who it was standing only a few feet from her desk. He expected her to look guilty, or at the very least, apologetic. Instead, her eyes burned with a fury that made the anger in his own gut look like nothing.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded as she pushed to her feet. “Slumming it?”
Slumming it? He couldn’t even figure out what she meant, let alone how he was supposed to respond to the bizarre accusation. How could he understand when he was still reeling from the realization that
Desi
had been investigating him for weeks? That she’d been right under his nose for the past few days and he hadn’t had a clue?
“Well?” she asked, and it was the impatience in her voice that finally kick-started his brain into gear.
“I’m here to deliver this to D. E. Maddox,” he said, brandishing the folder like the weapon it was. “But I have to admit I’m a little surprised to see
you
sitting at
her
desk.”
“I don’t know why you would be.” She had the audacity to shrug. “It’s not like you know anything about me.”
“So you’re really going to do this?” he demanded as the fury inside him kindled into ugly rage. “Pretend that nothing happened between us.”
“Nothing did happen between us,” she answered coolly. “At least, nothing important.”
“So that night was what? A setup for this, then? A way for you to get to know your assignment before you ruined his business and his life?”
“I didn’t ruin your life or your business. You did that all on your own when you decided to trade in conflict diamonds.”
“I told your managing editor the other day and now I’m telling you. Bijoux does not deal in conflict diamonds.” He dropped the folder on her desk. “I’ve got the proof that we don’t right here.”
She didn’t even bother to glance down at the file. “And I have proof that you do.”
“So show it to me.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Of course not. Who cares if you run a fake story as long as you get the attention you need, right?”
“I don’t fake evidence,” she said as she stood up and started around the desk. “And I didn’t fake this story.”
“Well, someone sure as hell faked evidence. Maybe it wasn’t you. Maybe you’re not inherently dishonest. Maybe you’re just a sloppy reporter.”
“Who do you think you are?” she demanded as she went toe-to-toe with him.
For a second—just a second—he was distracted by her flashing eyes and flushed skin. By her honeysuckle-and-vanilla scent. By her warmth. But then her words sank in and he found his temper flashing from dangerous to boiling point in the space of one breath and the next.
“Who do I
think
I am?” he repeated. “I don’t think anything, sweetheart. I know exactly who I am. I’m the man whose career—and hundred-year-old family business—you set out to ruin on a whim. I’m the man you have accused of the vilest crimes and human rights violations imaginable. I’m the man you slept with to get a story and then dropped the moment you realized I wouldn’t be useful to you.”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything you haven’t done. And I didn’t drop you. You dropped me.”
He stared at her, speechless. For a moment, he honestly feared his head would explode. “Is that how you do it?” he wondered aloud. “Is that how you justify the lives you ruin? You just rewrite history to fit whatever version you need it to fit? You need a big story to break your career wide open? No problem. It’s easy to manufacture evidence. You want to forget that you slept with me to get a story? That’s easy. Just pretend I didn’t text you for weeks trying to get you to talk to me.” He threw his arms wide. “You’ve missed your calling, Desi. Oops, I mean D.E. You shouldn’t be a journalist. You should be a fiction writer. You’d probably top the charts with your very first book.”
She didn’t answer him for long seconds. Instead she just stared at him with her jaw locked and
“What are you doing here?” she demanded as she pushed to her feet. “Slumming it?”
Slumming it? He couldn’t even figure out what she meant, let alone how he was supposed to respond to the bizarre accusation. How could he understand when he was still reeling from the realization that
Desi
had been investigating him for weeks? That she’d been right under his nose for the past few days and he hadn’t had a clue?
“Well?” she asked, and it was the impatience in her voice that finally kick-started his brain into gear.
“I’m here to deliver this to D. E. Maddox,” he said, brandishing the folder like the weapon it was. “But I have to admit I’m a little surprised to see
you
sitting at
her
desk.”
“I don’t know why you would be.” She had the audacity to shrug. “It’s not like you know anything about me.”
“So you’re really going to do this?” he demanded as the fury inside him kindled into ugly rage. “Pretend that nothing happened between us.”
“Nothing did happen between us,” she answered coolly. “At least, nothing important.”
“So that night was what? A setup for this, then? A way for you to get to know your assignment before you ruined his business and his life?”
“I didn’t ruin your life or your business. You did that all on your own when you decided to trade in conflict diamonds.”
“I told your managing editor the other day and now I’m telling you. Bijoux does not deal in conflict diamonds.” He dropped the folder on her desk. “I’ve got the proof that we don’t right here.”
She didn’t even bother to glance down at the file. “And I have proof that you do.”
“So show it to me.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Of course not. Who cares if you run a fake story as long as you get the attention you need, right?”
“I don’t fake evidence,” she said as she stood up and started around the desk. “And I didn’t fake this story.”
“Well, someone sure as hell faked evidence. Maybe it wasn’t you. Maybe you’re not inherently dishonest. Maybe you’re just a sloppy reporter.”
“Who do you think you are?” she demanded as she went toe-to-toe with him.
For a second—just a second—he was distracted by her flashing eyes and flushed skin. By her honeysuckle-and-vanilla scent. By her warmth. But then her words sank in and he found his temper flashing from dangerous to boiling point in the space of one breath and the next.
“Who do I
think
I am?” he repeated. “I don’t think anything, sweetheart. I know exactly who I am. I’m the man whose career—and hundred-year-old family business—you set out to ruin on a whim. I’m the man you have accused of the vilest crimes and human rights violations imaginable. I’m the man you slept with to get a story and then dropped the moment you realized I wouldn’t be useful to you.”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything you haven’t done. And I didn’t drop you. You dropped me.”
He stared at her, speechless. For a moment, he honestly feared his head would explode. “Is that how you do it?” he wondered aloud. “Is that how you justify the lives you ruin? You just rewrite history to fit whatever version you need it to fit? You need a big story to break your career wide open? No problem. It’s easy to manufacture evidence. You want to forget that you slept with me to get a story? That’s easy. Just pretend I didn’t text you for weeks trying to get you to talk to me.” He threw his arms wide. “You’ve missed your calling, Desi. Oops, I mean D.E. You shouldn’t be a journalist. You should be a fiction writer. You’d probably top the charts with your very first book.”
She didn’t answer him for long seconds. Instead she just stared at him with her jaw locked and
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