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I slip one hand behind her neck, gently brushing my fingertips over her dewy skin. Her fingers pressing against my cheek are like ice, and I grab her hand, tucking it against my chest. Can she feel my heart pounding against my ribs?
All too soon, we pull apart. The air is heavy, and I swallow, not wanting to break the moment.
“That was…,” I begin.
“Nice,” Penny finishes.
“Nice?” I bark out a laugh. “Is that all you’ve got? Should I be offended? For a wordsmith, surely you can come up with something better than that.” Humor has always been my fallback response to ease negative blows. It’s a natural form of self-defense when someone’s offering criticism. The grin on my face belies the dread pooling in my stomach that perhaps Penny doesn’t feel the same rush as I do. That I could keep kissing her over and over again. It was more than nice. The kiss that night at the vineyard was just a sweet prelude of something so much better. And now, I’m addicted. I want more.
Penny shrugs, brushing some fluff off the arm of the sweater. “The definition of nice is giving pleasure or satisfaction. And that was…” She sighs, leans back against the seat, and turns her head my way. “Incredibly satisfying.”
A streak of heat whooshes across my skin, and I duck my head so she can’t see that I’m blushing.Blushing!I feel like I’m fifteen again, making the move to hold hands with Sally Wardell while we watchedYou’ve Got Mail.I want to beat my chest and yell with elation. Instead, I grin like a goofball. “I’ll take that.”
Our lips find each other again when I drop Penny home. A satisfying goodbye if ever there was one. I return to Gran’s and change into some dry clothes before pouring a cup of coffee and settling at my desk. The rain continues to fall outside, and any chance of repairing the siding on the outside wall is gone, which is a blessing in disguise as I plot out a new scene.
Gran pokes her head into the living room, informing me she’s taking a nap. I nod, too engrossed in where this chapter is going to hear the rest of her words. I’m on a run of inspiration and can’t afford the distraction. The ideas flow freely, and contentment settles over me as I fall into the zone. There’s an incredible energy in this space. A sense of invincibility that surges through me, and it’s the very reason I love writing. When creativity strikes, there’s no stopping the words from pouring onto the page.
An hour later, I stand and stretch, rolling my shoulders. An email alert pops up on the screen. It’s from Piper, wanting some quotes or scenes from my new book so she can make some graphics to share on social media.Soon, Piper. Very soon.
With hands on my hips, I stare out the window. The dreary landscape can’t take the edge off the day I’ve just had or the heated kisses shared with Penny that play on repeat in my mind.
I only hope I’m not playing with fire or risk Penny discovering who I am as my real life inspiration plays out on the pages of my new book.
Penny
“Penny, we need to talk. Now. Please.” Hugh calls from the bullpen before turning and striding into his office.
I frown at Sean, who shrugs in reply. He’s just as clueless as I am about the abrupt summons to the office of our mighty leader. Unease settles in my stomach as I save the document I’m working on and make my way across the room. An old-school editor who bleeds ink, Hugh has two modes of functioning. Serious and deadly serious. From his demeanor, it doesn’t take much to figure out he’s currently in the latter mode.
Maybe he wants to chat about my piece on the Mayor’s latest event. Perhaps I didn’t give it as much coverage as he wanted. It wasn’t exactly an enthralling topic—a fundraiser for the golf course.Yawn.There are only so many synonyms one can use without sounding like a piece of fluff.
Hugh sits behind his desk, his bulk frame consuming the leather chair. His mouth is set in a grim line across his weathered face. With hands folded on the desk, he nods toward the empty chair in front of me. I frown and slowly sit down. What’s going on? Hugh and I have always had an amicable relationship. When I worked here in the early years of my career, I can’t recall being summoned into Hugh’s office like this. Except for the day I handed in my resignation and told him I was moving to LA. That seems like at eternity ago. Back then, it was a bittersweet moment. He was disappointed to see me go, but happy for the opportunity to pursue my career.
Hugh wordlessly pushes a tablet across the desk and my stomach sinks with dread as two names immediately catch my eyes.Tripp Hammond. Penelope Reilly.No. It can’t possibly be. The stone in my stomach becomes a boulder as I skim the article and allegations of infidelity leap out at me. My gaze lifts to the headline—Homewrecker Returns Home After Falling From Grace.I do a double-take at the byline.
“Maisie?” Wide-eyed, I glance up.
Hugh nods. His face is a stern mask of disapproval.
How did Maisie get all this information? I slowly reread the article, cringing as it paints me out to be the pursuant. The scarlet woman. There are even photos of Tripp’s wife and children to hammer the nail into the coffin of my career.
I push the tablet away, as though it contains an infectious disease. “I had no idea he was married, Hugh. No idea.”
“I was surprised when I read it.”
“That’s not me at all. I ended things as soon as I found out.” A child’s toy in Tripp’s car and some crushed goldfish crackers on the floor was all the evidence I needed to realize my gigantic, unforgivable mistake. I never wanted to be the other woman, and yet, I’d carried on in that role for six months with Tripp before realizing his other family existed.
Apart from Emily, I’ve told no one. We dated in secret. We reported at the same events, and were always professional, so it wasn’t surprising that we would be seen together in those situations. But at Tripp’s request, we never went public with our relationship. Something that killed me at the time, but appreciated when I discovered his duplicity. But how did Maisie find out? And why is she writing a brutal article to expose a part of my life that I’d hoped would never come to light?
Her words paint me as a home-wrecker, as though I pursued a high-profile entertainment reporter to further my career. Even though we were involved in different areas of the media, not once did I see Tripp as a means to climb the ladder. I actually did like him at one point. Now, I can’t even stand the sight of him.
This vitriolic article is why I’m not a gossip columnist. Words hurt. They can either build people up or destroy them in an instant. And the words that Maisie’s written are destroying me.
Something Clarissa said in one of our interviews flits through my mind. It was in relation to some haters back in her day.“Jealous people are only that way because you have something they think they should have. It’s a good sign that you’re doing something right, because jealous people never hate on losers.”Is Maisie jealous of me? But why?
Now that I think about it, her behavior toward me has been odd since I stepped foot back into the newsroom. To the point where she has blatantly ignored me or excluded me from conversations. Besides our acquaintance back in high school, she also briefly dated Blake. But my brother ended things very early in their relationship because Maisie ‘clung like a barnacle’. He even threatened to call the cops when she would ‘coincidentally’ turn up at the same places as him. Even to the point of being outside his house when he arrived home. I never knew what Blake saw in her to begin with. She’s so not his type. But I didn’t realize she would hold a grudge for so long and drag me into her insecurities—if that’s what this article is about.
Or perhaps it’s more that I’ve had a successful career at the LA Times before moving back home, and Maisie has been tapping away at the same desk the whole time I was advancing my career. Whatever the reason, trying to sabotage someone’s career, someone’s life, is a whole other level of revenge.
