Break of Day (7 page)

Lost in my troubled thoughts I almost didn't feel the hand on my arm. I looked up to see that Jayden had come to stand next to me, a concerned look on his face. It was funny—here I'd been trying to comfort him. And now he was turning the tables on me. “But she did come back, right?” he asked. “I mean, you just brought her groceries yesterday.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She did. Years later. But it was never the same. From that point on I felt like I couldn't trust her anymore. That I couldn't trust anyone at all.”

“Except me!” Jayden broke in. “Miss Piper, you can totally count on me!”

I looked up at him through eyes veiled with tears. He looked so fierce. So protective. So affronted on my behalf. I smiled at him.

“Thank you, Jayden,” I said. “I hope that you feel the same way about me.”

He threw his arms around me and I hugged him tight. For a moment we just stayed like that, holding one another,
both lost in our own memories. His raw and fresh, mine old and scarred, but no less painful. Finally Jayden broke away.

“Thanks,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “And I'm sorry I trashed my room.”

“Meh,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. “If we work together we can clean it up quick. And then I'm going to finish that cake!”

“Wait!” he protested. “What about me?”

I gave him a skeptical look. “I thought you said you weren't hungry.”

“Well . . .” He shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

I pushed the cake in his direction. “Eat it,” I told him. “And then start picking up. I'll go forage for a second slice. I think we both deserve our own, don't you?”

He grinned. “Absolutely.”

I
'd love to say the little heart-to-heart with Jayden turned out to be therapeutic for me as well as him. But that would be a lie. That night I tossed and turned, the nightmares tormenting me without mercy. Nightmares of me, splashing through dark waters, desperately scanning the sea. Of frantically searching, but never finding. Of the icy waves, smacking against my skin, soaking my clothes. Of my mother's voice, screeching in my ears.

You horrible girl.

This is your fault.

You were supposed to be watching him.

I trusted you to watch him.

Where's your brother, Piper?

Where's your fucking brother?

I jerked up in bed, bathed in sweat. Sucking in a breath, I reached for the light, trying to still my pounding heart. Screw it. I'd rather be exhausted at work tomorrow than tortured in my sleep tonight.

After doing a few breathing exercises, trying to catch my breath, I grabbed my laptop off my nightstand and, after
checking my email, loaded it up to the National Weather Service website. Why not, right? After all, I was going to need this stuff once I started my new job tomorrow.

I read through some of their forecasts and climate predictions. Then I clicked over to the NOAA website—the home of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration—and I kept going from there.

Some of it was easy to understand. Other parts felt like Greek, which made me feel a little nervous about my upcoming assignment. Was I really going to be able to do this? To just become a weather producer with no experience at all? Asher said it wasn't rocket science, but then he'd been born into the job. He'd probably learned half of it before he could even walk, listening to his father. I, on the other hand, would be starting at ground zero.

But you can do this
, I told myself.
You've faced challenges before. And you've always met them head-on. Why should this be any different?

I glanced over at the motivational sign I'd placed to the side of my bed.
What would you attempt to do
, it read,
if you knew you could not fail?

I closed my laptop. I settled back in bed. I forced myself to close my eyes and think about my new job. But surprisingly, instead of radars and weather charts, my mind kept wandering to something else.

Namely the guy who reported on them.

The really, really hot guy who was basically now my new boss.

Or should I say new partner? After all, normally a producer would be considered more of a partner than a subordinate to her reporter. But clearly Asher held all the strings in this particular scenario. I thought back to our encounter in the newsroom office when he'd first told me about the job. Where I had basically accused him of sabotaging the position I thought I was supposed to get. I was lucky he hadn't changed his mind right then and there and said forget it.

Still, the question lingered. Had he really promoted me because he thought I could do the job better than anyone else
there? Or was it just a pity play he'd made on impulse after seeing my desperation at the wedding? Or, a more troubling thought: Could this just be an elaborate ploy for him to get me into bed?

Don't flatter yourself, Piper. This guy has women lining up for him. He doesn't need a casting couch.

But he
did
need a producer. A good one, according to Richard. Someone to keep him in line. Someone who was responsible and dedicated and good with details.

Someone like me.

I may not have known anything about weather. But I did know something about making irresponsible people accountable for their actions. After all, hadn't I done that for years with my own mother? Not that she wasn't still a frustrating work in progress. But she had a job now. A home. And it was all thanks to me.

Asher said he had chosen me because I wanted it more than anyone else. He hadn't been wrong about that. However it had happened, this was a chance of a lifetime and I was planning on taking full advantage.

One way or another I would prove to them all that even if I hadn't deserved to be given the job in the first place, I deserved to keep it. And no one—not even Asher himself—would be able to stop me.

