Every Day (Brush of Love 2)

She had more influence than I wanted to admit, and her article would give us the broadest audience to reach.

That is what John’s artwork deserved, the best chance I could give it.

“I might have another angle you could take, but I’d have to check with the person involved first,” I said.

“I’ll make this simple. Don’t call me back until you have something you can confirm, and by confirm, I mean a paper trail or someone I could call.”

And with that, she hung up the phone and left me standing in my apartment in shock.

Who the hell did this woman think she was? She wasn’t some hotshot reporter with some blossoming career. She was an entertainment reporter with a column that was run maybe three times a week in the San Diego newspaper. She didn’t get to be picky about shit like this, did she? This was a fabulous story, even without John’s death in it.

I tossed my phone onto the couch and wondered if I should even ask Bryan. This was the perfect way to showcase John’s gallery, but at what point did I say enough was enough? I’m sure there were other reporters who would run the story, and I could take my time finding them since we hadn’t set a date for the gallery showing yet.

But for some reason, I wanted to show this Jennifer woman up. I wanted to give her the story of a lifetime, if only because she’d spat it back in my face. Not only would this be good exposure for John’s showcase, but it would also be wonderful exposure for Bryan. Sure, he didn’t do what he did for the exposure, but running an article like this and telling John’s story for the city to read might help with the closure he was seeking.

It wouldn’t hurt to ask, so I rushed over to my phone and called Bryan.

“Hello there, gorgeous,” he said.

“Hey there,” I said, giggling. “Listen, are you free tonight?”

“If it means I get to see you, then yes.”

“How would you feel about cooking dinner in tonight? You could come here, or I could bring stuff there,” I said.

“Why don’t we cook here? We’ve been spending a lot of time here anyway, might as well christen the kitchen while we’re at it.”

I could feel his grin pouring through the phone, and it sent shivers to my toes.

“Perfect. Anything in particular you want to eat tonight?” I asked.

“Could I put you on the menu?”

“I’m serious, Bryan,” I said, giggling.

“What about steaks? We could cook up some nice cuts, make some garlic mashed potatoes, and roast up some vegetables.”

“My mouth’s already watering,” I said. “I’ll hit up the store and be over there around five. That sound good?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “But are you okay? You sound a bit urgent.”

“Well, I do want to talk with you tonight. It’s nothing bad. Just some research I’ve been doing on how to advertise John’s evening gallery showing.”

“Sounds good to me. Let me know how much it’ll cost to advertise or whatever, and I’ll pay for it,” he said.

“One, we’ll split the cost because this is as important to me, and two, if you keep an open mind, we might not have to pay at all.”

“Interesting. I suppose I could hear you out.”

“You suppose?” I asked. “I’m hurt, Bryan.”

“I’m sure I could kiss the wound and make it better.”

“You’re relentless tonight. Should I wear something comfortable?” I asked.

“If by comfortable, you mean easily removed, then it might behoove you.”

“Behoove me? Who are you and what have you done with Bryan McBride?” I asked.