Read Online Never Say Sty by Linda O. Johnston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
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pet-sitter. But you’ve taken impossible situations and turned them into opportunities. That’s what I’ve learned to do with everything.”
All I’d wanted was to protect the show. He wanted to turn Sebastian’s demise into a publicity opportunity. Maybe we weren’t so far apart. But who was he, really? What experiences had turned him into this wealthy, powerful opportunist?
One with heart, too. I could tell by how his attitude had suddenly grown sympathetic. He’d loosened his grip and wrapped a strong arm around my shoulder. And then, suddenly, I found myself teary-eyed with my head leaning on his hard chest.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “We’ll learn what we can. Even if he was a heartless, pig-and-people-hating bastard, we’ll give him a huge send-off. Okay?”
“Okay,” I sniffed. And felt Dante’s kiss on my forehead.
I started walking at his side . . . till I heard “It’s My Life” singing in my pocket. I pulled out my phone. Corina again.
“Where are you, Kendra?” she demanded. “And can you get me an interview with Dante DeFrancisco? I saw the cops let him inside. I know he’s bankrolling your pet show—a natural, of course. He’s probably even more camera-shy than you, but still . . . Bring him out, okay?”
“I’ll ask him.” I looked at him, and his expression immediately grew leery. After hanging up so Corina couldn’t eavesdrop, I explained the situation to Dante, including my longtime love-hate relationship with this pesty but practical media personality.
“A contact like her could be helpful to the show,” he responded slowly, and I could almost see his brain synapses processing the information. “But this isn’t the time to talk to her. See if you can set up a time later. Maybe dinner. My treat.”
His smile was so beguiling I almost bit. But then I recalled how he seemed to use dinner invitations for his own, undisclosed ends. Corina was a reporter definitely appealing enough to hold her own oncamera with the prettiest of celebs. Would Dante find her attractive?
And why the heck should I care? I didn’t want this guy, great-looking and hellfire hot though he was.
“Sure,” I told him, and stalked into a corner, clutching my phone. I called Corina back and told her the good news. “He’ll talk to you. Let’s set up a time for the two of you to have dinner. His treat.” Okay, I’d done my duty. Acted as messenger. Irritated intermediary. Enough.
Only . . . “You’ll join us, of course, Kendra,” Corina dictated. “I’ll want your perspective on this latest murder. You always have such interesting commentary. And my viewers recognize you each time I cover a new killing when you’re involved. That’s how many now?”
“Too many. And I’m making no promises about joining you. I’ll check my schedule.” And my mood. Would I want to watch the two of them—powerful, debonair Dante trading flirtation and pseudo facts with this glib and great-looking reporter?
When Dante’s Inferno froze over.
I said goodbye, hung up, and swore softly under my breath. Being a murder magnet really sucked, in more ways than one. Who needed a leechlike reporter as a persistent acquaintance and occasional friend?
Who needed an utterly appealing hunk like Dante DeFrancisco as a business acquaintance who oozed sexuality even as he kept questions circulating through my mind? Did he honestly sense some attraction between us, or was it all a game to him? Worse, was it because he wanted something from me—like my affiliation with Animal Auditions and the publicity it might garner for HotPets? Especially now. With the murder of its irritable, outspoken judge Sebastian, the show’s ratings might go through the roof, even though only two episodes had aired.
I stalked back down the hall toward where I’d parted company with Dante. He wasn’t there, so I entered the decibel-enhanced sound stage. At least most potbellies had settled down. Perhaps that was
All I’d wanted was to protect the show. He wanted to turn Sebastian’s demise into a publicity opportunity. Maybe we weren’t so far apart. But who was he, really? What experiences had turned him into this wealthy, powerful opportunist?
One with heart, too. I could tell by how his attitude had suddenly grown sympathetic. He’d loosened his grip and wrapped a strong arm around my shoulder. And then, suddenly, I found myself teary-eyed with my head leaning on his hard chest.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “We’ll learn what we can. Even if he was a heartless, pig-and-people-hating bastard, we’ll give him a huge send-off. Okay?”
“Okay,” I sniffed. And felt Dante’s kiss on my forehead.
I started walking at his side . . . till I heard “It’s My Life” singing in my pocket. I pulled out my phone. Corina again.
“Where are you, Kendra?” she demanded. “And can you get me an interview with Dante DeFrancisco? I saw the cops let him inside. I know he’s bankrolling your pet show—a natural, of course. He’s probably even more camera-shy than you, but still . . . Bring him out, okay?”
“I’ll ask him.” I looked at him, and his expression immediately grew leery. After hanging up so Corina couldn’t eavesdrop, I explained the situation to Dante, including my longtime love-hate relationship with this pesty but practical media personality.
“A contact like her could be helpful to the show,” he responded slowly, and I could almost see his brain synapses processing the information. “But this isn’t the time to talk to her. See if you can set up a time later. Maybe dinner. My treat.”
His smile was so beguiling I almost bit. But then I recalled how he seemed to use dinner invitations for his own, undisclosed ends. Corina was a reporter definitely appealing enough to hold her own oncamera with the prettiest of celebs. Would Dante find her attractive?
And why the heck should I care? I didn’t want this guy, great-looking and hellfire hot though he was.
“Sure,” I told him, and stalked into a corner, clutching my phone. I called Corina back and told her the good news. “He’ll talk to you. Let’s set up a time for the two of you to have dinner. His treat.” Okay, I’d done my duty. Acted as messenger. Irritated intermediary. Enough.
Only . . . “You’ll join us, of course, Kendra,” Corina dictated. “I’ll want your perspective on this latest murder. You always have such interesting commentary. And my viewers recognize you each time I cover a new killing when you’re involved. That’s how many now?”
“Too many. And I’m making no promises about joining you. I’ll check my schedule.” And my mood. Would I want to watch the two of them—powerful, debonair Dante trading flirtation and pseudo facts with this glib and great-looking reporter?
When Dante’s Inferno froze over.
I said goodbye, hung up, and swore softly under my breath. Being a murder magnet really sucked, in more ways than one. Who needed a leechlike reporter as a persistent acquaintance and occasional friend?
Who needed an utterly appealing hunk like Dante DeFrancisco as a business acquaintance who oozed sexuality even as he kept questions circulating through my mind? Did he honestly sense some attraction between us, or was it all a game to him? Worse, was it because he wanted something from me—like my affiliation with Animal Auditions and the publicity it might garner for HotPets? Especially now. With the murder of its irritable, outspoken judge Sebastian, the show’s ratings might go through the roof, even though only two episodes had aired.
I stalked back down the hall toward where I’d parted company with Dante. He wasn’t there, so I entered the decibel-enhanced sound stage. At least most potbellies had settled down. Perhaps that was
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