CHAPTER 21 JOLENE

I meet with Marcus pretty much daily if not more often, but Monday mornings are the time when the entire sports team meets to discuss our coverage plans for the week. This meeting is when Marcus assigns stories and gives feedback, and it's the time when he gives us his vision for what VG03 sports news will look like to ensure we're covering Vegas sports the way our viewers deserve.

But it also means I have to sit in the meeting with the entire sports department, and as I get ready for work on Monday morning, I feel a bit on edge.

It only gets worse as my phone starts ringing a few minutes before I need to leave for work.

It's my father.

"Hi, Dad," I answer.

"Hey, pumpkin," he says. "What's the scoop?"

"You called me, buddy. You tell me."

"Rumor has it you stayed the weekend with a Nash in Ohio. That true?"

I heave out a breath. "It was a work event, Dad. Nothing more." I hate lying to him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." More than fine. More satisfied than I've been since…well, since the first time he did that to me all those years ago. Obviously I refrain from mentioning that to my father.

"You couldn't stay anywhere else?"

"No, actually, I couldn't. Marcus booked me on some standby reservation, and he happened to be checking in at the same time as me, heard me yelling at the poor desk agent, and offered for me to stay in his room as a gesture of goodwill toward the media. That's it." That's not it, but that's how it started. "I said no at first, the agent let me know all the rooms in the area were booked, and I had basically no other choice."

"And?" he asks.

I'm not sure what he's getting at. And we had sex? Is that really why my father called? "And what?"

"You were spotted out at breakfast."

"It was a working breakfast," I say. "I had to interview him ahead of his commencement address." I hate having to defend my actions. "Might I remind you that I'm a grown adult now who is capable of making these sorts of decisions for myself?"

"I'm aware of that, pumpkin. But they're bad people and I'm just trying to protect you. It doesn't matter if you're fourteen, thirty-four, or eighty-four. You'll always be my little girl, and I will always do what I can to protect you from the bad guys."

"I know, Dad. And when I'm eighty-four, you'll be…" I trail off as I let him do the math.

"Dead, probably."

"Dad! Don't talk like that!" The mere thought of losing him sometime in the next fifty years springs tears to my eyes even though it's likely a morbid reality. "I have to get to work. Is there anything else?"

"Just be careful with him, JoJo. I know you once had a thing for him, and I'd hate to see him manipulate you the way his father manipulated me. It runs in families, you know. That stuff gets passed down."

"I know, Dad. Thank you for the reminder."

"Love you," he says, and I say it back before I hang up.

That call only made me even more anxious about this morning's meeting.

It's been over a month since Ryan Rivera caught Lincoln and me kissing in the lobby. He hasn't done anything with the photo he took of the two of us, but after the weekend with Lincoln I just shared, I feel like the guilt will be written all over my face. I'm nervous he's going to see it, too, and he's going to out me in front of the entire sports department, and then it'll become public news, and then my dad will find out what I've been doing behind his back, and then who knows what sort of destruction we'll cause.

The sports department is a relatively small department—just seven of us that include the editor, two anchors, and four reporters. But I still don't need the scandal.

And that's why I text Lincoln before I leave for work.

Me: Sam had an idea to help us out. Call me if you have a sec.

My phone rings on my way into the office, and an ache throbs between my legs as his name pops up on my screen.

"Good morning," I answer.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is all sexy and low. "What's going on?"

"I'm heading into the office and just wanted to run something by you. Did I wake you?"

He chuckles. "No. I've been at the office two hours already."

I glance at the clock. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Not well," he admits. "It was cold and lonely without you there."

Jeez. I'm in trouble here…in particular because I felt it, too. I clear my throat. "I, uh…" I don't know what to say. We can't exactly share a bed—even with Sam's brilliant plan.

"Sorry. Was that too forward?" he asks. Before I get a chance to answer, he says, "What's this idea of your friend's?"

Now that I'm about to say it out loud, I'm afraid it sounds stupid.

But as I think about the call I just had with my father combined with the fear that Rivera is going to spread around those photos, I make a snap decision.

Even if it's crazy.

"What if you date Sam?" I blurt.

Okay, that's not exactly the plan.

"Uh…what?"

"I mean…publicly. You're with Sam. My best friend. So when people see you and me together, they think nothing of it. It throws them off our scent, and you don't have to deal with the throngs of women throwing themselves at you since you're publicly in a relationship. We don't have to worry about our families as we try to navigate whatever this is together. But privately, you come home to me. Or whatever that means since you can't really come home to me since I have a seven-year-old son, but you know what I mean, you and me—"

"Jo," he interrupts, and I stop short from my excessive rambling. After I'm quiet a beat and he mulls it over for a minute, he says, "I think…" He trails off, and I wait a little nervously. "I think it could actually work. Nobody would question why I'm going over to Sam's place if I'm dating Sam. I take her with me to events I'm expected to bring a date to, events you'll be at, too, and you'll know you have nothing to worry about since I'm there with someone you trust. But whose ass do I need to kick if you bring a date?"

"I don't bring dates with me when I attend events I'm covering. It's too messy and I need to focus."

"But you'll have time for, you know, a quick and dirty fuck in a bathroom stall, right?"

Why does my pulse start racing at the thought? "Excuse me. I'm a lady. I'll take a quick and dirty fuck in an alley behind an event, not in a bathroom stall."

His laugh is music to my ears. I love eliciting any emotion from him, whether it's the lust his eyes burned with as he looked at me in a hotel room or even when it was the anger he directed at me before that. We pulse things in each other nobody else has ever had the power to pulse, and it's both rare and exquisite. Not to mention a little terrifying.

"Do you really think it could work?" I ask.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

We're both quiet as we contemplate that, and I really hope those aren't just famous last words.

I pull into my parking spot. "I'm at the office. I better go."

"I miss you," he says softly, and quite frankly I'm shocked at the vulnerability he's showing. I'm even more shocked that he just agreed to fake date Sam.

"Right back at you, Coach. Listen, can I drop word that you're dating my bestie at my Monday morning meeting?" I ask.

"You think Rivera's going to fall for it?" he asks.

I wrinkle my nose. "Yeah, maybe I better hold off and just let you be seen with her."

"Can I come by and chat with her sometime before I start dating her?"

I laugh. "Sure. She's off today, and I can swing by the house anytime to introduce you. The boys get home from school around three-thirty."

"I have a working lunch but I have an open window from one to two. Does that work?" he asks.

I open my calendar app to check. "Yep. I'll see you then."

"And, hey, if your best friend needs to, you know, go to the store or something while I'm there…"

"Did this just become a booty call?"

"Excuse me, ma'am," he scoffs. "I'm a gentleman."

"Yeah, a gentleman who likes the booty."

"Your booty. Nobody else's will do."

My cheeks grow warm at that. "I'm gonna be late for my meeting."

"I need to run, too. I'll see you around one."

We say goodbye, and my chest aches a little as we end the call.

I wish it could just be easy for us, but I've also learned over my thirty-four years on this planet that the things in life most worth fighting for usually don't come easy.