“Anything else you can think of?” When Joss shook her head, I turned my attention to Harlow. “What about you?”
She hooked a thumb near the doorway. “My husband works over there, and his biggest problem is a clogged airbrush blower thingy. I work in a newsroom, so all I do is research and notes.”
That’s it. News Nine.
Oh no.
Even after Rhys had told me the redhead behind Rye’s bar was Piper’s friend, I hadn’t been able to shake that odd sense that I knew her. Which I did, hence why it’d been so odd that there was this unknown familiarity needling at me. But with her answer, I knew exactly why else she looked familiar.
She’d been on the news a few times doing more than compiling research and notes.
She’d been reporting.
And what would make a hell of a scoop?
My first undercover mission is now my last undercover mission.
There is no damage control I could run to fix this.
One of my strengths—even noted by Rhys—was my poker face. My dad had made sure that all his kids had one. Too much could be given away with a darting glance or a lip twitch. Things that might impact cases, sure, but also things that could easily put people in danger. Beyond that, the stoic ability helped appear professional, somber, and respectful.
Not to mention, some douchebags were enraged and insulted by my ability to remain unfazed and silent in the face of their tiny-dick-energy intimidation. Making them feel the embarrassment they deserved was always a plus in my book.
Despite all that carefully curated blankness, Harlow was somehow able to see the anxiety I knew I wasn’t showing.
Her hand shot out as she crossed them back and forth on top of each other. “No, no, no. I know what you’re thinking, but no. I amnotsaying a word about any of this at work.”
I wished I could trust her. Rhys did—with his life, he’d asserted.
But I wasn’t Rhys. I didn’t know any of them. I liked them fine enough, but I didn’t trust any of them.
I’d seen enough about newsrooms—okay, I’d watched enoughMurphy Brownreruns with my dad—to know how competitive they were. The better your pitches and story hooks, the more screen time you got.
She could set herself up with some primetime coverage with our story.
“I think it’s best if I go,” I said as I grudgingly set my mug down. I would have to walk away from the coffee, treats, and Rhys.
And shockingly, I wasn’t sure which was more devastating. The desserts should’ve had the easy win, but I found the idea of not working with Rhys surprisingly disappointing.
“Wait, don’t,” Harlow said, her tone and expression earnest. “I know we don’t know each other, but I would never take this story to the station.”
“Bet it could get you a coveted desk spot.”
“I don’t want a desk spot.”
If my control over my emotions wasn’t so solid, I would’ve rolled my eyes. It didn’t matter if it was a bakery, a newsroom, or a police station rather than something corporate. Everyone wanted to climb the ladder. Outdo. Surpass. Be the best of the best and make it look easy.
Not giving them my back, I stepped away as I smiled. “Thank you anyway. Congrats on the bakery.”
I was nearly to the door that led to the storefront when Harlow blurted, “Fluff pieces.”
That stopped me in my tracks.
Mostly because I had no clue what it meant.
“I want to do fluff pieces. Happy stories. Exciting news. Like the video game launch.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, giving away how hard she was studying me before haltingly tacking on, “That you were working at.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway, even though it wasn’t the complete truth.
