Luckily, everyone was already getting the filming equipment ready and preparing a write up. Shayla overheard from Amy’s chat with the man that the girl and her family were on the phone, and the crew were going to film the conversation and show it on the morning and evening slots tomorrow.
Shayla turned her attention back to him, curious as to how he would react to that. He merely shrugged his burly shoulders, a movement that Shayla tracked with appreciation. He was the kind of guy she would have smiled at across the bar, but never had enough courage to approach. But what if he approached her?
Knowing her, she’d probably find a reason to excuse herself and go hyperventilate in the bathroom. He was too hot to talk to. It would be the equivalent of looking into the sun. Okay, maybe not quite as destructive, but it couldn’t mean anything good. He probably ate girls like her for breakfast, accumulating a trail of forlorn lovers like that old snake game she used to play on her mom’s cell phone as a kid.
Shayla took advantage of his divided attention and snuck off back to her desk. She’d be close enough there to watch the action without being directly involved in it. Amy hadn’t said whether she wanted Shayla to cover the phone call or the reunion, but Anthony had made it pretty clear that she wasn’t permitted to steal his spotlight anymore. There was only room for two things on her side of the desk, he’d said. Her tits.
Shayla had seen interns quit for less. Hell, she’d considered quitting for less. But news journalism was a tough gig to get into, and graduating from a backwater college in her hometown because she couldn’t afford to leave home after high school had done her no favors. She needed this job, and Anthony was, unfortunately, one of the perks.
Besides, you didn’t go into journalism as a woman unless you had a thick skin and a hard head. Shayla had both, and she’d use them to get Anthony back one of these days. Until then, apparently, she had a guardian angel in the form of a six-foot five biker with the coldest glare she’d ever seen.
Amy set the guy up on a chair in the center of the room, next to one of the conference phones. Meg approached him with a fluffy brush, but with one look she scuttled back into her corner and whipped out her phone, hiding behind the screen.
The studio quieted as Amy took the line with the kitten’s owner off hold.
“Hi Jacklin,” Anthony said. “This is Anthony Blake calling from the KTMA News. How are you doing tonight?”
“Do you have my kitten?”
The crew, as well as the biker, snickered.
The biker leaned forward toward the phone and waved Anthony away. Shayla had never seen Anthony so chastened.
“Hi Jacklin,” the biker said. “This is Luke Cinders. I’m the man who found your kitten.”
A gleeful shriek echoed through the phone. “You didn’t just find him!” she gushed. “You saved him.”
Luke. It was a fitting name for him. She pictured the biker Luke, and the male model Lukas. He looked amused by the little girl’s admonition, but not like he really felt comfortable with the title of “savior.”
“He misses you a lot, Jacklin. I’ll wait here with him until you get here to make sure nothing happens to him.”
“Thank you so much, Mister Cinders!” There was a quiet murmur from the other end of the line. “Mommy and Daddy say we can be there in half an hour.”
“See you then, kiddo.”
Amy hung up, and gave Luke what was almost a tearful grin. “That was beautiful,” she said. “This is going to be great news. We could go off of this for days.”
Shayla hoped not. The fact that a rough and tumble biker had saved a kitten and was returning it to its rightful owner was cute, definitely. But was it really all that newsworthy? It made for a nice fluff piece, but it bugged Shayla how easily Amy was willing to take the easy shot on the program. The standards of news on the show were only as hard hitting as whatever dropped onto Amy’s desk that day.
But who was Shayla to complain? She was only as relevant as the next cup of coffee she brought. She’d filled in for Naomi tonight, and yet nobody but a complete goddamn stranger had stood up for her when Anthony had decided to tear her down for “stealing his spotlight.” This all only further solidified Shayla’s belief that she had to get her break at this station soon so that she’d be able to get out into the rest of the world, where she could actually do some real reporting.
Shayla glanced over at Luke, who was standing talking to Amy. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they kept looking over at her. Curious, Shayla looked down at her paper so they wouldn’t see her trying to listen in. She still only caught snippets.
“It’s not traditional…” Amy’s pleading tone, the one that she used when a guest on the show was being difficult. In its essence it was designed to get the person to lay off whatever it was they were asking for, in the hopes that she could avoid having to explain to anyone higher up why she’d made the call she had.
“I don’t care.” Luke’s voice was like a brick wall—rough and unyielding. There was no moving past him. No way to break him down. Amy should have stopped before she even began. Whatever this guy was asking for, he was getting it one way or another.
“Shayla!” Amy called over.
He couldn’t have been asking for her, could he? To what end? Oh god, had Amy just pimped her out to the biker guy to entertain him while he waited for the little girl? Was she finally going to have to quit? Or would she just let him take her for a ride in one of the empty offices for the sake of the story?
