and Sabrina are good friends.”
“Small world.”
“Especially in Montana.”
“Anyway, I interviewed Sabrina. And I was jealous,” I admitted.
“I was jealous of her story. She’d put herself out there and held nothing back.
Dad had just bought the paper and had been begging me to move here.
But I’d stayed in Seattle, holding out for a story like hers.
It never came and the years, they kept passing by.
Finally, I gave up. It was time to come home. ”
I’d wasted five years after my interview with Sabrina busting my ass in Seattle.
Every time I brought up a story idea to my producer, they’d nod and smile and tell me it was a good idea.
Then they’d assign it to someone else, normally a man.
Because I was needed on screen. I was the pretty face that came into people’s homes to tell them news, whether good or bad.
I was tired of being the pretty face.
Here at the Clifton Forge Tribune, I wasn’t going to win any awards. I wasn’t going to save countless lives by getting illegal handguns off the streets and away from children. But I could do honest work. I could tell the truth.
And if I wasn’t going to have a family, I’d have this paper. It would be my legacy instead of a family.
I wouldn’t fail at another career.
“Any other questions?” I asked, vulnerability thick in my voice. Why had I told him all of that? Why couldn’t I have just left it at “I worked in TV and now I don’t”? Instead, I’d opened up a piece of my past and splashed it all over the room for him to scrutinize.
His stare raked over my face, seeing too much. The sadness. The failure. The regret. Even my closest friends in Seattle, not that I’d had many with my work hours, didn’t know about those feelings.
“No. No more questions.” The chair’s wheels slid as he stood. He pushed it into Dad’s desk, then returned to sit on mine again.
“Good.” I bent and plucked my laptop from my tote. “I have a busy day.”
“Bryce.”
I met his gaze. “Kingston.”
“I think I prefer King,” he grumbled.
“Then go away, King. I need to get to work.”
Dash stood, moving for the door, but an impulse made me call out and stop him.
“Wait.” I needed my power back. I needed control.
So I stood from my chair, walking right into his space without hesitation.
His eyes flashed as I reached up and threaded my fingers into that hair.
It was silky, like I’d expected. With a firm grip on those thick strands, I yanked his mouth down onto mine.
He froze for a split second but then he caught up to the kiss.
His arms wrapped around my back, crushing me to his chest as his tongue pushed inside my mouth.
The taste of cinnamon exploded on my tongue as he plundered.
Not to be outdone, I made sure to meet him beat for beat, pouring everything I had into that kiss.
A weekend’s worth of frustration and longing, all delivered with sucking and licking and fisting his hair.
I gave as good as I could before ripping my lips away, placing a palm on his sternum and shoving him hard with all my might.
Dash staggered backward a foot. His lips were swollen, and we both breathed hard. Confusion was written all over his handsome face—along with lust. He longed for more.
And now, I had my power back.
“I’ll agree to the truce after I question your dad,” I said. “Set it up. I want to talk to him, tonight.”