22. Dani
Dani
It’s been two weeks since Vegas, and to say my life has changed would be a massive understatement.
Gavin and I are… well, I’m not sure exactly.
Dating? I don’t even know if that’s the right term.
What I do know is we’re having sex. A lot of it.
Mind-blowingly good sex. And that’s wild, because I’ve never really thought of myself as a sexual person.
With Sam, I could go weeks, sometimes months, without sex and be perfectly fine.
I honestly thought something was wrong with me because I didn’t get the appeal.
But with Gavin—everything’s different. I want him all the time.
Every time. And it wasn’t even like this when we were together in the past. Back then, it was easy and loving, sure.
Now, it’s fire and pull and ache and obsession all rolled into one.
No one knows about us, except Alexa of course. Even at work, we’re ghosts. Mainly because there’s nothing official to announce, because we’re still trying to figure out what we are. We’re not a couple yet. But I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t hope that’s exactly where we end up.
I just… need more time. Getting back together after ten years is huge.
Despite everything, there’s still this nagging feeling he’s holding something back. We agreed on total honesty if this is going to work—I trust him, but I also know him. I know the look he gets when he’s keeping a secret, and it stirs something in me I can’t ignore.
And then there’s the little voice in the back of my mind—Sam. We literally just ended things. Isn’t there some unwritten rule about waiting between relationships?
I shake my head, trying to quiet all the thoughts, because the truth is, when I’m with Gavin, all those rules feel irrelevant. The connection. The way my body and mind crave him… it’s undeniable.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, even if the world might think I’m moving too fast.
Speaking of Sam… he’s been blowing up my phone nonstop these past few weeks.
Which is hilarious, if it weren’t so irritating, considering he barely called me when we were actually together.
Funny how priorities only become obvious once it’s too late.
The whole thing just confirms I made the right call with ending things.
He took advantage of me—of us—before I had the sense to walk away.
Part of me thinks I should answer the next time he calls. Finally let him hear exactly what I’ve been holding back. Alexa says I need to, and maybe she’s right.
Would it actually change anything?
Yes, we’re over. Yes, I’m still angry. But the last thing I want is to be the voice in his head when he’s overseas, in the middle of something dangerous. If my anger followed him into that, if it distracted him for even a second and something happened… I don’t think I could live with that.
God, I hate this about myself—this instinct to protect him, even now.
As if the universe is laughing at my inner struggle, my phone vibrates on my work desk. It’s an unknown private number calling.
It can only be one person. Sam.
Fuck it. Let’s get this over with.
“Hello?” I keep my voice light.
“About damn time you answered.”
Oh, he’s angry.
I clutch my phone tighter and weave my way out of the newsroom, heading down the hall to an empty editing suite. The last thing I need is an audience for whatever this is about to turn into.
“I’ve been busy,” I say evenly. “And if you remember our last conversation, I was pretty clear we’d talk when you got back. So, I’m not sure why you’re surprised I didn’t answer.”
“I should be able to talk to my girlfriend whenever I want.”
Girlfriend?
The word is disorienting.
“Sam,” I say carefully with every ounce of restraint. “Do you not remember our call two weeks ago? We broke up.”
“D, it was a fight,” he scoffs. “We’re not broken up. You and I have too much history. I’m sorry I forgot about your little thing. It won’t happen again. So, did you win?”
Little thing.
Something in me snaps.
“And that…” My voice is suddenly ice-cold. “Is exactly why we are done. So fucking done I can’t even count the ways.”
“Dani—”
“No.” I cut him off, my pulse roaring in my ears. “This entire relationship has been about you. I told you that on our last call. But clearly, you didn’t hear a single word.”
I pace the small room. My anger keeping me going.
“If you had bothered to listen, you would know that little thing you’re talking about was an Emmy Award.” I can’t hold back the fury in my tone. “And yes. I won. I won a fucking Emmy.”
The silence on the other end is deafening.
“Do you even know what story Alexa and I broke our backs on to earn it?” I don’t wait for him to respond. “Of course you don’t.”
I keep going, years of being minimized pouring out.
“We made a massive breakthrough in the Robert Tate scandal. We did that. And if everything goes the way it should, that investigation is going to help put him away for good. So, take your little thing and shove it up your ass.”
The rush of relief hits immediately. God, why didn’t I do this sooner?
“You were… you were looking into Tate?” Sam finally says, his voice flat.
My stomach twists. “You knew that. When I was working late before you left, that was the story. I told you all about it.” I can’t help the humorless laugh. “Are you kidding me right now? Once again, if it wasn’t about you, you didn’t listen.”
“Are you still digging?”
“Oh, now you care?”
“Dani,” he snaps. “Are you still looking into Tate?”
Something about his tone feels… off.
“If more comes up, we will,” I say slowly. “But the DA is on us to reveal an anonymous source we used so they can interview them, so that’s our fight right now.”