She stood and smirked to herself. As if it would be for the sake of the story. Having an excuse would be nice, though. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to let loose enough to enjoy it, otherwise.
The searing look that he gave Shayla as she approached sent heat straight to her core. God, it had been a long time since she’d gotten laid. How long now? Six months? Eight months? It’d been less than a year, but the desire in his gaze awakened a thirst in her that made it seem like it had been centuries.
Shayla managed to put one foot in front of the other, and stopped her shaky walk when she reached Amy and Luke.
“Mr. Cinders would prefer that you cover the rest of the story,” Amy said, clearly hating every second of it. She might have earned no more than a B for effort on a good day, but Amy was a control freak. It had nothing to do with professionalism, ironically enough. She would hand over the reins of anything if it had a big enough benefit to her. But if she knew that a situation out of her control was going to come back on her, it caused a vein to practically pop from her forehead.
“Me?” Shayla repeated. She looked at Luke. Big mistake. He had a slight curve to his lip that made her knees go weak all over again, and the kitten on his shoulder let out a mewl that sent every biological alarm in her body off.
Hot guy with kitten was almost the emotionally dangerous as hot guy with baby. And damn, was this guy hot.
“You’ll do it better than Ryan Seacrest over there,” he supplied, eyes glued to hers.
Shayla’s face heated. So many emotions rose in her that she had no idea what her face was giving away. She was aroused. Flattered. Embarrassed. Awkward.
She focused on flattery in the emotional downpour and held onto it like a life preserver against the buffeting waves of lust that Luke was sending her way.
“Thank you.” She smiled, but her smile dropped when she saw the look Amy was giving her.
The message was clear: Tell him no.
But would she? Absolutely not.
“I would be honored to, uh, cover the end of this saga.”
Luke let out a bark of laughter, nearly dislodging the kitten from his shoulder. “Glad to have you on board.”
“Why don’t you show Mr. Cinder where he can wait for Jacklin and her parents?” Amy said, her tone bitter. “Put him in the conference room.”
Shayla gave her producer a brief nod and gestured for Luke to follow her, swinging her hips around the cluttered heaps of desks and paperwork that were characteristic of th
e newsroom. She’d spent her first six weeks at KTMA knocking over knick knacks and stacks of paper everywhere she went. Anthony had been so crass as to suggest it was because she had a fat ass, but when she had reproached him for it said that she should be flattered—that it was a good thing.
She could feel Luke’s eyes on her “fat ass” now, and it was the first time that she’d actually felt like it was a good thing. Anything that could attract the attention of a man like that was okay by her. Whether she wanted to keep his attention was another thing.
After all, it was always cute to watch those videos of lions and tigers playing with humans. Nuzzling their faces against them. Playfully jumping on them. But Shayla knew better than to think a wild animal like a lion, or a tiger, or a rough biker, would stay gentle for long after the cameras had turned off.
That was how people got mauled.
“You been working here long?” Luke asked from beside her.
His musky scent clouded her mind, urging her body to sink toward him. But she resisted.
“About a year.”
He whistled through his teeth. “And they still treat you like shit? Why do you put up with it?” He caught her eye and winked. “Unless you like it a little rough and mean.”
Shayla blinked and looked anywhere but Luke, focusing on the third door on the left that they were rapidly approaching. She would put him in there, offer him a beverage, and then be out of his hair until the little girl came in to get her damn cat. She had to keep her resolve through a few more moments of conversation, and then she’d be free from temptation.
“It’s a tough business to get into,” she replied, fingers reaching out for the door handle.
Luke’s hand over hers stopped her dead in her tracks. “So is show business,” he said, his voice low. “But young actors still get respect.”
Shayla licked her lips, her mouth suddenly very dry. Luke had green eyes, with flecks of brown that reminded her of the moss covered trees of the forest. His gaze was so fierce that it stole the breath from her lungs, but she wouldn’t back down. She pushed through his hand and pulled down on the handle, swinging the door inward and gesturing for him to enter.
“One day I’ll have the respect of the nation,” she said. “Until then I’ll make do with the scorn of the newsroom.” She smiled at him. “If people are treating you badly in a place like this, it’s a sign that you’re doing something right.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her but walked into the dark room anyway, flicking on the light on the wall. The fluorescent bulbs hummed on the ceiling, bathing the room in a harsh glow. The conference table was a long, glass oval with six matching office chairs arranged around it. It looked good enough from afar, but if you got close you could see the scratches all across the top from over thirty years of use.
“Maybe this story will bring you to the top,” Luke said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the table top.
Shayla tracked his movements; how his tattooed biceps bulged with the motion, straining against the fabric of his white t-shirt. A thick, jagged crack splintered through her resolve.
Luke caught her looking, but she simply gestured to his arms. “Nice tattoos.”
He smirked. “Thanks.”
