It was difficult to call him Officer Asshole when he looked at me like that, with the twinkle of interest that flickered in those eyes I found myself lost in, those eyes I tried not to look into.

Then I could feel his gaze on me as I walked away. I wanted to look back to see if he really was watching me, but I thought better of it.

Better to leave things up in the air. It created mystery. Besides, if he was actually a nice guy, I wouldn’t have come to the conclusion that he was an asshole.

It was just very annoying that I found him attractive, and I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel the little flutters in the pit of my stomach when he looked at me.

We were like fire and ice—hot and cold, no in between, none whatsoever.

That was fine by me. The last thing I needed was a man in my life to make me crazy. Noah made me crazy enough, and he was just my best friend.

I was here to do a job. My mindset had to be right. I couldn’t just approach the tasks at hand with foolishness in my head. No. This one project could mean everything for me—everything.

I wanted to be a senior features editor. Whether that was at People or not, it didn’t matter, as long as the job suited me. It would be so much better if I could travel.

That was what I liked about this project. It was the first one I’d been assigned to where I’d traveled and was on location. That part was exciting. I loved the prospect of going somewhere new and seeing all I could find there.

I was also so excited to meet Sally. I was heading to see her now for our first meeting. I was so excited I could burst.

The excitement rushed back in yesterday. I’d spent the weekend shopping, sorting out the house, and arranging a hire car.

The car arrived yesterday evening. A beautiful red Porshe that would get me around town in style.

I hopped in it with excitement and set off to see Sally.

Sally lived in one of the old colonial-style mansions on the other side of town.

I loved it and could envision the place in olden times when people dressed in period wear, gentlemen were gentlemen, and the ladies were southern belles.

An image from Gone with the Wind came to mind. Grams loved that film and had seen it at least twenty times that I knew of. We’d watched it together many times. It was no joke sitting through the four-hour film, but I would happily watch it with her. It was one of our things, and it helped when Dad was away. Jayce didn’t understand the power of allowing yourself to get lost in a favorite film. Gone with the Wind was one of those stories that had the power to transport you to a different time.

That was how I felt now, that feeling of escapism. It was nice, and Sally’s house bore some resemblance to the plantation house and land, Tara.

I was greeted by a butler when I rang the bell. The silver-haired man wore a suit and ushered me to the conservatory.

It was surrounded by beautiful ferns, mini yellow roses in pots, and climbing roses that had a blend of colors. The design was amazing, showing off the skills of the person who planted and took care of them.

I was a woman who loved flowers as much as the next, but I didn’t have the patience to care for them. All those details about how to cut and prune and what food to give them were lost on me.

I had a cactus and that was it—minimal water and care, but it still looked pretty, especially where I’d placed it in the bathroom.

I could definitely see Sally being the kind of person to care for flowers, though.

Gosh, I couldn’t believe I was going to meet her.

Sally had won five Olympic gold medals and had been appearing at the games since 1992, when she was the youngest member of the team. The following games had been in Atlanta, and that was the year that had made her famous. Of course, the people here went crazy over her medals—victory on home soil.

My dad had taken me to watch that event. It was one of the times we’d spent together and one of my fondest memories. It was just us. We’d come and stayed for the whole duration, seeing the opening and closing ceremonies, the memory of which still gave me goose bumps.

Sitting here in Sally’s home reminded me of the proud look on her face as she’d carried our country’s flag for the opening ceremony. She had almost looked prouder to do that than when she’d stood on the podium to receive her gold medal.

I understood why. The medal was her achievement, and carrying the flag was symbolic of the person she’d strived to become and still was, even after all that had happened to her.

She’d been getting ready for the 2012 games when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. That news had changed everything, and it had meant her having one treatment after another: chemotherapy and radiation, surgery after surgery. It had made it impossible for her to train, and she hadn’t taken part in any event since then. I’d read all about it in my research and was completely in awe of her and the person she was.

Me being in town for so long was about capturing all the details of how she felt, her journey, and what she was working towards.

