Page 33 of No More Billionaires

“Mine,” I volunteered, getting into the spirit of the fun conversation. “She has an extra sensory perception of fat. If I’ve put on an ounce, Momma knows it. If I consume a single calorie over my daily allotment, she sounds the alarm.”

“It’s true,” Heidi confirmed, nodding with pursed lips and acan-you-believe-that-shit?expression.

Larson studied me, a furrow forming in his forehead as he tried to decide whether I was joking. He tipped his head back and narrowed his eyes.

“But you don’t have weight issues. You’re perfect—sorry—” He put his hands up in a defensive posture. “I mean, you’refine.Just like you are.”

“Thanks,” I said, though it came out as a choked whisper. I took a sip from my water glass.

From the corner of my eye I saw Aric and Heidi exchange a significant glance. Face flaming, I dropped my head and studied my menu.

“I think I’ll have the Bless Your Heart salad and Royal Red Risotto.”

“Well, y’all stand back because I’m about to make a pig of myself,” Heidi announced. “This is a special occasion, and I have my fiancé’sencouragement, no less. I’m gonna order the Chicken Fried Chicken with white cheddar mac ‘n’ cheese and country ham gravy. And they might as well bring the dessert menu now, cause I’m not leaving without my Chocolate Whiskey Cake.”

Larson reached across the table and high-fived her in approval. “I love a woman with an appetite.”

“So do I,” Aric said, turning to give Heidi a tender kiss as he drew her against him. “Who knew the perfect girl was waiting for me in a tiny town in Georgia? Took me a while to convince her, but now I’m not letting her get away.”

Seeing Heidi and Aric together was a strange experience. I was beyond thrilled for her, just like I was for Mara and Reid, but it was also kind of heart-breaking.

If life were fair, I’d be sitting here with them beside my own husband, instead of beside—I shot a glance over at Larson, who laughed at something Aric said, flashing his gorgeous smile and those intriguing full-face laugh lines—instead of sitting beside someone so completely opposite of the kind of guy I was looking for now.

Talk aboutnotmy type.

I shook my head and reached for my wine glass. Why was I even thinking of Larson in that role anyway? We were nothing more than co-workers inconveniently forced together for an out-of-town dinner.

Spending time with him was a means to an end, a necessary evil on the path toward a better-paying position at WNN.

“…if she wanted to,” Larson finished a thought, and I came back to the moment to find my dinner companions all staring at me.

“What?”

Heidi gave me a knowing grin. “Larson was just bragging on you, telling us what an amazing writer you are and how well you’re doing at WNN. Maybe you can work your way into an on-air job reporting or even anchoring there.”

I nearly choked on my Pinot Noir. “God no. It doesn’t work that way at the network. And I’m just fine behind the scenes, thank you very much.”

“Please. Don’t encourage her to leave me—I don’t think I could live without her,” Larson said.

At Aric’s double-take, he explained, “She’s a great producer. I would look and sound like an idiot out there if not for her.”

Feeling my face flush, I was grateful for the restaurant’s low lighting. “Well, thanks, but you’re giving me way too much credit. Deb is the driving force behind the show.”

I addressed my explanation to Heidi and Aric. “And there are about fourteen other people working on Overstreet Live—I’m just a peon there.”

Glancing back at Larson, I said, “Besides, you’d do just fine no matter who was producing.”

I turned to my friends and added honestly, “He’s really kind of sickeningly good.”

They wore matching expressions of amusement as Larson and I seemed to have somehow become engaged in a compliment smack-down, competing to see who could flatter the other more.

A change in topic was definitely in order.

“How did we get on the subject of work anyway—oh right—we’re in TV news,” I joked. “Aric, wasn’t your first job in Minnesota?”

“Oh youbetcha,” he said, mimicking the famous accent. “Ungodly cold. But nice people… and good sports action. How about you?” He nodded to Larson.

“I started as a producer at a cable station in San Jose when I was still in college. Then I got a chance to do some reporting and fill-in anchoring there. Went to Cleveland from there, then to D. C. Stayed about a year at each place—you know how it is—climbing the TV ladder.”

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