Something to Prove. Cathryn Parry
she could never get rid of the bad taste in her mouth; it always came back to haunt her. There was no solution, even though Brody Jones seemed to sense her discomfort.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” But tears were threatening, so she blinked fast. She had one strong point in her life to fall back on—her job—and here, with this skier, she couldn’t even do that properly.
Exhaling, she lifted her chin. She needed to hold on to whatever shred of an interview she had left. “We all grow up, Brody. Life changes. Nobody can help that.”
“True.” His brow creased as he looked not at the voice recorder, but directly into her eyes. “But we can remember when life was simpler. At heart, I think people want to recapture that. Maybe that’s why they go to mountain races—to breathe in the air and soak up the sun and ring cowbells like they’re kids again. You could, too, if you wanted.”
She dropped back in her seat and stared at him.
He smiled, embarrassed this time. “Or not. It’s a theory, but you asked.”
He’s giving me amazing quotes, the reporter part of her brain said. Brody hadn’t said anything like this, not that she’d read, to any other reporter.
“You…stayed away from the circuit for two years,” she pressed on. “Even after you were healthy. You said you were finished, that you’d accomplished all you wanted to accomplish. What made you come back to the tour?”
“Time is up.” The agent stood. “Miss Jensen, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
But Amanda looked to Brody. Her hunch was right. His mask was back in place, as if he regretted opening up to her. Something was wrong, and he was hiding whatever it was.
“I’m not going to screw you over, Brody,” she murmured. How could she, after the kindness that he’d shown her?
He reached over and turned off her digital recorder. “You’re a journalist,” he said with an edge to his voice. “It’s what journalists do.”
“Some journalists maybe, but not me.” She pointed at him. “Let’s get something straight. You talk about the joy of youth. Well, I’ve known since I was a kid that I was a born writer, and that I loved doing it. I caught the enthusiasm for reporting early, and I never lost it. Believe me, I don’t compromise my journalistic integrity for anyone, including my employer.”
He smiled widely at her. “Then you’re the first of the breed I’ve met.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“We’ll see, won’t we? I gave you quotes. Let’s see what you do with them.”
“Cynical, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had my words twisted by all the so-called nicest journalists. They write what they want to write, for whatever agenda they have. I’ve learned better than to try to control it.”
“Refusing to speak—is that the way to control it?”
He shook his head. “Even that doesn’t work. Stuff still gets made up.”
“Believe it or not, Brody, I take my job seriously. I might go undercover now and then, I might bust a person’s chops, but I never, ever mess around with quotes. Are you kidding me? That’s for hacks, and I don’t care how many awards they might have won, it’s still hack reporting. That’s like, like…” She was so mad she was stuttering.
“Cheating?” Brody asked.
That was it. Cheating. She nodded in excitement. “Exactly. You understand.”
“Yeah.” He smiled sadly. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Well, that’s good.” Harrison clapped from where he stood. “Time is definitely up.”
“Amanda Jensen.” Brody stood and moved around the table, then held the door for her. Her knees were suddenly weak and she wobbled on her too-high shoes. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
And then he leaned close and kissed her first on one cheek, and then the other. She felt the electricity from his kiss ricochet all over her body. By reflex, she reached up and touched his arm. It felt rock-solid.
He grinned at her sheepishly. “Sorry. When in Italy…”
Her cheeks flamed.
“Yes,” she breathed.
And then he reached up and tipped the brim of his hat to her.
Like a wayward cowboy, he was out of there. Taking all the air in the room with him.
BRODY SPLASHED COLD WATER on his face, the back of his neck, his forearms. He leaned over the sink, feeling wired, as if he’d just finished a challenging run and wanted to go back up the mountain and do it again.
Because he did want to do it again. He wanted to see more of Amanda Jensen, and outside the interview room.
He reached for the paper towels. Unfortunately that was off the table. Maybe someday they could get together, after he’d finished what he’d come to accomplish, but not now. He had so little free time as it was. Harrison was a pain about scheduling him.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Harrison muttered, his voice echoing off the tile in the empty men’s room. He’d already attempted to chew Brody out for being needlessly open with a reporter, but Brody had shut him down, reminding him there were times when going off-script was the best strategy. When he followed his intuition on the race course, good things happened. It was the reason for his wins, and nobody could deny that, especially his agent.
“Don’t worry about her. She isn’t going to screw us,” Brody said, but Harrison just grunted. Brody wadded the wet paper towels and turned, realizing that Harrison was preoccupied with reading text messages on his phone. He mopped perspiration from his forehead and cursed under his breath.
“What’s the matter?” Brody asked. “Xerxes yanking your chain?”
“No. Give me a minute,” Harrison said, furiously typing a text message.
“Not a problem.” He thought of Amanda again. Something about her niggled at him. What had upset her and tripped her up, enough to almost throw that one part of the interview?
“Why haven’t I heard of her before?” he muttered, though it was likely Harrison wasn’t listening. “News of a reporter like her would have gotten around on the circuit.”
“We could be in deep trouble here, in case you haven’t noticed.” Harrison snapped his phone shut and scowled at him.
His agent was always the jumpy type, but today he was excessively nervous. He’d been sticking to Brody in full-on babysitter mode, and Brody had taken enough. “Cut her some slack,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.
“It isn’t her I’m worried about.” Harrison stalked to the far sink and soaped up his hands. “It’s you,” he said over the spray of water. “You don’t seem to grasp what’s at stake.”
“Are you talking about the note cards?”
“I’m saying I’m not sure we can pull this off anymore.”
Brody stilled. Everything in his life depended on them making this race a go. “What is it?” he asked in a low voice.
“You know you’re the center of my business, Brody. You always have been.”
He waited, his heartbeat slowing until it was a dull thudding in his chest.
“I met you when you were what…eighteen?” Harrison continued. “A local kid at a local race.”
Those days were a distant memory. Brody couldn’t go back there if he wanted to. He didn’t want to, but that was beside the point.