Page 42 of Lucas

“I don’t,” he says. “Daylight Holdings does. I don’t always agree with how the press handles things, but I have respect for the process. And if I could control the editorial…”

My voice goes hoarse. “You’re going to start a newspaper?”

“It’s already underway,” he says. “I’m going to sign the paperwork right now actually. After I shower and throw on a new suit, of course. But before I do, I thought…Well, I wondered if you’d consider being my Editor in Chief?”

My stomach flips end over end. “Me?”

He nods. “I know it sounds impulsive and I don’t blame you if you want to say no, but I know you can do the job, Eden.”

“Yes.” My quick answer surprises even me.

He blinks. “Yes?”

I’ve spent the last few weeks blindly trying to chart a new course, but suddenly everything—my future, my career—feels like it’s coming into sharp focus. Warmth sweeps through me, and a smile creeps across my face. My God, I don’t remember when I last grinned. “I accept the position.”

His smile goes so wide I think his cheeks might crack. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.” He steps forward, as though to touch me, but pulls back, suddenly unsure if he has permission. Wariness creases his forehead. He clears his throat. “I should have said there are no strings attached.”

“That’s your grand pitch?”

He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s a start. I miss you, Eden. I’ve been an idiot, I know, and when you came to me, I should have convinced my partners to pull funding on that lawsuit right away. I was selfish. Cowardly.”

I rock back on my heels. “Way to bury the lead.”

He ducks his head. “The truth is, I don’t just want you as my Editor in Chief, Eden. I want you. All of you.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and finally lifts his gaze to mine. “Tell me you’ll take me back.”

My heart practically jumps out of my throat, but I’m not letting him off quite so easily. “How about you take me to the bedroom so we can…” I lick my lips, and drop my stare to his groin. “Negotiate some terms.”

Chapter 22

Lucas stands at the make-shift podium at the front of the board room, a glass of champagne in his hand, and looks out into the small crowd of dedicated staff that have shed literal sweat, blood and tears to put out the first issue of The New York Chronicle.

As publisher, this is his right, but watching him address his employees, I can’t imagine anyone else who would be more perfect to deliver this inspiring and celebratory speech. He is in his element.

I clutch our newspaper to my chest with one hand, and hold up a champagne glass in salute, tears brimming.

Lucas’s eyes catch mine and he grins. “Of course, none of this would have been possible without the hard work of your Editor In Chief,” he says, motioning for me to join him at the front of the room.

I prefer to duck out of the limelight, but I know how important this is—to him, to me, to us. For almost a month, it’s been nose to grind, pushing a team of reporters to dig up real news, not the shit that makes the rag papers like Rubberneckers, but actual human interest pieces. Stories that change lives.

All of the words in this first issue have changed lives.

Lucas’s life.

Mine.

Every person in this room.

And as I stare out at them, their expressions wide-eyed with joy, I feel a sense of fulfillment wash over me. This, this is exactly where I belong too.

Lucas puts his hand on the small of my back. It’s no secret we’re a couple, but displaying our affection publicly still feels odd, like maybe the team will think less of my leadership if we flaunt it. I’m probably being ridiculous, but we’re trying to do things right this time.

I lift my glass high and shout, “We did it!”

A chorus of cheers erupts.

Lucas grabs a fresh bottle of champagne and shakes it, sending fizzy wine all across the boardroom. My white blouse is soaked, and my hair sticks to my forehead and neck. I lean over to whisper in his ear, “I’m going to need a shower now.”

“That can be arranged,” he murmurs in return, without missing a beat.