Page 6 of The Southern Submission

I suppress another smile. She has no fucking idea. I haven’t said even a quarter of what I’ve been thinking. “Are you surprised that people can be honest and unfiltered when you keep yourself guarded with this prickly persona for whatever reason?” I challenge back.

She drops her arms to her sides, her hands in fists. “I’mnotprickly.”

I grin at her with amusement until she drops her gaze.

“I’m just annoyed by you,” she admits quietly.

I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise. “How very annoying of me to offer help when you needed it the most. If there were even one other free table in this café, I’d take my annoying self away and let you brood in peace over your work that you seem intent on ignoring.”

She glares at me. “I’mnotignoring my work. You’re distracting me.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Why areyouhere, anyway? This doesn’t seem like your type of place unless you’re a secret unicorn and magical coffee lover.”

I shudder, shaking my head. “Definitely not. This place is horrible. I’m meeting my sister-in-law here. She picked the spot and has terrible taste, but she’s running late, so I get to annoy you by fixing your laptop while I wait. I’m going to need your contact details. Your phone number and email. Probably your address as well.”

“What, why?” she sputters, her hazel eyes widening in horror, making me laugh at her disproportionate reaction.

“For my unspecified favor that I can call in at any time. I need to be able to contact you somehow. Texting or calling is the obvious option, but if you don’t reply, I’d email. If you don’trespond to that, I’d take it upon myself to show up where you live to cash in on that favor. You’ve already told me where you work, so I could just show up there if you’re extra tricky.”

She gapes at me. “You’re insane. You’d stalk me just to call in afavor?”

“It’s not stalking if I tell you my plans in advance. Besides, you’re the one who chose to owe me the favor and made it that much more appealing. I just want to make sure you’ll hold up your end of the bargain when it comes time to pay up. And don't get any ideas about going back on it now.”

“I wouldnever.” She leans toward me, her eyes flashing with contempt that I would even insinuate that she would back out.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and open my contacts before holding it out for her to fill in her information. “We’re going to be good friends, Ainsley Montgomery. You’re going to love having me in your life,” I promise with enthusiasm. This is so much fun. I like getting under her skin. It’s so easy.

She takes the phone warily and stares at me. “You’re not at all like I expected.” She types in her contact details and hands the phone back to me with a scowl.

“Oh, Ainsley, you can’t say something like that and not elaborate. What did you expect of me, exactly?” I lean forward eagerly, ready to hear what she has to say.

Three

Ainsley

Payton Olsen is not at all what I expected. He stares at me like he can see right into my soul with those vivid, ocean-blue eyes, and I’m stripped of all my defenses under his piercing gaze. It was a surprise to look up from my work daze and realize the well-known and revered middle Olsen brother was sitting next to me, offering to help with my laptop.

Even more complicated was the fact that I happened to be writing a story about Payton’s company, Olympus International, at that very moment. Having one of the men who run the company I was writing about appear and offer to help with the laptop holding a story that mentions him by name made me wildly uncomfortable. It was even more shocking to find him flirting unabashedly with me while he fixedthe dang thing. Payton, a billionaire, and one of the most powerful businessmen in the South, was flirting withme, a young, grumpy reporter, in this busy, unicorn-themed café where he’s so out of place, it’s comical.

However, I can’t help thinking that this meeting is fortuitous, and I need to take full advantage of it. I’ve been looking for an inside route to the Olsen men since moving to Atlanta two years ago when I received my first story assignment covering their business dealings. They’re enigmatic, ruthless, and for some reason, have bought up untold businesses and dismantled family legacies without any oversight. While some of their subsidiary companies are public, the brothers privately hold Olympus, so they don't even have investors to answer to, making the man in front of me a formidable opponent of a magnitude I’ve never come up against. I’d love to know him better, for the sake of journalistic curiosity. He could be the key to my big-ticket story and to finally earning my way into a bigger paper and stepping out of obscurity at the Gazette.

Only nowIowe him a favor, and he’s demandingmycontact details and threatening to show up at the Gazette to get me to repay it. Stalker vibes and red flags never looked so good as they’re delivered with that beautiful smile he’s so free with, despite every attempt I’ve made to dissuade him from deploying it. I’m willing to override every one of my self-preservation instincts to run in the opposite direction from his charming, effervescent personality just to have a shot at learning more about the way his business runs, and, if I’m being honest, who he is beneath the public appearance he puts on as the businessman who spins all the PR for Olympus.

“Oh, Ainsley, you can’t say something like that and not elaborate. What did you expect of me, exactly?” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair off mycheek so quickly it’s like it didn’t happen, but I feel the burn of his finger against my skin even after it’s gone. I swat at his hand again to keep up the pretense, and he smiles like it’s a new game now that he knows I don’t want him touching me.

Dammit. My big, fat mouth lacking a filter just got me into a less-than-ideal position because I was thinking about him being charming and wondering who he is behind the smiley mask instead of focusing on what I’m saying. I cringe. I’m usually so much better than this, but twice now I’ve managed to say something that should have stayed inside my head as an intrusive thought and he’s called me out both times.

I close my eyes and breathe in, looking for anything that will get me out of this conversation with my dignity intact and without embarrassing myself. When I open my eyes, Payton is still staring at me intently, his chin propped on his hand while he leans his elbow on the banquette behind us, and it doesn't help me find any sort of composure in the least. I frown at him and he just grins in return. A stupid, gorgeous, bright smile that twists my stomach and sends my heart skittering around my ribcage like a dumb bird that’s flown inside and can’t find its way out. My heart is a dumb bitch bird.

“I thought you’d be allbrooding businessman, super unapproachable, or at the very least, less…smiley. I don't know, maybe less talkative and definitely more aloof and secretive. Especially with your background and business. That’s how your brothers seem and how you three present yourselves to the public.”

I cringe at my awkwardness. It was a valiant effort. My journalism degree and having written countless stories couldn’t help the eloquence of that answer if I had a week’s deadline to do it justice. Not with him staring at me with that soul-searching look and secret smile like he knows exactly who I am at mycore.

There’s no way he could even begin to unravel that, but he continues to stare like he’s piecing me together and it makes me nervous. I should be the one figuring out whoheis, chasing down the story of Payton Olsen and what makeshimtick. I hate feeling like the shoe is on the other foot.Is this what my subjects feel like when I interview them?

He laughs. “Hayes and Zander are definitely brooding and far less smiley. You’re not wrong on that.”

“But you’re not,” I state, leaning toward him, unable to stop the pull he has on me, wanting to figure him out now. I’ve always been interested in who people are when no one is looking. What drives them? What makes them tick? If Payton’s willing to divulge that to me now, I’m listening, and I’m taking notes.

“All of this is off the record. We’re just two new friends getting to know one another over coffee.” He gives me a look like he knows exactly what I’m thinking and I chastise myself for potentially broadcasting those thoughts.

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