Page 47 of Wicked Heat

“I’ve gotten used to the spotlight,” he says, his knee nudging mine under the table. “Bree hasn’t.”

Maggie’s already squinty eyes narrow even more, as if she’s not sure if she should be buying any of this. I know exactly how she feels.

Finally, she grants us a slow smile. “Well, she’ll have to get used to being the center of attention.” She turns those beady eyes to me. “Sorry, dear. But I don’t think your man here could stay out of the spotlight if he tried. It’s in his blood.”

“We’re not an item,” I say, because what the hell does Ash think he’s doing, other than yanking Maggie’s string? Which, now that I think about it, is something I wholeheartedly approve of.

Ash shakes his head. “That’s her way of making sure you’re not going to print anything earlier than we’re ready to announce it.”

I stomp on his foot. He barely winces, and I wish that I’d worn heels.

“I’m a professional, Ashton. You know that. And I’m honored you both trust me to not only share your stories with the public, but to act as guardian over what you don’t yet want to be public.”

She aims that obnoxious smile at both of us in turn. I conjure all my willpower and manage not to vomit.

“We’ll just make this more of a conversation than a formal interview. In the end that’s always more fun for readers anyway don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Ash says.

I smile, but I think it may come across more like the baring of teeth.

She makes a show of starting the recoding app on her phone, then leans back with a pen in her hand. A yellow pad is already on the table. Even upside down I can see the little flowers she’s drawn in the margin.

“Usually, I’d say ladies first, but Ash, I’m dying to hear about the INX-20. What can you tell me?”

Ash sits up straighter, and this time it’s true passion driving his words. “As most people in the industry know, I’ve been working on a motor that runs on atmospheric energy. It’s revolutionary technology, but my team has made amazing progress. The INX-20 is the first incarnation of the motor that we’ll actually be installing in test vehicles.”

He goes on to describe a motor that sounds like something from a Sci-Fi novel, and each word is infused with pride in himself and his team. Honestly, I’m pretty damn impressed, too.

“We’ve surprised a lot of people,” he continues, turning slightly sideways to look at me. “It’ll be several more years before we can actually go to market, but once we get it dialed in, this engine will have a serious kick. You’ll look at it and think there’s nothing there. Too small. Too mundane. Whatever. Then you realize that it’s got punch. That there’s so much more under the surface.”

He squeezes my hand as he speaks, then meets my eyes. “It’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“What lovely words,” Maggie says, and I sag a little when he breaks eye contact to look at her. She turns her attention to me. “And what do you think of this new engine, Bree? Are you proud of your man?”

“Last I checked, I didn’t own him.”

Maggie laughs. “Atta girl.”

I seriously want to punch her. Even more so when she asks, “So you’re unimpressed?”

“Are you kidding? How could I be unimpressed with an achievement like that? Ash is a lot of things, and I’d say impressive tops the list.”

I meet Ash’s gaze. Nothing in the interview so far is bad. But I know Maggie better than to think the article will be good. He lifts a shoulder, which I interpret as wait and see.

Maggie leans forward. “Runs a bit in the family, don’t you think?” Her voice is low, as if we’re two girls out for drinks and gossip. “Impressive men, I mean.”

“I suppose so,” I say, though I’m sure she’ll twist my words.

“There’s been a lot of scandal in Damien Stark’s past,” she says, starting right in on that twisting. “Not long before Nikki Fairchild rolled into town, there were rumors that he killed an ex-girlfriend.”

I stiffen with anger on Damien’s behalf. “Wasn’t he totally exonerated for that?” I’d read the story when it came out, long before I worked for him. A horrible hit piece and none of it turned out to be true. I frown, wondering if Maggie wrote that article.

“I’m not suggesting we adjudicate the case.” She practically tut tuts her words. “I’m simply pointing out the father/son similarities.”

She looks at me while she speaks. I’m sure I look as clueless as I feel.

“Oh, I see. I just assumed you were aware.” She bends toward me and lowers her voice to a dramatic whisper. “His former girlfriend. Delia Cornwell.” Then she straightens before turning to Ashton, her tone turning blasè. “What were you dear? A grad student? And such a reputation for being a rebel. He had bit of a temper then, too,” she adds, her attention turning back to me. “And a girlfriend who ended up dead. A fall, wasn’t it? Did they ever determine if it was suicide or murder?”