So far her readers seemed to like it. Or, at least, they hadn't complained about it, so she'd take a win where she could get it.
Especially after her debacle with the Bijoux article. Her cheeks heated as she once again thought of how badly she'd messed up that whole thing. She'd spent much of last week going over her notes, trying to see where she'd gone wrong in vetting the source, but everything had checked out. Everything had seemed fine … right up until it had all fallen apart.
She still didn't understand how she had made such a terrible mistake.
Malcolm told her it was because her nose wasn't developed yet-he was always going on about how all the great investigative reporters had a nose for a story … and a nose for the truth. When she was little, before her mother had died and her father had bugged out for parts unknown, her dad used to say the same thing. But he'd told her she had that nose. That she was going to be a great reporter.
And though he'd disappointed her in a lot of different ways through the years, she'd never doubted him when it came to that. Probably because she hadn't wanted to doubt him. Hadn't wanted to acknowledge that the one tenuous thing that held them together was nothing but a lie.
As she stood staring at a particularly beautifully arranged aquarium-filled with orange clownfish and yellow-and-blue angelfish swimming amid bright pink, yellow-and-blue sea anemones-she was hit with the most awful thought yet. What if she didn't really want to be a reporter? What if she'd done all this-busted her butt at the top journalism school in the nation, worked her heart out to land the worst job at one of the most prestigious papers in the country-not because she actually wanted to be a journalist, but because she'd been so desperate to get her father's attention, to make him love her, that she'd made herself into a person she thought he would want?
It hadn't worked. Not that it was exactly a surprise-from the moment her mother had died, Desi had ceased to exist for her father. Then again, everything had ceased to exist except his job. He'd shuffled her from relative to relative, exhausting their hospitality while he chased stories overseas.
And where had that gotten them? He was dead and she was in the middle of this ballroom, taking notes about rich people and wondering if maybe her whole life up until this point had been a lie. Not exactly a stellar year for either of them, if she did say so herself.
Her soul-searching was cut off when a familiar male voice asked, "Sparkling water?"
She turned to see Nic, a glass of champagne in one hand and a glass of sparkling water in the other. He was dressed in a different tuxedo from the one he'd been wearing the night she met him, but he still looked absolutely gorgeous. Absolutely devastating. Or maybe it was just that she was devastated. She couldn't tell. All she knew was she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, burrow into his chest and pretend that everything was going to be okay.
"You look thirsty," he told her, holding out one of the glasses with a quirk of his eyebrow.
And because she knew he would take her mind off everything that was whirling in her brain-and because she knew a perfect setup when she saw one-she took the glass from him. Then she looked over the rim and delivered her line. "Funny, I was just about to say the same thing about you."
"Were you?" he asked with the crooked grin she had come to love. "Well, you wouldn't be wrong."
She went off script then, tapping his glass. "You should probably drink up, then."
"Oh, I intend to. In fact-" He paused suddenly, his eyes darkening to the mossy green shade she loved the most. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing at all," she lied. "Why?"
"Something is," he told her as he searched her face. He was frowning now, all levity replaced by concern.
How could he tell? she wondered a little wildly, even as she calmly met his gaze. She'd learned a long time ago to keep her emotions tucked deep inside, so deep that sometimes even she forgot they were there. So how did he know?
"I can see it," he said, and for one crazy moment she thought he had read her mind. But then she realized he was reacting to her denial … and the upset she obviously wasn't as good at hiding as she'd thought she was.
"Here." He cupped her cheek in his hand, rubbed his thumb gently over the skin just beyond the curve of her mouth. "Your dimple's gone. That only happens when you're upset."
No one had ever seen that before-not even her. She'd gone through most of her adult life thinking she was one of the very few people who didn't have a tell, thinking she had hidden herself deeply enough that there was nothing for anyone to see.
And then Nic had come along and blown that idea right out of the water when they'd barely known each other a week. How did he do it? How did he see her when she couldn't even see herself?
"Desi?" he urged, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing-"
"Don't do that. Don't pretend with me."
"I'm not. I swear." And to her astonishment, she wasn't. Because right then, in that moment, standing in his arms, she was okay. More okay than she'd been in a very long time. "It's just been a crazy day. But I'm good now."
She could tell from the look in his eyes that he understood what she hadn't been able to say-that being with him had made her okay-but he didn't push it. He didn't say anything at all. Instead, he dropped his glass of champagne on the tray of a passing waiter and pulled her into his arms.
"Is this the part where you ask me to dance?" she teased, more than ready to clear her head of painful thoughts.
"Actually, this is the part where I whisk you outside and ravish you." But contrary to his words, he swept her onto the almost empty dance floor, spinning her around to the beat of some old-time song she recognized but couldn't name.
"I thought I told you earlier that we weren't making love on the balcony this time."
He laughed, bending his head to drop a soft, sweet, sexy kiss on her shoulder. "Yes, but I checked. No balcony."
She laughed then, too-she couldn't help it. No matter how awful her mood was, Nic always found a way to make things better.
"So I'll take that as a yes?" he asked blithely.
"Take it as a maybe," she answered.
He quirked a brow. "Maybe's not no."
"No, it isn't." She held on while he twirled them around. "But it's not yes, ei-" She broke off midsentence, gasping and clinging to him as he suddenly lifted her up and spun her around.
"Let go," he said as he gently moved her away from his body. And though it went against every instinct she had, Desi did what he said for once. And then laughed her head off as he spun her all the way out before reeling her back in with a quick snap of his wrist.
She felt it happen right then-in the middle of the dance floor at a fancy gala that he belonged at and she certainly didn't. Desi felt herself slide headfirst into love with Nic Durand.
She spent the evening breaking all the rules. Instead of blending into the background and observing the wealthy and sometimes famous, she allowed herself to be introduced to them. To be drawn into conversations with them. Then again, it wasn't as if she had a choice.
Being Nic Durand's date meant being surrounded by people all the time. She wasn't the only one who loved him, after all. He might be new to Southern California's high society, but Nic had the kind of personality people gravitated to-and the billions of dollars at his disposal only added to his appeal. But even without the money, he was one of those guys everyone wanted to be friends with. Larger than life, funny as hell, handsome as all get out-and nice to boot. What was there not to love? God knew, she'd tried and look where it had gotten her.
Still, she couldn't quite believe that she was in the thick of things-wasn't sure that she wanted to be, if she was honest. When she'd agreed to taking him as her date, she'd kind of planned to still do the wallflower thing. Sure, she'd known he'd attract attention, but she thought that would only make it easier for her to blend in to the crowds.
But Nic wasn't okay with her blending in to the background. Actually, he wasn't okay with her being more than two feet from him all night. Not in a creepy, possessive kind of way that would have made her champ at the bit-and probably deck him before the night was over-but in the concerned, solicitous way that said he was looking out for her. And that he was proud to have her by his side.