2. Harper #3
“I won’t,” I promise him, already backing out of his office so I can get the boring article over and dive into the good stuff.
As soon as I get to my desk, Jace looks up so we’re eye-to-eye.
Our sections aren’t partitioned off because Arthur’s motto is if you can’t focus in a room full of reporters, then you’ve got no business being in this profession.
He’s not wrong. We have to be quick thinkers, capable of blocking things out while our minds race to find the one breadcrumb that’s going to lead us down the right path.
We don’t get the option of peace and quiet when we’re working in the field, and being in a room with nine other intense workers is a great way to learn to block things out.
I put that into practice when I avoid Jace’s curious gaze and instead turn my computer on and then take a few minutes to water the succulent on my desk and then start in on my emails.
“You’re killing me,” he groans. “What happened?”
I quickly meet his eager brown eyes before turning back to my screen. “Why do you think something happened?”
He gives an exaggerated groan. “Don’t you dare try to bullshit me. I know you too well for that, Harper. I can tell you’re busting at the seams, dying to tell someone the juicy gossip, so spill it.”
After a few seconds of silence, he adds, “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”
This time I look at him long enough to raise a disbelieving brow that has the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“Cupcake doesn’t count,” he says. “She’s just a maltipoo. The only people she’s telling are the other dogs at her doggy daycare.”
“What about Will?” I ask. “I’m not worried about your dog spilling the beans. I could never get mad at that cute little face anyway.”
“I know. She’s the cutest thing ever. Will won’t say a word. He’s an accountant. Who’s he going to tell?”
“So you admit you’ll be telling him?” I ask.
Jace gives me a duh look, and I can’t even be mad at him because he’s still so in love with his boyfriend it’s annoying. They’ve been together two years and showing no signs of hitting the point where they can’t stand each other.
“You two are annoyingly perfect,” I tell him, making his whole face light up.
“You’ll find your man, Harps. Trust me, I had to go through a lot of assholes to find mine.”
When I snort out a laugh, it’s his turn to raise a brow. “Very mature,” he says, trying to sound stern but failing when his own laugh slips out. “Tell me the news to make up for that very rude response.”
I lean over my desk, even though there’s only a couple of others in the room and both of them are on the phone. He follows my lead and scoots in.
“Arthur gave me the DeMarco story until Steph gets back,” I whisper.
Jace’s eyes widen, and I love that there’s not a hint of jealousy in the look he’s giving me. He’s truly excited for me. He’d never want the story anyway, but still, it’s nice to have someone who just wants the best for you.
“Holy shit,” he whispers back. “This is your chance. Everyone is going to be following this case.” He straightens the picture of Cupcake that he’d accidentally nudged out of place, the one where she’s dressed in a Christmas sweater and wearing a tiny set of antlers.
“Although, I’m sure Nikitin will have him back on the streets in no time. ”
“That’s the thing,” I say, my voice rising with my excitement. “He’s not representing him.”
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t know. Arthur said that’s not the story, but I think there’s something there,” I confess.
Jace knows me well enough to warn, “Stay on track, Harps. Don’t go chasing every squirrel. Although, I have to admit that is a very tempting squirrel to follow. You know I’m fully committed to Will, but Ev Nikitin is pretty damn easy on the eyes.”
“He’s a prick,” I say. “He refused to talk to me today and then told me to move because I was in his way.”
Jace laughs. “Stick to DeMarco. Get your name on the front page before you have to hand it over to Steph and forget about sexy defense lawyers who are basically the scum of the earth anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, turning back to my screen so I can pull up a blank page. “I need to get this city council thing done first, and then I’ll focus on DeMarco and ignore the good-looking but infuriating squirrel.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, making me grin. “We want you to come over for supper again soon, so let me know when you can fit that in. I’ve perfected a lasagna recipe that’s as close to being orgasmic as food can get.”
I grin and start typing while I say, “Sounds great. A near orgasm is the closest I’ve come to one in a long time.”
He gives me a pitiful look. “That is so sad, Harps. At least you have a dog now. Life is always better with a dog, even if it still is a very sad celibate one.”
“Thanks, Jace.”
He laughs at my tone while I get back to work.
I race through the boring article until I’m convinced I’ve written it as well as I can.
I may not be crazy about the topic, but it’s my name that’s going to be written beneath it and my pride won’t let me deliver anything less than my best. I send it to our editor and then grab my bottle of water and take a long drink.
Jace left an hour ago, and there’s only one person left in the office when I get my bag and leave.
I think about the DeMarco case on the way to my apartment, but as soon as I unlock the door and step in, my focus immediately becomes centered around the long-legged dog who’s sprawled on the couch.
He lifts his head to look at me, and then very slowly makes his way over to me.
I’d assumed greyhounds would be super hyper and active, but Watson is the laziest dog I’ve ever been around.
“You do know you’re the fastest dog in the world, right?
” I ask him before I kiss his dark head and give him a good pet.
He licks my cheek and then follows me to his food dish so I can get his supper ready.
The rescue group I adopted him from said he was a retired racer.
I guess Watson decided his running days were over.
“I don’t blame you,” I tell him, setting his full dish down so he can eat.
“I wouldn’t run if I didn’t have to either.
I would give anything to have your long, thin legs, though,” I say, patting his narrow butt when I walk past him to get a meal from the freezer.
It’s not the healthiest, but it is the easiest.
We eat together, and when he’s done, I grab his leash so I can take him for his nightly walk.
My building is on a side street, and when I lead Watson down the sidewalk, he trots happily along beside me, occasionally stopping to sniff one of the trees that line the street before deciding on the perfect one to relieve himself.
While he does his business, I think about the murder case I’m now covering.
My mind starts making lists of everything I need to do, the questions I want answers to, and the best way to go about getting them, but even with all that, Ev keeps popping into my thoughts.
It’s going to drive me crazy, and I decide the only way to put an end to it is to get some sort of resolution.
When I get to the dog park, I unleash Watson so he can play and promise myself that I’ll reach out to the infamous lawyer one more time.
One more time and then I’ll let it go. I would’ve asked him why he wasn’t representing DeMarco this morning when I’d seen him if I’d known, but I hadn’t, and it’s driving me crazy.
Arthur is wrong, though. I’m not going to get side-tracked by this.
I just want to ask my question, get an answer, and then let it go.
He can’t refuse to see me if I make an appointment.
If he does, I’ll just go the tried-and-true route of waiting by his car.
At some point he’ll have to get in it, and then I’ll ambush him.
Feeling a little bit better, I throw the ball and then sigh when Watson just watches it bounce on the grass, not even slightly interested in chasing it.