Page 81 of Back in Black

Like . . . right now.

She turned her head to look at him, and there was such a connection to him that it humbled her. “Brett?”

“Hmmm?” He scratched his chest and then turned his head toward her. His small smile was one of pleasure and contentment.

God, she hated this. Best to just get it over with. “Millie wants to do a story.”

Maybe it was the way she said it, the dread she felt, but Brett went still and the smile disappeared. “What story?”

Because that one was hard to explain, Audrey said instead, “She called last night, but I didn’t hear my phone.”

“I know. You left your purse and phone on the sofa.” Now frowning, Brett rolled up to one elbow. “What story, Audrey?”

A deep breath didn’t help at all. Audrey sat up and wondered where her clothes had gone. She found them crumpled on the floor and gathered them into her arms.

She didn’t want to remain naked while explaining this. “Let me get dressed and you can”—she nodded toward the condom—“take care of that, then we’ll talk.”

After appraising her with a long look, Brett left the bed without a word and headed for the bathroom. Audrey was dressed by the time he returned. He walked past her to the closet and got out a clean T-shirt, then boxers, socks, and jeans from his dresser.

Standing with the clothes in his arms, his feet braced apart, he studied her. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

Nervousness growing, Audrey asked, “Will you join me for a cup?”

Seconds ticked by before he said, “I don’t drink coffee, but I’ll sit with you.”

For some reason, his words felt like a dismissal, so she started edging toward the door. “Okay. I’ll . . . be in the kitchen when you finish.”

She helped herself to the coffee and was sitting at the table when Brett came in and poured himself a glass of water. “Why do you make coffee if you don’t drink it?”

He didn’t join her at the table, but instead leaned back on the counter. “Other people do.”

He waited without pressing her, but Audrey knew she had no more excuses for not telling him. Millie was waiting on her, and then she had to get to work.

“I don’t have all the details yet—Millie will explain everything when I see her. But last night, when she was at Drew Black’s house—”

Brett’s eyebrows shot up. “She was at his house? Seriously?” He left the counter and pulled out a chair.

“Yes. You see—”

Leaning on the table, he asked, “Whywas she there? To represent WAVS in some way?”

Disapproval reeked in his tone, and Audrey felt defensive. “Someone—not from WAVS—was taking photos of Mr. Black and I guess he found out and chased the poor photographer—”

“Poorphotographer?” He leaned back in his chair. “Unbelievable.”

Already on edge, Audrey plunked down her cup and almost spilled the hot brew. “Are you going to let me tell this or not?”

Brett ran a hand through his hair, then gestured grandly. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

The beginnings of a headache set in. “The photographer ran away from Mr. Black, and in the process, he got hit by a speeding car and died.”

Going still, Brett muttered, “Shit.”

Vindicated, Audrey repeated what Millie had told her. “In a response to reporters, Mr. Black apparently expressed a total lack of remorse for the man’s demise.”

That locked up Brett’s jaw, but he kept silent.

Audrey leaned toward him. “It’s all very complicated, but . . . my understanding is that the owners of the SBC hired a publicist for Mr. Black, a woman to sort of make him over into a less offensive person.”

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