I did. He’d told me time and time again, but no matter how hard I tried to keep him at a distance, he kept pushing back against my stubbornness.
“Are you going to eat with us tonight? I hear it’s Brumm’s turn to cook, and he isn’t the worst of the bunch.”
More often than not I chose to take my meals on my own and catch up on a book or magazine. But every now and then Olsen guilted me into a shared meal with the rest of the crew, like he was now, and I wouldn’t say no. Not when the guy had brought me on board.
“What’s on the menu?”
“Lasagna, I think.”
“Unless a call comes through.”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Olsen said as he walked over to me. “The chief put the house out of service this afternoon. We have a news crew coming in to take some footage for an upcoming special on Chicago’s first responders.”
Seriously? The last thing I wanted was to be on any news channel. I’d be sure to make myself scarce. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Olsen smirked, and something about his expression made my stomach tighten.
“Oh, I’m not givin’ you a heads-up so you can vanish, Clarke. We need someone to show them around, and since you’re the newbie, you drew the short straw.”
Fuck. I felt the color drain from my face as I racked my brain for a way out of this. “Uh, don’t you think someone else would be a better fit? I’m new here. I hardly know my own way around.”
Olsen scoffed. “That’s not true. You’re one of the quickest, brightest firefighters I’ve ever met. You knew your way around here within a week’s worth of shifts; that’s why the chief hired you. So, what do you say?”
Hell no? “When are they coming?”
“Any minute now, I imagine.”
I couldn’t help the glare I shot his way, but Olsen didn’t seem to care. He was too busy laughing at my expense.
“Aw, cheer up, Clarke. You’re not going to the dentist. You’re just going to show a few people around.”
“I’d rather go to the dentist.”
Olsen chuckled and thumped me on the arm. “I’m sure you would, but lucky for us, you already have a set of pearly whites. Granted, I’ve never seen you smile, but I’m pretty sure I just saw them when you scowled at me.”
“I really don’t like you right now.”
“Yeah, I know. But you’ll get back to lovingly ignoring me soon enough. Thanks again, Clarke. See you later tonight at dinner.”
Shit. This was why I kept to myself. The man had spoken to me for all of five minutes, and now I was stuck not only showing a bunch of nosy news people around but having to sit down for dinner and conversation.
I let out a breath and ran a hand through my hair, then quickly headed to the restroom to wash up before I met up with this news crew. The last thing I wanted to do was give the station a bad name, so I’d do my best to be…likable. Whatever the hell that meant.
“Jameson?”
I looked up to see Liz, one of the station's admins, standing at the dorm room doors. “Yeah?”
“There’s a Mr. Carrigan from ENN here for you. I took him to the conference room to wait.”
ENN? That wasn’t a local news station—that was cable. I’d thought this was a local heroes piece. Something that would air for the last three minutes of the show to leave everyone feeling good. But it seemed Olsen had left something out.
“Yeah, thanks, Liz. I’ll be right there.”
I gave myself a quick once-over to make sure everything was in order, and then reminded myself they were here to get footage of the station and equipment, not me. Then I quickly made my way down the hall to the conference room.
There was a large table in the center of the space and a whiteboard on one of the walls, and over by the windows that looked out onto the main road stood a man with his back to me. He was tall, around my height, and wore a black suit that fit him like a second skin—Mr. Carrigan, I presumed.
All right, time get this over and done with.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I just found out about this a few minutes ago.”
As I shut the door behind me, the man turned around, and—
Holy. Fuck.
There wasn’t much in this world that could shock me, but my jaw hit the floor when my eyes landed on the full lips and classically handsome features that I hadn’t been able to get out of my head since last Friday.
“GQ? What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter 8
Ryan
“JAMESON?” I BLINKED as I stared at the fireman standing just inside the conference room door, trying to make sense of what my brain was telling me. I’d been told to ask for Clarke when I arrived, but this man had just addressed me as GQ, and there was only one person who had ever called me that.
Did I fall asleep and dream up some elaborate scenario where Alexander sent me here only to find Jameson, who really went by the name Clarke? Like Superman, or better yet, my very own knight in shining armor?
“GQ? Ryan? Are you following me?”
Okay, maybe not a dream, because there was no way my fantasy man would ever accuse me of stalking him—even if I had contemplated it for a handful of minutes on Friday night.
So that must mean this was…real?
“Ryan?”
My brain re-engaged. “Your name is Clarke?”
“Last name.”
Oh, that made sense. I’d forgotten I didn’t know that. Jameson Clarke. I liked it. “And you’re a firefighter?”
Jameson crossed his arms, which pulled the fabric of his uniform across his chest, giving me a glimpse of all the muscles that lay beneath.
Wowza, I hadn’t gotten to see those on Friday night. I’d felt them under his leather jacket, but that was nothing compared to actually seeing them.
“How did you find me?”
Seriously? He was still stuck on this stalking thing? I could understand that people probably did stalk someone as fine as him, but I was not one of them.
“I know this might come as a surprise to you, but I wasn’t out actively looking for you. I’m here for my job.” Thank you, Alexander. “This is just a happy coincidence.”
At least, it was for me. Judging by the expression on Jameson’s face, it was more like a nightmare come true for him.
“I’m here with a camera crew from ENN. We’re doing a piece on Chicago’s first responders.”
Jameson’s eyes narrowed as he took a step toward me, and I was instantly reminded of that moment in the street when he backed me up against the brick wall and played with my suspenders.
Honestly, how was he so incredibly sexy and yet such a grump?
“You’re a reporter?”
“Uh…” I bit into my bottom lip.
What was his deal? I’d never had someone so hellbent on disliking me despite an obvious attraction, and I had to admit, the more he tried to resist, the more I wanted to prove him wrong. “No, not exactly.”
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that I work for a journalist. I’m his personal assistant, and he sent me down here to get some footage for the piece he’s doing. You might’ve heard of him? Alexander Thorne.”