Page 13 of The Golden Scoop

When is he ever pretending? And… about what? All the media reports is how many parties he attends and how much fun he has. People love to give their two cents, and that keeps fueling the fire. There’s no such thing as bad press.

Could he be involved in something way more serious than this bad boy act? Is he an addict? Does he have a doppelgänger?

I pull out my notebook and scribble faster than a doctor writing out a prescription. The small page fills up with questions. I flip it and try to jot down as much as I can remember from what he just said.

Before I can finish, the door swings open again, and I’m ushered in.

The inside is more like a compact luxury apartment and less like a trailer. A plush cream sofa stretches along one of the walls, with a darker brown armchair next to it and polished wood cabinets holding a TV bigger than the one at my place. A marble countertop separates the kitchenette from the seating area. Everything smells like him.

Matt’s sitting on the couch sprawled out like he owns the place (which, as long as he’s working here, he basically does).

He stands up the moment I walk in. I expect him to be surprised, but whatever thought is running through his mind tells me that’s not the case. His eyes appear relieved, almost… happy? He must have some elaborate ‘make Emma’s life miserable’ plan if he’s looking at me like that.

“Hi, Matthew.” He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m shocked you agreed to this. I could almost hear you complaining all the way from Golden.”

“Actually—” the woman starts, but Matt raises his hand, bossy as ever, cutting her off.

“I believe it’s me who should be wondering what you’re doing here…” he says, taking a step toward me. The only thing between us is his manager, clearly confused by our reactions. “But then again, I bet you heard my name and begged to be here.”

I scoff. “Oh, Matthew,” I say, my voice low and sharp, “you’ll never hear me beg for anything that involves you.”

“Right, right. Why are you here then, Mills? Last I heard, you told me you were an editor.” He spits out the word like I did a couple of days ago at the wedding. “Are you even qualified to be here?”

“You have no idea what my qualifications are. I have more experience writing than you do act⁠—”

I stop myself, realizing if I go down that same line of thought, I’ll be digging my own grave. He doesn’t know about The Scoop. And it has to stay that way.

He narrows his eyes at me, thoughtful, as if he’s connecting the dots. Did Harrison let it slip? There’s something on the tip of his tongue, and I can see him weighing how far he can push my buttons before I snap.

“You mean all those entries on your blog?” Matt says, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

“How do you know about that?” I say, momentarily distracted from the relief I should be feeling about my secret being safe. “Are you stalking me?”

“Lucky guess, is all,” he teases.

Shit. He set the trap, and I fell for it.

Matt 1. Emma 0.

I’m about to throw in the towel for this round when I remember what his manager said while I waited outside. He needs this article as much as I want it.

“You know what? It turns out I’m perfectly content with my blog; I don’t need to be doing more writing on top of that,” I bluff.

His eyebrow lifts, not fully believing me. He knows me better than that… but Jennifer doesn’t.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time.” I turn to her and give her an apologetic half-smile.

“No, please. Stay,” she pleads, reaching out to rest her hand on my arm.

“I think it’s better if I send someone else in my place. Matthew doesn’t want me here.”

She must think along the same lines as Martha, because she makes it clear someone else won’t do.

“Oh, he wants you here. Right, Matthew?”

I barely manage to swallow the laugh that threatens to escape the second my nickname for him leaves her lips.

“I do.” He nods, slipping easily into the fake PR persona he wears so well. “I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”