It’s a text from Brooke Jensen.
I wouldn’t call her a friend. More of a colleague. She’s been with the magazine longer than I have, and she gets most of the best assignments. She’s taken me under her wing a little bit, offering me advice and hints on how to get ahead.
Some of those tips have been on the edge of unethical if you ask me, and there’s something I’m not sure I totally trust about Brooke, but she seems to want the best for me in my career. Women helping women and all that.
The second I see her name on the screen, my thoughts flash to what Cash said about not trusting reporters.
I can’t help but nod and smile a little to myself as I click open the message she sent.
Brooke:
So?? You meet him yet? Is he as hot in person?
Iroll my eyes, but before I can respond, another text comes through.
I bet he’s a hot cowboy fantasy waiting to come true. Shit. I hope I don’t regret turning this one down.
I frown reading her last comment. I know the only reason I got this story is because she turned it down, telling our editor she didn’t ‘do ranches’.There was no one else available, which is the only reason I got the opportunity to get away from the proofreading desk and get out on an actual assignment. For my big break, I most certainlydiddo ranches.
I quickly tap out a response.
Yeah. I met him and his brother and fiancée. They’re nice.
NICE? There’s no good stories in nice.
I swallow hard.
Don’t forget what I said. Big stories come from big risks.
Right. She did say that. It was her last bit of advice before I left the office yesterday. I’d read all the research material. I knew that Cash had been caught up in an on-set scandal that involved accusations of the mistreatment of animals. The big risk Brooke is talking about involves digging into that angle for the story. Even though that wasnotwhat my editor asked for. And from what I read, it didn’t seem that he had anything to do with it.
I remember.
Don’t be afraid to push him a little. Find the truth. The messier the better.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
I’ll see what I can do.
I hit send and immediately feel dirty. There’s a reason Cash doesn’t trust reporters, and I’d just promised him that I wasn’t like the others.
Was I?
Somewhere outside, a horse nickers. I imagine him out there with the animals, working. When I close my eyes, I can picturethe way his strong, capable arms guide the horses, his big hands stroking their necks.
The mental image makes my stomach flip.
There’s something about the man that commands all of my attention.
And apparently, my fantasies, too.
My phone bings with another incoming text.
Use whatever tactics you need to.
I blink hard and read her text twice. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
Before I can ask, she offers up the information herself.
