Do I want the story? Or him?
Bad News, an all-new sexy, workplace romance from Stacy Travis, is available now!
Jack Galloway is an award-winning journalist, a star at The Examiner, and he’s got the chiseled jaw and deep blue eyes that light me on fire.
Oh, and I hate his arrogant guts.
He told my boss that I can’t hack it as a reporter. He actually said it was a mistake to hire me. But I just landed a scandalous story that will launch my career and prove him forever wrong. Yeah, it steps on Jack’s beat a little. Okay, a lot.
So our boss is making us report it together for an entire weekend. At a gorgeous oceanfront villa with sailboats and cocktails and oh…he looks good in a sport coat.
Jack brings out my insecurities. He makes me doubt my instincts. And ignites a desire in me that I haven’t felt before.
But I know he’s hiding something. And I know I’m risking more than my job by pursuing the truth.
If I have to choose, do I want the story? Or him?
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“So why the little performance for Chad?”
“Sometimes it helps to stir the pot.” The glimmer of a smile forms, like he’s playing a game of chess and just made a bold opening.
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say, which is unusual for me.
“That’s all you got?”
“Um, well, I have questions.”
“Of course, you do; you’re a reporter.”
I take a step back and stare at him, backlit by twinkle lights that cast a flattering glow on his already-beautiful face. “Are you going to answer them?”
He shrugs. “You haven’t asked anything yet. Is that how you usually go about your reporting? You just wait for the other person to answer questions you haven’t even posed?”
“Just when I thought I might like you a tiny bit, you have to ruin it, don’t you?”
His smile is a smirk now and he reaches for my hand, pulling me a little closer. “You like me? ”he asks, his voice a quiet rumble.
“I’m still deciding.”
Then he whispers, “Let me help you decide.” He leans his face an inch closer to mine but doesn’t close the gap between us. A chill runs through me as my body responds to him, betraying the logical part of my brain that says I need to focus on my job and only my job. The only clear thought I have right now is how much I want to feel his lips on mine again. But he’s still inches away, holding out, not willing to give me what I want until I meet him partway.
“I think…Chad seems like the kind of guy who needs a lot of convincing before he decides he has no chance.”
“So, for the sake of a good story…” I say, moving an inch closer but stopping before my lips meet his so he knows I’m in control of my emotions. Even though I’m not.
“…I know how important good journalism is to you,” he says. I can feel his breath like a breeze across my face. It’s hypnotizing and I struggle to keep from closing my eyes and giving in to what I want.
“I’m one hundred percent devoted to the craft.”It’s a struggle to get the words out when I can barely breathe.
“I’m happy to help however I can.”Our faces are mere inches apart and I feel pulled closer, unable to resist the magnetic force of his lips. I tip my head up and feel his lips melt into mine, pressing gently but intentionally. It’s sweet but urgent. Tongues that can’t get nearly enough, lips that want to consume. This isn’t a sweet fake-date kiss. This is a year and a half of working together and wanting to hate him but hating how much I wanted him, all tangled up in a kiss that can’t last long enough.
It’s a rough world out there, and we all sometimes need a good, romantic beach read, even if we can’t make it to the beach. I’ve spent many lazy days walking the streets of Paris and other gorgeous European cities, and if I’m doing it right, I’m bringing you a dash of romance and a vacay fantasy.
I can’t sit still, so when I’m not hiking, biking or running, I’m playing a very average game of tennis. Background music for writing undoubtedly features some U2, Lizzo, Billy Joel, Pink, Taylor Swift, and Led Zeppelin. Not necessarily in that order. And if I could only eat one food group, it would be cheese. Or wine. Or bread. Are those food groups? Whatever.
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