B
ang, bang, bang!

I groaned, pulling my pillow over my head as the incessant rapping bore into my brain. What was that? Was someone at my door? I peeked out from under the pillow, squinting at the early morning sunlight peering through my window from the gap in my blackout blinds. What the hell time was it anyway?

I'd admittedly stayed up way too late the night before, hanging with Jess and her bartender girlfriend at their new place in Mission Beach, watching them do tequila shots until nearly sunrise. I hadn't set my alarm on purpose, wanting to sleep it off before heading into work. Sure, I was technically supposed to be at work at nine, but I had done most of the prep the night before and figured I could just update last minute before going on air. Wouldn't be the first time. Wouldn't be the last.

Bang, bang, bang.

I scowled. Who the hell was at my door? And why weren't they taking the hint and going away? I mean, sure, Jess sometimes stopped by to use my house as her changing
room before heading out into the surf (usually bringing donuts and coffee as payment) but the two of us had a deal: She would never try to wake me, even if she wanted me to come with her. She'd just leave a note as to where she'd be and I'd find her later.

Besides that, there was no way she'd be awake right now after the amount of tequila she'd poured down her gullet the night before.

“Asher? Are you in there?”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, though I couldn't quite place it in my half-asleep state. Definitely female. Slightly irritated, but kind of cute all the same. Maybe some chick I'd hooked up with and then never called, returning to boil my bunny? But no, I usually talked them into going to their houses or booked a hotel in order to preemptively sidestep that type of fatal attraction.

Eventually curiosity won out over exhaustion and I swung my legs over the side of the bed and planted my feet on the tile. I grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from off the floor and slipped them over my hips before heading to the door, yanking it open to see who could possibly be on the other side.

I couldn't have been more surprised at who it turned out to be.

“Piper?” I said, now more confused than ever. I scrubbed my face, trying desperately to clear the fog in my head. “What are you doing here?”

She frowned. “I think the better question would be, what are
you
doing here?”

“Um, I live here?”

My gaze involuntarily raked over her, taking her in. She was dressed casually this morning in a simple button-down shirt and a pair of dark-rinse jeans that nicely showcased the swell of her hips. Even better, her hair had been set free from yesterday's constraints, copper curls bouncing off her shoulders. And while she didn't seem to be wearing any makeup, her face looked freshly scrubbed and clean.

In other words, total girl-next-door hotness. And though usually the girl-next-door look was not my type at all, I
was suddenly quite willing to make an exception. In fact, it was all I could do not to toss her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and drag her back to bed with me, caveman-style.

Now
that
would be something worth waking up for.

I realized she was frowning at me. “What?” I asked.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

I glanced behind her, squinting at the sunlight. It was a trick my dad had taught me when I was a kid. How to tell time by the position of the sun in the sky, compared to the month of the year.

“Ten thirty,” I guessed.

“Try eleven.”

I shrugged. It had never been an exact science. “Okay. And that's relevant because?”

“It's a workday. And you didn't show up to work. Nor did you answer your phone.” Her eyes locked on to mine. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Aw, Red,” I said, giving her a smirk. “That's so sweet! You came all the way out here just to check up on me?” I wondered briefly how she'd figured out where I lived, but then remembered the employee directory. She was a resourceful one, my little producer.

Also, an angry one, it appeared.

Sure enough, a scowl slashed across her face. “I came here,” she corrected in a hard voice, “to drag your ass to work. Where you are supposed to be. Now”—her gaze roved over my body—“if you could just go and get dressed?”

I grinned lazily, leaning against the doorframe, pretty happy now I hadn't bothered with a shirt. “You know, Red, you might be the very first girl in history to demand I put my clothes back
on
.”

As I could have predicted, her face turned bright red. God, I loved redheads. I watched as she turned away, concentrating on staring at the flowers in my front garden. “I'll wait here until you're ready,” she said.

“But I haven't even eaten my breakfast yet!”

“I'll swing you through a drive-through.”

I shook my head. “Asher Anderson does not do drive-throughs, sweetheart.”

I watched her bite her lower lip in frustration. God, the girl had kissable lips. I involuntarily licked my own lower lip, imagining what she must taste like.

“Look,” I said, deciding to throw her a bone, “I'm sorry. You caught me off guard. Late night, you know? How about I make you a deal? You come in and let me make both of us some breakfast. Then, once we're done eating, we can head out to the station together. I'll even let you drive me, to ensure I don't try to make a run for the border.”

She frowned, but I could see her hedging. “We're supposed to be there now.”

