Wyatt looked a little uncomfortable when I asked my first question— which was exactly my intention, because I liked to be the one in charge of my interviews, and plus I was having fun toying with him— but he soon cleared his throat and regained his normal, impressive, composure.
“On the contrary,” Wyatt replied, “I prefer someone who’s learning the ropes. I find it much more satisfying that way.”
Oh, boy! I hadn’t expected that answer. Everything he said had a hint of innuendo, and that wicked smile of his was all I needed to picture those innuendos.
Something about him was so familiar, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere. But I’d never met him before, and I’d never been in his social circles and never would be.
If he kept flirting with me, getting through the interview with my panties still intact would be tough. There was no denying he was as sexy as all get out. The slightly tousled brown hair and roughened square jaw left me weak at the knees. Mischievousness filled his silvery blue eyes, and every deep word that fell from his full lips sent shivers down my spine. If I were into older men, which I was not, I could fall for him.
He had the confidence of a man who didn’t have to worry about money or how to pay next month’s rent. His presence reminded me a little of the masked man from last night, but I couldn’t picture Wyatt ordering me around or fingering me to a double orgasm.
In the short amount of time I’d had to research him, I hadn’t been able to find any whisperings on the gossip sites or online about him being involved in anything that wasn’t philanthropic. No girlfriends and no scandals. Definitely no rumors of sexual kinks or being a member of a sex club. It wasn’t like I could come right out and ask him if he was a member of Expose with a penchant for spanking women who walked into his room.
I shifted on the sofa, and the memory of the masked man’s hand hitting off my ass came to the front of my thoughts, not that I hadn’t thought about it every other second. My backside still smarted. I didn’t mind because I liked the sensation of my lace underwear scratching my skin, but now wasn’t the time to get all horny and turned on.
I had a job to do, and that job was to interview Wyatt Hot-as-hell-billionaire Palmer.
He cleared his throat again and leaned back on the sofa, spreading his arms over the back cushions. He had the air of someone who knew the room was his and was going to make it known— and not just this room that actually was his, but any room he was in.
“So,” I began, “you’re telling me you prefer someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing?”
“I don’t recall saying that.” He quirked an eyebrow and gave me a smile so wicked, my heart stopped. “It’s not like a journalist to twist words. Inexperience and incompetence are not the same things. Someone who’s new often has a hunger, is more enthusiastic, and at times does a better job than someone with years of experience. Plus, your advice column makes me smile— Advice from a Millennial Mind. Catchy title.”
“Dear Abbey was taken, and Dear Paige didn’t have the same ring.”
I said it with sarcasm, but I was embarrassed he’d seen my column. I wished I’d had something more serious for him to find.
“After researching you some more, I decided… I wanted you.”
His reply took my breath, and I momentarily sat as still as a stunned squirrel. I finally decided to give it back just as obviously as he was giving it to me. He was a powerful man, but it was obvious he was intrigued with me, and that was power that I could use to my advantage.
“If we’re going to get anywhere with this interview, you have to stop flirting with me, Mr. Palmer.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “You’ve got me. I’ll stop.”
I glanced over the list of questions Alec had given me and then set them to one side. This was my interview, and I would ask my questions.
“When you were a young executive, you punched your boss in the face. You never really said why.”
“You’ve done some research, I see. I was twenty-five, hot-headed, and didn’t suffer fools. I still don’t, but I handle them in different ways now.”
“But what was the reason?”
“It was over my ex-fiancée.”
He smiled, but I didn’t miss the bitter edge to his words.
“Linda Phelps?” I glanced at my own notes. “In August, five years were added to her sentence for a credit card phishing scam.”
He shrugged. “She’s good at getting the information she wants. Doesn’t matter who she hurts along the way. And I’m sure her time behind bars has taught her a trick or two.”
“Is she the reason you’ve never married?”
This wasn’t how I expected the interview to go, but I ran with it.
“Alec would never have asked anything so personal.”
“He would have asked you about your golf handicap and the usual tedious crap he always asks. I want readers to know who you are. Not the financial guru, not the motivational speaker. Beneath the surface, who are you?”
“Tell me, Ms. Matthews, why are you working at The Reporter?”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Perhaps.”
“My dad worked there. He died covering a story, and I guess I wanted to carry on his legacy.”
“You’re carrying on his legacy by answering questions from someone who wants to know what’ll happen if he sends his colleague unsolicited dick pics?”
I resisted the urge to visibly grimace. Answering that question hadn’t been one of my proudest columns, but Henry had insisted I do it, for the shock value. He’d said “no press is bad press” and that it would rocket me to stardom, but that wasn’t exactly the kind of stardom I’d had in mind. I wanted real journalist credentials, not cheap laughs or edgy social media shares.
“It’s temporary,” I insisted. “Once I prove myself to my boss, I’ll—”
“And how do you hope to do that?”
