Page 82 of Score to Settle
She looks taken aback. “You bought donuts for the office?” she asks with the same level of disbelief as if I’d announced Taylor Swift was my sister.
I shrug. “First day back after New Year’s. I thought we could all do with the boost.”
Alison gives a cheery thanks, her mouth already full of sugary dough, and Callie offers me a tentative smile. Not smug. Not mean. Just nice. I almost fall off my chair.
“Thanks, Harper.”
For the first time, I wonder if the cold shoulder she’s always given me is less to do with her and the fact we’re competing for the same job, and more to do with how much I’ve been hell-bent on keeping my head down, acting professional, and making sure no one learns the truth about my football knowledge or that I was fired fromInsight. It’s quite possible my behavior has been misread as cold-hearted bitch.
I cringe inwardly as Callie takes her seat at the desk across from mine, placing a donut and a coffee on my desk.
“Thanks,” I say.
“How’s the feature going?” she asks.
“Good,” I reply instinctively before slumping back in my chair and looking at Callie. “The truth?”
She gives a nod of encouragement.
“It’s hard. I’ve got so much I want to say, but…” I trail off, unable to explain the mess of my thoughts.
“You’ll get there,” she says. It might be the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.
“As long as you’ve got your red pen ready,” I say, my tone light as I remember the marked-up notes left on my desk last month.
She snorts. “Just a little joke,” she says with a smirk.
“It got me, too. But…” I narrow my eyes a little. “That hotel room you booked for me in Atlanta, did you cancel it the morning I was due to stay there?” The answer doesn’t matter now, but I’d like to know.
“What?” She looks aghast. “No way! Seriously, Harper. I might not be your biggest fan, but canceling your hotel room would’ve been a step too far.”
I laugh and remember the desk clerk mentioning a computer glitch. “Good to know.”
“What did you do?” Callie asks. “Did you find another room? I had so much trouble getting you that one because there was?—”
“An Irish dance competition,” we say in unison.
My cheeks heat remembering that night with Jake and our first kiss. “Don’t worry. I found something.”
“Good.” She smiles, turning back to her computer. “Hopefully that something involved a gorgeous football player.”
My mouth drops open and she flashes me a wide grin. “Oh, come on. I saw the story about the two of you. I’d totally have done the same if I was given half a chance to fall in love with a hunky tight end.”
Heat creeps over my cheeks, but I smile. I’ve been so worried about trying to prove I was a professional, maybe I should’ve spent more time being myself and trusting people to like me.
It occurs to me that whatever bridge is being built between me and Callie is too little, too late. I glance toward Tim’s office.He’s gone to a meeting with management on the twenty-fourth floor, but when he’s back, he wants to see me. No matter what Callie says, I crossed a line with Jake, and Tim has every right to be mad about that. It’s not just my reputation, it’s the reputation of the magazine too.
I sigh. Even if I come away from it with my job intact, I’m going to come clean about lying in my interview and allowing Tim to believe I knew as much about football as I do about other sports. I avoided anything to do with football after high school and my misguided hate toward Jake, but even with everything falling apart between us, I can’t deny I love the game.
I’ll offer to finish the feature on Jake, take my name off the byline, and clear out my desk. It’s the right thing to do. There’s only one position for a junior reporter on the magazine and it belongs to Callie.
I’m about to tell Callie that Jake and I are over, but then the elevator pings and Tim is striding across the floor, face like thunder. I freeze, pulse roaring in my ears. Walking beside him, a smug grin on his face, is Scott.
Mia shut down Scott’s interview chances last week. There’s no job for him at Arquette Media. So what the hell is he doing here? Scott glances my way, and in the knowing look he shoots me, I have my answer. Anger floods my body. He thinks he’s here to take me down.
“Harper,” Tim barks across the floor. “My office, please.”
My legs are jelly, but I stand and keep my head high as I straighten my skirt and walk into Tim’s office. No doubt Scott will have told Tim his version of New York. And he’ll have told him I lied about my football knowledge. I hate that he’s getting there before I’ve had the chance to do it myself.
