“So, I have a new assignment for you. A big one.” He rubbed his hands together, the sound like sandpaper on wood.
“What is it?”
Sommerville’s phone beeped, but he ignored it. “First, I’ve been checking up on you. People are saying you’re burned out. Need some time out of the fast lane. So, I’m switching you back to domestic for the time being.”
Tanner’s jaw clenched. “That’s not what we agreed to.”
Sommerville waved his hand. “I know, but this is a really juicy assignment.” He dug out his wallet and pulled out a picture.
Tanner studied it. The blond woman looked to be in her early thirties and as cool as a cucumber. Her blond hair reminded him of the coif women journalists on CNN preferred. She was attractive—beautiful, if he was being honest—and intelligence and confidence radiated from her direct green gaze.
“Who is she?”
Sommerville laid it on the table like he was a Vegas dealer, the photo facing Tanner.
“She’s my ex-wife, and I want you to make her fall in love with you.”
Tanner started laughing. He jostled Sommerville with a hand to the shoulder like he would a Marine who’d told a dirty joke to break the tension as they rode through hostile territory. “Christ, that’s a good one. Flipping me back to domestic. Right.”
Sommerville smiled. It thinned out his full lips.
Tanner’s laughter died. “You’re serious?”
“I never joke about journalism. If Meredith—that’s my ex—writes the article she’s pitched to her boss, my reputation will be damaged. I’m not entirely sure she’s going to leave me out of it. We had a…disagreement recently. I need someone to handle her. Be the focus of her article, and then crush her premise to bits.” He drained his scotch. “I won’t let her ruin my run for the Senate.”
Tanner spread his hands on the table. “I don’t see how this has anything to do with me.”
Sommerville raised his drink to a passing waiter for a refill. “Then let me fill you in. I have it on good authority my ex-wife is going to return to her hometown in Dare Valley, Colorado, to write an article about her attempts to find love like a heroine in a Nora Roberts romance novel.” He suddenly slapped a paperback on the table. “Ever heard of her?”
Tanner picked up the book, Montana Sky. Had Sommerville gone off his rocker? “Sure, my mom reads her. Why?”
“I blamed these books for our divorce. My ex-wife is planning to prove I’m wrong by actually trying to live the life of a Roberts’ character and showing happy endings do exist.”
Okay…Tanner signaled the waiter. “Bourbon. Neat.”
Sommerville grabbed the book. “Do you have any idea how many people read Nora Roberts?”
Tanner lifted a shoulder. Were they actually talking about romance novels? This was his big assignment? His dream job lay in ashes at his feet. Sommerville was certifiable. There was no way he’d work for him now.
“We’re talking millions. This article will be read by every woman in America—possibly overseas too. Meredith has to be stopped! I won’t let her divulge…less than favorable information about our marriage and what drove her to this ridiculous stunt. She’s acting like a hysterical female.”
Tanner crossed his arms. “So you think making your ex fall in love with me is going to somehow stop this?”
Sommerville reached for his drink. “Yes. If she falls for you, and then you dump her, she can’t write the article. Plus, you can keep tabs on her. Bottom line. I can’t let her create an unfavorable impression of me.”
Unbelievable. “This doesn’t seem like a job for a journalist.”
“Bull. It’s perfect. Think of her as a target. Plus, it will give you some time to recharge. You’ll like Dare Valley. It’s a small college town in the Rockies. Meredith’s family owns a small paper there. You’ve probably heard of it.”
Then it clicked. “Holy shit. The Western Independent. ” Every journalist worth their salt knew about the small, independent paper that had been founded by one of journalism’s best, Arthur Hale. The blond chick had some pedigree.
“Her grandfather never liked me, never even considered letting me taking over. He’s a crotchety old bastard. Of course, marrying into the Hale family opened a whole set of doors for me, so it was worth it. It’ll help my campaign once we get past this whole exploratory committee process.” He crunched ice cubes. “I’ve arranged through a third party for you to be an adjunct professor in the Hale School of Journalism at Emmits Merriam University this coming semester. They were delighted someone of your reputation would want to teach last minute. It’s a small, private, liberal arts school.”