This year was an Olympic year. I’d read that she was training with the mindset to compete but wasn’t ready yet. Instead she’d be doing a series of marathons, the first of which would take place in a handful of months.

Footsteps sounded on the marble floor and I looked up to see her walking towards me.

Breathe, Brooke.

I’d interviewed a few famous people, but no one of her level and social standing.

Dressed in a beige pantsuit, Sally looked stunning. Her dark blonde locks flowed down her shoulders in loose waves, curving around her elbows as she glided towards me. She was in her early forties but could have easily passed for someone in their twenties.

I thought she carried herself with poise and grace, with confidence. That was how I strived to be, and I could see the strength of her personality rippling off her in waves.

But…there was something else I noticed. It was the way she looked at me. Something dimmed in her eyes when she saw me, like the spark had gone out.

“Hi. I’m Brooke Pierce from People Magazine.” I stood up to shake her hand.

She shook mine gingerly, and now the look was replaced with a tentative expression.

“Sally Weinstein, but you already know that.” I detected uncertainty in her voice. “People sent you?” She narrowed her gaze at me.

“Yes, I’m the features editor who will be doing the exclusive on you. I’m truly excited to be here. It’s an honor to meet you.” I thought I would say that since it was the truth. I was genuinely honored to meet her.

“Oh,” was all she said before she sat in the wicker chair opposite me near the potted fan palm.

I sat back down and placed my hands on my knees. I’d brought along a notebook, even though the day was more about getting to know each other and coming up with a plan than me taking a lot of notes.

She looked me over with narrowed, assessing eyes. If she’d been someone else I would have asked her what she was looking at, but I let it go.

“I absolutely love your plants, and the way you designed them.”

“Well, when you have time on your hands, hobbies like this become useful. I had time.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but this is the first year I’ll be back out in the public’s eye, and I want to make sure the story is written properly.” A tight-lipped smile spread across her face. It was crude and a little hard.

“I can assure you it will be written extremely well.” I’d never had to say anything like that. It wasn’t as if I worked for the neighborhood paper—I was a professional coming from People Magazine, and they didn’t just hire any old person.

“I’m sure that’s what you would say to everyone. Can you tell me a little bit about your background?”

Right…

Again, if she had been someone else, I would have probably lost my cool right about then.

“What do you want to know?” Funny how it was me who should have been asking that question since I was the one who’d be writing about her.

“Where did you go to college? Did you go?”

“I went to Yale, and I studied journalism with a minor in English literature.”

At least she looked surprised to hear I’d gone to Yale, but then most people were surprised by that too.

“How did you get into Yale?”

The usual way, I wanted to say, but I thought better of it. “I got the highest score on my SATs. Yale was one of the colleges that offered me a spot. I was also offered scholarships from Harvard and UCLA if that helps.”

I had worked hard—damn hard. When I’d known I wanted to write and go down the journalism path, I had seized the bull by the horns and gone in guns blazing. In high school, come any weekend I’d shop till I dropped, but that was a treat for the way I worked during the week.

The weekdays saw me in the library studying. I started studying the first week of each semester. I knew that way I’d grasp all I needed to and add to my knowledge.

“Impressive, but why the minor in English? Does that mean you don’t have a full journalism degree?”

What I was about to say next was sure to impress her. “No. I have a full bachelor’s degree in journalism, and the minor was additional courses that amounted to a diploma. I loved English.” I adored it. The only other thing I would have become if I couldn’t write was an English literature teacher. I would have loved to teach others and watch them fall in love with the subject the way I had. Put simply, I loved, loved books. All the classics, anything by Shakesphere, any poem by Tennyson, anything of the romantic and post romantic era. Anything I could read. That was me.

Sally at least looked impressed.

“And People? How long have you worked there?”

“Five years.”

“Is that all? How old are you? You don’t look old enough to have much experience in dealing with public figures like myself.”

Now she was getting personal.

“I’m thirty, and I have plenty of experience. Prior to People I worked at The Times in New York. I did my internship there and they kept me until I left. The position opened up at People and I went for it.”

