Page 91 of Love on the Byline

“Yes, thanks.”

Blake didn’t know much about champagne, but it was deliciousand went down too easily. With each sip, she let the tartness roll around hertongue for a few moments before swallowing. She scanned the room, fascinated bythe dynamics at play.

“Ms. Dillon.” The sound of her name startled her. Blaketurned to the source, even more surprised to find Lowan Farrell smiling down ather.

“Mr. Farrell.”

The CEO of the corporation that owned the Los AngelesGazette, among other news outlets, had sidled up next to her.

“Lovely to see you again.” He leaned in and kissed her onthe cheek, and Blake struggled not to flinch.

Some people wore money well. Farrell was not one of thosepeople. His tux was at least a size too small, and his aftershave was pungent.

She stifled a cough.

He held a tumbler of golden liquid in his right hand andcupped her shoulder in his left. The touch was cold and a little clammy. A shiverof unease trickled over her skin. “And you. You...look well, sir.”

“Thank you, dear. I feel great. Spent the holiday week inVermont. I do love the East Coast.”

“Me too.” She glanced around the room, hoping Farrell wouldtake the hint.

“Your family is back East, isn’t it?” he asked, leaning intoo close for comfort.

“Uh, yes.” She met his eyes briefly and put some distancebetween them. “Philadelphia.”

“Ah, yes. Philadelphia. The Bulletin, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she replied, hoping the group of peopleheading their way were looking for him.

“Sorry, if you’ll excuse me…”

He met the on-comers, and Blake took the opportunity to moveto a nearby cocktail table and set down her drink. She opened her clutch andgrabbed her phone to text Ollie again.

“As I was about to say, I’ve never been there,” Farrell saidfrom over her shoulder. “But I know the University of Philadelphia turns outsome of the best and brightest. You attended, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Blake had run out of real estate in her tiny pocketof patience. She looked up and forced a smile. “I graduated a few years ago.”

“Indeed. Oh, excuse me dear, Evelyn Tyne is here, and I needto speak to her.” He was already walking away, much to her relief. “Have alovely time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Farrell.”

He stopped, offering her a sly smile. “Lowan, honey. Call meLowan.”

Blake nodded. Honey? She downed her champagne andwent to the sidebar for another. Where the hell were Bran and Ollie? In herhand, her phone vibrated. Then again. And again.

O. BENJAMIN: Have you arrived?

O. BENJAMIN: Grand Ballroom, table #18 near the far leftentrance.

O. BENJAMIN: If you’ve decided not to come just let meknow so I can stop imagining the worst. Hope you’re okay.

Oh, no. Stupid phone must have lost the signal at somepoint.

Blake fired off to let Ollie know she was on her way totheir table. She spotted him as she approached the door, waving when he usheredher over.

“Hey!”

“Hi,” he stepped aside to let her pass. “Wow,” he breathed,making her glad she at least looked somewhat presentable.

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