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9
Pierce
I’ve caught her completely off guard. I wonder who Casey actually was expecting because the girl’s barely dressed. Her juicy behind peeks out of a pair of grey gym shorts, and a thin cotton tee shirt stretches over her chest. She doesn’t seem to be wearing a bra. As if she can hear my thoughts, she crosses her smooth, soft arms across her breasts before shaking her head.
“What are you doing here?” the brunette asks incredulously.
I swallow hard before answering, struggling to maintain control. Because this morning when I saw today’s copy of Two One Two, my emotions went haywire. As soon as I opened the paper, I’d instantly flipped over to Casey’s Friday column, hoping to see something. But what exactly? I don’t really know. A retraction, perhaps, or at least an apology?
Instead, it was a bunch of people asking advice on mundane topics. There was none of the fire and brimstone from last week and definitely nothing mentioning the diamond bracelet. Suddenly, I was furious all over again. After meeting me face to face, she didn’t have the decency to retract her spurious answer? What the hell?
I spent a good part of the afternoon trying to find Casey’s address. Finally, my old friend the phone book came through. Goddamn. I haven’t looked a woman up in the White Pages in at least a decade. So after I left work, I made my way to her apartment to finish the conversation we began on Tuesday.
And now she’s here. With a shocked expression, she steps backwards into her apartment.
“I want to talk about the article,” is my growl.
“We did that already.”
“Well, then why didn’t you retract it?” I demand.
“Excuse me?” She looks surprised, as if the thought hadn’t even dawned on her. That makes me even angrier. I feel my heartbeat quicken and insane heat spreads through my already-hard frame. I need her to take this seriously.
“Are you going to let me in?” I growl.
“It depends,” she says slowly, “Can you behave yourself? You kind of resemble a giant bear right now.” That gets me.
“I just want to talk about the article,” I say gruffly.
“Okay fine,” she says cautiously.
Not breaking eye contact, she steps aside and gestures for me to come inside. Her apartment is small, but cozy. There are books everywhere; mountains of cookbooks on the kitchen shelf, and a towering shelf of novels beside her television set. On the coffee table, an empty plate sits with a napkin on top. I notice an open paperback on the couch, and she sees me eyeing it. From the cover, it looks like one of those romance novels that women read at the beach, complete with a bare-chested male model on the cover. Quickly, she snatches the book up and tosses it into the shelf.
She sits down on the couch, and I can’t help but notice how utterly gorgeous this woman is out of her work clothes. Her hair is wound into a long, thick braid and her skin looks so soft and fresh without makeup. Her feet are bare, revealing a cheerful purple pedicure.
I sit next to her. It’s a small love seat, fit for only two people so her leg grazes mine, and for an instant, I can feel desire surge through my body. I shake my head. Come on, Pierce. Remember what you’re here for.
I clear my throat and look at her seriously. It’s time for business. No more BS.
“Miss Henderson, I’m going to need you to retract that article. It’s a piece of garbage and totally untrue.”
She’s not even fazed at my words. “Um, no. That’s not happening. And is that a polite way to ask, Mr. Lane?” She shoots me an arch look.
“Okay,” I say through gritted teeth. “Will you please retract what you said about me in the newspaper?”
“No. Absolutely not, Mr. Lane.”
“And why is that?”
“For starters, it’s entirely against my morals as a journalist. Why would I retract what I wrote? Because you hunted me down and demanded it? That’s not how I work, nor is it how Two One Two operates. Honestly, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking me this.”
I throw my head back in frustration. This woman is completely missing the point. Against my morals as a journalist, my ass. Aren’t reporters supposed to listen to a wide variety of sources, instead of relying on just one? This is a witch hunt.
“I don’t see why you can’t release a statement saying you’ve met me and I’m actually a decent guy,” I say through gritted teeth.
“And what exactly have you done to show that?” she asks with an arched eyebrow. There’s a pretty pink flush to her cheek that assures me she’s just as into this as I am.
“Am I not showing you now by trying to prove it to you?”
