With bright-eyed innocence, she blinked up at him. “Oh, sorry.”
Hawk jumped and swatted at his crotch. Likely the most action that area had seen in awhile. That small stunt might have earned her a scowl from him, but it gave her a whole lot of self-satisfaction.
His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as his beady eyes tracked back to her face. “You know, Cat,” he bit out, “a second article might have given you a chance to impress the editors at the Daily Press. You’re screwing your own career.”
Better than screwing him.
Wait! Her mind raced. How did he know about the Daily Press? Before she had a chance to ask, he turned his back to her and strutted away. Refusing to give him satisfaction by chasing after him, she sat in her chair and stewed.
Well, that hadn’t gone quite as planned. Grumbling, Cat turned her attention back to her blank screen. Returning to professional mode, she dug into her interview notes and redirected her attention to this week’s column.
A short while later, Cat blinked her eyes and was pleased to see she’d written a good chunk of her article. She scanned it, thrilled to discover it wasn’t half bad. Actually, it was pretty damn good.
As she read it over again, she found herself chuckling out loud, realizing just how much she enjoyed writing about mating and dating woes. She had to admit, when she hit the big times, she would miss frequenting the nightclubs and mingling with the young and well-hung, as she’d once heard it put. Cat enjoyed interviewing both genders on their dating disasters. Not that she had to frequent the clubs for research material, she just enjoyed the interaction. Lately, however, her phone had been ringing off the hook with people wanting to tell their stories to her. She had enough research material and ideas to last a whole year.
Cat climbed from her chair and stretched. Her gaze skated over the office, taking stock of her coworkers milling about, phones ringing, and televisions blaring as everyone kept a close eye on current events. It was only a small setup compared to the Daily Press, but most of the people in the office were her friends. She kind of liked the close-knit family feel to it. Perhaps it was because she’d grown accustomed to having so many people around, being raised in a family with six older brothers and all.
Her gaze fell on the floor-to-ceiling glass wall separating the office complex from the bustling downtown sidewalk. The midday autumn sun sliced through the clear panels and beckoned her. Since she needed to grab lunch and stretch her legs, she decided to answer the call of the warm rays. As she made her way to the door, she spotted her boss, Blain, seated in his office.
She stopped and backtracked. “Do you have a minute?”
Blain glanced up from his keyboard, his kind brown eyes meeting her gaze. In some ways he reminded her of her father. Perhaps it was the short cut hair and tinges of gray around his temples. Blain played hardball with his staff, needing to run a tight ship, but Cat knew deep down he was a fair man.
“That depends,” he replied.
They both knew the real reason she stood there, clinging to his doorframe like a barnacle, so there really was no point in skirting the issue. “So what do you say? Have you changed your mind about me doing a follow-up?”
“No.”
Cat stepped farther into the office. “Come on, Blain. My article was great and you know it.” Except for the fact that she made one teeny, tiny mistake and mentioned Rio, of course.
“That’s not the point, Cat.”
“Then what is the point?” she asked, willing to play hardball in return to get what she wanted.
Blain drew air and leaned back in his chair. “Are we going to do this again?”
Cat planted her hands on her hips; her lips thinned. “Sam is a good guy. He doesn’t deserve to have protestors breathing down his neck. Let me write another article to make this right for him.”
Cat stiffened as Hawk’s voice sounded from behind. “Sounds like someone is sweet on Mr. Scientist.”
She spun around and met with dark eyes that burned into her like hot coals. One brow arched knowingly. He gave a derisive twist of his lips, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Is this article really about Sam, or is it about you, Cat?”
“Hawk,” Blain’s voice grated in warning, obviously tasting the tension between the two.
Contrary to what Hawk believed, the article was intended to benefit Sam, not herself. This was no longer about personal gain or upping her credentials to impress the Daily Press, which made her take pause. Wouldn’t a hard-core journalist use whatever means necessary to fetch a story? Even go against their own best interests, or step on a few people along the way? Some inner voice warned that, contrary to what her father believed or wanted, perhaps she wasn’t cut out for hard-hitting news after all.
Ignoring Hawk, Cat turned back to Blain and switched tactics. “One article, then I’ll drop it.”
“It’s too late, Cat. Yesterday I asked Hawk to do a follow-up. He’s on it.”
Cat’s lips tightened. Anger flared through her. She twisted around and cut Hawk a look, resisting the urge to whack that smirk off his face. The lying bastard had no intention of talking to Blain for her, like he’d offered earlier, in return for God knows what. He’d known all along he’d gotten the follow-up.
She walked up to Hawk and pinned him with a glare. “You make this right for Sam.” With that she stalked back to her desk. Mind racing, she stared at her half-finished article for the next fifteen minutes or so, yet couldn’t seem to concentrate on a single word. Agitated, she rifled through her drawers, although she had no idea
