Page 11 of The Golden Scoop

She rolled her eyes and stuffed her hand back into the pocket of her overalls. “We’ve met before.”

We had? “I’m sorry⁠—”

“I don’t expect you to remember me.” Her tone was sharp. “You were too busy charming some dynamic girl duo to pay attention. You assumed I was staff and asked me for a drink.”

“Did I at least say please?” I’d joked, trying to lighten the mood.

She scoffed. “You would never. It’d ruin this bad-boy-slash-playboy thing you’ve got going.

“It’ll be front cover, and right now the exposure will do us good,” Jen continues. “We’ve agreed to a three-week shadow assignment, hence you needing to be on your A-game. She’ll be around almost every day. We’re talking filming, gym time, outings… If she delivers a heartfelt piece, the part’s in the bag.”

“No problem.” I’ve done this plenty of times. Never for three weeks, but I’ve stayed in character longer.

“They’re sending over that girl you know.”

I pause. “I don’t know any reporters from Golden.”

“Yes, you do. It’s that girl from the wedding.”

“Wait. You mean Emma Miller?” My confusion must show, because Jen nods. “Emma’s an editor at Golden. Why would she be writing an article?”

The real question is: Why would she willingly take a three-week assignment with the man she claims to despise the most?

“I didn’t ask.” Jen shrugs. “All they said was she’s very capable. The girl’s probably tired of being behind the scenes and used already knowing you as her leverage to get a chance to write.”

Emma has never once said she was unhappy editing. She’s never mentioned wanting to write. And don’t get me wrong, I know she’ll do great—after all, her ‘secret’ blog entries are phenomenal—but it’s strange. Sudden. Out of nowhere.

“Is that a problem?” she wonders, mistaking my silence for hesitation. “I can have them send someone else. But to be honest, I thought the less field experience she has, the lower the chance she’ll dig up something… inconvenient.”

If anyone on this planet could dig up a never-heard-before story about me, it’s Emma.

“Not at all,” I say, letting confidence coat my voice. More than okay with it, actually. Three weeks in close quarters with her? It feels like the perfect plan has fallen into my lap. “When does she start?”

“Tomorrow,” Jen states, packing up her bag. “I suggest you take the rest of the day to relax, lie outside for a while, keep the tan going. We want you looking your best. This could be the most important project of your career. I’m talking Oscar-worthy. You need the good press.”

“You don’t have to fuss. When have I ever given you any problems?”

Despite what everyone thinks, I’m actually pretty sensible when it comes to my responsibilities. Even more now it involves Emma. Jen waves me off, because she knows I’m right, and starts heading upstairs.

“Call me if you need anything!”

Heels clink across my floor until the front door shuts above me. And as soon as she’s gone, my mask drops.

Three weeks with Emma? The more I think about it, the more adrenaline starts pumping through my body. I can’t tell if it’s excitement or pure nerves. I won’t admit it to anyone, maybe not even to myself until I see her, but I’ve been waiting for a chance to show her who I really am.

At first, I thought the wedding would work. Emotions are always high at weddings, and I figured we could reset things. But being stuck there with me only seemed to make her even more annoyed. And of course, my inability to give her a compliment was the match that lit the fire.

I drop my head against the treadmill. Seriously. “Unexpected”? Not a single woman on this planet would take that nicely. There were so many other things I could’ve said to her. She looked stunning. I’d never seen her like that. I’m used to her typical overalls and worn-out Vans, that effortless, carefree style—and I was not ready for that dress.

The way it clung to every curve, with her perfectly golden waves framing her face… Even the fire in her eyes, probably wishing I’d disappear from her life, made me want her more. For the past two days, I’ve been trying to forget the way she smelled, like sweet flowers with a hint of ocean she somehow always carries.

It’s like the less interested she is, the stronger my need becomes to impress her. I hate that she thinks the worst of me, but I hate even more how much I care. I know a relationship would destroy my bad-boy image, and yet I can’t help imagining her being mine.

And maybe this is my chance. If I play my cards right and stop acting like a hormonal teenager who can’t put two sentences together, maybe I can finally earn her respect. This article can be her shining moment. I can help her get this win.

Ideally, landing the role in What We Carry would mean ‘fake Matt’ could be buried forever. But the truth is, if it comes down to it, I’d rather Emma gets what she wants. And if that’s writing? So be it. She might not realize how good she already is, but I can show her. For the first time, it’s in my hands to make her see I’m capable of giving her something real.

I open the glass sliding doors and head out to the pool. I need to cool down before I overthink my plan. I strip down to my boxers and dive into the water. It’s refreshing, exactly what I need to get my head straight. Honesty, access, cooperation… and maybe a little fun.