She took the opportunity to take a closer look, noticing one in Greek script that circled his arm like a multi-layered arm band. Before she had a chance to ask what it was, Luke reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small book, dropping onto one of the chairs and putting his boots up on the table.
Shayla took that as a pretty firm sign that he wanted to be alone. Had he even been flirting with her in the first place? Maybe she’d misinterpreted his signs entirely. After all, there was a reason Shayla hadn’t been with anyone in nearly a year—she was horrible with men. They came flocking to her because of her pretty face and long legs, but pinged off of her like badly aimed darts when they were faced with her intensity and dedication to her job. Before the news station, it had been university. Before that, high school. The ones that did hit a bullseye never stayed around for long. Either she’d grow bored of them, or they’d grow bored of not being able to change her.
Either way, not a firm base of confidence for dealing with the opposite sex.
Shayla hung around for a moment more, waiting for him to do or say something. He had to, right? Surely he wasn’t just going to zone out and read for the next half hour. But, then again, he looked quite content with his book and his kitten. She ignored the dust that shook off of his shoes onto the table. She’d be the one cleaning it up later, no doubt. But right now her thoughts had swung from wanting to chastise him to wanting to chase him.
“Do you need anything else from me?” Luke asked, his gaze fixed firmly on the text in front of him.
All Shayla heard at first was “need” and “you.” Dammit. She really did need to get laid. Shayla shook her head. “Um. No. I guess not.”
“I’ll see you in a bit then.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Shayla shuffled out of the room and clicked the door closed behind her. She walked a few steps down the empty hall and then turned and pressed her back against the drywall. Everywhere in the station was usually searing hot from the amount of equipment they had and the unwillingness management displayed to pay for air conditioning. Now, especially, Shayla felt the heat flame through her. The cool wall was bringing a little relief. She suppressed the urge to press her face against it.
She knew that once back in the newsroom she’d have to put on her impenetrable mask, and she’d probably be dealing with shit from both Amy and Anthony tonight. But in this moment she allowed herself some time to cool down and arrange her thoughts, away from prying eyes.
Then she took a deep breath, ran her fingers through her hair, and walked into the heart of the storm.
Chapter Six
Behind the cover of the closed door, Luke snickered to himself. Shayla’s demeanor had changed in a flash as soon as he’d stopped paying attention to her. Why were people so easy to play with? These were schoolyard tactics, and yet they’d had her singing his tune in no time. He was a little disappointed that she turned out to be so predictable. After all, she was more than likely the smartest person in the whole building. But he’d read her body like a well-worn paperback, and she hadn’t even realized it.
Then again, not many guys who ran in the kind of crowd that he did had such a keen eye for body language and facial expressions. It was something that gave him an edge when it came to defusing fights and starting them. The best part was that he’d learned it all from the books that his rivals so often scoffed at.
Well, maybe not that often. You could only scoff so much with a broken nose.
Today’s reading was The Aeneid—the story of Aeneas of Troy’s flight from the Trojan battlefield and the founding of Rome. At first he didn’t empathize as much with Aeneas as he had Hector and Achilles. He had fled the burning ruins of his home as the Greeks caught and enslaved his people. He had broken the heart of a powerful queen and made an enemy that would last Rome until the end of its days. But he had done it all because of a duty he held to his people. And a duty he held to the gods.
Luke liked that. He figured there were stages of his life, and his stage as the dutiful Aeneas had not yet arrived. He’d cut through swathes of rivals as the blood-thirsty Achilles. Currently, as the honorable Hector, he was returning a kitten that he’d grown quite fond of to its rightful owner. And, in a broader sense, he was making decisions to benefit his family—his motorcycle club.
He wondered when he’d reach his Aeneas stage; when he’d fulfill his destiny. And, indeed, what that might be.
Sparky would laugh his balls off if he knew any of this had passed through Luke’s head. The guy was a good friend and a great right hand man, but his philosophical capacities were for shit.
Anyway, Luke was glad that the librarian at his branch had recommended The Aeneid to him after seeing the script on his arm. He wouldn’t have thought to look
for another epic from Antiquity otherwise, besides The Odyssey, anyway.
Dido was in her death throes when the door opened next. Achilles, who had been snoozing on the crevice between Luke’s legs, immediately perked up and scrambled across the table to where a little girl with dark pigtails scooped him up and cradled him in her arms.
Luke’s eyes slid up to the doorframe, where Shayla was holding a microphone, a man holding a camera on his shoulder just behind her. He could tell the smile on her face was fake. Curious. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that it was nearly midnight and she was stuck reporting on a lost and found kitten.
The camera panned to Luke, and he retracted his feet from the table and stood, sliding the book back in his pocket. He smirked as he saw the angle the camera man had to tilt his equipment to reach Luke’s face.
Devil's Property: The Faithless MC Page 18
