Page 41 of Wrecked

“What does he want with me?” Beth hisses at Erin.

Apparently, this guy is doing a piece on local women business owners, and Beth caught his attention.

“All right. I’ll talk to him,” Beth says.

Erin takes over for Beth as Beth walks out from behind the counter.

Whoa, sister, slow down.“Hold up, Beth. Do you know this guy?”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

The reporter extends his hand to Beth, and they shake. He gives me a quick once-over, then dismisses me entirely. “Derek Sanderson,” he says to Beth. “Chicago Scoop.Can I have a few minutes of your time?”

I don’t like this guy.

“Sure,” Beth says. “Why don’t we sit down in the café?”

The two of them take a seat at a table for two in the café. I sit at an adjacent table so I can get eyes on both of them.

After he sets his camera and phone on the table, the reporter starts asking Beth questions about how she came to be the new owner of Clancy’s Bookshop. He turns on a mini voice recorder to capture their conversation.

When he starts asking a lot of personal questions about who her boyfriend is and how long they’ve been dating, Beth is becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his line of questioning. Then he starts asking her questions about Andrew Morton, the kid who physically assaulted her a few months back when she worked in the medical school library.

This guy’s obviously trying to dig up some dirt.

Beth’s face is turning red, and she looks at me as she shoots to her feet. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work now.”

Sanderson picks up his camera. “Wait. Do you mind if I take some more photos?”

I’ve had enough. Obviously, the guy’s here to harass Beth. I grab the camera from him.

“Hey!” Sanderson says, trying to snatch back his camera. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. This is private property.” I remove the data card and slip it into my pocket. Then I hand him back his camera. “You’ll get your data card back after we’ve deleted the images of Ms. Jamison.”

The reporter continues to whine and complain.

I tell him to forget writing an article about Beth. “You got that? No article, no photos. Ms. Jamison is completely off limits to you.”

A pissed-off Sanderson turns off his digital recorder. Then he slings his camera strap over his neck and glares at me. “We’ll see about that, asshole! Ever heard of freedom of the press?”

I watch as Sanderson storms off toward the exit.

Crisis averted.

* * *

Friday evening, I find myself sitting at home, alone. It’s been a full week since I saw Cooper. A week since we fucked. That’s what I’m calling it because that’s all it was—fucking. There was nothing more to it, at least not on his part. There was for me. Or, at least I hoped there was.

I haven’t seen him since, and I probably will never see him again. Maybe we’ll cross paths at the company picnic. We can ignore each other and pretend we’ve never met.

Why does that hurt so much?

I decide I’ll play some video games, something violent, anything to keep my mind off my nonexistent love life. But first, I go to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer. On my way back to the living room, there’s a knock on my door.

It’s probably Liam or one of the other guys, coming to invite me to another guy’s night out. I appreciate being included, but I don’t feel like going out tonight.

When I peer out through the peephole, my heart slams into my ribs. It’s not one of the guys. It’s Cooper, in the flesh, standing there looking very serious and not the least bit happy.