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An inexperienced twentysomething, she’d been completely smitten with him. She’d interviewed Florida State University’s unattainable star football player for an assignment, figuring she’d never be closer to him than the six inches separating their seats in the stadium. Color her surprised when he’d asked her to dinner a week later.
She’d been equally surprised when they’d become inseparable. Well, until he left Florida and never spoke to her again. Not only had he left the state and football behind to pursue a music career, but he’d also left her. He’d burned the ships, leaving her with not so much as a life raft.
“Do you think he’ll open up to you about the DUI?” her boss asked.
Nooo idea.
“Definitely.” Presley nodded. “He’s in the process of writing and recording a new album.” One that would include a duet featuring Hannah, country music’s newest, brightest starlet. “He’s going to need the press to help spread the word about the album. He has to know he needs a makeover.”
Though not literally. She hadn’t bumped into Cash in person in forever, but she’d seen plenty of photos of him online. Yowza. He was as beautiful as she remembered. Dark, dark brown hair, golden-brown eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. A strong nose, angled jaw and a smile that could melt the panties off a nun. And that was just above the neck. Add in his height, his rounded, muscular shoulders and biceps, washboard abs and thick, strong thighs and the man was a recipe for an orgasm. In a recent photo, she’d noticed a tattoo on one of his arms. The ink hadn’t been there when they’d dated. No doubt one of many changes that had occurred since he’d dumped her.
“I’ll give you one week.” Delilah slipped her glasses onto her nose and regarded her laptop. A moment later she started typing and Presley wondered if she’d imagined the two words that sounded a lot like approval.
“Was that a...a yes?”
“Yes.” Delilah smiled, although it was a few degrees cooler than Presley’s own. “I expect a juicy reveal about the woman who inspired ‘Lightning,’ a deep dive into the bad boy of Beaumont Bay, and the saucy gossip surrounding his DUI. Do you think you can do that?”
“Of course. Absolutely.” Presley sprang out of her chair. Delilah’s requests sounded a touch invasive, but Presley knew she could write an article that was both informative and respectful. She had no interest in exacting revenge for a breakup that’d occurred eons ago. Her only goal was getting the hell out of Florida.
“And,” Delilah said before Presley could escape the office, “I expect you to email your progress to my assistant, Sandra.”
“No problem.” Presley considered saying something generic like “You can count on me” or “You won’t regret this” but decided to save the platitudes. Given her rocky past with Cash, there was a good chance Presley might fail and that Delilah would regret sending her on assignment and then realize she couldn’t count on Presley. She dismissed the thought with a flick of her hair. She’d do everything she could to ensure that didn’t happen.
Presley keyed in a text to Gavin Sutherland as she walked through the office to her desk. It read: I leave Friday.
She didn’t have to wait long for his response. Perfect. See you then.
Her stomach flopped. She was about to drive eight hours to Tennessee to interview her ex-boyfriend about the women in his past. About a recent DUI. About fame and fortune and his bad-boy ways. About why he left her.
Buried past or not, there was a small part of her that longed to know why. Partly for closure, and partly to satisfy her own curiosity. It was a big ask on top of everything else, and she knew that. If she didn’t achieve magical “closure” by the time she left, she would console herself with champagne and a first class flight straight out of Tallahassee.
Thankfully, she had the rest of the week to fortify herself for the trip. She hadn’t seen him in so long and was already feeling like the younger version of herself. The girl who’d been consumed with him...and then by him. She knew better than put herself in that precarious position again.
No, this wouldn’t be an easy assignment. But she wasn’t missing the opportunity to move up and move on. She’d delayed her dreams for far too long.
Plus, he owed her. He’d left her behind without warning or regret. He was half the reason she’d been trapped in this town to begin with. The internship options she’d considered while they’d dated were in either New York City or Tallahassee. She’d chosen the latter because Cash was in Florida. He’d had a football scholarship and the promise of a professional sports career. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Boy, had she been wrong about that.
It was her turn to selfishly focus on her dreams. The title of senior staff writer as well as a position in a Viral Pop office not located in Florida awaited her. She could travel to New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, London...or even Rome. All while keeping her seniority, and without starting over as a new hire at another company. If she loved it, there’d be nothing keeping her from transferring there permanently. Her family could visit, or she could fly home for the holidays. Other than that, she was unattached.
Her heart pattered, keeping time with her fingers as she typed on the keyboard.
She could do this. She would do this.
Come Friday, she’d fire up her Jeep and drive to Beaumont Bay to pay her famous ex-boyfriend a visit. She’d draw his secrets from him the same way he’d drawn her into his arms when they’d dated. And, like he had done back then, she’d turn around, drive away and never look back.
A shadow had stretched over Cash Sutherland’s life two months ago and it didn’t seem to be receding.
He’d hit hard times before, in business and in his personal life, but he’d always sprung back. The reaction from the trolls on social media about his so-called DUI was insane. It was like they were trying to tank his career. The press would do anything for a story.
Vultures.
At the epicenter of the shitstorm was, unsurprisingly, Mags Dumond. The woman had dubbed herself the First Lady of Beaumont Bay years ago when her late husband had been mayor. The Dumond family had founded Beaumont Bay, so he supposed Mags came by the moniker honestly. After a failed attempt at fame in Nashville, Mags had moved back to the Bay, married the mayor and proceeded to host posh parties that’d become a town—and industry—tradition.
The night that would live in infamy for him was the Black & White ball-slash-fundraiser. Everyone who was anyone in the Bay—and that was nearly everyone—had been in attendance. Cash had sipped champagne while milling around in the crowd at the mansion. Around midnight his brothers had begun advancing toward the door and he’d been right behind them. Mags had stopped him, put a drink in his hand and insisted on a toast. After a final cheers, and taking a single sip of the drink he didn’t want, Cash climbed behind the wheel of his Bugatti Chiron.
He’d felt sober when he happened upon the random sobriety checkpoint in the short jaunt from Mags’s hilltop mansion to his countryside house. But according to the officer who pulled him over, Cash had been one-tenth of a point over the legal limit.
