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“True. True.” I sneer at him in repulsion. “Andyou wish.”
He stares me down, and his tone turns serious-slash-pissed again. “Word is, you’re poking around about Lauren Barnes’s assault, so you can publish about it in your pitiful paper. What the fuck?”
I’ve been dreading this conversation. I knew he’d come roaring in here, prepared for war, and he wouldn’t understand my reasoning for writing the details of what happened to his best friend’s fiancée.
“It’s a story worth reading,” I reluctantly answer.
Kyle’s hands move from his chest to his pockets, and he shuts up long enough for me to appreciate the sight of him in his police uniform. I’m positive they’re tailored to fit every inch of his tall, muscular stature. His hair is now brushed, and a light scruff scattered along his cheeks complements his stupidly handsome face. A small cleft rests in the center of his chin, and he has cheekbones any Real Housewife would beg their plastic surgeon for. The early morning, shirtless view of Kyle is nice, but,damn, so is this. I hate my attraction to him.
My eye-fucking assault breaks when he starts bitching again.
“It’s a desperate attempt to publish somethingscandalous.” He says the last word dramatically. “It’s bullshit. Stick to your boring stories about food drives and petty crimes and keep your mouth shut about anyone close to me.”
I wince at his insult but compose myself. “It’s not adesperateattempt. The man was running drugs in this town, harassing women, and assaulted your best friend’s fiancée and his father. They’re giving him a slap on the wrist because his family is loaded, and that’s bullshit. I’m a journalist, Kyle. Reporting these stories is my job.”
“Find another story.” His strong jaw clenches. “You publish it, and I swear to God, I will ruin your life in every way possible.”
“Are you threatening me?” I swallow hard.
He leans forward and plants his hands on my desk, the smell of teakwood and citrus taking over my space. “Consider it more than a threat. What happened between us in the past will seem like a fairy tale compared to what I’ll do. I will arrest every person you love. Every day, your mother and sister will get a visit from an officer. Do not fuck with me on this.”
I straighten my palms and flatten my hands on my desk, mirroring his stance. “Acting like a dick isn’t helping your case in getting what you want.”
He scoffs and shifts closer. His cool, minty breath brushes the side of my face. “I’m not one to beg, but I am one to make a point. Don’t act like you don’t know that I can destroy a person in one night,Fieldgain.”
I flinch. It’s known I despise my last name. I’ve never liked it because of the people I share it with, but my hatred for it increased after it was turned into a taunt—thanks to him.
Our lips are inches apart with neither of us dropping eye contact. This will result in one of three ways: one of us killing the other, us fucking each other, or me kicking him out of my office before either of the first two happens.
I pull away with the hope he’ll do the same and sit back in my chair. “Leave my office, or I’ll write a story about you.”
He remains in his stance and releases a hard laugh. “Oh, sweet Chloe, you’re smart enough to know you can’t touch me. Don’t act clueless to that fact and make sure you remember it. I will always have more power than you do in this town. Period.”
That’s not a lie.
But I hate him for pointing it out.
Kyle is Blue Beech’s golden boy and man-slut, and he’s basically royalty here.
He pulls away from my desk and takes a step back with tightness in his eyes. He knows this story will kill Lauren and Gage. “Don’t fucking run it, Chloe. Unless you want hell to pay.”
“The story goes out in two days,” I argue. “I need a front-page story.”
“Print one about fucking puppies for all I care.” He turns to leave but halts to throw me a cold smile. “And have agood day.It’s a special one, isn’t it?” He snaps his fingers and points one at me. “Shouldn’t you be in a wedding dress?” He snaps again and places his fist to his lips, letting out an amused laugh. “Oh shit, wrong girl.”
“Fuck you,” I bite out while gripping the arms of my chair.
“Word is, we’ve already done that.” He winks.
Oh, this motherfucker.
“I hate you!” I pick up the first thing I can—a stapler—and fling it his way.
Okay, not at him.
I can’t exactly assault a police officer.
It hits the wall, leaving a mark, and falls to the floor.
