Page 135 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

I shake my head. “The article . . .” I start, then hiccup. “How bad is it?”

“It’s—well, it’s not great.”

I cover my face with my arms. “Oh, god!”

“You shouldn’t read it!” Becks says, pulling my arms away. “And the picture . . . Okay, I know you probably never intended for it to be seen, but youdolook gorgeous in it.”

I laugh despite myself. “Thanks.”

“And besides, who cares what that jerk wrote about you. You got your internship because of your hard work.”

Nausea rolls through my stomach again because that’s no longer true. I thought it was. But really, it was Dave who called in a favor. He submitted my work and pulled god knows how many strings. Maybe what Harold Lewis told me is complete bullshit. What if he saw the opportunity, and it didn’t matter if I was a good writer or not. They just knew I had access, and he was desperate. Hell, so was I.

“I could lose my internship over this,” I say.

“Why?”

“The secretary practically beat me over the head with how they value professionalism and integrity. And my guess is, that article doesn’t paint me in a very good light.”

“But that’s—” She sighs. “That’s not fair.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m really glad you’re here,” I say, offering her the best smile I can.

She smiles, and it slowly turns into a knowing smirk. “So . . . all crises aside. You and Dave?”

Heat rushes into my cheeks. “Uh, yeah . . . me and Dave.”

“I knew it!” she squeals. “I knew all that stuff about just staying friends wouldn’t work. He’s been smitten with you for months.”

“He said he loves me,” I admit. It sounds strange to say it out loud to someone else. More real. Her eyes widen. “You don’t think that’ll change because of the article, do you?”

“No! Of course not,” she says, waving her hand at me. “Don’t be crazy. If I know Dave like I think I do, he’ll want to pluck the eyes out of anyone who sees that photo of you while simultaneously framing a copy for his room.”

I try to smile as the two of us head back out into the lobby. Before I can walk two feet though, Dave is there and pulling me into a hug.

“Izzy, you okay?” he asks, gently cupping my face.

I shake my head. “Not really,” I say, swallowing hard. “There are some things I should do, but I’m—”

“We got breakfast to go,” Dave says, nodding toward James, who carries a tray of coffees and juice and a huge paper bag. “We’ll take it back to the room. Things won’t seem so bad once you have your coffee fix, I promise.”

This time, I really do smile, a little at least, as my heart digs its way out of the hole it fell into when I saw that article. “That’s—thank you.”

He smiles tentatively and wraps his arms around me, then he kisses my head and steers us back the way we came.

When the four of us are back in the motel room and I’ve drunk my coffee, I admit that Dave was right. Nothing seemsquite so terrible. I suppose it could be worse. At least the picture of me is hot.

“Did you read it?” I ask Dave as I pace the room at the end of the bed where he, James, and Becks are sitting.

He nods sheepishly. When I groan, he reaches out to grab my hand. “I only read it to protect you. And believe me, if James hadn’t physically held me down, I’d be on my way back to San Francisco to kill this motherfucker right now.”

“That’s true,” James says through a mouthful of bagel.

“Also, I—” He pulls me closer. “You didn’t tell me about the photo.”

I blush furiously, turning away from James and Becks to whisper to Dave, “I don’t know why I took it. I felt—sexy and . . . it was your name and—”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, that picture is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and the moment I destroy every other copy in circulation I want one blown up for my room.”

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