by Tessa Layne
She shrugged. "I don't know. This story was never about the money. It was about bringing down assholes."
"Remind me to never get on your bad side," he said dryly.
"As long as you're good to my sister, you'll never have to worry."
"Noted, and don't worry. Maybe throw in a good word for me? She still won't move in with me."
"She will," Cecilia answered with a quiet laugh. "I promise. You're just going to have to wait a little longer. But seriously, Harry... what do I do?"
"You have the upper hand. Make them squirm, and don't be afraid to entertain an offer from the husband. Or anyone else for that matter. And for fuck's sake. Don't go all altruistic and take pennies just so your story can get read. If they went to the trouble to track you down, they'll pay whatever you ask."
"You're not helping, Harry."
"Okay, let me explain differently. If you think the story is Pulitzer worthy and they're going to receive the accolades for running with your story, how much is that worth? How much is the ensuing book deal, or T.V. deal worth? Take that into account, then add twenty-percent."
Cecilia's eyes bugged out. "Are you kidding me? They'll laugh me out the door."
"Or they'll open their checkbook."
She swallowed. This was all too much. Maybe she should call Jeanine. Or Trace.
A knock sounded behind her. "Sweetie Pie? Everything okay?"
"Gotta run. Thanks for the advice," she rushed, hanging up. "Uhh, yeah?" She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, blowing out slowly in the hopes it would calm her racing heart. She pulled open the door and stepped smack into Dottie's ample bosom.
"Cecilia Sanchez, you stop hiding young lady. Whatever that gal wants, you march right back in there and ask for it. I know your mama didn't raise you to shy away from a challenge." Dottie wrapped her in a quick hug. "I'll be right by the coffee pot if you need anything."
Fortified, Cecilia made her way back, grabbing the coffee pot as she went. "Refill?" she asked Marissa, pushing over more creams and sugars.
"Can we wrap this up? I've got a noon flight out of Wichita. Name your price."
Cecilia took a napkin and pulled the pen from behind her ear, and wrote down the most ridiculous number she could think of, and pushed the napkin across the counter.
"Whatever that number is," Dottie called out from the coffee station. "Add thirty-percent. Cecilia always undervalues herself."
Marissa's eyes grew wide as she looked from the napkin, to Cecilia, to Dottie, and back to the napkin. "That's, ahh... not insignificant."
"And I'm sure your husband will be willing to match it and then some," Dottie said with the force of a spring storm. "Might be I have him on speakerphone right now."
Cecilia shook her head. Of course Dottie knew everything. She had ears like an owl. And where had she learned to negotiate like that? She was trying hard not to freak out as her brain ran in six directions, and Dottie was as calm and cool as a cucumber in the walk-in.
Marissa sniffed in hard, jaw setting. "In that case, I'll offer an additional thirty-five percent, and a five-figure bonus when it sells ten-million copies. And more if you can convince the source to interview."
That would never happen. She'd take her source to the grave. Cecilia beat Dottie to the punch. "O-on the napkin, please?" She pulled a napkin from the dispenser and laid it in front of the woman.
Marissa scowled but nodded, writing in bold strokes on the napkin before pushing it back across the countertop.
Cecilia stared at the numbers for a full thirty seconds before nodding then folding the napkin and shoving it in her front pocket. Her voice trembled when her throat unstuck enough to finally speak. "I think this calls for a piece of pie."
Marissa stuck out her hand again. "Welcome to the Atlantic Journal, Cecilia. And buckle-up. This is going to be a wild ride."
The rest of Cecilia's shift passed in a blur, and she was still dazed as she pedaled home. This changed everything, and not just financially. What did she want to do with her life, now that she could do anything with it? The question weighed on her heavily. She'd fallen into an easy life now that she was at home. Early morning shift at the diner, fixing up the house in the afternoons, evenings with Trace and her girlfriends. Weekends hanging out, catching the guys at a local rodeo or watching movies. Most people would give anything for the life she had. And yet... she was restless. She pushed the thoughts from her mind as she pedaled up the drive, to find Trace lounging on the porch steps. "Hey!" she called, hopping off the bike and tackling him with a bear hug. "Come to celebrate?"
