Make Me Forget - Page 61

Three days after she’d awakened in Jacob’s bed from a nightmare, Harper glanced up from her computer when she heard a tap on her office door.

“I’m almost finished, Burt,” she mumbled distractedly, paging down to the last paragraph of the story she was editing. Burt Chavis was dressed in board shorts, a Swell T-shirt, and flip-flops. His sun-bleached dreadlocks were pulled back in a thick ponytail. He was twenty-eight years old and wore a perennial grin. He was a crappy dresser, but he possessed a surprisingly incising brain for a summertime beach bum and wintertime snowboarder. Harper had decided early on he was the best of the two reporters she had working for her. His easygoing, friendly manner made people open up to him during interviews. Sangar had told her in private that Burt had some issues with backing up his claims for stories with credible sources, but Harper was keeping an open mind. She wasn’t that much older than Burt, and they’d been comfortable with each other from their first meeting.

Besides, it was her job as Burt’s editor to make sure his stories were credible.

“What’s this I hear from Ruth about you being invited to the Latimer compound the other night?” Burt asked.

“It was nothing. A cocktail party,” Harper said without removing her gaze from Burt’s story.

“Ruth said it had something to do with Cyril Atwater wanting to make a movie out of a story you wrote,” Burt said, his lazy stance as he leaned against the wall just inside the door belying the sharp intelligence in his pale blue eyes.

“That’s right.”

“Ruth thinks it’d make a good feature for her column. But what about me?”

Harper looked at him blandly. “What about you?”

“I have the crime beat. I want a story.”

Harper blinked at his boldness. All traces of the easygoing beach bum had vanished.

“Going to a cocktail party warrants a crime story?”

“Latimer warrants it. Something new and revealing could be my ticket to a big San Francisco paper.”

Harper turned back to her computer. “You don’t really want that, do you, Burt?” she asked mildly. “They’ll make you put on a tie and wear shoes with laces on them to work every day.”

“I want it,” Burt said simply. “Any chance you’re going to be invited to the Latimer compound again in association with this movie thing?”

Harper sighed, recognizing she wasn’t going to shake him easily. “Ellie, the girl I wrote the story about, has agreed to allow film production to go forward, as long as I’m involved. I spoke to Atwater yesterday and he’s having a lawyer work up contracts for us. Latimer hasn’t been involved, though. Not in the slightest,” she said, hiding a frown as she stared at her computer screen.

“He will be, eventually. He produces Atwater’s films. The next time you’re invited to the Latimer compound, maybe I could go as your assistant.”

Harper hit save and print on Burt’s story before she turned to face him. “That’s not going to happen. Find some other career-making story.” Her printer came to a stop and she pointed at the printed papers it’d just chugged out. “That’s not the one, by the way. I made some notes on it. Get it back to me in twenty minutes?”

Burt picked up his copy from the printer. “Latimer is a big fish. A story we worked up together would be key for your career, too.”

She gave him a sharp, assessing look. “If you want to do a story on Latimer, what’s your angle?”

He shrugged. “I’m looking for one. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

“I’m not stopping you from being a reporter. I’m not quashing anything newsworthy, if it’s credible and you have solid sources to back it up. Do you have something substantial that you’re working on?”

“Nothing but a shitload of rumors.”

“Then forget it. And leave me out of the whole thing,” Harper said. “I’ve already had my share of career-makers.”

Burt laughed and shook his head. “That’s shit, and you know it. I can’t get to Latimer. No one can . . . except maybe you. You’re really going to sit on your awards and your movie deals and keep Latimer from the rest of us?”

She met his gaze squarely and leaned forward, hands on her desk. “I’ve got nothing for you when it comes to Jacob Latimer. Nothing. That’s because I don’t know any more than you do. Do you understand?” She waited until Burt nodded resentfully. “Twenty minutes,” she repeated with a smile, nodding at the story he clutched in his hand before she turned away.

• • •

She hadn’t been lying. She’d given her word to Jacob that she had no plans to use any information she learned from their affair for the purpose of an article or exposé on him or his business activities. But more importantly, she truly didn’t possess anything newsworthy when it came to Jacob.

That’s a lie.

She grimaced at the snide inner voice in her head, busying herself with her layouts. He was a fascinating, complex . . . and very secretive man.

Tags: Beth Kery Erotic
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