“Please. We're not on the air till six. That gives us hours to eat and still make the broadcast.” I shrugged. “Besides, if we're going to be working together, we should definitely spend time getting to know one another, right? And there's no better way to make friends than over a mountain of scrambled eggs. Which,” I added with a wink, “just happen to be my specialty.”

Piper let out a resigned sigh. “Fine,” she muttered. “But only if you get dressed first.”

“Spoilsport,” I mock pouted. She shot me a dirty look.

“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands in surrender. “Your wish is my command.” I stepped out of the doorway and gestured grandly for her to enter. “Welcome to my sea palace, m'lady.”

Piper gave me a skeptical look. “If you're about to say
where all the magic happens
I'm going to wait in the car.”

I burst out laughing—I couldn't help it. “No magic, I promise!” I said with a grin. “Just scrambled eggs. Magically delicious scrambled eggs.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can't wait.”

And suddenly, neither could I.

O
kay, Piper. What the hell do you think you're doing?

I paced Asher's living room, getting more and more stressed out with every step. What was I doing here? What had possessed me to come here in the first place? And why the hell had I agreed to stay for breakfast, for goodness's sake?

I knew I should have just waited for him at the station. Hung out until he rolled in with his usual happy-go-lucky style. But when he hadn't shown up—on our very first official day of working together—I'd been a little pissed, to say the least. Especially when the six o'clock show producer stopped by and asked where he was, then looked at me as if I were to blame when I said I didn't know.

Richard had warned me that it would be like a glorified babysitting job. But I guess I hadn't truly believed it. Not when Asher had been so enthusiastic yesterday about the whole thing. I guess I thought maybe this was a step for him—to start taking his job more seriously. Or that he would at the very least shepherd me through the first couple weeks, until I got my feet wet and could do my part of the job in his
absence. He knew I knew nothing about weather producing. The very least he could do was show me the ropes before throwing me in the deep end.

I scowled. I hadn't asked for this job. But since I had it, I was going to make the best of it. I had one chance to prove myself. To make the powers-that-be see I belonged there. And I wasn't about to let some spoiled, irresponsible little rich boy ruin it for me. If I was to be Asher's producer, Asher was going to get in line, if it killed me.

And if I had to witness him wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs again, it just might.

I groaned, plopping down on the couch, scrubbing my face with my hands as my mind treated me to a detailed flashback of him answering the door. Of his legendary washboard abs that I'd always heard about, but had never seen up close and personal. It was as if he had been sculpted out of marble—like one of those statues you see in museums. Perfect pecs with golden nipples, a solid six-pack, probably honed by all the surfing. A trail of light brown hair, disappearing into those boxer briefs.

Sweet baby Jesus. Those boxer briefs.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Piper
, I scolded myself.
This is your boss, not your boyfriend.

My boss—who had just somehow managed to convince me to come into his house and let him make me breakfast. This slope was getting slippery—fast. And I wasn't sure what to do about it.

At least he hadn't kicked me to the curb. I knew that was a risk when I'd shown up to his house to begin with. I mean, the guy was obviously not used to anyone giving him orders. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and there was never any consequence to any of it. He could have told me to get off his front porch. He could have called the station and gotten me fired on the spot for overstepping my bounds. Instead, he'd invited me in. He'd suggested we get to know one another. That wasn't a bad thing, right? Baby steps, for both of us.

“Wow. I feel almost human again,” Asher announced as
he stepped back into the living room. He'd showered and changed and was now wearing a tight white T-shirt that sadly did a very poor job of hiding those aforementioned abs, and a pair of board shorts that only managed to better showcase his tanned, rugged legs. His hair was still wet from the shower and drops of water glistened on his forehead.

Almost human, my ass. Effortlessly Greek God–like might be a better descriptor.

I rose to my feet. “Glad to hear it,” I said, trying to sound casual, even though my heart was pounding in my chest. What was I doing here again? I should have just told him I'd meet him back at work. I was being paid, after all, to be at work. And instead I was hanging out at a beach cottage. I was following my new boss to the kitchen. I was walking over to the breakfast bar, trying not to check out his butt as he leaned down to pull a pan out from a drawer.

Okay, this had to stop. This was my new boss. My job depended on me staying professional. On getting him to take this whole thing seriously—take
me
seriously. If I allowed myself to go all girly girl on him, to succumb to his charms like the rest of the SoCal female population, I might as well just write my own pink slip now.

I watched, curious, as Asher opened the fridge and peered inside. I was surprised to see how full it was. For some reason I had imagined him as more of a takeout kind of guy. Instead it looked as if he had just returned from a farmer's market, with colorful, fresh produce on every shelf. Maybe he had a personal shopper to keep him stocked. Surely he could afford one.

He turned to me, a carton of eggs and a package of bacon in each hand. “Sit,” he commanded.

