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Afternoon sunshine filled the boss' office with so much heat, sweat broke out on Bailey Stoddart's palms as she entered.
Or was it the request she'd come to make that made her so nervous?
"Yes?"
Nothing unusual in John's bark of greeting but her mouth dried anyway. "My friend's just rung to say Connor Freeman, a New Zealand Olympic gold medal rower, is giving a talk to the kids at her school in thirty minutes. Can I go and interview him for an article? Please, boss."
Big Bad John's dark blue eyes screwed up so tight it was almost impossible to see the colour. "One of our gold medallists? From the–"
"Men's Four," Bailey filled in as her palms squeezed into tight balls. "It's too good an opportunity to pass up, don't you think?"
The boss swept a hand over the bald centre of his head. "For someone, yes, but are you up to interviewing such a celebrity?"
Chin high, she stretched upwards. "Of course. Besides, I'm the best qualified, being involved in his sport. You know I write the local rowing club news."
"Mm." John rubbed his chin—a sign he was not to be disturbed and Bailey waited in silence. How much more convincing did the man need, for God's sake? At this rate she wouldn't arrive in time to ask permission.
"You row, yourself?"
"Cox," she explained, resisting the urge to sigh. "A bit too short to row. The best rowers are super tall."
"Won't that be a problem for you in an interview situation?"
"No-o. He'll be used to short cox'ns."
"Okay then. Don't forget a couple of clear photos, and get it in by five."
Whew. "Thanks, boss." Bailey turned to leave. Stopped when John spoke again.
"And for God's sake, girl, try to add a bit of sparkle this time. You know what I expect: something sensational, a bit of gossip, or a hint of something dark in his background."
Her shoes swivelled around on the polished wooden floor. "I can't do that, boss! He's a national celebrity!"
"Yeah, and even celebs have their dirty little secrets so try and suss his out, okay? Give us something eye-catching that's worthy of a banner for a change; something juicy to hook the readers instead of the basic stories you usually write. I've asked enough times already so prove you can do it by the end of the month or you're outa here."
Back in the corridor Bailey took several deep breaths. If he'd asked her to write dirt on her ex, Sam, who'd used her, verbally abused her, then ditched her... Yeah, she'd love to write sleaze on him.
But publicise the gossip around national rowing hero Connor Freeman?
Not a chance.
* * *
Outside the Mosgiel School hall Bailey clutched the bag holding her Nikon DSLR and paused to calm her breathing. Nearly there. She lifted her chin, stretched to her full height and marched inside.
Thank God, plenty of empty seats remained, so still time to set up the interview. Ignoring the kids' chatter, she hurried down the aisle, through a side door and towards the waiting area beside the stage. Towards the darling of the national rowing squad, Connor Freeman.
And there he was. Alone, too.
Perfect.
A spark of interest flashed across Connor's handsome features but disappeared with the speed of a camera's shutter. Obviously he'd expected someone different.
In spite of lacking his trademark smile he still looked gorgeous. More so than in any of the photos she'd seen over the last three years. Peeking out from under his national elite-winner's redcoat, a white shirt emphasized Connor's sun-bronzed face, dark hair and grey eyes. The whiff of musky aftershave that hung around him proved he was real; not a cardboard cut-out, a poster, or a photo. Not this time.
His lack of welcome did nothing to stop the thrill of meeting this celebrity and converted into a smile that stretched right across her face. Even her feet wanted to tap a dance in celebration but she'd come for an interview and personal excitement had to be ignored. She stepped forward, her hand extended. "Connor, it's so good to have you here in Mosgiel. I'm—"
"A reporter." Connor's lips firmed and he looked away, as if journalists were his number one hate.
Damn. Bailey's hand dropped as she rocked back on her heels, the smile gone. He'd given plenty of interviews before; why not one more? "Yes." Again, she thrust out her hand. "Bailey Stoddart, from the Mosgiel Gazette, this town's community newspaper."
At least he stood, but in spite of four inch heels added to her five foot two height, Connor's six foot three stature appeared to loom over her. "Bailey." The flat tone as he touched, then dropped her hand, implied she'd barely registered on his radar.
Ignoring his rudeness, she hurried to explain her mission. "I'd like to interview you for an article for tomorrow's newspaper. If I could—"
"No time. Sorry." His tall frame lowered onto the moulded plastic chair. "Have to leave for the airport straight after this talk."
