Page 3 of Pity Present

“And that’s the job you’re going to have when Charlie retires.”

“In April …”

She shrugs her slim shoulders while simultaneously executing a disdainful eye roll.How did I ever find this woman attractive? “Which is four months away. Being that you’re already on the payroll, I’ve decided to give you other assignments until you step into Charlie’s shoes.”

Dropping into the chair across from her, I run my hands through my hair like I’m endeavoring to rip it out. “By sending me to some lodge in Wisconsin to interview the Midwestern Matchmaker?”

“Partially,” she says cryptically.

Trina Rockwell used to star on a show calledMidwestern Matchmakerbefore it got cancelled. Then she and her fiancé, Heath Fox, opened a lodge in the town where they fell in love. Nowshe’s apparently hosting dating encounters to match singles en masse.

“Gillian, I don’t cover crap like dating getaways for the hopelessly lonely and unattached. I’m not a romance writer.”

She raises one arched eyebrow so high it nearly hits her hairline. “The thing you need to ask yourself, Blake, is how you want to start out this job. Do you want to be thought of as a team player or do you want to set yourself apart as a troublemaker?”

“I’m not the troublemaker, Gillian. I’m just the guy who wants to do the work he’s been hired to do.”

Her expression relaxes to the point where she almost looks pleasant. I’m not buying it. “I’m a newspaper editor who needs her staff to be willing to step outside the box if that’s what the paper requires.”

“You thinkChicago Windneeds anexposéon a dating getaway in Wisconsin?” I try my darndest to make sure my tone conveys every ounce of contempt I’m feeling.

“Yes, Blake. This kind of thing is why we created the Windy Season circular. Chicagoans want to know the dish on all thing social. And being that you’re our shiny recruit from the West Coast, you’re the guy for the job.”

I can’t seem to stop myself from asking, “Because I have a tan? You don’t have very high standards, do you?”

“You’re the man for the job because you’re currently the only single person without a permanent assignment.” Smack. Down.

While I could go on pleading my case for the next hour (day … month …) I know it won’t do any good. I can either walk away from my dream of writing about the sports teams I grew up with, or I can do this favor in hopes of garnering the best possible work environment. “What does the assignment entail?” I sound as though I’m accepting a death sentence.

“Two weeks in Elk Lake, Wisconsin. You’ll be back by Christmas Eve.”

“You just want me to interview people about their experience? Ask them what they think of the event and all?”

She shakes her blonde hair from side-to side, making it look like a silk curtain swaying in the breeze. “No one can know you’re a reporter.”

“Excuse me?”Wait a minute, she just said I was the onlysingleperson on staff without a permanent assignment.She can’t mean …“You can’t possibly want me to pretend I’m one of the singles being set up?”Please don’t mean that.

The slow smile that crosses Gillian’s mouth makes my blood run cold. “I’m not interested in dating right now. I’ve only just come out of a serious relationship.” I don’t mention that relationship ended three years ago.

“You don’t have to marry anyone.”

“I don’t have to date anyone, either. I’m not a piece of meat for you to pimp out for the entertainment of your readership.”

“That’s unnecessarily harsh, Blake. All you have to do is be social. Act like you’re interested, then write about your experience and let other singles know whether you think this getaway is a worthwhile endeavor.”

I feel like I did that time my parents told us we were going to Disneyland, and we wound up at some county fair in Kentucky. It wasn’t their fault our alternator broke, and they couldn’t get a new one for three days, but I still felt duped. Taking one last stab at freedom, I ask, “How in the world am I supposed to go to a bunch of singles’ events without people knowing who I am? They’ll suspect I’m writing about them.”

Gillian looks confused.“Why? Whoareyou?”

Is she purposely being obtuse? “I’m a well-known sportswriter from Los Angeles.”

She snorts disdainfully. “Nobody in Chicago cares about LA. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that nobody in Chicago even knows who you are.”

Ouch.“I did grow up here,” I remind her.

She smirks before scooting her chair back under her desk. “If you see your parents or childhood friends up in Elk Lake, tell them to pretend they don’t know you. But don’t you dare tellanyone else who you are or why you’re there or you may not have the job you came here for.” She starts typing again like she didn’t just threaten my livelihood.

I don’t move for what feels like an hour, although I’m sure it’s only a couple of minutes. I just sit there staring at my boss like she’s a newly discovered life form from another planet. It isn’t until she picks up her phone and makes a call that I realize she’s done talking to me.

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