The Last Guy

“Keep up the good work, and keep nailing these stories.”

“A petting zoo?” My voice drips with skepticism.

“You’re better than that. Local artists? Exotic animals? A ten-foot waterfall? You can make this human-interest story relevant. Give it depth!”

Taking a long breath, I nod. “Okay. And thanks . . . for your help, I mean. I appreciate it.”

She nods and veers down the opposite hall. I turn, and I’m standing directly in front of the sports den. Cade is facing the wall of flat-screen televisions, and I allow myself to linger a moment admiring the way his tight ass fills out those slacks so perfectly. My entire body hums, and my fingers curl at the memory of touching him, tracing my fingers over those lines in his abs in the shower . . . Damn him.

“Shit,” I whisper, blinking away fast when he turns and catches me.

“Stone?” His tone is low, and the rich vibration of his voice rattles my core. “Got a minute?”

I answer fast. “No!” Spinning on the heel of my nude pumps, I move away quickly. “I-I have to read.” It’s high and breathless, and I sound defensive.

He’s right with me, moving with far more grace in fast-motion than I am in these shoes. Damn athletes.

“Okay, thirty seconds.” Large hands close over my shoulders briefly, stopping me, flooding my panties with heat before moving away just as fast. “It’s about this morning.”

My jaw clenches, and anger—not jealousy!—gives me the strength to meet his panty-melting blue eyes. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It is not my business.”

“No, but I want to be clear. I did not invite Maggie Grace to my apartment. She just showed up.”

In my peripheral vision, I can see my chest rising and falling quickly, and I force myself to calm. “Don’t you live the charmed life? Women just throwing themselves in your bed, making out with you in the middle of Houston.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Look, Cade, I appreciate your . . . concern.” I reach out and almost touch him. Then I think better of it and pull my hand back. “It was nice of you to try and do whatever it was you were trying to do in the meeting just now, but I can take care of myself.”

“I never meant to suggest you couldn’t—”

“Marv doesn’t need your help sinking my career.” I won’t even mention my sinking love life. “Next time run your ideas past me before you announce them in the middle of a meeting, okay?”

His brow cocks, and he takes a step back. “Sure.”

“And about this morning, I didn’t know where you lived, but I can assure you, I will never run past your building again.” His jaw tightens, and my stomach feels sick. “What happened the other night was a mistake. I think it’s best if we forget it ever happened.” As if that will ever be possible.

Muscled arms cross over his broad chest, and sweet baby Jesus, it’s like he grew two more sexy inches. Why are angry guys so fucking hot? I blink away, barely holding onto my survivor mindset. I really want to cry. I really want to break down and beg him to tell me why . . . Why? Why was he sucking face with some bitch named Maggie Grace of all things this morning? Didn’t two nights ago mean anything? Wasn’t it the best sex of his life, too?

Of course it wasn’t, Rebecca Fieldstone. Grow up. Cade Hill is the Killer. He’s the player, quarterback, superstar jock who goes through women like ratted-out tube socks.

“Anything else?” I don’t miss the clipped tone in his voice.

“I don’t think so.” My voice wobbles, and I make a break for it. It’s my last chance to get away with my dignity intact. Naturally, I bump right into Savannah lingering in the hall. “Oh! Sorry,” I mutter, moving faster. I can only imagine she’ll be the next blonde stick insect riding his lap.

I. Do. Not. Care! With a fortifying breath, I go to the news desk to collect the media kit on the petting zoo. It’s finally a cool day. I’ll read it in the courtyard and meet Kevin at the satellite truck. Cade Hill is my coworker, and that’s the end of it.

Turning to the window, I try again to adjust the built-in bra of my special “no-iron” shirt. “Stupid thing never fit right,” I grumble, regretting my midnight impulse-buy. Damn infomercials.

A loud slurp fills the news van, and I give Kevin an impatient glance over my shoulder. He’s holding another soda cup the size of his head.

“You’re going to get diabetes if you don’t stop drinking those.” I give my blouse a hard yank, trying to get the bottom of the cup under my left breast. Finally, it feels like it’s sitting properly.

“Don’t be bitter because I can have all the calories I want.” I turn in my seat to face front, and his eyes drop then immediately go huge. “Holy shit!”

“What—oh shit!” I look down and see my top button has popped off, exposing a clear shot of my cleavage. I grasp the sides, pulling them together. “I must’ve ripped it . . . Give me a safety pin!”

He only gives me a wolfish grin and waggles his eyebrows.

My brow lowers. “In your dreams, Big Gulp. Now give me a safety pin.”

“What do I look like? Wardrobe?” He takes another loud slurp, staring straight at my boobs.

“My eyes are up here, asshole.” Of all the ridiculous things to happen . . . I grumble as I dig through my bag, searching for anything to fix my blouse. “I can’t be around a bunch of little kids like this.”

“It’s supposed to be exotic, right?” Kevin laughs. He keeps glancing to the side, and I scoot around in my seat to face the window again.

The seatbelt increases the level of difficulty trying to stay covered while also trying to find something to fix this malfunction. Finally, my fingers land on small, thin metal in the bottom of my purse.

“Ah-HA!” I whip out . . . A paper clip. “Shit,” I hiss.

“What kind of shirt is that anyway?” Kevin says, now crunching on Cheetos and still slanting his eyes in the direction of my chest.

“Just shut up.” I mentally curse my haste this morning.

This is what I get for trying to get in shape. First, I’m attacked by a mob of dogs. I’m Frenched by a Golden Retriever. Then I see Cade making out with some blonde bimbo right outside his apartment. My chest hurts, but I grit my teeth fighting those feelings with anger. Cade “Killer” Hill is not my focus. I’m focused on that anchor position.

Pulling the paper clip apart, I push one end through the fabric where the button used to be and the other through the buttonhole. Giving it a firm twist, the sides of my blouse slowly close together. I sit back and straighten my shoulders . . .

“It worked!” I rotate in my chair to face Kevin. “Check me out. MacGyver’d it!”

My camera guy actually makes a disappointed face. “I liked it better the other way.”

“Yeah, kiss my ass.” I’ve got my phone out, quickly scanning the press release sent over by the zoo’s public relations manager. “It says they’re bringing over a few baby animals today only . . .” I read. “Looks like we’ll get some good B-roll here. Stacy Kulcheck is organizing the whole thing. I’ll talk to her, and you get shots of all the highlights. I want the murals, this Venus flytrap, and the baby monkeys. Oh! They have a baby giraffe—we definitely need that.”