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“Small coffee with room for cream, thanks.”
“What do you do at the station?”
Lucy adjusted her hand-me-down tan Gucci wool blazer to cover the raised scar along her neck. God, she loathed Robbie for what he did to her. “I’m the weekday morning news producer.”
“News producer.” The barista arched an eyebrow. “I pegged you for talent. You’re dressed like an anchor.”
“Nope, just the producer.” Lucy frowned. She should be talent…but, no. Not anymore.
The barista sang under her breath as she finished the order and packed the drinks into cardboard carriers. She carefully placed them into a large paper sack and flashed a smile to Lucy. “It’s easier than trying to balance them the whole way back.”
Lucy held the heavy bag against her chest with both arms. The awkward set-up slowed her momentum on the trek back to KDVX. She hurried anyway. An elderly woman walked a small dog across the street. The sun was up and people dotted the square. Even so, Lucy’s fingers itched to grab her can of pepper spray.
In the lobby, she reached for the elevator button, careful to keep the bag balanced against her chest. A loud ping echoed through the empty room to announce the elevator. A man rushed out—slamming right into Lucy.
Scorching liquid burned her chest. She cursed and the sack slipped from her grip. It dropped between them, sending steaming coffee to splatter everywhere. She teetered on her high heels, but didn’t go down.
“I’m so sorry. Really. I’m so sorry,” the man said, over and over.
No way. Impossible.
With a groan, her eyes met William’s gaze. She wasn’t getting that medal for avoiding him after all.
“Lucy.” He glanced at her press pass that detailed her name and credentials. Shock registered on his face, and then his gaze softened.
Her body responded with goose bumps. For a moment his eyes met hers and it was as though someone pressed the pause button on reality. She was a teenager again with a crush on a boy she could never have. Except the way he looked at her made her sort of think that wasn’t true.
But guys like him didn’t go for girls like her. They went for beauty pageant winners with tiaras and sashes that read Queen of the Chicken Festival.
And she definitely didn’t go for guys like him. Playboy rich kids were not on her to-do list.
“You work here?” he asked.
“Producer.” Her coffee-splattered jacket was drenched. She yanked it off and draped it over her arm. Why was she always covered with sticky beverages when he was around?
William glanced around for something to clean up the mess.
Her blouse was ruined. Brown splotches covered both her breasts and coffee dripped from the silk. William tugged off his navy suit jacket and began patting it against her…breasts.
“William?” she asked carefully. “You’re touching my boobs.”
His hand stalled mid-wipe. “Shit.” He dropped the cloth to the ground like it was a ball of fire. “I didn’t mean?—”
His gaze rested on the dripping coffee falling from her chest.
“It’s fine,” she muttered.
They both reached for his jacket at the same time, his forehead colliding with hers. The impact knocked her backward into the puddle on the floor. A very unladylike oomph escaped her lips. Stunned, she lay still for a moment, studying the vaulted ceiling and skylights of the lobby.
“Lucy, hell.” He came into view over her.
He offered his hand to help her.
“If you keep helping me, I’m going to wind up in the hospital.” She batted him away. “Why are you here at my office?”
He ran a hand over his face. “I work here. Consumer journalist.”
Um, what? No, no…no. She’d done her research before she accepted her position at KDVX. William Covington was not listed anywhere as an employee.
