The Rom Con(94)

“He wants a full-time partner, and he deserves that from me after all we’ve been through,” she finishes. “And I refuse to make the same mistake twice. So this is me, breaking out of my comfort zone and making an effort to be part of his world.”

I smile to myself, doodling a heart in the margin. “You want to ‘grand gesture’ him.”

There’s a brief pause, then an embarrassed half laugh. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yeah. I suppose that’s exactly what I want to do.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” I hesitate, deliberating. “In the interest of full disclosure, I think you should know about some recent events in my life before you decide to work with me.”

“If you’re talking about what happened at the Women of the Year event, I already know about that,” she preempts me. “In fact—and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way—it’s one of the reasons I decided to call you.”

That throws me for a loop. “It is?”

“To be frank—and again, no offense—I don’t trust reporters,” she says crisply. “But I read the original story you wrote about us and it was actually quite charming. And then when I saw your name in the news, I figured if I was ever going to do this, I’d be better off taking my chances with someone who’s been through the ringer themself.”

“Ah.” Every cloud has a silver lining, I suppose. “Now I understand. Well, I can promise that I’ll only include what you’re interested in sharing, and I’ll make sure you’re happy with the final piece.” I pause, knowing I need to say the rest. I hope this isn’t a deal-breaker. “I do want to be up-front with you that I’m no longer with Siren.”

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a beat. “Well, is there somewhere else you can place the story?”

I have to smother a laugh; every outlet in the world would die for this exclusive. “That part of it won’t be a problem. And I actually have an idea for where to run it, if you’re open to something a little . . . unexpected.”

“I don’t care where it runs,” she says, resolute. “I just care that Eric sees it.”

I eye the ticket stub, making a game-changing decision of my own. “I can definitely make that happen.”



* * *





IT’S LATE AFTERNOON a couple of days later when I hit Save, then lean back in the office chair and exhale a deep breath. Finished. Well, sort of. There’s still one thing I need to do.

I make sure Gran’s settled, then tug on my peacoat and pop in my AirPods before heading out the door for a walk. I need the fortification of fresh air, for my feet to be moving while I make this next call. One I never thought I’d make. I steel myself while I wait for his receptionist to patch me through.

“Cassidy Sutton? Now there’s a name I didn’t expect to hear,” Tom booms in that signature Boston accent I’d recognize anywhere—and his voice actually sounds kind. “How the hell are ya?”

I’m a little thrown. I’m not sure what I was expecting from Jack’s best friend—contempt, tension, animosity maybe?—but it wasn’t concern.

“Hey, Tom.” I’m rather tragic and emotionally unstable, thanks for asking. “You know, I’m uh . . . I’m okay, I guess,” I stammer. “Yeah.”

“Well, that was convincing,” he deadpans.

Stellar start, Cass. I decide to skip right past the pleasantries. “I’m calling because I’ve got a business proposition for you.”

“Oh?” Now he’s the one who sounds off balance. “I’m listening.”

“I have an exclusive interview with Olivia Sherwood about her relationship with Eric Jessup that I thought Brawler might be interested in.” I wait for his reaction, but when he stays quiet, I press on. “I know it might be a little fluffy for your audience, but I figured—”

“No no,” he interrupts. “We definitely want it. And just so you know, the relationship stories are actually my favorite.”

“Oh please,” I groan, not buying it for a second. “Tom Bartlett, a closet softy?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says flippantly, then pauses. “But more importantly, stories about the sex lives of celebrities always drive our traffic through the roof.”

Of course.

“I can pay you our standard contractor rate, plus a bonus based on click-through,” he says briskly, all-business now. “Or is there a specific number you’re looking for? Whatever it is, we’ll make it work.”

“Tom, you know this isn’t about the money.”

There’s a beat of silence. “No, I didn’t imagine it was.”

“Jack’s the only reason I have any connection to Olivia to begin with, so offering it to Brawler first just felt like the right thing to do.”

He grunts a disbelieving noise, like hmph.

“I realize that may sound ironic coming from me, but I do still know what the right thing is,” I say dryly.

“No, I just meant . . . you sure there’s no other reason?”

The wind kicks up and I burrow deeper into my coat, bracing against the cold as the implication in his question becomes clear. “If you’re worried this is just another trick, I can assure you—”