Page 112 of Not That Impossible

“I didn’tmeanto make it sound like Ray’s a serial killer.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No?”

“Jasper?”

“No! I didn’t! I don’t know what happened! Okay, yes, I do. My jealousy got the better of me, but that isn’t even the main reason. I’m really, really bad at this, Adam. I’m so bad at it.”

Even though I wasn’t his favourite person right now, he immediately leapt to my defence. “No, you’re not, you—”

“I am! I can’t do it! It’s the pressure! I swear to god I nearly died writing that stupid article, and now Ray is going to sue me, and—”

“Jasper. Jas! Calm down, Ray isn’t going to sue. He was just kicking off.”

“You can’t know that,” I said.

“I can know that. He won’t sue you,” Adam said firmly. “He’s a nice guy. The best. Is he pissed off at you? Hell, yes. But not enough to ruin your life. Trust me, the worst he’d ever do is glare a bit, or say something snippy.” The noise of traffic cut out. “Hang on a sec,” he said.

I waited while he had a muffled conversation with someone. I heard brisk footsteps, the tapping of a keyboard, and the creak of an office chair.

“Right,” he said. “I’m back at the hotel.”

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. And I’m definitely going to tell Ray that. I might still be able to catch him—oh. No, they’ve gone now. Never mind, I have his phone number.”

“Maybe wait a bit before you try and make contact,” Adam said. “At least until the police have finished processing his house and he’s allowed home again. Give it some time to blow over. And don’t write another article.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever write another article,” I said grimly.

Adam had to check in a new arrival and he hung up, telling me not to worry about Ray. Adam planned on taking good care of him.

That, along with the smoking hot kiss outside, suggested they were a thing now.

At least one of us had got his soulmate.

Good for Adam.

I sighed and stood up, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. I’d leave Ray alone to cool down, like Adam said, but I should probably give Ralph a heads-up.

Either I did it, or he’d hear the gossip about Ray’s meltdown in the coffee shop, and call me up to yell at me. Today had been shit enough, thanks.

* * *

By the timeI got across town to the newspaper’s office, he’d already heard the gossip.

I could tell by the way he was white-knuckling the glass of whisky on his desk, which sat next to a bottle with a good third missing.

“Ralph,” I said as I crossed the room. “This is nothing to worry about.”

He knocked back the whisky, spun the cap of the bottle off, and poured out another glass, all the while pinning me with his beady glare. He took a dramatic sip, then said mildly, “Do I look worried?”

“A little bit.”

“That’s weird. Why would I be worried? I can’t think of a reason. Unless…” He took another sip as he pretended to think. He snapped his fingers. “Oh! Is it because I’ve had fifteen phone calls telling me that Ray Underwood is going to sue the ever-loving shit out of me?”

I dragged a chair over and sat opposite him.

He was on a roll. “Is it because some kind person sent me actual video footage of Underwood threatening it, and I’ve played it twenty times already, and I’ll be hearing those words echoing in my head until the day I die?”

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