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After a pause, he says, “You’re right. It’s the journalist in me.”
I nod. “I’ll text you the details. For obvious reasons, we’ll need to meet somewhere discreet.”
Once the call is over, I walk through my apartment onto the balcony, which gives me a bracing gust of nighttime air and a view of the city.
My phone’s still in my hand. Is it too late to call? I can’t resist. After the kiss, going even a few minutes without hearing her voice is difficult. When we’re together long-term, I’ll need to get control of that. We won’t be able to be together twenty-four-seven.
Yet I miss her achingly, her sassy tone, her moans, the taste of her lips, her breath whispering across my face and her thigh in my hand, the thickness she seemedashamedof. That rocked me.
“Hello,” she says, her voice jumpy as she answers the phone.
It could be from the kiss, the suddenness of it, or the fact we didn’t discuss what it meant. Maybe she thinks I’m the thing I denied—a CEO who abuses his position.
“I arranged the meeting with Wayne Dalton. Tell me you’re free tomorrow evening.”
“I am,” she replies. “Thanks for that, Jacob. Really. The more I think about this story, the more I think something terrible is going on.”
Her tone seems withdrawn. Without her needing to say it, I sense she wants to put what happened behind us. She wants to forget the kiss, but how can I?
“We must get to the truth,” she goes on.
The truth is, she belongs to me. The truth is, she’ll never touch another man. The truth is, she’s going to use those wide, child-bearing hips for more than tempting me, but I can’t say any of this.
“You remind me of someone when you talk like that,” I say warmly.
I’m almost certain I canfeelher smile through the phone. “We’ll never disagree about that.”
“Where does that come from for you?”
“A great man once said, ‘Without the truth, we’re destined to degrade ourselves. We’re destined to become shells of the people we could be because eventually, you have to lie to yourself, not the world, and that’s the worst thing a person can do.’”
“You really enjoy quoting me to myself, don’t you?”
“Hey, it’s your fault for being so wise.”
“The only issue is I said that in an interview last year. You’ve had your website for three years.”
“How do you know that?” she asks, her voice getting louder.
Is that giddy excitement I hear in her tone? I grin, not even a little tired, despite the time and the long day. I could speak with my woman all night.
“I went through your posts,” I say. “If we’re going to be working together, I thought I should get to know you. Your first post talks about how you have a secret reason for wanting the truth so badly. You mention you might discuss it in a future post… but you never do.”
“Wow, you’ve done your research.”
She laughs lightly, but I sense no humor in it. There’s something else.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m just wondering… what did you think of it?”
“The writing was clean and clear. There were a few places for improvement. You were sixteen when you started the website, so that’s natural. I can see how sincere and dedicated you are. You’ve got what it takes to become arealjournalist, Maddie. I’m certain of it.”
“That means a lot coming from you,” she whispers. “When I look back on my sixteen-year-old writing, I always think it’s crappy.”
Three years ago, this woman was sixteen. It’s difficult to imagine that not very long ago, she was a child. She’s anything but that now. She’s a woman with a clear head and grit filling her curvy body.
“It’s not,” I say, attempting to distract myself from that line of reasoning.
