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“Whoring yourself out now, Callie? Since I know he didn’t bring you as a date.”
Jonah’s jaw flexes. His eyes are black pools of rage. My pulse speeds, and I turn pleading eyes on Jonah.
“Callie is the head of media for Kings Lane. She’s here to make connections. And you are?” He frowns faintly, looking at Eric with bored eyes. I could kiss Jonah at that moment. Instead of losing his mind like a boyfriend would, he’s making this about me and how competent I am. He knows exactly how to make Eric eat his words.
Eric puffs up, clearly thinking he’s about to network with someone who obviously hates him. Why didn’t I see how dumb he was at the time?
“I’m a brand promoter for—”
“Hold that thought.” Jonah holds up a hand. “I see a canapé I really need to try.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I follow him numbly in the opposite direction of the canapés. He knows exactly where he’s going, because soon he’s pushing open a door into a small event space. The room is scattered with couches and extra chairs.
He turns on me with concerned eyes. “Are you okay?” His palms land on my shoulders, as if he’s checking to make sure I’m not hurt. I’m shaking slightly.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” he says.
Sweetheart. Oh god. I shut my eyes briefly.
“Would you do that? Make me the head of something? Hire me for real?”
Jonah’s expression turns thoughtful. “I would. You’re smart and dedicated. Kings Lane would be lucky to have you. If you wanted it, of course.”
“Could I still publish if I worked for you? Or would I have to give up the paper?” The words rush out of me. I have to know. I’m falling for him and he says he loves me, and oh god, the paper. Panic rises as I wait for Jonah’s response.
“Why would you need to keep publishing?” His face is carefully blank.
My heart plummets somewhere into the vicinity of my ankles. He doesn’t understand. He may never understand. Does he trust me? I’m falling for him, and if he doesn’t trust me, it’s going to break my heart.
“I love it. Could you live with that? I’d still want to publish celebrity gossip and silly things that make people smile. Serious articles too. But I like being a source of entertainment for people. I know it seems hard to understand, but there have been times in my life when I just needed something silly and fun to focus on. It’s important to me to keep doing that for others.”
He frowns. His thumbs rub absently over my shoulders, but I’m too numb to appreciate it.
“Jonah?”
“I don’t think I can.” His eyes are shadowed when he finally meets my gaze. I suck in a breath.
“You’ll never be okay with me being a reporter.”
He looks away briefly. “I don’t understand why you need to keep doing it. You could have everything you want if you’re with me. You’d never have to work again.”
Such a Jonah thing to say. “And yet, I wouldn’t have the thing I care about the most,” I murmur.
He reels back, like I’ve hit him. “You sound like my sister.”
“Well, she’s a smart one. Money doesn’t solve everything. This is my passion. I love this. It matters to people. It matters to the world. Why would you take it away from me?” My pulse is hammering in my chest. I want him to understand, but I don’t think he will. I have to try, though. I can’t end things without trying, even if I feel like this conversation is a runaway train coming dangerously close to speeding off the rails.
“I can’t, Cal.” His throat works. “There’s something you should know.” He sits down heavily on one of the sofas, his head drooping. When he finally looks at me, his gaze is bleak.
“I told you about Dylan and Annalise. But I didn’t tell you everything.” He says her name like it’s poison. “Annalise was my girlfriend at the time. I was in love with her. I was going to propose. I’d saved up for a year to get her a ring. I was so fucking stupid.” His words are bitter, and I ache to comfort him. “She was sneaking around with Dylan. He convinced her to sell photos of me to the press. Photos and videos.” He says the final word with extra emphasis. My stomach turns over.
“I’ve seen the photos. That was her? That’s awful.”
“It was. Text messages between us, mocking commentary about me and my body and things I did in bed.” His voice is hoarse and sympathy twists through me. “You want to know why I work out so much? Because of her.”
“I’m so sorry, Jonah,” I whisper. My eyes are hot and scratchy. “No one deserves that.” I put my hand on his shoulder, and his shoulders bow. It’s one of the only times I’ve seen him look broken. “I could kill her for doing that to you.”
“So you see why I can never trust reporters? Especially Page Six reporters?” His eyes are pleading with me to understand, but all I hear is him drawing parallels between me and this woman he hates.
I tense. “You think I would do that? You think I would sell nude photos of you to the Post? I would never.” I step back. “I’ve never once published anything with the intent of hurting you.”