At least now she could look down instead of up to that uncomfortable height, but damn. She needed this interview like she needed oxygen. Reinforcements would be helpful too, but a glance around the dimly-lit space proved no-one lurked in the shadows. According to the school secretary, headmaster Jerry Hawkins was looking after Connor, so why had he left this guest on his own?
Celebrity guest.
"Where's the headmaster? He shouldn't have—"
"Getting me a drink of water."
"Oh. In that case, I'll have to use information from your speech for the newspaper report. Is that okay?"
"I guess."
"Thanks." But without an interview, how could she write something new? Having come so close to this celebrity she couldn't give up the chance to delve deeper into his persona. After all, the guy was a gorgeous hunk of male, well liked for his jovial attitude, a celebrity who'd actively promoted New Zealand at the Olympics and even spent the last couple of months giving talks to groups around the country.
And now he was here, presenting the ideal opportunity for her to prove to the boss that a well written article on an interesting subject could really be worth publishing without using anything underhand.
But would John ever change, even with proof?
What if... Several times in quick succession, Bailey's fingers clenched and opened. "I'd love to write a longer article on you as well, for a magazine. Can I—"
"Which one?"
"Um." Any, as long as the piece included her name and was published in full without any of John's required background checks. "Whichever one's interested. No in-depth article's been written on you yet, has it?" When he shook his head she carried on. "So I don't expect to have a problem finding a publisher, with your reputation... As an excellent speaker, of course, besides your inspirational sportsmanship; both hot topics."
"Hot topics? Lady, I think you've missed the boat on that one. The Olympics are old news now."
"Oh, don't worry. My article would showcase the man behind the win, the way you started as a cox'n like me—"
His head lifted, eyebrows raised, interest clear in his eyes at last. "You're a cox?"
"That's right. Mosgiel Country Rowing Club."
"And you think I'm inspirational?" Sitting straighter, those gorgeous grey eyes twinkled and his mouth turned up in such a brilliant, sexy, lop-sided smile, her knees wobbled.
Oh, oh. Not a good sign. Sure, he had charisma to die for but she would not allow an interviewee to suck her in to another personal relationship, especially not a sportsman. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, too. "Definitely. Especially to me. I've followed your rowing career from your win at the Under 23 World Champs three years ago. Then your sudden rise to the top in the Men's Four the following year inspired me to try your sport. Now I cox a women's eight—."
"Awesome."
Oh, man. He sounded genuinely interested now... Until he looked away and her hopes plummeted like a sinking anchor. Words, that's all they were. To him she was just another reporter and not worth a toss. "Perhaps I could drive you to the airport, start the questions there, and—"
"What experience do you have in writing for magazines?"
"Plenty, if you count the student university one. In those three years I interviewed students, lecturers, deans, even the chancellor himself, and wrote articles on a variety of subjects, from university courses to action against pollution." Even Connor's scepticism couldn't put her off now. "I'm capable of writing your story, believe me."
"But you've never done one on a rower."
"Which is why my personal experience would give me an edge. My understanding of the sport means I know the jargon so you wouldn't waste time on explanations. It would also make my writing more authentic and interesting and when I detail your background I'd show how it's contributed to your drive and determination to win; essential for achieving any important goal."
"You realise too much detail could turn readers away."
"Of course, but I'd concentrate on your special abilities. You see, coxing's taught me so much more than rowing would have. For instance, I know that with your boat being coxless, you did the steering, as stroke you also set the pace, carried out the race plan and pushed the crew to victory. Even though it's much more than my job of steering and instructing the crew, I can relate. I know what tenacity is needed for your multitasking role and I have huge respect for rowers who accomplish it successfully."
"You do?"
"Yes. They're a superior breed. You especially, the way you rocketed to the top."
He sat back in the chair, stretched out long legs and folded his arms, as if this was some ordinary conversation instead of one that could transform her career.
"What's wrong with what you do now?"
"Are you kidding? I work for the local rag, in an age when people can read the news on-line. Our paper's reducing staff and my job's in jeopardy."
"How is one single article on me going to help there?"
"By proving to my boss that my writing's good enough to publish, even without his... input."
"But if you want to write for magazines, why bother trying to impress your boss? Why not concentrate on longer articles? Move away if you have to, if your career means so much to you."
"Move?" She frowned. "Why?"
"To be closer to more potential interviewees, like in a city for instance; somewhere with more opportunities for stories and more exposure for your articles."
"Oh, even if I worked in Dunedin, I could live here. Better climate, better social scene, quieter, friendlier, and with better access to news because the locals here are more likely to let me know when anything interesting comes up."
