Page 132 of Love on the Byline

“I’m glad she could get away for a bit, though. Will youtell her I asked after her?”

“I’m sure she’d love to hear from you herself. I think youmade quite an impression. She mentioned to me that she thought it might be coolto go into journalism.”

“Really?” She was surprised. She’d thought Micah hated herprofession.

“Really,” Deanna assured her. “You should think about comingto teach here. We’ve never offered a class in journalism. I’m sure we have morethan one budding news hound in our group.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified to teach.”

“The only qualification you need is experience andintegrity, and you have both,” she replied and this—this was why Blake couldn’tlet Sonja get away with smearing the Dillon name. It wasn’t only about her, buther grandfather as well.

“I’m sure Ollie could twist your arm,” Deanna added, with aknowing grin.

Blake tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what youmean.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” She winked.

After stopping at home for a couple of fresh notebooks and achange of clothes, Blake met Stewart at the visitor’s lot near stage forty-six.He approached her as she pulled her car into the spot next to his pick-up.

“Someone’s been making waves.”

“Have I?” Blake grabbed her bag from the back seat andlocked the doors. “I’m just doing the job I was assigned.”

“And burning Sonja to the ground in the process,” he said.He looked all too pleased.

She squinted up at him. “I told her I wasn’t interested inthe celebrity beat. Instead, she put me on a high-profile piece and then triedto dial up the drama. I’m working with her script.”

“I believe that’s called malicious compliance.” He pulledhis ballcap off, revealing a tangle of wavy hair, and wiped the sweat from hisbrow. Stewart’s heather gray t-shirt was damp and stuck to his chest, and hisjeans were stained with dirt and grass.

“I’m entitled to rewrites.” Blake pointed at the logo on hisshirt. “DeLillo Landscaping?”

“Photography doesn’t always pay the bills. I have a changeof clothes in my bag, if I can find a bathroom on the way.”

They walked across the lot, dodging crews carrying setpieces and zippy golf carts transporting VIPs.

“Of course. We’re a little early, and I think Bran iswrapping up a session in post.”

Stewart side-eyed her. “Bran, is it?”

Blake nudged his shoulder. “Don’t you start.”

“I’m not, but it sounds very...familiar,” he said, pointingover her head. “There’s a restroom.”

She followed him over to the one story, grey building.Before Stewart could head inside, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Listen,” she began. “I know we haven’t worked together forvery long, but I feel like we work well together. I may bitch about the type ofwork we do for the Gazette, but I respect your professionalism. I respect you.”

He had been frowning, but his expression softened as shespoke.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly before clearing his throat. “ Youhave good instincts, and you’re not a sensationalist. If I’m honest, I was alittle surprised you wanted to work for an outlet like the Gazette. I’m familiarwith Trent Dillon’s work. Stellar journalist”

“Thank you. And want is a strong word,” she said,pleased that he knew of her granddad.

He smiled. “I see. Well, you’re better than most of thekey-clackers in that office. I hope you land on your feet when the dust settles.And I respect you, too.”

“Thanks, that means a lot.”

Stewart hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Be right back.”

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