Chapter 4

• His forehead creases and I catch sight of a few lines he’s gained since the last time I saw him. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a couple of parties.”
• I shake my head and try to figure out how he’s gatecrashed my life all over again. “This has to be a joke. I haven’t heard from you in almost ten years, and now you expect me to pretend to be your date?”
• He tugs at his beard. “Girlfriend would be better. It gives me more of a reason to be here if we’re committed to a long-distance relationship.”
• That makes my blood boil. I clench my teeth and nearly growl the words. “I don’t see how Mike thinks this can work, I have a job already.”
• If it weren’t for the slight tightening of his shoulders, I’d have thought he didn’t hear me, but he blows out a breath. “You can still write the column and assist me. You already help the senior reporters on occasion; this is no different.”
• I glare harder at him. “How is it you are now in the good graces of my boss? Come to think of it, why me?”
• His eyebrow cocks, but he stares at the road ahead. “I’m a Private Investigator, I was hired by a friend of Mike’s. And believe me, you aren’t my first choice. If I’d had my way, I’d be working with someone who doesn’t just give lousy advice to bored housewives.”
• Irritation surges through me. I glare hard. “My advice is not lousy.”
• He shakes his head. “Yes, it is. And since you don’t have any qualifications, I’m picking you to copy and paste right out of self-help books.”
• He’s not completely wrong, but I’m not about to admit that, so I just roll my eyes. “Was your ego always this big?”
• He shrugs slightly as though not bothered by my insult. “It’s not about my ego. It’s about the truth. Something most journalists have forgotten about.”
• I nearly spit the words at him. “Sure. Go on and make a sweeping assumption based on zero knowledge of me or what I believe in.”
• He shrugs. “You can say what you like, but ninety percent of journalism is about entertainment. Most papers don’t have the stones to publish the stories the public needs to know.”
• That’s a little too hard to ignore. “And yet here you are, asking my boss and me for help.”
• His lip twitches. “Yeah, well, needs must. And working with The Standard is a necessary evil.”
• I snort, reach over, and open the bag of pastries he paid for. “Not that you care, but I studied Investigative Journalism. I agreed to take the job writing the advice column to pay my rent. But my end goal is to work freelance, so I’m not tied down to any one paper.”
• He sends me a sidelong glance. “How naïve are you? No one cares about writing real news anymore. Journalism is a joke.”
• To smother a curse, I take a bite of my Cronut. “How’d you wind up being a Private Detective? I thought you hated law enforcement?”
• He takes a long sip of his coffee and keeps his eyes on the road as he answers. “I do. But someone has to pick up the slack. Someone has to do the right thing.”
• That gets my attention. “Since when are you interested in doing the right thing?”
• He sends me a pointed look and ignores me. “I need a cover. Provide that, and you’ll get the story first.”
• My eyebrows rise as excitement bubbles up, overriding my irritation. “And what is the story?”
• He sends me a wary glance as we drive past the old church. “We’ll get to that soon. Right now, I need to check in.”
• I’m dying to ask him more questions, but he’s clammed up, so I change the subject. “So, this is what you’ve been doing since you left? Learning how to be a Private Detective?”
• He nods slightly. “Mostly.”
• Since he’s not going to be forthcoming about information, I sip my coffee as I think about how he went from a rebellious teenager to a hardened detective.
• I’m desperate to know where he went and where he’s been in the last eight years, but I’m unwilling to risk him knowing I care enough to ask.
• “If you want me to help you, I’ll need more information on the case.”
• His fingers grip the wheel a little tighter. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. My client wants to keep it confidential.”
• At the way his body has tensed, I doubt that’s the truth, but when he pulls up to the Grand Hotel, the swankiest place in town, and the place I waitressed the summer I met him, I momentarily forget to be cautious.
• “You’re staying here?”
• He barely nods. “From this minute on, you’re my girlfriend, so act like it.”
• He doesn’t wait for a response, just climbs out and opens the back door to grab his bag.
• I smile awkwardly as he ignores the valet and carries on walking towards the glass doors.
• As I hurry to catch up to him, balancing my Cronuts, and my coffee, my curiosity is now outweighing my annoyance at his attitude.
• I don’t know what brought Grayson Cole back to Haven Beach, but there is no way I’m going to let him leave again without getting the explanation he owes me.
• **************
• Grayson
• This is a mistake—a monumental one.
• I knew it the minute I laid eyes on her again.
• She was cute when I came here for summer, but she’s not the All-American girl next door anymore.
• She’s a knockout with curves and an attitude that wasn’t there eight years ago.
• I glance behind me and find Isabel glaring at me while she stuffs pastry into her mouth.
• Since there are already people milling around the foyer, I slide the hand I’m not using to hold my coffee around her waist and lean in closer. “You’re going to be spending a lot of time here, so we may as well look the part.”