“I wouldn’t advise it,” he said dryly. “Not unless you want another newspaper headline about us, and I doubt that.”
She opened her mouth.
“Think about it,” he said forcefully. “Our names conjoined in ink. Again. Forever.”
Three
Upstairs in Noah’s office, Kayla still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
They didn’t do well talking to each other. Or even being in the same room together.
Noah gestured her to a seat.
“No thanks,” she said.
“Suit yourself,” he responded, then sat at the edge of his desk, folding his arms across his chest and crossing one foot over the other at the ankle.
She glanced around his office. It was all chrome and black and glass with two walls displaying great views of nearby hills. Her cubicle at work would have fit into the space behind his desk.
Grudgingly, she admitted that, whatever else Noah was, he did appear to be spectacularly successful.
“What the heck are you doing here?” he asked abruptly, drawing her attention back to him.
“I was filling in for another reporter,” she said, self-conscious under his scrutiny. All at once, her skirt felt too short, her top too tight and her heels too high. Damn him.
He raised a brow. “Since when are gossip columnists asked to fill in for business reporters?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it was none of his business, when it occurred to her that she’d just been handed a great chance to ask as many questions as she wanted about the acquisition of Avanti—if, that was, she acted at least passably civil toward him.
“I’ve been trying for a lateral move to the business desk at the Sentinel,” she responded stiffly.
She could see she’d surprised him. “You want to write something other than salacious rumors?”
She checked her temper. “Let’s not cross that ground again, shall we? As I think I made clear before, I work hard at my job. It’s just that I want to be doing the type of reporting that I got into journalism for.”
“And that would be—?”
“Business reporting,” she said, her tone clipped. “Are you going to tell me what you wanted to talk to me about, or not?”
He looked at her for several seconds, his green gaze inscrutable. Finally, he said, “I’m calling for a cease-fire.”
“What?” It was her turn to be taken by surprise.
“You heard me.”
“Oh, right. I suppose now that the empire has struck back, it’s okay for you to want to call a truce. After all, Sybil LaBreck has just announced to the whole world that we’re back together!”
“Yeah, well,” he said, too placidly to suit her, “you did play straight into my hands on that one.”
She stared at him, annoyed. How dare he stand there looking so sexy and so gorgeous—causing an unwanted but very feminine reaction in her—when he was such a calculating sneak. She folded her arms across her chest. “I know I will regret asking, but how did I play into your plans?”
“Yesterday I tipped off that photographer from the Boston World so he could snap me leaving the Sentinel’s offices looking, uh, contrite after trying to mend fences with you.”
“I should have guessed that photographer wasn’t just hanging around hoping for a good photo op.”
“Little did I know you’d insist on walking out with me—”
“Giving you and him an even better photo opportunity than you were expecting,” she finished for him.
The lout.
“So, again, are you willing to declare a truce?”
“What kind of truce?” she asked, suspicious.
He shrugged nonchalantly, rising from his desk.
She forced herself not to take an involuntary step back just to keep some space between them. Over six feet, he had a comfortable height advantage over her—even when she was wearing heels. But, more than that, he radiated a charisma that was nearly palpable.
“We can help each other.”
“Really?” she asked in disbelief, forcing herself to keep up with their war of words because it was easier than thinking about being alone in his office with him.
“I can’t imagine what help I need from you other than for you to stop sabotaging me.”
He arched a brow. “Sabotage is a strong word, don’t you think?”
“Not if it’s accurate.” When he was smooth and charming, he was even more dangerous than when he was angry and annoyed. She brushed aside the disgruntling realization.
“You just said you’re looking to move to the business desk at the Sentinel.”
“Yes…?” She wondered where he was going with this.
“I can give you a news story that will help you get there.”
“What news story?”
“An exclusive inside look at Whittaker Enterprises. I’ll grant you broad access.”
“In return for…?”
He gazed at her speculatively. “In return for your help in rehabilitating my public image.”
“Impossible,” she responded.
He laughed. “I’m flattered, in a backhanded-compliment sort of way.”
“Anyway, you’re overestimating my influence on public opinion.”
“I don’t think so. You damaged my reputation, you can repair it.”
“How?”
“By being seen getting along with me.”
“I’m not that good of an actress,” she retorted.
“Do your best. I’m not looking for an Oscar-winning performance.”
His plan was ridiculous, outrageous. So why was she tempted?
Because, she answered herself, he was dangling an irresistible lure, damn him. She’d walk on hot coals to get that business reporter’s beat.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Can’t. Journalistic ethics. You may have heard of them.”
“A little late in the day to be worrying about those, don’t you think?” he scoffed.
“Tell that to my boss when he fires me,” she snapped.
He shrugged and folded his arms again. “What would it take not to offend your journalistic sensibilities?”
“I won’t agree to anything that smacks of you trying to buy me off or of an exchange of favors.”
He sighed. “I told you that you’ll have broad access to Whittaker Enterprises. You can talk to our employees. Heck, I’ll talk to you. You can follow me around and see what my routine is. I won’t stop you from writing something unflattering. All I’m asking for is that you write a balanced piece.”
She continued to eye him, unconvinced.
He sighed again. “Fine, you don’t have to pretend to get along with me anymore than comes naturally, if that’s going to trouble your reporter’s conscience.”
“Thanks.”
“And as