“Are you going to?” He clears his throat. “Give them the name, I mean.”
I stop pacing. “What kind of journalist do you think I am? I would never do that. And why do you care all of a sudden?”
“Despite what you think,” he says, softer now, “I do love you, D. Always have. Always will.”
The whiplash is unreal.
I glance at the clock on the wall. Morning meeting in three minutes.
“I have to go.” The words sound steadier than I feel. “When you get back, we’ll figure out what to do about the apartment. But until then, please don’t contact me.” I pause, just long enough to mean it. “I wasn’t kidding when I said we’re done. Be safe.”
I hang up before he can respond, a breath rushing out of me that I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My hands are still shaking, but my spine feels straighter than it has in years.
I refuse to let Sam take up any more space in my head. I shove the thought of him aside, grab my notes, and head into the conference room where the rest of the team is already waiting.
The meeting unfolds exactly the way it always does—everyone pitching stories, debating angles, arguing over the order of the shows.
Gavin still sits in on the meetings, tucked into the back corner like he’s trying not to be noticed. That’s impossible though. He mostly observes, chiming in only when he feels strongly about something. And it’s a lot less hostile than that first day.
Work Gavin is an entirely different creature than home Gavin.
Work Gavin is an uptight perfectionist who knows exactly how good he is and isn’t particularly interested in pretending otherwise. He’s confident to the point of arrogance. I think he genuinely believes he’s God’s gift to broadcast journalism. Which, annoyingly, he might be.
And my body has absolutely no idea how it’s supposed to react to that version of him.
Because on one hand, when he questions my work or picks apart my ideas, I want to throw a pen straight at his head. On the other hand… my body completely betrays me.
There’s something wildly unfair about how turned on I get. Watching him take control of a room shouldn’t immediately get me wet. And it definitely shouldn’t make me want him more.
I shift in my chair, silently cursing my traitorous libido.
Ugh, and those suits. Jesus Christ. The tailored three-piece suits should be illegal. Broad shoulders, fitted waist, that damn vest hugging him just right. They’re going to be the death of me. Or at least the reason HR ends up with my name on a report.
Honestly, I’m kind of proud of myself for not dragging him into a supply closet.
Yet.
As the meeting wraps up and the team files out, Alexa and I are stopped in the hall by Mr. White.
“I need you two to come with me, please.” His tone is serious in a way that always makes me nervous.
There’s no waiting for our response. He’s already moving toward the reception area. Alexa and I share a concerned glance. Gavin is trailing behind.
“Should I be coming too, sir?” he asks.
Mr. White lifts a hand. “No. I just need them. You’ll know soon enough.”
I glance back at Gavin, offering a small nod. He returns it with one of his own, before stopping, leaving Alexa and me alone with Mr. White.
At the reception desk, a tall man in a plain sweatshirt and jeans stands there waiting, two manila envelopes in hand. He approaches us with a neutral expression.
“Danielle Russell and Alexa Li?”
“Yes?” Caution creeps into my voice despite my attempt to sound calm.
“You’ve been served.” He hands each of us an envelope. “Have a good day.”
Before we can even register what’s happening, he’s gone.
“Are you kidding me?” Alexa huffs. “Twenty bucks I know what this is about.”
We rip open the envelopes. Inside are subpoenas, directed at us, demanding our notes from the Tate story. The very notes that would lead them straight to our anonymous source.
“What the hell?” I mutter, staring at the words in disbelief. “They can’t do this. This goes directly against the Shield Law!”
I feel my pulse spike. The Shield Law is supposed to protect journalists like us from being forced to reveal our sources. The California law in particular is one of the strongest in the country.
Mr. White takes the papers from my hand, reading them over carefully. “Technically, they can issue it. The law just protects you from getting in trouble with the Court for refusing to hand over the records. Sounds like the DA is hoping you’ll just roll over and comply.”
Alexa snorts, rolling her eyes. “Clearly he hasn’t met me.”
I grab her subpoena, flipping through the papers. “How the hell did he even get a grand jury to agree to this? Any judge with half a brain will throw this out.”
Mr. White takes her papers from me as well. “You two don’t need to worry about this. I’ll get everything to the legal department. There’s no way you’re turning over your notes. Focus on your work. Do what you do best.”
I want to believe him, I really do. But despite his reassurances, a low, nagging anxiety fills my stomach.
“Thanks, Mr. White,” I say, trying to steady my voice.
“No problem. Now get back to work and put together a kick-ass show.”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “Yes, sir!”
Alexa and I head back to the newsroom, but my mind keeps going back to the subpoenas. The paper felt heavier in my hand than it should have. A reminder that even when we think we’re safe, the world is still capable of pressuring us. I shake it off, forcing myself to focus.
For now, we do our jobs. The rest… we deal with later.