The background noise from the hall increased, zapped up her enthusiasm and injected her with a shot of confidence. "Isn't it a shame the high school students are missing out on hearing your address because of the fire there? Still, I'm sure these younger kids will love to hear your talk. It means your trip's not wasted and I had the chance to meet you." She laughed. "So glad I didn't miss the opportunity."
"I would have thought a fire would be more newsworthy than my talk."
"Not to me."
A frown line appeared between his eyebrows as he gazed beyond her to the closed hall door.
As if looking to escape.
"We could Skype," she suggested, her fingers crossed.
"Possibly."
Really? "You mean, I can do it?" Wow. Her stilettos almost bounced on the floor but she forced them still. Maybe this story would be the one to finally impress her parents. High time they stopped comparing her to that medical-researcher-doctor-brother.
Still, she needed a sign; proof she hadn't misread Connor's response.
He actually smiled. Not his trademark grin and not something that really showed pleasure, but a—we'll see—kind of smile. "I'd have to assess your writing first."
Bummer. Her heels thumped to the floor. She needed to know now, before he slipped out of her life again and forgot all about her. But why hadn't she thought to bring a sample piece with her? Too nervous, too impatient and in too much of a hurry to think of it. How would Connor, with his public speaking experience, view that slip-up? "I'll give you a link later, to an article I wrote at uni. In the meantime, can I take some photos, just in case?"
At his nod she crouched, zooming in and out with her camera lens and snapping several shots while he posed, his expression serious. Too serious, blast him, and nothing like his normal casual appearance, so she slid the camera back in the bag. "I'll take some of you during the talk as well, so don't get upset if you see a flash."
"There are always flashes."
At his bored tone she swung around, checking the dim space again. "Jerry's taking a long time. Perhaps the water's been cut off for the fire."
"God, I hope not. Need it, you understand, before this talk." Long fingers pulled at his ear lobe. "Never given a talk to kids this young before."
Really? Couldn't be nervous, could he?
As if searching for clues, he turned his palms over.
Smooth palms, suggesting he hadn't rowed since the Olympics.
"Usually, the presentations I give are to high school kids or older, but with the short notice this time and much younger kids, well, I don't have the right stuff prepared." He flashed a pleading look. "So, what do I tell them, Bailey? Help me out, will you? Tell me what to say."
Poor guy, thrown in at the deep end like that. Who would have realized this change of schools would produce such a challenge? "Same as usual I guess but keep it more general and your language simple. Ask questions and get them to answer to keep their attention. And show them your medal, but not till the end. That'll keep them in suspense."
"Sounds like you know a lot about kids." He looked at her speculatively. "Got some of your own?"
"Jeez, no. Not even a boyfriend." Like she'd ever find a decent one. One who didn't use her. But why had she revealed so much to Connor, the playboy of the national rowing squad? Nervousness? Carelessness? Or plain simple stupidity? "Just a niece and a nephew."
The chattering of a few hundred kids burst from behind her and the headmaster stepped through the doorway from the hall, a glass of water in each hand. He flashed a smile at her as the automatic door closed behind him. "Heard you were here. Been interviewing Connor? I've just had trouble convincing another reporter we don't need him. Got one already, I said."
"Thanks," she told Jerry as Connor almost snatched the drink from the headmaster's hand. Her own itched to grab the spare. "Can I drive your guest to the airport afterwards?"
"Of course."
"No need to worry about the kids," she assured her interviewee with a nod towards the hall door. "They're excited already."
Ignoring her, he drained his glass and reached for the other. "I'll take this with me if that's okay."
"Fine, and it's time to go." With a nod to her, Jerry led his guest away.
Moments later Bailey slid into a vacant seat at the side of the hall and set up her phone to record as the welcoming applause died down. Had she given Connor enough ideas to keep these youngsters entertained?
Sure, he started well with a confident stride to the lectern. Towering over it, he scanned the room until he spotted Bailey, his cheeky grin a complete contrast to the nervousness displayed earlier.
What?
Facing the front again, he addressed the kids, his tone confident, self-assured, strong. "Do any of you want to compete in the Olympics?"
Several heads nodded in reply.
"Come on," he coaxed, lifting the lectern and carrying it closer to the edge of the stage, so effortlessly it could have been made of plywood.
Show off.
"Hands up those of you who say yes."
Like tall reeds in a pond, arms stretched up throughout the hall.
