Page 52 of Fake It For Glory

“No. I want the byline.”

He sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Be careful,” he said again.

“I will,” I said. “I’ll be okay. I can do this.”

Dalton looked me up and down in my sleek pantsuit. “Is that a new outfit?” he asked, his tone tinged with curiosity.

“Yes.”

“Looks expensive,” he commented. “Is this part of the shopping spree?”

I nodded in response, my cheeks warming slightly. “Yes.”

Dalton let out a sigh, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. “For the record, you look good. Really good. But be careful, Merida. You’re treading on some very thin ice. I think you need to pull back a little.”

I appreciated the compliment, but it sounded more like a warning. Before I could delve further into the conversation, my father called me into his office. I excused myself from Dalton and made my way to my father’s office, wondering how I would explain my recent absence. I knew he wasn’t going to be happy. This was the downside to working for your dad. He could be pissed twice as much.

My father raised an eyebrow as I entered, concern etched across his face. “Merida, where have you been?” he inquired.

I quickly closed the door. I didn’t want the entire office to hear my father yelling at me. I wanted to preserve some of my dignity.

Thinking quickly, I offered an explanation. “I wasn’t feeling well,” I replied, hoping to divert his attention.

He nodded, though his expression remained stern. “Well, you have your advice column due today,” he reminded me. I wasn’t surprised he didn’t ask if I was okay. That was not his concern. He was all about the publication. It was why he and my mother divorced. If I didn’t work for my father, I doubted we would have a relationship at all.

“Right,” I said, my mind racing. “I’ll get it done. Anything else?”

He muttered something and returned his attention to the screen. I quickly retreated to my desk. I didn’t want him to ask any additional questions. I didn’t like to lie. I was supposed to be a journalist and I knew the job required a little mistruth to get a subject to open up. So far, I had not needed to use any of my lying skills.

I sat down to put the finishing touches on my fall scents article, but the lure of my article about Jensen Loxley proved too strong to resist. It began with a simple detail, a pair of white sneakers, and soon it took on a life of its own. My creative muse kicked in, and I was determined to uncover the story behind the man who had turned my world upside down.

I couldn’t shake off the memory of Jensen’s piercing green eyes and chiseled jawline. It was as though my blank page had become a canvas, and his image was the only thing I could paint on it. I knew it was not healthy, but I couldn’t help it. I had never felt this way before.

As I typed away on my computer, I found myself lost in a sea of thoughts. I couldn’t concentrate, and my mind kept wandering back to the night with Jensen. He was so much more than the image he presented to the world. He was a lot more complicated.

I understood him. In a lot of ways, I was the same way. I hid behind my bulky clothes and he hid behind the image he created for himself. He wanted people to see him as standoffish and unapproachable because he didn’t know how to talk to them.

But with me, it was different. He had opened up to me without trying to hide behind his usual façade. And in that moment, I had seen the real Jensen. The Jensen who was vulnerable and unsure of himself. The Jensen who was not afraid to let his guard down and show me his true self.

I closed my eyes and leaned back on my chair, letting out a deep sigh. I was torn between writing what I knew was going to be a damn good article and betraying the trust Jensen had given me. It was a rock and a hard place.

Part of me wanted to make it okay to write the article because I couldn’t believe he actually liked me. He was going to be finished with me the moment the job was done. What we had wasn’t real.

But the other part of me couldn’t betray Jensen’s trust. He had opened up to me in a way he had never done before, and I couldn’t just use that vulnerability for my own gain. I had to make a decision, and soon.

For now, I would write the piece. It was fun. It felt good to exercise my creative muscles. I loved that I could write about the little things that might have seemed insignificant but actually mattered.