Gypsy king

I’d given the best years of my life to that job. I’d been so desperate for excitement and to climb the ladder. I’d wanted desperately to sit in that anchor’s seat. I’d given up everything else, missing out on the chance to marry a good man and have children.

“Why’d you quit?” Dash asked.

“About five years ago, I interviewed a woman who left Seattle for Montana. She’d just won the Pulitzer for an undercover story about a mobster importing weapons.”

“Sabrina.”

“Uh . . . yes.” I blinked. I guess he’d dug a lot deeper into my history than I’d suspected. “Sabrina MacKenzie.”

“Holt now. I know her.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “She lives in Prescott. That’s where my brother lives too. Emmeline, my sister-in-law, and Sabrina are good friends.”

“Small world.”

“Especially in Montana.”

“Anyway, I interviewed Sabrina. And I was jealous,” I admitted. “I was jealous of her story. She’d put herself out there and held nothing back. Dad had just bought the paper and had been begging me to move here. But I’d stayed in Seattle, holding out for a story like hers. It never came and the years, they kept passing by. Finally, I gave up. It was time to come home.”

I’d wasted five years after my interview with Sabrina busting my ass in Seattle. Every time I brought up a story idea to my producer, they’d nod and smile and tell me it was a good idea. Then they’d assign it to someone else, normally a man. Because I was needed on screen. I was the pretty face that came into people’s homes to tell them news, whether good or bad.

I was tired of being the pretty face.

Here at the Clifton Forge Tribune, I wasn’t going to win any awards. I wasn’t going to save countless lives by getting illegal handguns off the streets and away from children. But I could do honest work. I could tell the truth.

And if I wasn’t going to have a family, I’d have this paper. It would be my legacy instead of a family.

I wouldn’t fail at another career.

“Any other questions?” I asked, vulnerability thick in my voice. Why had I told him all of that? Why couldn’t I have just left it at “I worked in TV and now I don’t”? Instead, I’d opened up a piece of my past and splashed it all over the room for him to scrutinize.

His stare raked over my face, seeing too much. The sadness. The failure. The regret. Even my closest friends in Seattle, not that I’d had many with my work hours, didn’t know about those feelings.

“No. No more questions.” The chair’s wheels slid as he stood. He pushed it into Dad’s desk, then returned to sit on mine again.

“Good.” I bent and plucked my laptop from my tote. “I have a busy day.”

“Bryce.”

I met his gaze. “Kingston.”

“I think I prefer King,” he grumbled.

“Then go away, King. I need to get to work.”

Dash stood, moving for the door, but an impulse made me call out and stop him.

“Wait.” I needed my power back. I needed control. So I stood from my chair, walking right into his space without hesitation. His eyes flashed as I reached up and threaded my fingers into that hair. It was silky, like I’d expected. With a firm grip on those thick strands, I yanked his mouth down onto mine.

He froze for a split second but then he caught up to the kiss. His arms wrapped around my back, crushing me to his chest as his tongue pushed inside my mouth. The taste of ci

I gave as good as I could before ripping my lips away, placing a palm on his sternum and shoving him hard with all my might.

Dash staggered backward a foot. His lips were swollen, and we both breathed hard. Confusion was written all over his handsome face—along with lust. He longed for more.

And now, I had my power back.

“I’ll agree to the truce after I question your dad,” I said. “Set it up. I want to talk to him, tonight.”