Page 16 of Power Play

He studies me as he takes another fake hit of his beer. It’s still undeniably sexy, and I squeeze my knees together under the table. “All right, if you want this interview then—”

“Duke!”

It’s Gwen.

I slide back into proper position on my chair, facing the wall like a naughty school kid caught breaking all of the No. 2 pencils. Almost simultaneously, Duke places the beer bottle on the table and resumes his muteness.

Gwen doesn’t seem to notice, if the way she pauses to squeeze his shoulders on the way to her chair is any indication. She waves her phone in the air. “You will never believe who that just was.”

“The pope,” I say, cutting into my steak.

Her tone is snippy when she replies, “No, Charlie, it wasnotthe pope.”

“A shame.”

I swear I feel Duke’s knee jostle mine, but the contact is so fleeting it’s possible that I’ve imagined the entire thing.

“Anyway, that was actually the sports editor fromThe Boston Globe. He gave a fantastic pitch.” Gwen resettles in her chair and flicks her voluminous hair over her shoulders. “You know, Charlie, I have you to thank for this opportunity.”

I don’t like the sound of this. Sending a hasty glance over my shoulder, my thoughts head straight to Caleb. Where in the world did he disappear to? He’s supposed to be my emotional support for the night. In other words, he’s failing at pretending to be my beloved my fake boyfriend. When I fail to spot him, I slowly bring my attention back to Gwen’s face.

Smug.

If her expression had a name, it would be “Smug” with a capital S.

Still, I can’t let her see how much she’s getting to me. I straighten my shoulders, tip my chin up and say, “You’re welcome.”

Her brows knit together in consternation. “In case you’re wonderinghowyou’ve helped this—”

“I’m not.”

“It’s because if it weren’t for you, I would have told that editor no.” Gwen offers up another too-sugary smile. “But it wasyou, Charlie, who just pointed out that locals want to have a piece of Duke. So, we’re going to give it to them.”

My heart flops over in my chest. “You’re going to letThe Tribunehold the interview?”

“What?” Throwing back her head, Gwen laughs. It’s one of those delicateha-ha-hasthat celebrities used to hand out in spades onOprah, the ones that don’t sound genuine. The ones you’re convinced are practiced in front of the mirror to check the line of a neck, the squint of the eyes. Gwen’s laugh is perfect.

Perfectly fake, that is.

“No, Charlie,” she says, wiping an equally fake tear from under her eyes, “Duke will be doing the interview withThe Globe.”

Lovely.

Chapter Five

“How’dthe double date go?” Casey asks me the following morning at work. “Did you land the interview?”

I let my head thunk onto my desk. “It sucked. Gwen’s his PR agent.”

“What?”

“I know.” My forehead squeaks against the desk as I turn to look her way. “I’d say it can’t get any worse, but, really, this is pretty much as bad as it can get.”

“Did you have the chance to ask her aboutThe Tribunedoing a feature on Duke, at least?”

“She said no.”

“Damn,” Casey says with a shake of her head. She sticks her pen in her mouth, chewing on the cap. It’s a habit that she can never kick once she’s in deep thought. Her desk is littered with teeth-imprinted pen caps. It’s a little disgusting, but who am I to judge?

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