The Love Experiment (Stubborn Hearts 1)

He took another drag on the cigarette and then raised his brows at Roscoe, who’d produced a small silver ashtray, like the removable ones in cars. “My wife would kill me if she knew I still smoked,” he said.

“Your wife already knows.” Jack didn’t have to be an ex-investigative reporter to know that.

He didn’t have a lot of choice in this. If he skipped the staff meeting, he’d have to make his own announcement as he said goodbye to people. He didn’t want to leave without wishing the remaining team well. He didn’t like the idea of explaining this and dealing with the shock a dozen times, and Madden was banking on that, and on the fact it looked better for him to have Jack in the room as an ally when the hit landed.

“I’ll be there. I’ll be...nice.” His only chance of getting another job in the industry might depend on how he was seen to react to this. No one wanted to employ an angry man.

Madden stood, as did Roscoe. Jack was last to his feet. He was weary to his sinews and synapses and his stomach was a bound fist. He’d planned to take Derelie to Elaine’s as a surprise tonight, as a celebration. It’d be more like a wake.

A few minutes later, after a savagely uncomfortable elevator ride where no one spoke and or made eye contact, they were on the main floor, and Jack listened while Madden announced the Courier’s new direction and rang the bell on the end of his career with the paper. There were gasps. The stoic Berkelow cried. Spinoza was vocal in his disapproval and made Madden squirm. It took less than forty minutes from the time Roscoe closed his door to the applause that signaled Jack’s redundancy.

In the sea of people milling around, some like the older reporters, stunned and concerned about the longevity of their own jobs, others blithely ignorant it could be them on unemployment next week, he looked for Derelie. The office divide between the mostly print and website reporters and the mostly online-only writers still existed, at least for now. She stood with her team, face creased with concern, eyes down. This was a win for her. It was her time to shine. She was in the right place, at the right time, and she didn’t need to keep secrets anymore.

From all sides, his name was called. He only wanted to hear one voice.

“Excuse me a moment.”

He had to ignore the press around him, honest expressions of outrage and shock, well-wishes, and offers to buy him a drink. He’d take those offers—he needed to get plastered. He pushed through the throng, fixed on the north star of Derelie, her own people hovering like satellites around her, the mood different on this side of the office, excitement and opportunity in orbit instead of gutted hopes and fear.

The satellites scattered in his wake and Derelie looked up, her lips pressing into a thin line balanced between anger and distress, her pale eyes a wet reflection of all his ambitions shaken loose and set adrift.

Chapter Twenty-Five

People parted like pins bowled over, eager to get out of Jack’s roll across the office. No one sure what to say to him or why he was headed this way. He’d looked tired this morning; now his face was ashen, even while he moved with single-minded determination. Derelie ached to throw her arms around him and hug him if only to make herself feel better.

No doubt he’d come to formally say goodbye, to keep up appearances. No amount of ocean breaths helped. She needed to look away so she could school her features and act professionally, but it was impossible not to watch him advance on her as if she was the high score and he was gunning for her.

She’d looked for him over workstations and around shoulders and heads while Phil had been speaking, wondering if he’d interject, if he’d put up a fight for his beloved business pages. She thought she’d misheard when Phil said that as a result of the changes, the Courier would no longer have the space or reso

urces for investigative reporting.

That’s when a tangible ripple spread across the floor, sharp brains interpreting the news ahead of Phil’s words. She’d already teared up before he announced that after an illustrious career and one hell of a week, Jack would be leaving. Phil said praiseworthy things about Jack, but they tumbled over her in a haze of confusion. How could the company do this to him? Use him for his talents so obviously and then discard him so blatantly?

Now he stood right in front of her, his chest rising and falling with obvious stress he was consciously controlling. “How are you feeling about secrets?” he said, voice strong despite how crushed he must feel.

“I, ah.” What was he really asking? She hardly cared, took a step forward the same time as he did, conscious of the gasps of surprise around them and not giving a damn.

“Excellent.” He put his hand behind her neck as she tilted her face up, hands going to his ribs. “You won’t mind me doing this.”

He touched his lips to hers, pulled back, smiled, and when she wrapped her arms around him, he angled his head and kissed her in a way there was no mistaking. They weren’t colleagues dealing with bad news or workmates saying goodbye. Jack brought her closer and lifted her off the floor. They kissed like lovers in the middle of the Courier’s newsroom, making out while a whole floor of reporters watched.

And cheered like they were at Wrigley Field, eating wieners.

Jack lowered her to the floor and they broke off, foreheads pressed together, breathing erratic. The only thing that could make this more romantic would be if he carried her out of here.

“Want me to carry you out of here?”

“Dammit, you’re going to make me cry and I have dry cleaning and my gym bag.” This wasn’t that scene from An Officer and a Gentleman, Mom’s favorite movie. “Let’s get out of here.”

He released her and she fled to her desk. She heard him tell people to settle down, go back to work while they still had jobs, and half-blind with emotion, she ran straight into Eunice.

“You and Jack.” Eunice was steamed. Derelie did a grimace, nod combination. “Jackson Haley, who you said was boring and what else I can’t remember, but it wasn’t ‘I’m sucking face with the guy.’ You lied.”

“I, ah, omitted.” A ten dollar word, felt so much less incriminating.

“You sucked face with him.”

There really was no dodging this. “I plan to continue sucking face with him.” Never mind other body parts.