Runaway Attraction. Farrah Rochon
“The only thing I’ve agreed to do so far is to meet with you,” she reminded him.
“Thanks for even that much. This is going to be amazing. I promise you won’t regret it.”
But as soon as Bailey ended the call, doubts began to swarm her. The last time she’d sat across from Micah Jones for an interview, she’d inadvertently given some lunatic the means with which to abduct her. Was she setting herself up for something even more sinister?
She gripped the sofa’s armrest as panic cascaded through her. The all-too-frequent tightness in her chest seized the air in her lungs.
“Stop it,” Bailey ordered herself.
She slowly released her grip on the armrest, her chest heaving with her heavy breaths.
She refused to go down this road again today, and she was not backing out of this documentary. She needed to regain the power she’d lost—the power that had been stolen from her by a faceless assailant who continued to haunt her.
Not anymore. Micah Jones had just given her a way to take back control of her life. And she was going to use it.
Chapter 3
Bailey spotted Micah as he walked past the coffee shop’s large windows and moments later entered through the glass door. He stood at the entrance, his eyes roaming until he spotted her.
A smile broke out across his face, and suddenly an issue she hadn’t considered popped into her head. How would she curb the undeniable attraction she’d felt toward him from the moment she’d met him?
The man was the personification of masculine beauty, with dark, intense eyes and chiseled features. His tan suede jacket fit perfectly over his dark brown corduroy pants. He was untying a cream-and-red-plaid scarf from around his neck as he approached the table.
“Hello,” he said. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not at all,” Bailey lied. She’d left her apartment over an hour ago, sneaking away while the bodyguard was in the bathroom. The need to break away from those four walls had all but consumed her.
He nodded toward her half-filled cup. “Do you mind waiting a few minutes while I get coffee?”
“Please, go ahead,” she said, gesturing to the counter.
As he studied the menu along the wall behind the baristas, Bailey studied him. His broad shoulders filled every inch of his sports coat. His muscular build befitted a professional football player more than a television producer. However, that sculpted jaw and those arresting brown eyes were definitely made for TV.
As she observed him, Bailey concluded that the laid-back, relaxed demeanor that had put her at ease during their interview was not an act. It was evident in the way he walked, the way he stood. He exuded a calmness that made it easy to feel comfortable around him.
That could prove to be dangerous for reasons she hadn’t considered when she’d agreed to this meeting. Bailey wasn’t oblivious to the tingly sensations that had been traveling along her skin from the second Micah had entered the coffee shop. Those tingles were definitely trouble. She already had too many things to contend with—she had no desire to add a hyperactive libido to her plate.
He returned to the table with a paper coffee cup and took the seat across from her.
“Thanks again for agreeing to meet with me,” he said. “I have to give you fair warning—I’m going to do everything I can to convince you to sign on for this project. I really think this documentary will be amazing, Bailey. Not just amazing, but beneficial, too.”
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what the documentary will entail? But, first, here’s my fair warning—I am not doing another live, one-on-one interview on your show. On anyone’s show, for that matter. I know better than to expose myself to that kind of ridicule.”
His brow wrinkled, drawing her attention to the deep brown of his irises. They were so dark they were almost black, and they had the frightening ability to steal the breath from her lungs.
“What makes you think you would be ridiculed on my show?” he asked. “Did I give you reason to believe that any moment of our previous interview wasn’t one-hundred-percent genuine?”
“No, but as I told you yesterday, things have changed significantly since our first interview. You did see the press conference, didn’t you?”
“I would never treat you that way.”
“Why should I believe that? You’re a reporter—”
“I’m not—”
“Fine,” she said with an impatient flick of her wrist. “Producer, TV personality, whatever you want to call yourself. The point is that it’s your job to get the dirt on people. And no matter how much I tell everyone that there isn’t any real dirt out there about me, the media doesn’t seem to comprehend that. Some of them have taken to actually making stuff up. My brother thinks I should file a slander lawsuit.”
“Filing a lawsuit will only draw more attention to yourself, which those same reporters will no doubt put a negative spin on.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. In a slightly lower and devastatingly smooth voice he said, “Look, Bailey. I know you’ve had a contentious relationship with the media lately, but you don’t have to worry about me twisting the story for my own benefit. That’s not how I operate. I make sure everything I say on Connect is thoroughly vetted.”
“I don’t care how thorough you are. Just know that I am not joining you on your couch again.” His brow quirked and an immediate rush of heat flooded her face. “You know what I mean,” she said.
His lips curved in a quick, sexy grin as he reached for his coffee.
“I do,” he said after taking a sip. “But it doesn’t matter, because what I have in mind doesn’t involve you on my couch.”
Bailey bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing. This volleying of sexual innuendo was totally inappropriate given how much was at stake.
She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
His brow cocked again.
“In regards to the documentary,” Bailey clarified. Lord, she so did not have the mental energy to engage in suggestive banter with Micah Jones.
He set his cup aside and folded his hands on the table. “Before you even ask, I’m not seeking to do an exposé or some other such nonsense that would harm your reputation rather than help it.”
“Exactly what did I do to warrant this sudden concern for my reputation? Especially from a reporter?”
His long-suffering sigh was genuine, and Bailey realized in that moment that the sarcasm toward him was completely unwarranted. Micah had never been anything but honest and sincere, both during their interview and since he’d contacted her yesterday. Yet she’d mentally lumped him in with the rest of the paparazzi who’d set out to make her life a living hell.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Blame my bitchiness on lack of sleep and an abundance of stress.”
“The last thing I want to do is stress you out. My goal is to give New Yorkers a more in-depth look into your life from your perspective. And you were right when you said that I would get something out of it, too. Your interview was one of the highest rated in Connect’s history. The numbers guys back at the network think it was because of you and your appeal, or the hype that was surrounding Fashion Week at the time, or the attraction of RHD as a company—no one can really pinpoint it. But personally, I think you were the biggest draw.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Bailey. You were fascinating. You came across as the glamorous supermodel you are, but you were so down-to-earth and approachable. You were completely