Worth the Risk(27)

“That his dad is cool as fuck. That it’s okay to take pride in yourself. That it’s okay to step outside your comfort zone and do something you normally wouldn’t. How’s that for a lesson?”

“He’s eight. He doesn’t care about that shit.” The lie rolls off my tongue, and I hate that my brother’s words resonate deeper than I want them to. “Plus, you know what a hard time he’s been going through with the not having a mom thing.”

“Not having a mom. Dad being in a contest.” He holds his hands out as if he’s weighing both on a scale. “They have nothing to do with each other. So sorry, try again.”

“Just drop it, Grant.”

“No. You’re being ridiculous and stubborn, so I’ll say it again. The contest. It has nothing to do with Claire. The Hoskins—fuck them—won’t get any info on Luke. Sidney is not Claire. You might get some serious ass as a side benefit. And Luke—”

“That isn’t teaching him anything.”

“Stop thinking about what it’s teaching Luke, and start thinking about what it will be teaching you.”





The floor creaks as I pace from one end of the room to another. Papers blanket the table and chairs, the aftermath of the spreadsheet I was making for my father of advertising dollars. The heat is stifling. My cell is stuck to my ear as I wait for her to pick up.

There’s no way he’s going to think I didn’t set the whole thing up now.

No way in hell.

“What did you do, Rissa?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Her voice comes through loud and clear across the phone connection. Kids play in the background, the wind rustles against the speaker of her cell, and her voice sounds guilty as hell.

“I just hung up with the who-knows-what-number reporter about an article that was written in the Sunnyville Gazette about one Grayson Malone.”

“What about him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about how he saved me from a knife-wielding thug?”

“Huh.”

“Huh? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” There’s amusement in her voice.

I walk past the front window, glancing outside to see if the reporter for the local news is still there. The one who’d knocked on the door earlier and asked for an interview and photo.

“How about why you called the Gazette and told them about the other night?”

“Who said that I did?”

“Let’s call it an educated guess.” I put my hand on my hip and look back at the article sitting on my computer screen.

“It must be a slow news day for the Gazette to run a front-page article about the hometown hero rescuing damsels in distress, don’t ya think? It’s about time something other than the damn Harvest Festival has graced its cover. It isn’t as if they need to advertise. The whole town shows up, regardless.”

“It says the source was anonymous. That wouldn’t be your middle name would it?”

“Rissa Anonymous Patel.” Her laugh is immediate. “Has a nice ring to it, and it would be cool-ass initials, but nope, not it.”

“Rissa,” I say, trying to be serious, “what are you trying to accomplish?” And why are you trying to help me?

“Did you notice the comments online? It sure seems like local-boy Grayson Malone is getting all kinds of love from the people of Sunnyville.”

“Great. Good for him.” I sit and start scrolling through the comments. One after another. Praise heaped upon praise.

“It’s almost as if they’ve all been waiting to pay tribute to him for the other rescue he won’t talk about, so everyone is heaping it on now as a surrogate.”

“You’re sneaky.” And I damn well underestimated Rissa, mom of three.

“If it were to be known that Grayson was one of the top twenty in our contest, I’d think this would be the perfect time to rally support around him for the vote next week.”

I fight my grin as if I don’t agree with her, when she’s actually goddamn brilliant. So why do I hesitate? Maybe because I don’t want to reinforce Grayson’s belief that I’m a manipulative bitch. This one stunt confirmed everything I’ve tried to tell him I’m not.

But since when do I care what other people think of me?

Since I need him in order to be successful at my job in Rissa’s eyes. The same Rissa who is trying to help, but who might just have undermined me, nonetheless.

Grayson’s eyes flash in my mind. The disdain. The distrust. The intensity.

“Where are you going with this?”

“Do you still think he’s the one who can make a face for this contest?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Then don’t question the means, just worry about what’s going to happen when he says yes.”

“Dare I ask what else you have up your sleeve?”

“It’s hot out today. I’m wearing a tank top, so how could anything be up my sleeve?”

“Rissa . . .” I laugh.

“Let’s just say that every hero needs a celebration. Get your party dress ready.”





“Sidney Thorton, how may I help you?”