His eyes lit. "What are we celebrating?"
The excitement Cecilia'd been holding at bay, finally bubbled out. "You'll never believe it. The editor-in-chief from one of the biggest news outlets in the country bought my story. And they offered a crazy amount. And I have to call my old editor to thank him, because this changes everything, and ohmygosh I'm SO excited!"
Trace pulled back, a look of concern washing over his face.
That was... not the look she was expecting. "What? What is it?"
He shook his head and flashed her the smile that never failed to send her libido into overdrive. "Nothing at all. Congratulations." He pressed his mouth to hers before she could follow up. "Mmmm. So sweet," he murmured when they finally parted. "I'm taking you to Gino's Trattoria when I get home Sunday. No arguing."
"I'll let you," she agreed. "Help me remember to call Tyler at the body shop. My car should have been done weeks ago, and I keep forgetting to call."
"Ah, about that." Trace turned sheepish. "I called to check on it, and-" He shook his head.
"What?" she cried out. "But that was my baby." She supposed she'd feel much more upset if it wasn't for the napkin in her pocket. She'd still have to be careful, but she could afford to buy a newer car."
"Don't worry. I already fixed it." He stood, pulling her up. "Come with me."
"Trace?"
"Shut your eyes."
"How'm I supposed to walk if I can't see?"
"Trust me?"
Reluctantly, she shut her eyes, giddy anticipation making her grin. "Don't let me fall."
"I'll always be here."
Something thick in his voice made her want to peek at him. "Trace?"
"C'mon." He wrapped an arm around her. "Thirty steps." She counted aloud. "Okay, twenty more," he said when she reached thirty.
"Okay, now what?"
"Open your eyes."
She blinked her eyes open, then blinked again. "Is that... is that?" Her brows knit together. What was he thinking? Her stomach yo-yoed in dread - right to her toes then back into her throat. She shook her head. "I can't accept this."
The hopeful look on Trace's face crumbled.
She laid a hand on his arm. "This is so sweet of you, but it's too much."
His jaw tightened. "It's not too much that I want you to be safe. Hell, you can't even put groceries on your bike. I'm headed to Oklahoma this afternoon and Dodge City next weekend. What are you going to do if there's an emergency when I'm gone?"
"Call Izzie," she answered stubbornly. "Or Jeanine."
"And what if they're not around? Then what? What if you injure yourself working on the house?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Trace. You don't understand."
"Damn right, I don't." He stalked away, scraped a hand across his beard, then paced back, taking her shoulders, a fierce light in his eyes. "It's an SUV, not a marriage proposal, Cecilia."
"A very expensive SUV," she retorted. From the looks of it, the SUV was top of the line. "And I can take care of myself."
"So that means no one else is allowed to take care of you? Do you understand how ridiculous that is?"
"It's not." How could she make him understand? She blew out a breath. "I don't want to be obligated to anyone. I can't be."
"Or what?" His mouth thinned to a straight line. "Because someone might expect something?"
"That I can't give? Yes."
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"Jesus, Ceece." Trace made a face and shook his head. "No one's expecting anything from you. You know what I think? This is about you always wanting an out, always looking for a shortcoming in someone else so that you can bolt instead of facing your own shit."
"That is absolutely not true," she said hotly. How dare he? "You're the one who hasn't been entirely forthcoming. I took a chance on you."
His eyes narrowed. "Did you? Did you really? Because from where I'm standing you've had one foot out the door the whole time, ready to run the second you feel uncomfortable." His eyes hardened. "Tell me I'm wrong."
He wasn't. The truth arrowed right into the softest part of her.
"You know what I expect, Cecilia? Honesty. And a willingness to give whatever it is between us a fighting chance."
"I am," she whispered.
"Bullshit," he ground out. "Goddammit, Cecilia. I love you. God help me, but I fucking love you, and you don't exactly make it easy."
