Page 22 of Dirty Filthy Boy
Chapter 9
MacKenna
"PERKINS, GET IN HERE."
One of these days I'm going to walk in the door without my boss bellowing at me.
Pasting a smile on my face, I walk into his office, with the cup of coffee I'd picked up from the shop next door. "Yes, sir?"
"The Ty Mathews interview? How did that go?"
"I'm going to need more time."
"Why?"
"There's something there I want to explore." A secret in Ty's past he doesn't want to discuss. He's not going to volunteer that information, not after I walked out on him. So I'm going to have to unearth it some other way.
His brows hunch up as he stares at me. "Does exploring mean getting chummy with him?"
He can't possibly know I spent the night at Ty's. Can he? "What do you mean?"
"This." He pounds a finger on something on his desk.
I approach to see what he's talking about. It's a photo from yesterday. The Chronicle staff photographer must have snapped it as Ty and I headed for his car.
"Why is he holding your hand?"
Oh, sheesh. "There were a lot of people there. He didn't want to lose me in the crowd."
"What about this one?" He jabs another photo.
Ty and me again, my back to his front. One hand holds my arm while he instructs me on the technique of throwing a football, his other arm is wrapped around my middle.
"You two look mighty cozy."
"A little boy was having a hard time throwing the ball, so Ty demonstrated using my arm." He wanted the kid to see the technique before working with the boy himself.
"Ty, huh? What happened to Ty Mathews or Mr. Mathews. I warned you yesterday about getting too close to your assignment. And yet here you are plastered to the quarterback of the Chicago Outlaws with not much daylight between you."
"We weren't that close. It's just the angle."
His mouth curls in disapproval.
Darn. He's not buying my story. Let's face it. I did get close to Ty. Much, much too close. And if Mr. Bartlett finds out, my heiney might be tossed to the street.
He scrubs his face. "Maybe it would be best to let Joe interview Mr. Mathews."
Joe Johnson, the sports reporter for the paper. He'd come down with the flu which was the reason the Ron Moss interview had been assigned to me. It may have been originally Joe's but it's changed to something else, and I'll be darned if I allow the interview to be taken from me.
Mr. Bartlett's bushy brows hike up when I close the door to ensure our privacy. I don't want Randy the worm to hear what I'm about to say. "I think I can get a series of interviews with other Chicago Outlaws players."
"Besides Ty Mathews?"
"Yes. At the rec center, I talked to a couple of them—Ron Moss, Maddox Buchinsky. Ron agreed to do another interview and Maddox seemed amenable as well." Although Ron had indeed agreed, I hadn't broached the subject with Mad Dog. But I don't think he'd say no.
"You'll need to get approval from the Outlaws' press office."
"I met the head of their public relations. He seemed to like me. He's all for women covering sports." Actually, I did no such thing. And I have no idea how Trevor Howard feels about women reporters. But I'll be damned if I let that little detail stand in my way.
