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For Whiskey, and men like him, she knew their thoughts translated more in dollar signs than emotions.
She shoved aside flowers and ribbon and dragged her computer forward to power it on.
Phone in hand, she hit redial.
Her parents. They would be devasted. She flicked a thumb across the screen and hit end before the call could go through.
She had to tell them. Didn’t she? Or did she?
But she only had two days’ time before she had to be back in New York and her parents would be home tomorrow evening. They would want to have dinner, talk about work, try to talk her into moving back to Pinegrove and then she would be on her way and back to New York. No way she would keep this from them. But what if…
The seed of a terribly perfect idea took root.
One she wasn’t too sure Whiskey would agree with. He’d lost touch with his roots and it would take a little work—and possibly an alibi—to remind him of how wonderful this place was and what it meant to people from all over, not just to locals.
Something behind those hazel eyes told her this story didn’t end with just a few blueprints and some idea to make a flashy resort, hotel or whatever he had planned for this spot.
She palmed her phone again. A few seconds later the voice message kicked in. “Hey, Jada. It’s me. If everything goes well, I’ll have a story for you by tomorrow evening. If not, I’ll personally bring Pugly back to you and clean out my desk.”
A rustling sound came over the speaker a second before her editor piped up.
“Hey, you. So, sounds like you’re pretty sure of this.” To Jada,maybeswere akin to storm clouds. Before you stood in front of her, over the phone or not, you better be willing to take your idea to the bank.
“I am,” Genevieve reassured her. “I’m tired of high falutin big money rollers thinking they can own anything they want. There’s a story here. Okay, that’s vague, but I can either tell you about it or write it.” Ex-lover or not. This buildingwasher childhood. To have it torn away from her parents made a fire burn in her belly. One she hadn’t felt in ages.
She caught sight of the daily newspaper her dad no doubt left behind. Across the top, the headline read: Billionaire Son Set to Take Over Pinegrove.
She harrumphed. Not on her watch. Pen in hand, she scribbled in a set of devil horns on the picture that accompanied the news article.
“I think I’ll call my article: WHEN THE DEVIL CAME TO PINEGROVE.” Yeah, that fit really nice.
“Genevieve, that’s too bias and you know it.” But her editor chuckled.
“Maybe. Probably,” she somewhat agreed, after it rolled off the tongue a few times. “Okay. Okay. A little less Lucifer Morningstar and a little moreOcean’s Eleven.” No, not even that. She tapped her pen on the counter. Make thatOcean’s One. The next part of her plan would have to be done as a solo job.
“I don’t think I like the sound of that. I can practically hear those gears clinking into overdrive, Genevieve. What are you up to? I don’t have to come up there, do I?”
“No, no. Never mind, inside joke.”
“It’s good to hear the emotion back in your voice again, though. I thought we lost you there for a while.”
“Me too, Jada. Me too.”
“Before you go and do something that will probably make just as good a story as the one you are working on, a word of wisdom.”
Though her boss couldn’t see, Genevieve tucked her head and smiled, “Always appreciated.” Her humor apparent.
“Whatever you are cooking up in that brain of yours, be careful. I don’t want to have to bail you out again like I had to when you wrote that piece on the dog pounds.”
She feigned a wounded pride with a gasp of surprise. “In my defense, I found homes for every dog and cat I took.”
“Genevieve.”
She smirked and considered her artsy handiwork. “I read you loud and clear.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
Genevieve disconnected.
