Page 74 of The Truths We Find

My stomach twists. “You knew that. When I was working late before you left, that was the story. I told you all about it.” I can’t help the humorless laugh. “Are you kidding me right now? Once again, if it wasn’t about you, you didn’t listen.”

“Are you still digging?”

“Oh, now you care?”

“Dani,” he snaps. “Are you still looking into Tate?”

Something about his tone feels… off.

“If more comes up, we will,” I say slowly. “But the DA is on us to reveal an anonymous source we used so they can interview them, so that’s our fight right now.”

“Are you going to?” He clears his throat. “Give them the name, I mean.”

I stop pacing. “What kind of journalist do you think I am? I would never do that. And why do you care all of a sudden?”

“Despite what you think,” he says, softer now, “I do love you, D. Always have. Always will.”

The whiplash is unreal.

I glance at the clock on the wall. Morning meeting in three minutes.

“I have to go.” The words sound steadier than I feel. “When you get back, we’ll figure out what to do about the apartment. But until then, please don’t contact me.” I pause, just long enough to mean it. “I wasn’t kidding when I said we’re done. Be safe.”

I hang up before he can respond, a breath rushing out of me that I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My hands are still shaking, but my spine feels straighter than it has in years.

I refuse to let Sam take up any more space in my head. I shove the thought of him aside, grab my notes, and head into the conference room where the rest of the team is already waiting.

The meeting unfolds exactly the way it always does—everyone pitching stories, debating angles, arguing over the order of the shows.

Gavin still sits in on the meetings, tucked into the back corner like he’s trying not to be noticed. That’s impossible though. He mostly observes, chiming in only when he feels strongly about something. And it’s a lot less hostile than that first day.

Work Gavin is an entirely different creature than home Gavin.

Work Gavin is an uptight perfectionist who knows exactly how good he is and isn’t particularly interested in pretending otherwise. He’s confident to the point of arrogance. I think he genuinely believes he’s God’s gift to broadcast journalism. Which, annoyingly, he might be.

And my body has absolutely no idea how it’s supposed to react to that version of him.

Because on one hand, when he questions my work or picks apart my ideas, I want to throw a pen straight at his head. On the other hand… my body completely betrays me.

There’s something wildly unfair about how turned on I get. Watching him take control of a room shouldn’t immediately get me wet. And it definitely shouldn’t make me want him more.

I shift in my chair, silently cursing my traitorous libido.

Ugh, and those suits. Jesus Christ. The tailored three-piece suits should be illegal. Broad shoulders, fitted waist, that damn vest hugging him just right. They’re going to be the death of me. Or at least the reason HR ends up with my name on a report.

Honestly, I’m kind of proud of myself for not dragging him into a supply closet.

Yet.

As the meeting wraps up and the team files out, Alexa and I are stopped in the hall by Mr. White.

“I need you two to come with me, please.” His tone is serious in a way that always makes me nervous.

There’s no waiting for our response. He’s already moving toward the reception area. Alexa and I share a concerned glance. Gavin is trailing behind.

“Should I be coming too, sir?” he asks.

Mr. White lifts a hand. “No. I just need them. You’ll know soon enough.”