Just This Night by Mari Madison Page A

lobster look was sure to be a real hit with the viewers back home.
    Seriously, I could not catch a break if one was lobbed directly at my freaking head.
    But there was nothing I could do about it now and I was running out of time, so I gathered up my things and started the five-minute walk back to the house. Stephanie wouldn’t be back for a few hours, which was another bummer since I’d wanted to discuss the whole shift change thing with her—hoping to soften the blow a little. I could have called her, I supposed, but she was probably busy getting ready for the nightly newscast. And this was definitely something that would be better discussed face-to-face anyway.
    I wasn’t stupid: I knew there was no way she wasn’t going to be pissed—I mean, who wouldn’t be? But, at the same time, I had to make her understand somehow that it wasn’t my fault. That my promotion had nothing to do with her demotion. That if it wasn’t me, Richard would have assigned someone else to take her shift. It was just an unlucky coincidence that I was first on his list.
    Yeah, maybe it was better I had time to work on this little pep talk.
    Beeeeep!
    A loud honk startled me back to the present. I looked up, surprised to see a News 9 live truck pulled up in front of my driveway, Mac in the driver’s seat. He was here already? I’d hoped to at least have time to change out of my bikini.
    My breath hitched as I caught sight of his face behindthe windshield. Seriously, why did he have to be so freaking hot? I mean, that rugged jawline, those piercing eyes, that hint of stubble whispering across his cheeks—what that stubble felt like whispering across my thighs. Suddenly my erotic beach dream came raging back to me and I swallowed heavily.
    Get your mind out of the gutter, girl. And back on the job.
    â€œI’ll just be a minute,” I yelled across the lawn, turning my key to open the front door. Once inside, I dropped my cover-up and worked to swap bathing suit for business suit with the speed of Superman in a phone booth, gritting my teeth to ignore the excruciating pain of wool rubbing against raw, sunburned skin.
    Beeeeeep!
    I looked up, annoyed. Was he honking again? Geez. I’d just gotten the call five minutes ago. What did he expect? At the very least I had to glop foundation over my lobster skin. Was that so much to ask?
    Beeeeeeeeeep!
    I scowled. Okay fine, I’d apply my makeup in the car. Grabbing my phone and purse I ran out the door, across the front yard, and into the truck, just in time for him to lay on the horn again.
    Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
    â€œI’m here, okay?” I cried, slamming the door behind me. “I mean, I know it’s breaking news and all, but it’s not like I could report live from my bikini.”
    He turned, giving me a puzzled look. “What?”
    â€œThe beeping, of course!” I gestured angrily to his steering wheel, still a little out of breath from running to the vehicle. “It’s rude and unnecessary. I was going as fast as I could. I don’t know how you do things in Boston, but here we try to show our coworkers a little respect.”
    â€œRespect,” he mumbled under his breath. “That’s a good one.”
    I stared at him, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
    â€œLook, a cat crawled under the truck when I first pulled up,” he said flatly. “I didn’t want to run it over when I pulledout.” He paused, then muttered, “I guess that’s just how we do things in Boston.”
    A . . . cat? Oh God. I stared at him, speechless. He sighed, shook his head, then laid on the horn one more time. Sure enough, a moment later, a black and white tabby shot from under the vehicle, crossing my neighbor’s yard and leaping over the fence.
    Mac gave me an expectant look, his blue eyes flashing something unreadable. “Now. If you need more time to get ready . . .”
    I