"Great. I did. Won my event and got a medal to prove it. Wanna see?" His hand vanished inside his jacket while heads nodded and kids yelled their excitement.
The hand reappeared, empty. "Nah. Later. You'll have to hear my talk first." In reply to the answering protests of "Oh," and "O-oh?" he only grinned and sipped his water.
What a tease.
Next minute Bailey chuckled as he involved the kids again, establishing an unexpected rapport with his audience.
God, he'd sure sucked her in! Hadn't prepared anything? Bullshit! If he hadn't, he was born into a speaker's role. The pen stilled over her notepad and she glanced down at her jottings on the audience's reactions, every mark heading uphill. Keeping on the lines was impossible while her entire focus rested on this captivating speaker.
This charismatic speaker, who'd be ideal for her club's anniversary dinner.
Later when Connor finally showed his Olympic medal, it caught the whole audience's attention and finalized the talk so perfectly, silence filled the room for a moment before Connor called for questions.
When they finally ran out, Bailey joined the enthusiastic applause. Sure, he'd been impressive but man, did he owe her for that con!
She'd get her scoop now.
* * *
Later, Bailey led Connor to her car. "So, you'd never given a talk to kids that young before, right? Then how did you manage to have them eating out of your hand within the first two seconds?"
His reply came in a dead serious tone. "But I hadn't. Hooking them in with a tease over the medal was your idea."
"Yeah, right."
"I mean it. Your suggestion reminded me of a magician's show I saw recently where the entertainer kept the kids guessing for a whole half hour. Now I owe you." He threw his overnight bag onto the back seat, then opened the passenger door, glanced down at his long legs, and frowned. "This could be interesting."
"Another challenge," she grinned from the driver's seat, and watched while he folded himself into the small space, then slid the seat back and sighed with obvious relief.
Pity hers had disappeared, because now he sat close enough for her to breathe in his musky perfume. And see the tiny dark hairs that covered his chin. She turned away rather than look at the eyes of this flirting expert, the one most girls would lust after. This sexy sportsman would not win her over!
Fingers shaking, she started the car. The newspaper article! What to put in the newspaper article? What did she still need to ask to write the best account ever? Think! Think!
Dozens of parents had mobbed Connor after his talk, leaving her with only a short time to write the story before deadline.
And the scoop for the magazine article? She'd never get that either if she freaked out but when could she do an interview for such a long, in-depth story? Skyping would be the only way but in hindsight, it seemed impersonal and totally inadequate.
After double checking her mirrors, she drove towards the gate. Somehow, she had to relax or she'd get nowhere with an interview. "Back to Sherdon now, is it?"
"God, no. I'm going to disappear for the weekend first, for some very necessary R and R."
Disappear? As if pulled by a string, her head swung towards to him. "How? Where?"
Long legs stretched beside her. "All this public speaking, travelling, meeting new people in every place, has taken its toll. Training starts again on Monday so this weekend's the only time I can take a break." He bit his bottom lip. "If you really want this interview, you'll have to come with me."
"What?" Her foot slammed on the brake, the car screeched to a halt and her body stilled, but only for a moment before a shudder raced down her spine. With Connor Freeman, the love 'em and leave 'em guy? Hell, no.
From behind, a horn tooted, jerking feeling back into her hands, her body into action. With a brief glance in the rear-view mirror she moved the car forward again until it reached the school exit.
Connor swivelled towards her, one hand on the edge of his seat, the other on his thigh. "Listen. Skyping won't give you the sort of background you'd need for a magazine article. To get that, you'll have to spend long periods of time with me."
"W-with you?" God, now he'd know she was nervous as a kid at a new school.
"Exactly. After this weekend I'll be back training with little time to spare and in no mood to co-operate."
"But... you haven't even read anything I've written. And earlier, you—"
"Ah, but I asked the headmaster, and he praised your writing."
All very well and she should be bouncing in excitement. Would bounce, except for this bizarre proposal.
She bit her lip but she had to know. "Why have you changed your mind? You turned up your nose at me earlier, and now you're offering to devote a whole weekend to this interview."
His shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug. "One good turn deserves another, don't you think? You helped with my talk, so why wouldn't I try and reciprocate? Besides, it's in my best interests for you to write an accurate account. No good for my reputation otherwise."
What reputation did he mean? The one as speaker, or the bad-boy pin-up?
"So we'll work on it over the weekend and set you up to write a saleable article. After it's done you can send me the draft and I'll check the facts. What do you say, huh?"
Spend the weekend in close proximity to another sportsman? "It's a crazy idea."
