“Laney Fisher,” Laney said.
“As in Delaney Fisher, Ronan Black’s new wife?”
I frowned. “How do you know that? We haven’t released anything.”
“It’s my job to know,” Jenny replied as she snagged another crudo.
“I have to ask—why does the financial section of The Globe care so much about this family’s personal lives?” Owen put in.
Jenny’s cheeks reddened, but she kept her cool. “Since its new Interim CEO’s personal life has the ability to sway the stock market.”
“Nothing’s been decided yet,” Owen said.
Jenny shrugged. “There’s a board meeting scheduled at the end of the month, isn’t there? Seems all but decided to me.”
I could feel Laney’s curious gaze land on me, and it was everything I could do to maintain a straight face. Fuck it. I was having that glass of champagne. None of the tequila counted before I signed the contract.
“How are you finding Boston, Laney?” Jenny asked, thankfully pulling that green gaze off me.
“So far, it’s nice,” Laney replied. “I only arrived today, but I’m looking forward to exploring.”
“Well, let me know if you’d like a tour guide.”
“She absolutely will not,” Owen put in. “She might be new, but Black family members do not hang out with vultures.”
Jenny chuckled. “And here I thought you were at least going to pretend to respect the free press, Owen.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “I would if there were real journalists left. Instead, this city is crawling with vultures like Ivy Ink.”
“Come on, Owen. She’s at The Herald, not The Globe. Even if we’re all the same tribe.”
“Aren’t they both owned by Roth Media, though?” Liam wondered.
Owen was too busy studying Jenny with a little too much intensity. “Why are you defending her?”
Jenny just shrugged. “She writes a little gossip column. It’s supposed to be entertaining.”
“It’s invasive clickbait that ruins people’s lives for internet traffic.”
“Or maybe it holds powerful people accountable when they’d rather hide behind PR teams and NDAs.” Jenny’s voice had suddenly sharpened. “But I suppose billionaires like it better when the press doesn’t ask uncomfortable questions, whether it’s a gossip columnist or a financial journalist, hmm?”
She and Owen bristled at each other over their drinks hard enough that I could practically see the tension between them solidify.
“Whoa,” Laney murmured.
“You said it,” Liam agreed.
Owen opened and closed his mouth several times, but, for once, my brother struggled to come up with a cutting reply. Curious.
Finally, he turned away, muttering, “I knew this was a mistake.”
Jenny, clearly having won this round, turned to Laney and me.. “I just wanted to say hello. Laney, if you’d ever be interestedin an interview, my door is wide open. Congratulations, you two.”
She walked away, leaving Owen looking like he’d just been slapped.
“Round one, Churchill,” I said.
“Owen just got beat up by a girl,” Liam agreed.