“I’m working on a story.”
“Care to share?”
“Who’s interviewing who here?” I asked and then laughed. “Back to my question. Is Linda’s betrayal the reason you’ve never settled down?”
He gave a slight nod. “One of them.”
“What are the other reasons?”
“Time and desire.”
“I understand time, but not so much the desire. I’ve seen photos of you with some of the world’s most beautiful women. You didn’t desire them?”
“Being attracted to someone and desiring them isn’t the same.”
Needing to understand his reasoning, for personal reasons as much as story reasons, I leaned forward. “How so?”
“Desire is when you long for someone or something and, if that desire is strong enough, it leads to motivation. I’ve never desired settling down with anyone enough to make it happen.”
Interesting.
“Since Linda, you haven’t desired anyone?”
“Many times, and in many different ways. For instance, I desire you, but I haven’t decided if I’m going to act on it.”
To hide my shock, I laughed.
“There’s a compliment in there somewhere. Time to move on, I think.”
He mirrored my body language and leaned forward.
“You don’t think you’re desirable?”
“Not that I’ve been told,” I said, scanning Alec’s interview questions. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
“If it’s what you want.”
“I do.”
The subject matter was getting too personal, and I decided the best course of action was to follow Alec’s guidelines. The next question I asked Wyatt concerned the business principles he applied when managing his company.
The rest of the interview, while enjoyable, wasn’t nearly as breathtaking as the beginning, but it was much safer for my panties and heart.
I glanced at my watch. Four hours had passed, but it seemed like one, and I had more information than I could possibly use.
I pressed stop on the voice recorder, and said, “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Palmer. I really appreciate it. Before we go to print, I’ll send you a proof copy for your approval.”
“No need. I trust you’ll give an accurate representation. You don’t strike me as a hack.”
I appreciated the compliment.
“I’m not. I only write the truth.”
“Can I have your number in case I want to add anything?”
“Sure. I’d like it if you called me.” Heat flamed my cheeks, and I shook my head. “For the story, I mean. I can give you a temporary number for now. I lost my phone last night when I was at a Christmas party.”
“That’s unfortunate. Did you call to ask if they’d found it?”
“I went back today, but no luck. I left my temporary number. I hope I get a call to say they did find it because it has pictures of my grandma. I don’t want to lose them.”
“Are you close to her?”
“I was,” I said, scribbling down my new and old numbers. “She passed last year. After my dad died, my mom couldn’t handle it and took off. My grandma raised me. I still live in her rent-controlled apartment.”
I looked up from the scrap of paper into his concerned and sympathetic eyes, and the desire he’d talked about welled up inside of me.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to spill my guts.”
“I like hearing about your life. Maybe you could tell me more over dinner sometime.”
“Dinner? Sure. Sometime.”
I was uncertain if he’d asked me out or if he was being polite. Perhaps he meant there would be more occasions for me to interview him in the future—which I’d welcome for my career. I didn’t want to get a big head and assume he meant he was interested in me, even though his statements had certainly indicated that he was.
Powerful men flirted with a lot of women, I told myself. It was just what they did, and I shouldn’t think it meant much.
I handed him the paper with my numbers on it, and said, “Thanks again for your time, Mr. Palmer.”
“It’s Wyatt.”
When he reached for the paper, our hands brushed, and my pulse thundered. There was no way he didn’t notice my intake of breath.
“My pleasure, Ms. Matthews.”
***
I was happy to get out of Wyatt’s apartment and into the elevator. Not because I was glad to get away from Wyatt; I could have stayed there all day talking to him. The reason I was happy was because my attraction, or should I say my desire, for him was way too much to deal with.
He seemed to like me, but maybe I’d imagined that. Despite what he’d said, no way would a man like Wyatt— one of the world’s wealthiest men— be attracted to a broke college graduate who wrote a sarcasm-laced advice column.
Before I left The Avalon, I stopped by the café to grab the hot chocolate I’d promised myself. When I reached the counter, my phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket and answered.
“This is Jimmy from Expose Club. We found your phone. Come by tonight after nine.”
He hung up before I was able to get a word in. I pushed his rudeness away and focused on my phone being found. Relief, the size of Niagara Falls, washed over me.
Excitement and fear soon replaced the relief. Had the masked man found my phone? If he had, had he looked through it before I’d locked it? I’d hold out hope that a cleaning lady or someone else had been the one to find it. Otherwise going back to the club could be a mistake I’d live to regret.
I forgot all about the hot chocolate I had been wanting. My nipples tightened to points and anticipation clenched my gut.
This isn’t because I wanted anything to happen when I went back, I told myself. Fight or flight was the reason for my body’s reaction and nothing else.
Yeah, right, I thought, and a bear doesn’t shit in the woods.