Page 86
She searched my face. I would’ve bet good money that I was doing a decent job of hiding my emotions, but after a few seconds, the look on her face changed. Penny’s eyes widened, and a wry smile tugged at her mouth.
“Oh, my God.”
“I didn’t plan it.” I sat forward and held up my hands as if that would stall her jumping to whatever conclusions. “When we hooked up—”
“Oh. My. God.”
“You’re not helping.”
Amusement gleamed in her eyes, replacing confusion. “No, Dakota, you’re not helping yourself. You and Trace Prescott? The Highlanders’ star running back? The guy you’ve been trying to skin alive for months?”
“It wasn’t planned,” I repeated with a defeated groan, and fell back into the couch pillows. “I’m not even sure how it happened. We just—he just—and now I don’t know how to write this thing without wrecking his entire life.”
“If it was just a hook-up, then y—”
“It’s more than that.” We stared at each other. Penny waiting for the breakdown, and me waiting for my thoughts to form some kind of coherent pattern. “It maybe didn’t start that way. But now…”
She slid back in her armchair and gave a long, low whistle. “You’re in love with him.”
“Love is a very strong word, but I would say that there are… some feelings.”
“Like love.”
“Like I don’t want to see him get hurt, and I especially don’t want to be the one hurting him,” I said, my desperation bubbling over. “You know… like caring for a friend or something. I’ve never been in this position before.”
“Clearly.” And she laughed softly, seemingly enjoying my particular state of hopeless despair. “The whole point of journalistic objectivity is to distance yourself from situations like this so you can do your job.”
“Doing my job is the easy part.”
“The blowback is none of your business, Dakota.”
“But—”
“Let’s just agree that feelings are feelings and you’ve definitely got some of them going on in there.” Penny pointed a finger at my chest and turned it in circles. “Now you’re wondering how you can ruin one man while saving another, and my question is why? What makes Trace Prescott more special than the rest?”
“It’s not just about him,” I lied. “If I go through with this article, it will affect the whole team. Trace’s career, sure, but theirs too. I don’t know how big it will be, but I do know it will have an impact on the future they’ve been working toward.”
“So don’t publish,” she said with a shrug.
I blinked at her a few times. “Wh—what?”
“No assignment is worth getting an ulcer. Don’t publish and take the fail.” Her eyes never left mine the whole time she spoke. “You’re a smart woman. You’ll make it up in no time.”
The knot twisted in my stomach, churned and turned over so violently that it brought a wave of nausea with it.
“I… If I don’t publish the article, I’ll be betraying my own beliefs. My values.”
There was that nonchalant shrug again, and she went through to the kitchen. I followed, the savory bite of sauteed garlic and onions hitting me full force as I leaned against the doorframe.
Penny slid a wooden spoon through the sizzling pan, and added a generous splash of red wine to the mix. She then grabbed two glasses and proceeded to empty the rest of the bottle into them.
“Drink,” she commanded, nudging a glass toward me across the island. “Because if you’re about to choose a guy over a Pulitzer, you’re going to need to be at least a little buzzed.”
“Penny…”
“Don’t ‘Penny’ me,” she said, shaking her head. After a big gulp from her own glass, she turned her attention to slicing mushrooms. “I’ve been along for the ride from the conception of this piece. You’ve asked my opinion, shared your excitement, railed against the constraints and left me to deal with it.”
“Is this an evaluation, or do you have some advice hiding in there somewhere?” Despite my better judgment, I took the glass of wine and sipped.
