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“But you don’t wear them during the day.”
He almost responded. Almost fell into the back and forth of a discussion with her like he’d done yesterday. She had such an open, easy manner, a good skill for a reporter to use to get people to open up. But he had the Costa envelope and a night of reviewing its contents in front of him, and she made him feel ancient, eight years between her twenty-eight and his thirty-six. And love, even a watered-down, highly stylized infotainment for the masses version, wasn’t an experiment he was signing up for. Better to hit it and quit it before he wasted any more time.
“See you ‘round, Honeywell. You’ll do great with Chan.”
“Hold on, Haley. We have a date.” He’d stepped away, but she spoke loudly. “If what’s in your envelope is going to become invisible if you don’t look at it tonight, then by all means, dump me.”
He turned in time to see her tip her chin up to the ceiling, then she leveled her eyes at him, less schoolgirl than grade school teacher. No man in his right mind would dump this woman without further investigation. But this was work and she was a huge distraction and he hadn’t been interested in dating for so long now, he wouldn’t know ho
w to start. It was better that way for all concerned. Married to the job was fine with him. It had the occasional perk of attracting the right kind of female attention and that worked—no complications.
“Is it?” she said.
“Is it what?” He had no idea what she’d said, only that the tone was not to be messed with.
She quirked her head to the side and pointed at his hand. “Does that envelope you’ve got a death grip on contain proof of alien life?”
Now that would be a story he’d like to write. “Proof of something equally important, I hope.”
“And you have to look at it right now?”
“I told you, this love experiment, it’s not for me.”
“Gotta say, if Artie Chan wasn’t going off on a medical conference junket, I’d agree with you. Might’ve been the one doing the standing up. You forgot about asking me here, didn’t you?”
No point pretending otherwise. “Don’t take it personally, Click—Honeywell. You’re enterprising, you’ll work this out.”
“Before or after we explain to Phil what we’re doing here together?” She waved over Jack’s head and then dropped her voice to a confidential hush. “He didn’t know I existed before yesterday.” She laughed, making her stool swing side to side in a tiny arc. “Look at me, coming up in the world.”
She was something this Derelie Honeywell. She made him smile, though the bite of Madden’s hand on his shoulder put a stop to that.
“Is that what I think it is?” Madden’s eyes went to the envelope.
“Yeah. I’m about to go—”
“You’ve done your lovemaking experiment then?” Madden switched his gaze to Honeywell.
“Making good progress,” she said, making Jack raise a brow at her. She didn’t falter under Madden’s glare. She’d just lied for him. Farm fresh gave good urban savvy.
“Good to hear, because Haley...” Madden squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “I don’t see this love story happen, that fraud story—” he nodded toward the Costa envelope “—you’re hoping is your Pulitzer gets buried on page fifty to give your son-of-a-bitch father something new to complain about.”
“You won’t do that.” For all the clicks and ratings guerilla knitting, weird animals from the deep, gruesome murders and appalling bridezilla stories got, the Courier’s reputation as a serious newspaper still mattered.
Madden laughed. “Trying me would make my year, Haley.” He let go of Jack and left them, going into the adjoining restaurant, where he met a woman who wasn’t Potter. Man was a dog, because that white woman didn’t look like his sister, nor was she adjusting her neckline like she was a source of any story except a bedtime one.
“Your father is a son of a bitch?”
That’s what Honeywell went with? She followed up with, “Phil and Shona aren’t exclusive,” and rounded out with, “If I didn’t want this job, I’d like to see you go up against Phil.” And what do you know, urban savvy with a side of reckless endangerment.
Honeywell was almost eye-to-eye with him, sitting cross-legged on the stool. Jack took in the fact she had legs for the first time since she’d almost done him some damage. She had damn fine legs.
“Go on, get out of here. I won us some time,” she said.
Jack was back on his stool before he realized what he was doing. The envelope would wait for the half hour it took to show the woman some respect. He wouldn’t demean her by calling her Clickbait anymore. Also, he needed to eat, so it wasn’t Honeywell who was making him stay.
“They make a good burger here,” he said.
“Make mine with extra cheese and a side of fries.”
