Worth the Risk(37)

Thank you, small-town rumor mill.

I groan. Now I really do miss home and the anonymity of living in the big city. I was never noticed there unless I chose to be—show up at the right restaurant with the perfect guy so that I know our picture will be taken, only to play coy about it later.

But this is Sunnyville, not San Francisco. This is small-town journalism, not money-hungry paparazzi.

This is Grayson Malone, not my flavor of the month.

Without thinking, I pick up my cell and dial. “Sidney, is that you?”

When I hear Rissa’s kids in the background I regret it immediately. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Let me guess, you finally left the office and saw the Gazette.”

“Nah. I’m still here and finally saw the Gazette,” I say.

“If it’s any consolation, the gossip column only comes out once a week, so they can’t write any more until next Tuesday.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I part-joke, part-complain. “At least I’ll have a week for my dad to chill out before something else is printed.”

“When I told you to problem-solve getting Grayson on board, kissing him wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” When I don’t laugh at her joke, she continues, “Was your dad pissed?”

“It’s really none of his business.” I glance back to the photo and article for a minute. “He does have a point about perceived bias, though.” It almost kills me to say that.

“I’ll call him now and tell him I orchestrated all of this. It’s my fault and—”

“Those aren’t your lips sitting squarely on Grayson’s.” I laugh and am more than surprised she’d take the blame for me. “Thank you for the offer, but it isn’t necessary.”

“Well, just think about what they are going to say when people catch wind of the photo shoot you’re doing tomorrow.” My shoulders sag in exhaustion. “Maybe you should be the one to oil him up—all hands on pec, er, I mean on deck kind of thing.”

“You really are trying to get me into trouble, aren’t you?”

“Who me?” she asks. “Never.”

When I look back to the computer, I know the person who’s going to get me into trouble is in the picture in front of me.

I’m not sure how.

I’m not sure when.

But I definitely know he will, because I’m thinking about him way too much, and it has nothing to do with this contest and everything to do with his kiss.





“Who put you guys up to this?” I laugh as I glance around the dispatch room, where everyone has their heads bowed at their stations, trying to fight the grins on their faces. “Bueller? Bueller?”

I take a step closer to my desk and just shake my head. There are copies of the Gazette’s gossip column everywhere. There’s Sidney kissing me on the lips taped to my chair, to my monitor, to my headset, to my bulletin board. To every fucking place imaginable. The words “hot dad” are on a banner stretched over all of it.

Christ.

I look around again and this time everyone is looking my way and they all bust up laughing. “You guys are assholes.” I start taking down the papers.

“Oh, flyboy, come and give me mouth-to-mouth!” McArthur mocks.

“Mount me, Malone.” That one was Vin.

“Way to date a rich girl!” Uley says, and his words stop me in my tracks. I know he means nothing by it, but every part of me rejects his comment, and it takes me a second to clear my head. To bring my mind back from the bullshit it brought up.

“Dating? Sorry, Uley, but not this man. How’s a guy supposed to work with all this crap in the way?”

“You could always roll it up and spank her with it,” someone at my back tosses out, and the whole room busts up laughing.

“She isn’t a dog, and it’s just gossip.”

“Gossip, my ass,” Uley says. “Looks to me like she has you right where she wants you.”

I look over to him as his words hit, but his head is already down, and his fingers are flying across his keyboard. Then I look back down to the picture of Sidney kissing me. The same damn one my brothers had already given me shit for.

I was letting myself believe it was a coincidence—that I was the one who started the chain reaction by kissing her—but as I look at the photo I realize it’s the second time she’s made me look like a fool. It’s the second time she’s manipulated me into her publicity-fueled fire.

It’s the second time she’s used me.

Maybe that’s why I’ve yet to hit send on the bio she wants. Maybe that’s why I’ve gone to text her ten times already to cancel the photo shoot.

I try to shrug off the notion that her kiss was nothing but a publicity stunt, but it sticks in a way that makes me want to bail from work, from this office that’s a kicker of a punishment on top of grounding me.

And I hate that for a second time with a similar woman, I’ve let my guard down.





“It’s Grayson.”

“Hi. What’s up?” The smile is automatic when I hear his voice. I look over to the photographer, who is setting up her reflectors and staging out shots, and then down at my watch. “Where are you?”