Chapter 12
12
EMBER
I’m sitting at a bar on the main street of Crystal River with an open notebook in front of me and with absolutely no idea what to write on the first page. I bite down on my pen and ponder...
Connor Penmayne completely blew me off, with not even a word indicating he might even be prepared to have a single conversation with me. It’s clear he hates journalists to the bone.
Well, I need to talk to him somehow.
Waylen is expecting me to do this. Somehow. He’s expecting me to write this crazy article. He wants me to tug on Connor’s heartstrings and bring him back to the family with just my words...
I’m royally screwed, aren’t I? And all because of a billionaire’s ego.
I’m interrupted in my thoughts by some man sliding over to me. He grips a beer in one hand. He wears a baseball cap and a flannel shirt. He’s probably a decade or so older than me, in his mid-thirties. He looks older.
Boy, I can smell him before he even speaks – a lovely mixture of alcohol and body odor.
“You’re a pretty lady,” he says quietly. Just loud enough for me to hear, but not loud enough for the other patrons or bartender to eavesdrop.
I’m not even looking at him.
I’m obviously focused on my work.
I’m not indicating I’m looking for conversation in any way, and especially not one about how pretty I am.
Ugh. Not this. Not now.
I try my best sweet voice.
“I’m a little bit busy right now...”
The man ignores me and my soft rejection.
“Lemme buy you a drink,” he says, nodding at my empty wine glass.
Here we go.
“I’m okay,” I reply. “I don’t need another drink. I’m fine.”
“Let me get you one. With my own hard-earned dollars. I’m a pleasant guy.”
“No, thanks.”
The man seems perturbed by my rejection. He shakes his head. His movements are a little slow and sluggish. He’s evidently had more than one beer.
I go back to the notebook.
The man thinks about what I’ve said for a long time before finally...
“You’re uptight.”
Double ugh.
What is it with me and my seemingly uptightness? Does it really look like I’ve come from the city that badly?
I’ve had it with guys like these hitting on me. It doesn’t matter where in the world I am – it’s the same in a small town as it is in the city. There is no difference. Men like this are the same all over the planet. What he’s saying is nothing special or unusual. It’s the same old tired bullshit.
And I am sick to death of it.
And that’s probably why the following words come out of my mouth. Sure, I’m probably making a mistake here, but I’m just so over this crap.
“Do you want to know why I won’t let you buy me a drink?” I ask the guy.
“Huh? No...”
“Because you smell and I can tell that you won’t even know what to do with me if you had me,” I say.
And I immediately regret it.
I should’ve just left. I should’ve just shuffled away. Men like this don’t want their fragile self-images hurt.
The man takes a step back as if he’s been shot. I doubt he’s had a woman bite back like that before. I am worried, though. I’ve never been so bold as that before. It could land me in hot water.
“You’re an uptight bitch.”
Ah, so that’s all he can say.
I shrug and turn back to my notebook.
“Thanks for the compliment,” I mutter.
I can sense the man not knowing what to do as I begin to ignore him. I pray he doesn’t say or do another thing toward me. I don’t pay him any more attention.
Please, please, please leave me alone.
Finally, and thankfully, he staggers away. Probably to hassle some other poor woman.
And I let out a sigh of relief.
Sometimes my big mouth lands me in deep trouble. I was really starting to worry I had just dumped myself in the boiling pot there.
I gotta just focus on Connor. I gotta focus on the job I’ve been sent here to do.
I gotta write a good article. I gotta somehow reconcile this loner with his billionaire family.
I gotta somehow work impossible magic.
I sigh again and bury my face in my hands.
I know I’m a good journalist, but I also know I can’t work freaking miracles ...
My phone rings in my pocket. I slide it out and check the incoming call.
It’s my editor.
“Hello, Penelope.”
My boss sounds elated to find me alive.
“Haven’t heard from you in days, Ember! What’s going on? Are you there yet?”
“I’m here in Crystal River,” I say. “And I’ve made first contact.”
“How did that go?”
“Not pretty,” I reply.
“And? What is he like? Tell me more.”
I sigh for the hundredth time in this bar.
“I might have made first contact, but it’s going to be more difficult talking to Connor Penmayne than it is communicating with an outer-space alien species.”
“But you are going to do it?” she asks. “You’re going to get this interview?”
“You know me, Penelope. Of course I am.”
“Do you think he’ll talk back?”
“I have no choice,” I reply. “My job is on the line. There is no other way. Let me work on this man. I’m sure I’ll be able to win him over.”
“I hope so, Ember. Just be careful.”
“You know me, I’m always careful, Penelope.”
“You really aren’t, Ember. That’s what I’m so worried about.”