“I’ve got nothing to hide.” I reach for my car door, even though some stupid part of me doesn’t want this conversation to end and wants to keep lobbing grenades back and forth just to see who runs out of ammunition first. “What I’ve got is zero interest in playing your games.”
“I’ve already talked to Roman’s former training partners,” she says, and her voice stops me cold. “I have interviews lined up, sources ready to go on record. This story is happening whether you cooperate or not.” She pauses, letting that sink in. “So if you want any say in how you come across, I’d suggest you reconsider.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“No you won’t.” That almost-smile again, infuriating in its confidence. “You already know I’m right. You just hate admitting it.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” I say.
“Please.” She waves a hand, her rings catching the morning light. Always with the rings, even back in high school. She used to twist them when she was nervous, though she’d never admit to being nervous about anything. “I’ve known you since we were seventeen.”
“Right. So what’s the play here, Brooke? You show up, threaten me with a story, strong-arm me into giving you access?” I shake my head. “Sounds like blackmail.”
“It’s not blackmail,” she says, crossing her arms and mirroring my stance. “This is just me telling you how it’s going to be. There’s a difference.”
“Adifference.” I laugh. “You always did have a way of making things sound reasonable when they’re anything but.”
“Andyoualways had a way of making everything harder than it needs to be,” she says, holding my gaze without flinching. “So do we have a deal or not?”
I should say no. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to get in my car and drive away and never look back, to let her write whatever she wants and twist the story however she sees fit.
But that’s what I did last time. I refused to engage, refused to dignify her questions with answers, and she took that silence and filled it with whatever narrative suited her. It was one bitter source and a bunch of speculation, and suddenly my career was in flames.
At least if she’s at the gym, I know what she’s hearing. I can help protect Roman and make sure he doesn’t say anything that gets taken out of context. And maybe, just maybe, I can steer this thing toward something that doesn’t end with my reputation in a dumpster again.
And underneath all that logic, there’s the old familiar buzz starting up in my veins, that electricity that only ever happened around her, back when we were young and stupid and couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I thought it was dead. I thought all these years of hating her had killed it. Apparently not.
I sigh.Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.Isn’t that how the saying goes?
“Fine,” I hear myself say. “You want access? I’ll give it to you. But you come to the gym, you ask questions where I can hear them, and if I find out you’re going behind my back, we’re done.”
“Fair enough,” she says.
“And try to stick to the facts this time.”
Her expression hardens. “I don’t print things that aren’t true, Dominic, and Ineverhave.”
“That’s funny,” I say. “Coming from you.”
Her eyes flash, and there it is. That spark between us. She can still get under my skin faster than anyone I’ve ever met.
“Tomorrow morning,” she says, her voice clipped. “Eight o’clock.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say flatly.
She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then turns without another word and walks back to her car. I watch her pull out of the space and head for the exit, her taillights disappearing around the corner, and the morning goes quiet around me.
I get in my car and slam the door harder than necessary. My jaw is tight and my hands are gripping the steering wheel. She’s unbelievable. She’s absolutely infuriating.
But underneath all that anger there’s a buzzing I haven’t felt in years, an alertness, like I’ve been half-asleep and someone just dumped cold water on my head. I pull out of the parking lot and head toward the gym, and the whole way there I can’t stop replaying the conversation.
She’s wrong about me. She’s always been wrong about me.
And some small, stupid part of me is almost looking forward to proving it.
CHAPTER 2
Brooke
