She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “From my sources, and before you issue a demand wrapped up in a request, I can’t reveal them.”
“Can’t,” he pressed, “or won’t?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “In this case, it’s the same difference.”
Another long beat where his unwavering, intense gaze scrutinized her. “Do you know what you are, Ms. Armstrong?” he finally murmured.
“Let me guess. A bitch,” she supplied, slipping a bored note into her voice. Wouldn’t be the first time a man in his position had called her that name when she’d pressed too hard, questioned too much or just didn’t go sit behind a desk or on a set and look pretty. Journalism, especially investigative journalism, wasn’t for the weak of heart or the thin of skin. And that word seemed to be the go-to to describe a strong woman with an opinion, a spine and unwillingness to be silenced.
“No.” A flash of disgust flickered across his face as if just hearing that word sickened him. Or maybe the thought of calling a woman that particular insult did... “Maybe you would prefer if I called you that. Because then you could justify my being here as sour grapes and damaged pride over a story. But I refuse to make it that easy for you. No, Ms. Armstrong, you are not a bitch,” he continued, and the disdain that had appeared in his expression saturated his voice. “You are a vulture. A scavenger who picks at carrion until there’s nothing left but the bleached, dry bones.”
That shouldn’t have hurt her. But, God, it did. It slashed across her chest to burrow deep beneath bone and marrow to the core of her that believed in fairness and truth. Never in her reporting had she gone out of the way to hurt someone. Which had been one reason why she’d gone to see Joshua in the first place. She’d wanted his side, to ensure the article hadn’t been skewed.
Maybe it was a remnant from being the child of divorced parents. From that hyperawareness that ensured neither her mother nor her father feel like she loved one more than the other. That she didn’t confide in, call or lavish attention on one without making sure she gave the other equal affection. That balance had been stressful as a child who’d felt torn between two warring parents. And now, as an adult, that careful balancing act had carried over into her job. She ensured she presented both sides of an issue. And for Joshua to attack that vulnerable center of her... It shook her. It hurt her.
“In your thirst for a juicy story and a byline, did you even once stop to consider the consequences? Did you pause to ask yourself how it would affect my family? My mother? She’s had to deal with the fallout of someone else’s actions for years. Years,” he bit out, true anger melting the ice of his tone. Sunlight streamed through the windows behind him, hitting his dirty-blond hair and setting the gold strands aglow. Like an avenging angel. “She’s suffered, and dredging up ancient history for the sake of salacious gossip will only inflict more harm. But, of course, you couldn’t be bothered to take into account anyone or anything else but your own ambition.”
“My own ambition?” she repeated, grinding the words out between clenched teeth. She lowered her arms and her fingers curled into fists at her thighs, as she almost trembled with the need to defend herself. To tell him that wasn’t her at all. But screw that. She hadn’t done a hatchet job; she’d simply done her job. Period. And she’d been fair. Damn fair. “You don’t know the first thing about me, so don’t shove your own biases on me. I understand that you might not be able to view the article objectively, but believe me, I showed admirable restraint. I could have included the complete, unvarnished truth about who and what you are. A truth I’m sure the ‘hero’—” she sneered the word “—of Black Crescent wouldn’t want to get out.”
He didn’t reply. Didn’t react at all. His hazel gaze bored into her, and she refused to flinch under that poker face that reduced hers to an amateurish attempt.
“I have no idea what you’re alluding to. I haven’t done anything wrong or that I need to be ashamed of. As much to the contrary as your story hinted at, I haven’t been my father’s puppet. I’ve done nothing but try to repair the damage he caused. That’s all I’ve ever done.”
Joshua probably wasn’t aware of the strained note in his voice, the almost silent fervency that stretched from his words. Yes, she couldn’t deny the truth of his statement. Even if the possibility existed that Vernon was pulling the strings all these years, it didn’t negate the fact that Joshua had abandoned what had appeared to be a very promising art career to take over the family company. To head it and bear all the heat, enmity and distrust as well as the responsibility on his still-young shoulders. His twin, Jake, hadn’t been seen in Falling Brook for fifteen years, and the younger brother, Oliver, had fallen into a destructive partying lifestyle. So everything had fallen to him, and Joshua had put aside his own dreams to take up the burden.
No matter how she felt about the man and his actions, she had to respect that sacrifice.
“Anything I’ve done, it was and is to protect and take care of my family. I have no shame in that,” he said, and that air of arrogance, of utter lack of remorse just... Dammit, it just pissed her off.
“Now, that is rich coming from you,” she drawled, propping a hip against the conference table.
His aloof expression remained, but he cocked his head to the side. “And what the hell do you mean by that?” he demanded, almost...pleasantly. But the glitter in his eyes belied the tone.
“Oh,
