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“Why a week?” he called after her as she headed toward the door.
“Because that’s when my Stiletto story is due. That’s when I tell the true story about the woman behind the headline. And the true story?” she said quietly. “That definitely involves you. It’s up to you to figure out how.”
Riley slammed the truck door closed and walked away from the only man she’d ever loved.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A week later, Riley had her answer.
Sam wasn’t coming for her.
Did it hurt? Not really. Because Riley knew if she let herself pause for two seconds and think about it, she’d die with the pain. So instead she did what every female over the age of thirteen had learned to do as a coping mechanism. She got mad.
“You’re sure you want me to run this?” Camille asked, in that voice that clearly said you should reconsider.
Riley leaned back in her chair and examined the dark gray manicure she’d gotten at lunch. The color was edgy and a little angry. A lot like her these days.
“Positive,” Riley said. “Print it.”
“Well, at the very least I think we should disguise his name,” Camille said.
Riley frowned. “I did disguise his name. I have journalistic integrity.”
Camille’s eyebrows crept up as she slid her reading glasses on and took a look at Riley’s draft. “Samuel Condon? That will really throw your family off the scent.”
“What? Sam’s real name actually is Sam. Not Samuel. And Condon has three distinct letters from Compton.”
“You’re right,” Camille said, throwing down the story and tossing her glasses on top. “He’s practically in the witness protection program.”
Riley shrugged. “The only people who would figure it out already know.”
“Even your family?”
“Yup.”
Camille’s eyes bugged out. “Oh boy.”
“I told them at dinner last night. It wasn’t so bad, actually. My sisters weren’t even remotely surprised that we’d hooked up. My mother was delighted at first, until she realized things were over and I wasn’t going to have baby Sams. My dad asked if he needed to get his shotgun but then took a nap …”
“And your brother?”
Riley ignored the pang of guilt. “Liam couldn’t make dinner last night.”
“Which was likely why you decided last night would be a good time to spill the beans?”
Riley glanced down at her hands. “I couldn’t do that to Sam. I asked everyone else not to mention it until Sam has a chance to tell Liam himself.”
“You mean Samuel.”
Riley smiled. “Right.”
“Do you think Sam will tell Liam?”
Riley shrugged. “He won’t have a choice. It’s either come clean now or risk Liam figuring it out on his own when he reads my article.”
“What do you think Liam will do?”
Riley gave her boss a look. “Are you fishing for a dramatic follow-up to my piece?”
