Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
"I gotta go, Roni. I'll call you later." I quickly disconnect, slipping my phone into my pocket. "Good morning, Darren."
He grunts, slapping a folder down on my desk. "Care to explain this to me, Jamie?"
"Explain what?" I ask far more calmly than I feel. Surely, whatever is in that folder has nothing to do with Jonas and Dionysus. There's no way news leaked already!
"Look in the damn folder."
I reluctantly flip it open, steeling myself for the worst. A sheaf of photos spills out.
"Whoa," I whisper, scooping them up. Theo Kline, Jonas's teammate has a woman wrapped around him on his front porch, his hands on her ass. They're both fully clothed, but he has her up against the side of the house with her legs around his hips. The photos are racy as hell. "Who is she?"
"That's exactly what I pay you to know," Darren snaps, jabbing a beefy finger at the stack of photos. "And I pay you to be the first to know. So why aren't you the first to know?"
"Uh, because I don't have the paparazzi hiding outside of his house?" I ask, gaping at Darren like he's lost his mind. I hold the photos up. "They took these at his home after dark, Darren. We don't have photographers stalking them twenty-four-seven."
"That's right. We don't. Because gossip is your job, sweetheart." He flicks a condescending gaze at me. "If a story this simple is too much for you to handle, perhaps we should bring in someone capable of getting the job done."
I gape at him, my blood boiling. Part of me wants to tell him to take the whole segment and shove it. The rest of me doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he won. He's been trying to push me out of the door since ESPN signed the segment into their lineup. If it weren't for that, I think I would have walked away already. But I don't want to let him win. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he beat me.
"I don't need another pretty face and fat ass around here, Jamie. So I suggest you put that Harvard education of yours to work and find out who she is," he barks, stomping toward the door. "Now, Jamie."
As soon as the door slams behind him, I drop into my chair, my hands shaking in fury.
I have to get out of here. This place is sucking the soul out of me. Darren is sucking the soul out of me.
I glance down at the photos of Theo and his mystery woman and heave a sigh. Maybe Jonas is right, and I am the enemy. Because I'm pretty sure the girl in those photos is Theo's soon-to-be step-cousin, Charlotte Mabry. And I'm also pretty sure he's been in love with her for a while. Jonas will never see me as anything but a gossip reporter if I out that relationship to the world.
"Crap on a cracker," I groan. I hate my job.
Chapter Three
Jonas
"I can explain."
Kelsey looks up from her trainwreck of a desk, laser-focusing on me. Jesus. How is one curvy little slip of a woman so utterly terrifying? I do not know. And yet…there she sits. Blonde hair up in a bun. Pen stabbed through it like she's using the hair as a holster in case she wants to stab one of us with the damn thing later. Glittery shadow on her eyelids. Pink lipstick on her lips. Looking like she knows every bad thing I've ever done.
And let's face it. I've done a lot of bad shit. Like the time I put itching powder in everyone's practice jerseys. Or the time I painted my ass in team colors and streaked across the arena during a stakeholder event. And let's not forget the time I kissed a gossip reporter in a sex club. No, we can't forget that.
"It's ten in the morning, Jonas. What can you possibly have to explain this early?"
I open my mouth to tell her, and she throws up a hand.
"You know what? Unless you murdered someone, got someone pregnant, spent the night in jail, have an addiction, need mental health care, or broke a law, I'm not dealing with it," she says, pressing her hands to her pink cheeks. "I only have time for one crisis today, and Theo's trumps yours."
"Theo has a crisis?"
She huffs, narrowing her eyes at me. "Do you read your texts? Or your emails?"
"Only when you make me." I lean back, planting my foot against the wall behind me. "What's Theo's crisis?"
"Are you asking because you want to know or because you're trying to decide how mad I'm going to be about yours?" she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
"You have no faith in me."
She shrugs. "That's because I know you. You tell me yours. I'll tell you his."