Her face flamed and she had to blink hard to keep the tears that suddenly formed from spilling over. "I don't mean to be," she whispered. Her mind raced, grabbing at strings and wild thoughts, anything to come up with a coherent explanation of the gut-wrenching fear that always drove her to end things before she got in too deep.
Strong arms pulled her into a tight embrace. There was something so incredibly calming about being pressed against his hard body surrounded by his masculine scent. "You're keeping the vehicle." His tone of voice brooked no argument. "It's not open for discussion."
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, swallowing down a lump at the back of her throat. "Thank you. It's beyond generous. A-a-and, I reacted badly."
Trace sighed heavily, pressing a kiss onto her head. "There are things I want to tell you, but it's too complicated to get into at the moment. When I get home Sunday afternoon, we'll talk. All the cards on the table. No holding back from either of us, understand?"
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Ohmygod, CiCi," Izzie hollered as she burst in the front door. "Do not tell me Trace Walker bought you a new SUV?" She bounced on her toes, still clutching a grocery bag in her arms. "Next thing you know, you'll be picking out china. Looks like we have even more to celebrate than your big story."
Cecilia scoffed, cheeks flaming. "I don't think so." So why did that idea sound surprisingly appealing? Although after her freak-out this afternoon, Trace would be nuts to want anything more to do with her.
"Spill, girlfriend," Jeanine chimed in behind her, holding two bottles of wine.
"She doesn't need to spill anything," scolded Catalina, who'd agreed to join them tonight, much to Cecilia's surprise and delight. "The evidence points to Trace."
"Yes, it's from Trace. Yes, I freaked out about it and pissed him off in the process. Yes, he drove to the rodeo in Enid and we're sorting things out Sunday once he gets home."
"What's there to sort out?" asked Jeanine. "Girrrll-" she tsked shaking her head. "Do not let this one get away. You've chased away all the others, which was okay, because they weren't worth keeping, but Trace? Hang on for dear life."
"What do you mean? I've been dumped by half of the men I've dated. Maybe more."
Izzie and Jeanine exchanged looks. "As soon as they start to profess feelings, you bolt. You start working overtime, or you turn really exacting and critical, or you have to run off and support your family. It's always something CiCi."
Cecilia gaped at her best friends. "You're so wrong. I don't do that."
Catalina pulled out a bag of popcorn. "You do. I could show you on a spreadsheet if you like."
"The bigger question is," said Jeanine, uncorking the wine and pouring the bottle into glasses on the coffee table. "Is what are your feelings for the fine and fabulous Trace Walker? A month ago you were jumping down bleachers and climbing railings to rescue him. What's changed?"
"Nothing's changed."
"Uh-uh-huh," Jeanine contradicted with a shake of her head. "Girl, you are lying. Don't even tell me otherwise. I think you're so far in love you're scared shitless."
"I think it's time for our cucumber masks," Cecilia said brightly.
Izzie pulled them out of the grocery bag. "Don't think that's going to get you out of the hot seat. You want my take on it?"
"Not especially."
Izzie grinned. "Good. Look, we've been best friends since second grade. You took your dad's bad behavior personally. And when he left town and started a new family, it cut you to the core. Trace isn't your dad. For starters, he's dependable. Has he ever not done anything he said he'd do? Or shown up late?"
Cecilia shook her head. Trace had always been as good as his word.
"Look at all the little ways he respects you, the way he's always here for you and the first to take care of you - when you let him. None of the guys from around here do dishes for their girlfriends."
"They totally should though," Jeanine interjected, smoothing the mask over her cheeks. "That's foreplay right there."
"Don't you think if he was a liar, someone in our group would have figured it out by now?" Izzie pressed. "You're not the only one with a sensitive bullshit meter, you know. Tony and Robbie run into assholes all the time when they're out on calls. And they've let him into their inner circle. That doesn't happen if you're naturally a jerk."
"If you think he's a liar, you could ask Harrison to look into him," Catalina offered, patting the area around her eyes.
Cecilia gasped in horror. "No way. I'd never do that." She could never look Trace in the eye again.