"Crazy? Yeah, crazy fun." His eyebrows flicked up and down, accompanied by the flash of a sexy grin. "If we act like an ordinary couple we won't look conspicuous and in exchange, I'll answer every one of your questions—except those relating to my present personal life which is out of bounds to your readers." He studied her face, no doubt checking she understood. "You'll get your article, Bailey. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"Ye-es, but if I'm conducting an interview the whole weekend, you won't get the break you need." Like the damn traffic that whizzed past without a gap to let them in. The sooner she deposited Connor at the airport and sent him on his way, the sooner she'd squeeze out of this scary situation.
"Yeah I will." Another flick of his eyebrows. "I'll have a companion— a win for us both because I hate being alone."
How many girls did he deceive with that story? Gripping the steering wheel, she seized an opportunity to slip into the traffic. Damn shame that after finding the perfect way to promote herself she couldn't follow through. Another good-looking, sporty guy wanting more from her than her article? Not going there, thank you, not with that Redback spider sitting on her shoulder waiting to bite whenever she forgot. "Your girlfriend will be jealous."
"Don't have one so there's no problem. Come on, Bailey. Say yes."
"But you're talking of disappearing, supposedly to some remote place. Just the two of us?"
"Disappearing from people who know me, I meant." His earnest look flipped her insides right over. "Look. This is the best chance you'll ever have for starting as a magazine writer. A subject you already know, an interviewee you've already met, research you've already done, and two whole days for questions."
A glance at the sports ground beside them didn't help her decide. Another at the lights didn't, either. Nor one at him. "Where are you going?"
"Not revealing that until I check they've got a spare booking, which there's no point doing unless you agree to come. If you don't, my destination has to remain secret or I might not get any privacy."
His mouth hadn't changed from serious, his eyes hadn't lit up in excitement, and his hands hadn't moved from their safe positions. Maybe the rumours were false and he was really a good guy. After all, he'd joked with reporters during T.V. interviews, toyed with the kids during his talk, and when he'd conned her earlier, it had all been in fun.
Wouldn't this be the best way ever, to get to know him, check out the stories behind his bad boy reputation and really learn what made him tick? "Separate rooms," she stipulated.
"Oh, well." His deep sigh sounded as impressive as a drama queen's. "If you insist."
"You bet. And if I want to pull the plug early?"
"Why would you?"
"Well..." She bit her lip. "Like, if I've got enough information."
"Then I'd have to agree."
She eased to a stop at the next traffic lights. "Oh, you had to go straight to the airport after the talk! There's no time for me to pack."
"Sure there is."
"Then why did you say–?"
"Another journalist wanting an interview? Believe me, I'd had enough."
Oh. "So what changed your mind?"
"You."
"How? By piling you with compliments?"
A laugh exploded out of him. A genuine, full-throated laugh this time, his head thrown back and his voice deeper than before.
Friendlier. Enthralling.
"No, it was when you said you coxed and I knew I wouldn't have to explain rowing terms to you, which meant the interview wouldn't become the expected chore. I might even enjoy it. And it'll put off my return to an empty flat back in Sherdon."
Still going to happen, wasn't it?
"Who knows, the publicity from this article might even bring me a girlfriend."
Yet his grin suggested this was another tease, and settling down, the last thing on his mind.
"Anyway, helping a young reporter with her career has a certain amount of appeal."
Oh, oh. So if the article didn't sell, she'd let him down as well as herself.
God, proposing a sneak interview with Connor Freeman for a magazine article had been a really crappy idea. Why hadn't she thought it through more carefully? What she should have done was concentrate solely on the newspaper article to convince the boss that well-written stories could be more interesting than those with dirt.
She smacked the steering wheel. Why didn't the lights turn green, for God's sake? She needed to drop that plan, and Connor, and forget the whole selfish scenario.
"Come on. Turn around and we'll go to your place now. You can pack while I check the bookings."
At last! A way out of this horrific situation. "Pack and write my newspaper report," she corrected. "No time for both. Not now."
"You're saying the report will take more than an hour?"
"Course not."
Her scalp prickled at his sly grin. Damn, damn, damn. He'd sucked her right in when he threw out that challenge, forcing her denial. Now she was committed, and out of excuses, out of ideas, and out of energy to argue any more. "Okay. I'll come, but only for the interview."
Even as she said the words, apprehension grew like a mushroom cloud. What if she'd misread him after all and this was another con from Connor, the sexy Olympian?