I put my phone away and opened the investigation files again.
Work. I could focus on work. But even as I forced myself to read, I could feel it—that familiar ache in my chest, the one I’d spent seven years trying to bury.
Jack Specter was back in my life.
CHAPTER 7
Jack
California Times was a good investment—positioned
to capitalize on the shift from print to digital.
But I wasn’t in my office studying spreadsheets. I was here—on her floor.
Watching her.
My board thought I was being strategic. My CFO thought I was being opportunistic.
But I knew I was just being desperate.
I watched her gesture at her computer screen, talking to the guy at the desk next to hers—Ethan, I’d learned, a senior reporter who looked at her a little too long. He was leaning in while she explained something, nodding along with the kind of attentive focus that had nothing to do with whatever was on her screen and everything to do with the woman showing it to him.
I knew that look. I’d invented that look.
He was good-looking in that approachable, non-threatening way that women apparently found appealing. Friendly smile.
The sort of man who probably remembered birthdays and actually listened when people talked about their problems. The sort of man mothers loved and fathers trusted.
I hated him immediately.
Which was irrational. I was aware it was irrational. The man had done nothing wrong except exist in Pauline’s vicinity and have the audacity to make her laugh at something he said. That wasn’t a crime. That wasn’t even suspicious. And yet I found myself cataloging his flaws like I was preparing a legal case against him. His tie was crooked. His coffee mug had a chip in it. His desk was slightly disorganized.
Weak evidence. Circumstantial at best.
Pauline tilted her screen toward him, pointing at something, and he leaned even closer. Their shoulders were almost touching now. She was animated about something, her hands moving the way they always did when she got passionate, and even from here I could see the fire in her.
Ethan nodded and said something that made her smile.
I was moving before I made the conscious decision to do so.
I stopped at the coffee station on the way, grabbed one of the decent cups and walked directly to her desk with the calm, unhurried stride of a man who absolutely was not interrupting anything.
I set the coffee down in front of her.
She looked up, startled, and I watched her expression cycle through surprise, confusion, and the beginnings of outrage.
“My office,” I said before she could speak. “We need to discuss the Hartwell piece.”
I held her gaze for a moment, letting the command settle. Then I shifted my attention to Ethan.
He was watching me with an expression that was carefully neutral but not quite neutral enough. I could see the question inhis eyes, the slight tension in his jaw. He knew exactly what I was doing. He just couldn’t prove it.
I let the silence stretch for one second. Two. Three.
“Ethan,” I said finally, nodding at him like I’d only just noticed he was there.
Then I turned and walked away.
