Page 50 of Worth the Risk

“You could always roll it up and spank her with it,” someone at my back tosses out, and the whole room busts up laughing.

“She isn’t a dog, and it’s just gossip.”

“Gossip, my ass,” Uley says. “Looks to me like she has you right where she wants you.”

I look over to him as his words hit, but his head is already down, and his fingers are flying across his keyboard. Then I look back down to the picture of Sidney kissing me. The same damn one my brothers had already given me shit for.

I was letting myself believe it was a coincidence—that I was the one who started the chain reaction by kissing her—but as I look at the photo I realize it’s the second time she’s made me look like a fool. It’s the second time she’s manipulated me into her publicity-fueled fire.

It’s the second time she’s used me.

Maybe that’s why I’ve yet to hit send on the bio she wants. Maybe that’s why I’ve gone to text her ten times already to cancel the photo shoot.

I try to shrug off the notion that her kiss was nothing but a publicity stunt, but it sticks in a way that makes me want to bail from work, from this office that’s a kicker of a punishment on top of grounding me.

And I hate that for a second time with a similar woman, I’ve let my guard down.

“It’s Grayson.”

“Hi. What’s up?” The smile is automatic when I hear his voice. I look over to the photographer, who is setting up her reflectors and staging out shots, and then down at my watch. “Where are you?”

“I can’t make it.”

“What?” It’s a half-laugh, half-panicked sound.

“I can’t make it,” he repeats matter-of-factly.

“The vote is in less than twenty-four hours. I need to get these shots of you, so I can put them up on the site.” Desperation edges my tone. I’ve pushed this deadline as far as I can and still be able to get the magazine to the printer on time. I have no more wiggle room. The website is more forgiving of the time constraints, but not the print side.

“Are you giving everyone else the same personal attention you’re giving me?” His question throws me.

“No. Why? They’re turning in their own photos.”

“Then do the same for me. I’m sure there are plenty of photos from the other night you can use.” There’s a bite to his words that has my head startling. “No doubt you had photographers staged throughout the pub to snap the perfect picture.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” He sighs as I look at everyone around me. They are all trying not to be obvious about eavesdropping, curious who I’m talking to as they wait for Grayson to arrive.

“Grayson?”

He grunts. “Find a picture from the other night. It’s that simple.”

“It isn’t the same.” I make the comment and then cringe because it is the same. It should be the same, but it isn’t. Photographs from the hero party are not what Rissa is expecting. Grayson’s biography forged by me, even less so. The spots I’ve worked tirelessly to secure with E! News Daily and Entertainment Tonight are expecting professional pictures, not Sunnyville Gazette cast-offs.

“Make it the same. This isn’t my thing. You’ve forced my hand enough, and I’m done when it comes to you.”

The rejection is instantaneous, and panic has me responding without thinking. “I should’ve known you were full of crap when you agreed to do this. Do you know how this screws me up?”

“Fucking typical.” His chuckle is full of derision. “Regardless of what you might think, not everything is about you, Princess.”

“Fine. Great.” I think of the photographer I’m going to have to pay for lost time. I think of my promise to Rissa, and my conversation with my dad.

I blink my welling tears away and tell myself that they’re there because I don’t want to let people down and not because I feel personally rejected.

Or used.

He said he wanted me.