Secrets Of The Night: A Case of Kiss and Tell

His mouth tightened and for the first time she felt a shiver of something almost like fear running down her spine. He wasn’t a man she wanted to be at odds with.

“No comment.”

“No comment?”

“Did I stutter?” he asked flippantly.

She stood up and walked to his desk. Placing both hands on the surface of it, she leaned over toward him. “We had a deal. I more than held up my end of the bargain.”

He steepled his fingers together and stared at her over the top of them.

“You did, red. I never expected for things to … get so hot, so fast.”

“Me neither.”

He gave her a little half smile as he dropped his hands to the armrest on his chair.

“I’m not asking for much. I won’t print a direct quote from you on this in my article, but I do want to know because I think that is part of the cornerstone of who you are today.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

“Won’t is more like it. You owe me,” she said.

“Ask a different question,” he said. “I’ll allow you time to come up with one.”

“I have asked my question and I expect an answer. You didn’t bargain for any approval over the question I wanted to ask. I’m a reporter. I need the answer.”

“Reporters are only privy to certain parts of their subjects’ lives. As I’m sure you know.”

“Yes,” she said. “But certainly a mistress has more rights.”

“No,” he said. “I’m afraid she doesn’t. You only have the access that I grant you.”

She was stunned speechless. And so angry she wanted to punch him. He had tricked her. She doubted that if she went to bed with him he’d hold up his end of the bargain he’d wasted her morning trying to get her to agree to.

“Excuse me?” she said. For the first time he heard the tang of her Texas accent coming through.

“I’m not giving you carte blanche,” he said.

“I didn’t set any limits on that embrace,” she said.

“But you did,” he pointed out, remembering his strong desire to see the expanse of her creamy, freckle-covered skin.

“We’re in your office,” she said. “We can’t go too far.”

“Yes, we are,” he conceded. “But I believe you were attempting to do what I’m doing now. We are each limiting the access the other has to what they want. Trying to give away just enough to keep this going.”

She nibbled on her lower lip. “I can see where you’re coming from, but what you just said makes it almost impossible for me to trust you. I want this to work. I think that readers have an interest in you and not just your company.”

“I don’t care about the personal aspect. How would you feel if I asked you personal questions?”

“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m an open book.”

“Why are you still single?”

“I told you—I’m a workaholic. I love my work.”

“Me too,” he said. “There’s your answer.”

“Ha! That was my answer. We both know there is more to you than that.”

“And I know there is more to you than what you said. Something must have hurt you in the past to make work your sanctuary.”

He saw by the way she narrowed her eyes that he’d hit the nail on the head with that observation. “So? I’m not in the public eye.”

“Neither am I,” he said.

“That’s not true. You’re in the newspapers all the time and your sister has a cooking show … I think if we walked out on the street right now you’d be instantly recognizable. No one would know who I am. And that’s the reason why this article is so relevant.”

“I don’t believe there is any interest in me beyond gossip,” he said. “I’ve given you the answers I am going to.”

“You can be a hard-nose, can’t you?” she asked.

“And you can be a pit bull when you aren’t getting your way,” he said. “We are too similar. We both expect to win and in this situation it’s simply not going to happen.”

“I guess you think you’re the winner?” she asked.

“I intend to be,” he said.

“Well, then, there isn’t anything more to say, is there?” she said, standing up and gathering her bag.

He knew immediately that he’d made a huge mistake in how he’d worded that last bit. But she’d struck a nerve with her question. It was exactly as he’d feared when she’d asked to interview him. The information she wanted was too personal and he wasn’t about to let anyone—even someone as rocking-hot as Nichole—have that kind of access to him.

“You didn’t win,” she said, opening the office door and looking back over her shoulder at him. “I’m not giving up.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said.

She walked out, hips swaying, making him wish his secretary hadn’t knocked on the door when she had. But there was no going back and changing the past; he knew that better than most. God knew there were a lot of things he’d change.

He sat back in his office chair and wondered if their encounter would affect her coverage of the show and of Matchmakers, Inc. He hoped she was professional enough not to let it.

He knew she was. She wanted the interview with him and she was going to keep working on different angles to get it. There was a part of him that was looking forward to her next move.

There was a knock on his door. “Come in.”

“Your next appointment is here,” Stella said. Stella was in her mid-forties, a single mother of two college-aged boys. She’d been his secretary for the last ten years and he relied on her a lot to make sure the office ran smoothly. “Shall I send him in?”

Conner glanced at the calendar on his computer screen. He wanted to groan. It was Deke, one of his old boarding school buddies whose family fortunes had been tied to a Ponzi scheme. Now he was in need of a job.