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“I mean, we didn’t start out getting along, but we’ve not exactly been at each other’s throats this whole time either.”
Harrison laughs, loud, quickly checks no one is looking, then slaps Ian on the shoulder.
“I’d say you have been but maybe not in the same way. Shit, I don’t know how I missed this. Umm, maybe find a better hiding place though. This one sucks.”
“Can you not tell anyone?” Ian asks before I have to.
Harrison shakes his head. “I don’t think they would believe me if I did say anything, but your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks,” I say, and Harrison leaves. Ian puts a hand on my waist again and leans in.
“Can I kiss you again?” he asks just as his phone starts to sound. “It’s my editor, one sec.”
He answers the call and points through to the next room. I don’t mind that he’s taking the call. I know how hard he’s working to prove he belongs here, writing the real sports action and not the tabloid crap. I follow a few feet behind him, trying to focus on the art, but I can’t help being drawn into his side of the conversation.
“No, I won’t!” Ian says, and I take a step closer. “You can’t be serious?”
Ian’s face is flushed, and his brow is pinched in the middle as he repeats his objections to whatever his editor is saying on the other end of the line. If only I could hear both sides. Whatever he’s saying can’t be good, though. I haven’t seen Ian like this since he called me out at the bar all those weeks back.
As more people come through to the space, we move on again, and I catch sight of the others in a group ahead. As much as I want to hear more of Ian’s conversation, I also don’t want to raise more suspicions. Ian will let me in on what it’s all about later if he wants to.
“We’re going to get lunch from the cafe here. They said a table will be ready in ten minutes. You good with that?” Harrison asks me, and I nod.
“Who’s he talking to?” Pat asks, nodding toward where Ian is pacing the room glaring.
“No idea,” I lie, and Harrison changes the subject.
“Let’s go check out the menu, boys. I already know what I’ll be having. The mother of all nachos is fire here. I can’t wait,” Harrison says, walking toward the cafe entrance.
The others follow, but not me. I pull out my phone and swipe at nothing as I linger back to check on Ian.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when he finally hangs up from his editor. He won’t meet my eye, and his face is covered in sweat.
“It’s nothing. Where did the others go?”
“They went ahead to the cafe. I heard part of that conversation. Whatever it was, was not nothing.”
“He wants me to write a story, okay?”
A sinking feeling hits my stomach.
“What kind of story?”
Ian finally looks up at me. “He got a photo of Will Davies, the club’s media manager, and Alan Beaker out at a club together. He wants my story tonight to be about them getting too friendly, if you know what I mean.”
“You can’t.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
It’s like a knife plunging into my heart.
“Yes, you fucking do. You said you were done with that shit. With gossip crap.”
He runs his hands over his head.
“You think I didn’t want to say no? I tried. He said if I don’t write this, then I don’t write for him.”
“Do you even know what happened?”
