The pause was painful as she stared at him, wide-eyed. “And did you?”
The words punched hard, his stomach drawing tight with anger. He’d seen the doubt in his colleagues’ expressions. The questions in their eyes. Outside of his parents and Pete Booker, no one had believed the truth—not a hundred percent, anyway. Not even after he’d been cleared. So why should she? But somehow her doubt took a larger chunk from his already ragged pride, and left him dangerously close to the edge. He leaned closer, and a flicker of desire swept through her eyes. For some reason the thought of a payback appealed. And there was no greater payback than refusing to answer a nosy woman’s question.
“What do you think?” he said.
Carly hardly knew him, and had no reason to believe in his honor. But for one terrible moment he realized he was holding his breath, hoping she would.
“I don’t know,” she said softly, the tone doing little to ease the doubt in her eyes. “Why don’t you tell me?”
The seconds that ticked by felt like minutes to Carly, and she held her breath as she waited for Hunter’s response. The news about his past had dumped a truckload of fuel on an already burning fire of curiosity, but the impassive look on Hunter’s face—so close to hers it was difficult to concentrate—revealed nothing.
And then his eyes flickered with an emotion that came and went too quickly to identify. Finally Hunter leaned back in his seat, but there was a coiled energy simmering beneath the falsely relaxed air. “I think I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.”
Carly stared at Hunter, quietly sucking in a breath. Damn, the man was determined to drive her down crazy lane. “What eventually happened?”
“The matter was investigated and dropped for lack of evidence,” he said evenly. “After that I left the force voluntarily.”
From the tone in his voice it was obvious he was done with the discussion. But his response didn’t make it clear if the charges against him were accurate, but couldn’t be proved, or if they were false. The truth lay buried beneath the impossible-to-ruffle gaze, and her mind kept drifting back to the hard, lethally cool look on his face in the alley.
She cleared her throat, trying to ease the tension. “Being ex-FBI must have helped your business.”
He shot her a pointed look. “As much as having William Wolfe for a father has helped your career.”
The statement was like an elbow-jab to the gut, and Carly’s stomach folded protectively into a knot. Her dad was her least favorite subject, and she wished the Shakespeare-singing and dancing men in the buff had driven Hunter away. Clearly he didn’t scare easily. The next few minutes were going to be rough.
Remember the mantra, Carly. Cool. Easy-breezy.
“It didn’t help as much as you’d think,” she said lightly. “My dad always insisted I make it on my own.” Which she had confidently set out to do, back when she’d believed hard work alone was enough. “When I landed my first job at one of his California papers no one learned who my father was until a year later.”
He studied her face, as if surprised. “That must have caused a few ripples.”
“My boss was certainly nicer after he found out.”
Or he had been nice up until she’d made an iffy decision and scandal had rocked her world—both personally and professionally. And, true to his word, her father had never intervened on her behalf…not even when she’d needed his help the most.
The pain sliced like a freshly whetted knife, and Carly clutched her armrest and stared at the stage, grateful the music was loud as Hamlet belted out his monologue, bare-assed and lifting Yorick’s skull further skyward with every high note. Her father’s approval had always felt unattainable. But if she earned her current boss’s confidence, and a little leeway to choose her stories again, she’d regain a bit of the dignity she’d lost after her mistake.
“California is a long way away,” Hunter said when the music died down. “Your dad must have been happy you were hired on at the Miami Insider and moved back to town.”
Carly bit back a bark of humorless laughter, staring at the stage. “You would think so,” she said. “But you’d be wrong. My father thinks a weekly online paper will fail. He’s convinced I made a disastrous career move.”
Or, more accurately, a second disastrous career move. As always, his lack of confidence in her rankled. But after his prediction she wouldn’t leave even if the Miami Insider did take a nosedive at perilous speeds. She was hell-bent on proving her dad wrong.
“As a matter of fact—” Carly sent Hunter a wry smile “—he’s probably eagerly waiting for the paper to fold just so he can be proved right.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes skeptically. “You’re saying your father had nothing to do with you winding up on Brian O’Connor’s show?”
This time there was no holding back the harsh laugh. The suggestion was so absurd it hurt. “My father would never show me that kind of favoritism.”
“Seems a big coincidence we ended up at the very station your father owns.”
“He had nothing to do with it. I contacted the producer of the show—”
“Who wouldn’t have given you the time of day if not for the family name.”
She wasn’t so foolish as to deny it. “Okay, so that part is true.” Having the last name Wolfe had to be good for something, because the parental aspect wasn’t so hot. “But Brian O’Connor is a fan of my column and was on board with the idea from the start.”
“On board for what?” he asked dryly. “Ganging up on me?”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “You handled us as easily as you handled Thad and Marcus. And you know,” she said, fed up with the entire conversation as she twisted in her seat to face him, “I asked to come on Brian’s show simply to state my beef with your app. You weren’t even supposed to be there.”
His brow creased with suppressed amusement even as his eyes remained unyielding. “Too bad for you I showed up.”
Carly’s lips pressed flat as she remembered how he’d goaded her into losing her temper. Was that his intention now?
His intense gaze was relentless as he went on. “I want you to end this public dispute.”
“Well, I want you to admit The Ditchinator sucks.”
“Fine. I admit it.”
She shook her head. “Not good enough. Which is why I’m so pleased you agreed to a second show.” She sent him her best winning smile—the one that flirted at the possibility for more. “You can go on air to admit it sucks and share the inspiration behind your app.”
He leaned close again, a spark of awareness in his gaze that sabotaged her smooth-talking abilities. “I won’t do either,” he murmured silkily.
Desire constricted her throat, making breathing difficult. She knew he was attracted to her, and God knew he thrilled her like no one had before. She could never mix business with pleasure again, but a part of her longed to know if she could ever get him to act on his attraction. “Well, then, you’d best be on your guard, Mr. Philips.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “Hunter.”
Awareness pricking her skin and scrambling her brain, she repeated obediently, “Hunter.”
“With you around, I’m always on my guard.” His lips curled at one end. “On guard against your sharp sarcasm. The cutting words. The arsenal of charm. And …” his gaze dropped to her legs this time, kicking up her