Tally arrived at the office at six on Monday morning. She waved her arms at the automatic lights, and they flickered and blinked before coming on. Her eyes were stinging from lack of sleep. She’d stayed up all night pulling together the first draft of her article and had only managed about three hours’ kip.

She fired up her computer and closed her eyes as she waited for it to boot up. She could still sense Cash’s arms around her from when they’d danced, could still smell his cologne in her nostrils and feel his breath on her skin from when he’d whispered in her ear. And the way he’d pronounced her name—N’talya.

She’d never liked her given name and only used it in full when she wanted to come across more formally. After all, a name with more than two syllables was a complete waste of bloody time, but the way Cash pronounced it made her reconsider that opinion.

As her computer sprang to life, she inserted the data stick into the USB drive and opened the draft article. She quickly scanned it, her stomach churning with a mixture of excitement and guilt. She’d panicked when he’d asked her if she was a journalist. Could her lie get her into trouble if she went ahead and published the article? Should she tell Pete she hadn’t managed to get anything fresh? No, she couldn’t do that. This was her big break, and she’d just have to take a risk.

By the time Danny arrived with her usual coffee order, she was satisfied she had something new to report. The Internet had very little on either of Cash’s parents, although she did find an archived story in a local Northern Ireland paper regarding how Cash’s father had died when Cash was only fifteen, which made his comment about his dad even odder. She’d assumed from his use of past tense that his mother was dead too, but research neither confirmed nor disputed that.

“So how was last night?” Danny asked.

Tally grimaced. “I survived.”

Danny grinned and perched on the end of her desk. “I must admit I was worried for you. Cash Gallagher is not exactly known for his love of journalists.”

Tally swallowed another lump of guilt. “He’s a complicated character, that’s for sure.”

“So you got up close and personal, then?”

“We danced.”

Danny tucked his chin into his chest and let out a low whistle. “Jeez. How did you manage that?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out for myself. Want to see the draft I drew up last night?”

“Absolutely.” Danny jumped off her desk and pulled up a chair. His keen eyes skimmed over the words on the screen, and he occasionally nodded for her to move the slide bar so he could read the next page. When he finished, his eyes were gleaming.

“You’ve got a hit there, baby girl.”

She grinned, both at Danny’s words and his pet name for her. “Really?”

“Yes. You must have some sort of voodoo-magic abilities to get Cash Gallagher to spill such personal details. Have you checked if that info has been released before?”

She nodded. “There’s very little on either of his parents. This information is new.”

“Well done,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “You earned your chance, and you definitely took advantage.”

The door swung open, and Pete walked through. He wasted no time beckoning her into his office. Danny gave her an encouraging smile as she ejected the data stick and headed over.

Pete waved a hand at the worn fabric chair opposite his desk, inviting her to sit. “So?”

“I think I’ve got an angle.”

“Ready to share?”

She handed over the data stick. “It’s only a draft. Needs work. He’s a fascinating man, quite charming when he wants to be.”

“Charming?” Pete pulled a face. “Can’t say that’s been my experience. I’ve been on the receiving end of his hostility on more than one occasion. He has an acid tongue when riled.”

“Yes, you’ve said—more than once,” Tally said with a grin.

Pete chuckled and indicated for her to put the coffee on while he scanned the draft of the article. She set the percolator going and sat in silence while he read. She couldn’t keep her leg from bouncing in agitation, so much so that it began to annoy her. She pressed down on it with her forearm and picked at her chipped nail varnish instead.

“So what do you think?” she said when the silence became unbearable.

Pete looked up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m proud of you, kid. It’s good. Like you said, needs some polishing, but you’ve got more than the bare bones.”

Tally could have punched the air. Pete rarely gave compliments, so when he did, they meant a lot.

“How did you get him to tell you about his mother?”

Guilt ballooned within her once more, but she shoved it to one side. “I’d like to take the credit, but all I said was that he was a good dancer. He offered up the information freely.”

Pete’s brow furrowed. “Hmm, interesting. Good quote to have snagged on the father too.”

“So you’ll go with it?”

“Definitely. Polish it up, and then I’ll edit. I’ll email you a copy before it goes to print. It’s your article, so if you think I’ve misrepresented anything in my edit, tell me. You did good, Tally.”

 

* * *

 

Tally poured herself a glass of wine and wandered into the living room. She did her best to ignore the evil little voice whispering in her ear that she should have told Cash she was a journalist the minute he’d cut in on her dance with Ralph. But then she wouldn’t have got the story, and she’d have let Pete down. Tally rubbed her forehead. The internal tug-of-war was giving her a headache.

As the front door slammed, a wave of relief hit her. Em would help put her fears into perspective.

“Hey, babes,” Em called out from the hallway as her shoes thudded against the wall. She sashayed into the living room as only Em could and rested a hip against the doorframe. “What did Dozer say about the article?”

 Tally rolled her eyes. “You know he hates that nickname.”

Em chuckled. “With a name like Pete Bull, and the fact he bulldozes his way through life, it’s a perfect nickname. So come on—what did he say?”

“He loved it.”

Em flashed Tally a knowing smile. “I knew he would.” She pointed her chin at Tally’s wine. “Looks like you’ve started celebrating without me.”

Em disappeared into the kitchen and returned with her own glass of wine. They clinked glasses.

“You must be thrilled.”

Tally’s head flopped against the back of the couch as exhaustion swamped her. She swallowed hard past a throat that was thick with guilt. “I should have told Cash I was a journalist when he asked me.”

Em snorted. “You’re not still banging on about that? I thought I put you right last night. He could have grilled you much harder about what you were doing there, but he didn’t. And if you had told him—”

“I know, I know. He’d have clammed up. But what if I get into trouble?”

Em huffed. “You’re not the first journalist who snagged a story by being less than truthful, and you certainly won’t be the last. Relax. You got some new information from a guy who’s notoriously tight-lipped, and now you’ll get your just rewards. You’ve worked hard, babes. You deserve all the success coming your way.”

Tally nodded in agreement, even though that nudge of conscience about her duplicitous response to Cash wouldn’t shut the hell up. She glanced at her phone as it dinged to let her know a new email had landed, and her breath caught when she spotted the sender.

“It’s here.”

Em moved to squish in beside Tally on the sofa, and together they read the article. Pete had worked wonders, making her words sing off the page. But guilt tasted sour, even mixed with the sweetness of excitement and the satisfaction at seeing her name in the byline. Until the night before, she’d prided herself on having high integrity and morals. She wasn’t going to be one of those journalists who would do anything to get a story, to advance her career at the expense of others. And now, the realisation that she was exactly one of those journalists was not easy to accept.

After she replied to Pete, Tally made her excuses to Em and headed off for an early night. She had no idea what Cash would do when he read the article. But one thing was certain: he’d wish he’d never met her.