Page 41 of My Dream

“Yes,” Fallon laughed, and her eyes sparkled. “It’s a very good thing.”

Clay flipped a page on his clipboard, and his smirk returned as he settled on Fallon. “What made you quit your job with Russ Finley?” he asked, and his voice dripped with fake curiosity. “How do you go from working with the Texas Attorney General to opening a cake shop with a biker’s girlfriend?”

Fallon tipped her head to the side, and her expression instantly cooled. “What made you decide to leave a broadcaster job at one of the most prominent stations in Texas?” she shot back.

I stifled a laugh. Thatta girl.

Clay’s fake composure cracked. “That has nothing to do with this,” he growled, and his grip on the clipboard tightened.

“And I don’t think me switching jobs has anything to do with this either,” Fallon fired back and sat straighter in her chair. “Focus on Compass and the club, not me. No one’s watching this show to learn what I’m doing with my life. I’m nobody.”

Clay’s lip curled in what I guessed he thought was a smile. “That’s the first truth you’ve said,” he drawled.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut—not because they were true, but because of how cruel they were. My blood boiled, and I had to grip the arms of the chair to keep from flying across the room and knocking Clay into the next week.

“Be careful with what you say to Fallon,” I warned, my voice low and steady.

Clay chuckled and shook his head like he thought I was being dramatic. “Pretty sure she can handle it.”

“But I’m pretty sure you can’t handle me when I knock your head off your shoulders,” I shot back.

That got his attention. Clay sat up straighter in his chair and shifted uncomfortably. He glanced back toward Mark and Drew as if looking for backup.

Mark stood with his arms folded across his chest, his face an unreadable mask. Drew, meanwhile, seemed very interested in the ceiling tiles. Neither of them was going to help him out of this one.

I leaned forward slightly and narrowed my eyes at Clay. “They ain’t gonna fucking help you. Stick to the questions on your clipboard and stop the shit with Fallon.” I let the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “I can’t help that you fucking fumbled her, and now I’m the one who’s got her. Sucks to be you.”

Clay’s face flushed with anger and humiliation, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, and his jaw worked like he was chewing on a reply he didn’t have the guts to say out loud.

Fallon shifted beside me, and her hand rested on my forearm. “Compass,” she murmured, her voice soft and steady. It was enough to pull me back from the edge.

I took a deep breath and leaned back in my chair again. Clay, meanwhile, seemed to collect himself and flipped through his clipboard like he was looking for a way to regain control of the situation.

“Let’s move on,” he said tightly and didn’t meet my eyes.

“Sounds like a good fucking idea to me,” I grunted.

Good fucking idea for sure.

Chapter Sixteen

Fallon

“Tired?” Compass’s voice was low and warm.

I slipped under the sheets and curled into his side as he stretched his arm out to pull me close. “Tired doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I sighed. “I think I’m still hungover.”

He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the side of my head.

It was just a little past nine, and I’d finally convinced him to come to bed. I could’ve come up on my own, sure, but I wanted him beside me. There was something about falling asleep next to Compass that made me feel like everything was going to be okay—like he could keep all the bad things at bay.

“I bet the next time you drink, you won’t forget to chase each shot with a glass of water,” he teased.

“You bet your ass I won’t,” I murmured, with a half-laugh and half-groan.

After the disastrous interview with Clay, I’d stuffed myself silly with one of Adalee’s BLTs, then spent the rest of the day on the couch with the girls while we pretended the world outside the clubhouse didn’t exist. The camera crew had wandered off a couple of hours after the interviews. Clay, on the other hand, had bolted right after Compass and I were done.

I was pretty sure no one had ever spoken to Clay the way Compass had, and the image of him storming off, tail between his legs, still made me smile. The way he’d blanched, like Compass’s words had cut right through his ego, was almost worth the tension. Almost.

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