Page 12 of The Wrecked One

I hadn’t brought a purse, or anything else for that matter. Like always, Oliver had his pockets stuffed with my phone and other random things. All of my notes for the meeting were on my phone as well, so why bother carrying a bag?

After tipping the man, Oliver’s mouth stretched open in a yawn as he rubbed circles over his abdomen. The movement stretched his white tee over his biceps. His shirt was already starting to cling to his hard frame from the early morning heat, and I had to stop myself from reaching out to feel those ridges.

Off-limits, I reminded myself. Off-freaking-limits. But only for now. I inwardly grinned, excited for this to all be over for so many reasons.

“Maybe we should get a bite to eat before we meet with Mr. Bloodsport?” Oliver and his nicknames for people. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hun—” My words disappeared into Oliver’s chest when someone knocked into me with a little too much force, sending me flying against the man I wasn’t allowed to touch, but desperately wanted to.

“Watch where you’re going,” Oliver yelled as his strong hands flew to my arms to keep me upright, and also help unglue my lips from his chest. “You good?”

“I’m fine, but uh, you’re still touching me.” And I never want you to stop.

His forehead tightened, and he shook his head, a slip of a smile crossing his lips as he unhanded me. He grabbed our drinks from the vendor, gesturing toward a concrete bench along the riverside with his full hands. “Let’s move somewhere less crowded.”

“We have fifteen minutes before we’re meeting Soren,” I said while reaching for my tea. “And don’t forget we have the check-in call soon, too.”

To prevent our covers getting blown, we only called Falcon Falls every few weeks. The team would soon be convening at our headquarters in Pennsylvania to get an update from us. With the time difference, it was technically still yesterday for them.

“My eyes may be bloodshot from the lack of sleep,” he teased, “but I remember the schedule, buttercup.” He closed one eye, regretting his accidental use of my nickname. “This may be our break, so I get you might be nervous. This is what we’ve been hoping for, though.”

I was more worried about Oliver, and what might happen if the man hit on me in front of him, than I was about the meeting itself. He’d so much as admitted he’d lose control if he even saw Hugo look at me sideways.

Glancing left, then right, I ensured no one was nearby and listening to us before continuing the conversation. “And if Soren doesn’t ask me to alter my story, then what?” The story we’d been working on in Thailand, if FYVM approved it, had the potential to out a major pharmaceutical company as being corrupt, not to mention its wealthy owners. With any luck, one of those owners had ties to The Collective, and Hugo would request I rework the story for “their collective” benefit. It was the lead we needed, and it felt a little too good to be true.

“I guess if he doesn’t ask you to change the headline to a more favorable piece for that company, or to totally drop the story altogether, then either . . .”

He left his words hanging so I could finish them myself. Safer that way. But yeah, I knew his point.

If Hugo Soren didn’t try to cover this pharmaceutical company’s ass, then either The Collective had no connection to them, or worse, the Soren family didn’t. We needed Hugo’s family to be assholes, or we were back to square one.

“Hugo wouldn’t have flown here simply to pat you on the back and say good job.” That was a reassuring point.

“I just hope it doesn’t come to me actually having to alter my story for him.” I sipped the black iced tea. “Lois Lane would never write a fake article like that.” I faced him on the bench, my knees knocking against his.

And that little touch was enough to make my heart skip a beat.

He shifted away on the bench a little, placing space between us. Wow, we really had it bad for each other, didn’t we? A little knee action got us both excited.

“We’ll do our best to exit this situation before the article actually gets published. I won’t let you do anything you’d regret. I know you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you . . . well, did that.”

Yeah, if I had to compose a bullshit article to sell whatever narrative The Collective wanted the world to buy into and believe for the sake of their secret ulterior motive, I’d lose my integrity. And while I may have given up my life as an investigative reporter years ago, the journalist’s creed was still encoded in my DNA. Cover story or not, I’d never sleep at night again.

“Relax.” He went to reach for my leg and stopped himself.

From the corner of my eye, I saw his shoulders falling. “Maybe we should head out now?” I suggested.

“Good idea. I want to scope out this place he pin-dropped to your phone ahead of time. The fact he waited until the last minute to have his assistant reach out doesn’t make me feel great.”

We stood, and he took my tea before I could finish it and tossed both our drinks in the nearby bin.

“You sure you don’t want to get a quick bite first before we go?” Maybe I was stalling, but knowing the obstacle we would potentially have to face, I wasn’t exactly eager to see how everything played out. Even if this was likely the break we’d been waiting for. “Don’t want you to grumpify without food.”

That earned me an adorable smile from him. “You and your love for making up words. I bet your editor back in the day must’ve really loved that about you.”

“She loved it as much as my current editor does.” Of course, the editor Hugo had hired when his father sent him to take over made Meryl Streep’s character from The Devil Wears Prada look like an angel.

Oliver reached into his pocket for my phone, then gestured toward the direction of the park with it.

---