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Exhaustion tugged at my senses as I packed up for the night. Checking my phone, I bit my lip when I noted there were no new messages, neither from Greyson nor Ghost. I dashed off a text to Greyson, apologizing for missing another night with him, but promising to see him after work tomorrow.
The city lights reflected off the wet pavement as I made my way home on autopilot. My brain tried to process the jumble of thoughts wildly bouncing between work, Greyson, and Ghost.
I couldn’t shake the image of Ghost’s pleading eyes as I left him while he was still on tour. I had no choice but to return to my demanding job at Hollywood Exposé, but his reluctance to let me go remained etched in my mind. I remembered the way he’d pulled me close and buried his face in my hair. Like he was drowning, and I was his only buoy in a sea of uncertainty. I sensed his quiet panic, the needy desperation for me to stay, that seeped through the cracks of his enigmatic facade.
But then the calls and messages had trickled off. And though I told myself he was just busy, doubt had begun to creep in. Had I misread the situation? Was I just another conquest to Ghost, a way to exorcise his demons before moving on to the next?
A sharp pang of guilt and longing pierced through my chest. Every inch of my body ached to be near him again, to feel his strong arms wrapped around me, his lips pressed against mine. But I knew he was actively working through his past traumas with his therapist; he needed space and time to heal, though it tore at my heartstrings.
As much as I tried to give him room and focus on my career, I couldn’t help but feel unsettled by our relationship, or rather, the lack thereof. We parted with a thousand promises and reassurances like most lovers tended to do, but the contact had been purely superficial since we said our difficult goodbyes. The thought gnawed at me, making me wonder if it was just emotionally easier for Ghost to ice me out of his life than to deal with the physical distance between us.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Insecurity was getting the best of me as I wondered if Ghost was with another woman even at this very minute. Speculation would only drive me mad. I needed to focus on the work in front of me, on crafting a story with depth and nuance, a glimpse into the world of Ghost Parker that managed to keep the real ghosts haunting the band members dead and buried.
I pushed away my half-eaten plate of salmon and asparagus, the stress of the day hitting me all at once. Greyson reached across the table and grasped my hand. “You’ve been working too hard again.”
His touch sent a shiver up my arm. “The YouTube piece has been a nightmare. I don’t know why my boss is so obsessed with those redneck posers.”
Greyson leaned forward, taking a sip of wine before asking, “So, was the YouTube piece the one you traveled to Tennessee for the other day?”
“Yep,” I replied with a sigh, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. My thoughts were still consumed with the story that felt dishonest and manipulative, a far cry from the journalistic integrity I’d always strived for.
Taking a deep breath, I decided to share the details of my assignment with Greyson. “The YouTube Yokels,” I began, my hands fidgeting with the fork in front of me, “they’re a family that portrays themselves as country rednecks on their channel.”
Greyson leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. “But you discovered something different about them, didn’t you?”
I nodded, a mixture of frustration and excitement bubbling within me. “Yes, I did. They’re actually rich, smart, and savvy business people. Nothing like the image they project online.”
“Interesting,” Greyson mused, swirling the wine in his glass. “So why do you think they put on this façade?”
“Maybe it’s because they know it sells,” I admitted with a sigh. “People want to see the simple, backwoods lifestyle they pretend to have, rather than the truth.”
Greyson nodded knowingly. “Fake reality sells.”
“You wouldn’t believe their setup,” I stated. “They own a huge house on tons of acreage. The house is never shown on video, but the backyard is like a hill-billy movie set. On camera, the family talks with deep country accents, wears camo and John Deere hats galore, shoots guns, rides ATVs, and distills moonshine. In reality, they’re far more sophisticated and urban. The accents and camo disappear and they drive luxury cars so expensive their viewers could only dream about.”
“Sounds like quite the story,” Greyson acknowledged, taking a sip of his wine.
“It could have been,” I replied bitterly, clenching my fists beneath the table. “If only my boss would let me tell the truth, the real story. Instead, I spent all day crafting this fake image for the redneck grifters’ publicity campaign.”
Greyson listened intently, offering silent support as I continued. “It’s just ... this is exactly the kind of thing I struggled with when I was a political reporter. It feels like I’m being stifled; that I can’t tell the stories that really matter.”
I looked away, unable to meet his gaze as I added, “And to make matters worse, Dawn has been breaking major scoops lately, even while she’s working on her big Royals in America story. I’m worried that if I don’t pull out all the stops for the Ghost Parker story, I’ll lose the upcoming promotion to her.”
“Remi,” Greyson began softly, his voice laced with genuine concern. “You’re an incredible writer and reporter. Don’t let this one setback define your entire career. You’ll have other opportunities to tell the stories you believe in. And as for the promotion, just remember that no one can take away your talent or your passion for telling the truth. No matter what happens, you’ll always have that.”
I felt a sudden urge to close the distance between us, to jump into his arms and let the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering shadows of my insecurities.
“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling tears prick at the corner of my eyes. God, I was so tired. “Your support means more to me than you know.”
“Trust yourself, Remi,” Greyson urged, his grip on my hand firm and reassuring. “You have a unique perspective and a gift for uncovering the truth. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”
Greyson squeezed my hand, his gaze searching my face with a hint of concern mingling with desire. No matter how many times we were together, that look still made my pulse race. “You need to relax. Come on, let’s go sit on the patio. I’ll give you a massage.”
“That sounds perfect.” He knew that was my favorite place. I stood and Greyson wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close as we walked outside. The cool night air was punctuated by the gentle rustling of leaves.
We settled onto a chaise lounge, Greyson sitting behind me. He arranged a soft throw blanket over us before his hands slid under my blouse, kneading the tense muscles of my shoulders and neck. I moaned softly, letting my head fall back against his chest.
“You work too hard,” Greyson murmured, his lips brushing my ear. I shivered, desire pooling low in my belly. “You need to learn to unwind. Let me take your mind off things for a while.”
