Page 5 of Houston, We Have a Problem
I blink. Did he forget that whole conversation we had a few days ago? The one where I begged him to let Darcy tell a story? “But I thought—”
“Not on camera, mind you. We still have your safety to worry about.” Connor leans forward and grabs his mouse, clicking away, and I can’t stop myself from slipping around his desk to see what he’s looking for. He pulls up the folder we have on Houston, which is surprisingly small. Usually we have loads of intel, even if it isn’t negative stuff. With Houston, we barely have anything beyond his player stats. I catch sight of college transcripts and salary info listed in the folder before Connor opens up a photo of a duplex, but there’s not much else.
“Is that where he lives?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Yup.” Connor scrolls to a bunch of info we’ve got on the house, apparently looking for something specific.
The house is way too cute for a pro athlete to be living there. “Not in a penthouse suite or something?”
“There’s a reason we don’t have much on Briggs,” he admits, and I can tell he hates that. Information is the bread and butter of journalism. He finds a phone number and types it into his desk phone without lifting the receiver.
“Sunset Properties,” a woman answers over the speaker.
“Yes, I was wondering if the listing on Halladay Avenue is still available?”
“We’ve had a few offers, but nothing is under contract yet. Are you the buyer or the agent?”
“Agent. However, I was actually hoping I could put in a rental offer. I noticed the short-term lease option at the bottom of the page.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “Between you and me, the rent he’s asking is higher than a mortgage would be even without a down payment.”
“That’s not an issue. Really, we only need the house for a month or two, but we’re willing to pay three months up front, including your commission.”
What in the world is happening? Unease settles in my gut as Connor continues discussing fees and payments with the real estate agent, and I grab Connor’s mouse to scroll back up to the picture of the duplex.Thisis how he plans to get info about Houston? Setting me up inside the other half of the guy’s house? It’s ludicrous, and dishonest, and if he is so worried about safety, why in the world would he put me in a house right next to the guy?
“I’ll email you the details,” Connor says, sounding way too gleeful for a guy who’s about to be shot down.
The instant he hangs up, I strike. “No.”
Connor chuckles. “What do you mean, no?”
I really wish I was taller, or that I had a pair of my Tamlin heels, but I fold my arms and try to look intimidating. “I mean no, I’m not going to spend a month in Sun City, in a house next to Houston freaking Briggs, just to get a scoop that may not exist!”
Rolling his eyes, he gives me a nudge so he can take control of his computer again and send a message to accounting, probably to pull together the funds to rent the other half of Houston’s duplex. “If it takes you a whole month, you’re not as good of a journalist as I thought.”
“Connor.”
He points to the chair on the other side of the desk.
I sit, but only because I remind myself that he’s not my friend. He’s my boss. This job is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m being reckless by adamantly refusing before I’ve even been told the details of what he’s thinking. “Sorry,” I grumble, shrinking a little in my chair.
At least Connor watches me with kindness in his eyes, though he’s got that fatherly look that says he still sees me as a kid fresh out of college. I know it’s only been two years since I finished grad school, but have I not proven myself to him with all of the Tamlin stories? Maybe he’s mad that I didn’t get anything out of Briggs when I was at the final game the other day.
“Darcy,” he says calmly, “I know it’s hard to see the end goal with some of this stuff, but I’ve been doing this for years. There’s a story here; I can sense it. And even if you don’t feel ready for a big break like this, you know as well as I do that we don’t have anyone else I can send to Sun City for an extended period of time. We don’t know how long it might take to get the intel, and you’re the only one with both the flexibility and the, uh, availability.”
Iknowhe doesn’t mean my open schedule. I cringe right along with him. “You want me todateHouston Briggs? Are you kidding me?”
He grimaces. “No, I’m not saying that. Nor am I saying I like the idea, because I don’t, but if you flirt with him, he might give you something. He just ended his fling with What’s-Her-Name, the actress, a couple of months ago.”
I let out a laugh. “Houston Briggs only dates celebrities and supermodels,” I remind him, and then I sweep an arm over myself. I wore jeans with holes in the knees and a t-shirt from a boy band concert I went to over a decade ago. Tamlin may wear tight dresses and high heels, but I don’t. Between that, my frizzy blonde hair that hates humidity, and my glasses because Tamlin’s blue contacts always irritate my eyes for a couple of days, I’m not exactly the pitcher’s type.
Connor shifts uncomfortably in his chair, like he wants to have this conversation even less than I do. “Darcy, give yourself some credit. You’ve got plenty to offer a guy.”
“A guy like Houston Briggs? Ha! Connor, this isn’t going to work. Don’t spend all this money when there’s no way—”
“This is happening with or without you,” he says, leaving little room for argument. “If I have to outsource, I will, but if you’re serious about making it in this field, sometimes you have to do things that push your comfort zone.”
I already push my comfort zone. I dress up as someone I’m not and tear people down on live television every other week, and I hate it. But Connor’s right. Most of the other journalists have been here for years and have made names for themselves already. Names that carry weight. Until I’ve better established myself as more than a terror, I have to do whatever it takes to get people to believe the words I say.