“Why? Did someone make it easier for you to get that position?”

How rude to assume that, and why would she think it? Considering she wasn’t trying to be rude, I felt that was rude. I released a slow, shallow breath.

“No one made it easier for me to get my position. I worked for it and got it all by myself.”

“Okay. Great.” She actually sounded like she didn’t believe me. Then she gave me that weird assessing look again. “And five years? Can you tell me how many interviews of this nature you’ve done?”

“You’re the first notable public figure I’ve been selected to work with. The closest thing would be Todd Willman, before he went bad.”

Todd Willman gave the appearance of being a kindhearted soul who was always doing charity work, even working for the United Nations. However, two years earlier he’d been taken down for securities fraud and embezzlement. He’d stolen millions of dollars from all those charities he worked with and siphoned the money to offshore accounts. To say he’d disgraced himself wasn’t a strong enough word. He was also the reason for all the more stringent methods now used to screen people before they got accepted to work with charities.

Sally frowned—actually, she scowled.

“You interviewed that imbecile?” She straightened up and glowered at me.

“Yes, I did a piece on him when he did a fundraiser for the homeless.”

“Fundraising money he stole? From kindhearted people like me? I’m not sure how I feel about having you interview me. Your name would be linked to his.”

God in heaven.

I didn’t know why, but now I was starting to get the feeling she was trying to find something wrong with me, something she could pick at, and I’d just handed it to her.

“Sally—”

“Ms. Weinstein to you,” she corrected.

Fuck. What the hell?

“Ms. Weinstein. I can assure you I do not support any of Todd’s activities. I also did my interview years before the world knew how bad he was. I was like every other journalist who interviewed him.”

“Miss Pierce—I’m assuming it’s Miss and not Mrs.” She glanced down at my hand and the absence of a wedding band on my ring finger confirmed her assumption.

“It’s Miss.”

“I figured—you look like the party girl type.” She shook her head at me with disgust. “You have no tact, and I find you completely unprofessional. You don’t know me, and yet you have mentioned a man who wasn’t just a criminal but a villain in my eyes. How dare you think you’re suitable to write an exclusive on someone like me?”

I looked at her, my lips slightly parted, skin flushed, because I didn’t know what to do.

What did I do? I hadn’t done anything wrong. Oftentimes when Todd’s name was mentioned, people would elaborate on how shocked they’d been to find out he’d done so much wrong. They’d never behaved the way Sally was now. Was I seriously in the wrong here?

It wouldn’t matter, not one damn bit, because Sally Weinstein was Sally Weinstein, and I was just Brooke.

I was Brooke Pierce, another journalist climbing up the career ladder, and she was one of my stepping stones.

“I’m terribly sorry if I offended you in any way.” That was truly toned down for me. I knew when I was right, and this woman was being completely unreasonable.

“If?” She raised her brows. “This is what I mean—even the words you’re using are all wrong. If you had more than a mere five years of experience at People you’d know how to speak properly. Clearly I’m mortified that you would mention Todd’s name, particularly since he embezzled huge amounts from Cancer Research, the charity I helped so much.”

Okay…

I would try to see her point.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Weinstein. You’re right, I shouldn’t have mentioned him.” It killed me to say that, but if she was offended, she was offended. “Perhaps we can move on to setting up a schedule for when I can come by and meet with you.”

“Are you serious? That’s the way you choose to change the subject? By brushing your errors under the carpet?” Her nostrils flared.

All I could do was stare. “No, I wasn’t brushing anything aside. I apologized and wanted us to move on to the topic at hand. I didn’t mean to upset you further.”

To my surprise, she stood up and announced, “This meeting is over. You can come back tomorrow and try again. Perhaps my opinion of you may change overnight, though I doubt it. Get here at nine, no later.”

She walked away from me.

I released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in.

Meeting her was supposed to be the highlight of my life, but what had just happened was a disaster, an absolute disaster—kind of like everything that had happened to me since arriving in this town.