"You'd do it in a hot second if you were actually concerned," Izzie pointed out, grabbing her glass, and motioning them all back into the living room. "And the fact that you haven't says that deep down you really trust him. You're just afraid to, so you keep making up all these other excuses about why this is just a temporary thing."
"And there's nothing temporary about a car," Jeanine added. "So of course you reacted badly."
Izzie folded her arms shooting her a triumphant look. "So I return to my question of several minutes ago... what exactly are your feelings for the fine and fabulous Trace Walker?"
It felt like a giant bubble was about to burst inside her chest. She'd been Izzie and Jeanine's confidant as long as she could remember. But for as long as she could remember she'd played her own cards close to the vest, preferring not to burden her friends with what she considered nonessential drama. "I..." she sniffed, shutting her eyes. She cleared her throat.
"CiCi. For once in your life, spill," said Izzie, voice rising to levels of extreme impatience.
"In theory, I could see myself with him long term. But in reality..." her voice faded.
"You think too much, hon. If you can see yourself with him long term, then everything else is just a matter of sorting out logistics. You'll figure it out."
"Trace did mention laying all the cards on the table when he gets home Sunday."
Izzie clapped her hands. "See? I smell a happily ever after," she said sing-songing.
"Wine refill," Jeanine called out, opening the next bottle. "And wait until you see what I queued on Netflix."
"Pride and Prejudice?" Catalina asked, dark eyes wide and hopeful.
"No silly. Trace McBride's blockbuster from last summer, also starring Jason Momoa and Chris Hemsworth. Get ready for an epic, abtastic adventure." She wiggled her eyebrows.
The friends settled in on the couch, Jeanine on one end, Cecilia and Izzie in the middle, and Catalina on far end, curled up, nose in her phone. "Earth to Cat." Izzie waved in front of her face. "Join the land of the living? We're about ready to drool over abs TDF."
"TDF?" Catalina looked utterly confused.
"To die for, silly," Izzie said, snatching her sister's phone. "Hey who's this? Who's C.T.?"
Cat blinked rapidly, and Cecilia swore the girl was blushing to her roots underneath the mask. "No one?"
"No, it's definitely someone." Izzie looked from the phone, back to her sister. "Oh my god, who is it? There's a winking emoji.
"
Catalina snatched back the phone. "It's nothing," she said sternly, abruptly standing and practically jogging to the kitchen.
Cecilia laid a hand on Izzie's leg. "It's okay. Don't stress her out."
"If there's a man in her life I should be the first to know about it. I wanna know who C.T. is," Izzie hollered down the hall.
"Maybe focus on your own love life for once," Cecilia reprimanded.
Izzie turned bright red. "Right," she agreed, shoulders slumping. "It's... complicated."
"Aren't they all?" sympathized Jeanine, aiming the remote at the T.V. "Which is why we have one-dimensional superheroes to drool over."
Five minutes into the movie a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Cecilia shouted, reaching for the wine bottle. "But enter at your own risk - it's girls' night."
The door slowly opened, a throat cleared, and Tony Cruz stepped in, hands jammed in his front pockets, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Uh, hi."
The women looked at each other and dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Hi, Tony," Cecilia finally managed. "Don't mind the masks."
He focused on a corner of the ceiling. "So, I, ah... was hoping Catalina was around?"
"Catalina?" Izzie repeated, jaw dropping. "What do you want with Catalina?"
"I seem to have, ahh... a snake behind my fridge."
"A snake," Izzie repeated. "And you need Catalina for this?"
Cecilia had never seen someone turn green before, but Tony looked like he was going to empty the contents of his stomach all over her newly refinished floor. "Tony? Do you need a glass of water?"
He shook his head. "Just, hate snakes," he rasped.
"Did you see it?" Catalina asked, coming in from the hall, face bright red.
"Sis?"
Catalina shook her head. "Allergic reaction to the mask. It's nothing. Come on, Tony. I'll show you how to safely rescue a snake. I guarantee you it's way more scared of you than you are of it."
The relief on his face was comical. Catalina marched out the door without a backward glance. "Uh, thanks ladies," Tony muttered, pulling the door shut behind him.
