Drive(71)

“I’ll just do the same thing at home,” I said as I saved the document and sent it to my email.

Nate leaned in, and his cologne lingered in the air between us. “You aren’t differentiating this from anything else you’ve written. You’re just rewording and it’s the same line of questioning.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” I said, kicking back in my seat to put some space between us. “These are standard questions for a feature.”

“Great,” he said, standing and stretching next to me.

“Nate,” I said, drawing out his name. He towered over me in his suit, his pants wrinkled from a day behind his desk. His hair had that just fucked look, his deep blue eyes weary. “Tell me.”

He shoved his hands in his slack pockets and pushed out his elbows with a shrug. “Set yourself apart, Stella. It’s not like you’re nuisance paparazzi. These bands want the exposure. So be the bloodthirsty reporter. They’ll tell you anything you want to know with little manipulation. Use it to your advantage. Make me want to get off my couch and spend the money for a cover charge.”

I opened the article again and scanned through it, deflating. I wasn’t asking the questions I wanted to, not really. I was playing it safe. “You’re right. This is shit.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” he said, eyeing the screen before he looked over to me. “We just need that right side of your brain to kick in once in a while.”

“Can I make a suggestion of my own?”

“Shoot,” he said, staring at the four by four of Herb’s German Shepherds.

“Exactly. We need pictures.”

He was already shaking his head. I knew his concern was the budget. It was always the budget.

“I’ll take them,” I said. “You don’t have to hire a photographer. Look—” I pointed to the screen. “This guy, Eli, the front man, he was beautiful. A close up of him on the mic might not get the guys to the show, but I can guarantee any girl eighteen to twenty-five would skip on down to that show with their lunch money to see him sing, even if glam punk isn’t their thing.”

“Which would be relevant if the majority of our readers weren’t male.”

“So, let’s get the girls reading. Because where the girls go, the guys follow.”

“You want to use my paper to get Eli laid?”

“Sure. Why not? And while we’re at it, Speak becomes the stalking source.”

“Sex sells.”

“Sex sells.”

We shared a grin.

His eyes were violet under the yellow lights of the newsroom. It was nearly impossible not to stare at him. “I could get permission to set up a few stands on campus. I noticed we don’t have any yet.”

“I’m working on it,” he said as he bit his lip in thought.

I kept rambling while a tidal wave of ideas swept over me. “I could talk to a couple of club owners, get a schedule for ladies night with no cover, feature the bands and the clubs that want to get on the map—”

Nate walked away while I was mid-sentence, unlocked his office, and came out seconds later with one of the few cameras he kept there. “It’s worth a shot. Know how to use one of these?”

It was a Nikon with all the bells and whistles. “Sure.”

“Liar,” he said with his signature wink. “You break, you buy.”

“This is going to work,” I said as I grabbed my backpack and tucked the camera inside.

“What are you going to do about the ugly front man?” Nate asked.

I felt the residual tug and tamped it down. “It’s not always the front man.”

He shut off the main light in the office, leaving us in pitch dark.

We walked toward the moonlit lobby as he set the alarm.

“Nate?”

“Yeah?” he said, punching in the security code, his back to me.

“Nothing.”

He walked us out of the front door and locked it up with me on his heels.

“’Night.”

“No ride tonight?”

I shrugged. “Roomie is working.”

“Come on. I’ll take you home.”

“I’m good,” I said.

“Not with the camera in your backpack you aren’t,” he scorned as he walked us toward the parking lot.

“To hell with me, right? As long as the camera’s safe.” He unlocked the passenger door and then nailed me to it with his stare alone. “What do you want to hear, Stella?”

“Huh?” I asked as he closed the space between us, swallowing hard while he hovered. He searched my eyes under the streetlight and then bent his head. “Stella.”

“Uh huh?” He smelled amazing, and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing him in. I was tempted to grip his broad shoulders and pull him closer. It would be so easy to touch him, an attempt at a little reprieve from the ache. Bury the handle so I could never find the shovel again. But I’d bounced from one man to the next and got eaten by curious flames. And everything inside me told me that Nate’s blue fire would stir up those ashes and mold them into something unrecognizable.

“You’ve got to step back so I can open the door.”

“Okay.”