I bit my lower lip. “I'm happy to help.”

He smiled and shook his head, pointing again to the barstool. I sighed and walked over, scooting up onto it. Asher set the ingredients on the granite countertop and walked over to his coffee pot. He looked over at me and I nodded. He poured me a cup and set it in front of me.

“Cream and sugar?” he asked.

I shook my head. “This is perfect.”

And it was kind of perfect, I had to admit, as I sipped my coffee and Asher got to work on the breakfast. I mean, by all rights it should have felt weird to be here—and pretty awkward to boot. To be in this man's kitchen, sipping coffee, while he worked on what was starting to look like quite the feast.

And yet, somehow, it felt good. Really chill. The coffee warming my insides, the faint strains of a Jack Johnson tune floating through the air. The smell of the eggs and the crackle of the bacon, making my mouth water.

I didn't usually eat breakfast; a habit I'd developed as a kid when we couldn't afford three meals a day. Even now it still seemed like a bit of a waste, an unnecessary indulgence. But obviously Asher could afford an indulgence or two and I might as well enjoy his hospitality. Especially since I was pretty sure he would allow nothing less.

“Bon appetit,” he pronounced about ten minutes later, setting a steaming plate piled high with food in front of me. He placed his own plate on the counter across from me, leaning in on the granite. “Let me know what you think.”

I nodded, scooping a large forkful of eggs into my mouth. Then I paused as the taste hit me full-on.
Oh my God, this is good
. A small moan of pleasure escaped my lips and Asher grinned like a schoolboy.

“You like?” he asked.

“I love,” I corrected, staring down at the eggs. They looked completely normal. Like any other eggs on the planet. But that taste . . . “Seriously, what did you put in these? Crack?”

He waved me off. “I find crack a terrible seasoning. Not to mention a bit tricky to acquire. I usually substitute with pickled jalapeños instead.”

I nodded, taking another bite, relishing the kick to my taste buds. Toby would love the hell out of these; I needed to convince Asher to give me the recipe next time it was my night to cook at the Holloway House.

I glanced up at him, marveling a little. Hot as hell, rich as anything, and a great cook, too. How was that even fair?

“So tell me, Piper,” Asher said, after swallowing. Evidently
it was time for the “getting acquainted” portion of the morning. “How did a nice girl like you who clearly has stellar taste when it comes to breakfast foods end up in a shitshow like News 9 San Diego?”

“What are you talking about? We're the number one news station,” I protested.

“Sorry. A number one shitshow then.”

I frowned, feeling a little insulted, though I wasn't exactly sure why. After all, it wasn't as if I took some kind of personal pride in News 9 as a station. And it wasn't even as if anyone had ever treated me particularly well since I'd started working there. But still! “Why do
you
work there?” I asked. “If it's so awful.”

He raised an eyebrow, as if it were obvious. “I'm legacy, baby. Straight out of News 9 for life!” He twisted his arms in some kind of exaggerated made-up gang symbols. I snorted.

“I see . . .”

“Anyway, let me rephrase my question. How'd a nice girl like you end up at the lovely and popular grand institution that is known as News 9?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. I've always wanted to be a journalist, I guess.”

Of course there was more to it than that. But he didn't need to know my whole white trash past, thank you very much. Someone like him would never understand.

“Let me guess,” he said, tapping his finger to his chin. “You grew up watching Joy Justice at the anchor desk and said that's the glamorous life for me.”

“Actually, I wanted to be an investigative producer. I mean, I still do.”

“A producer? Not a reporter?”

“Let's just say I'm more of a behind-the-scenes kind of girl.”

Asher laughed. “I don't blame you,” he said. “Trust me, the on-air life is not all it's cracked up to be. All those hot girls, throwing themselves at you, begging for you to spend the night.” He shook his head in mock horror.

“Aw, poor baby. It must be so tough for you.”

He nodded grimly. “You don't know the half of it.” Then he grinned. “Anyway, that sounds really cool. The investigative producer thing, I mean. From what I hear it's not an easy job. But I bet it's really interesting. I mean, you're basically solving crime, right? Like a superhero or something?”

I laughed. “I don't know about that!”

“Seriously,” he insisted. “You're basically Batman at that point.”

“Does that make you Robin?”

“Ouch!” Asher made a stabbing gesture to his heart, as if I had wounded him. “And here I thought you were going to say someone cool. Like the Joker.”

“You're definitely a joker. There's no doubt about that.”

He grinned wickedly. “Fair enough.” Then he glanced at his watch. “Holy Bat Time, Batman. We'd better get to work!”

I looked up, surprised. “You're actually ready?”

“I might be.” His eyes danced. “On one condition.”

Uh-oh. “What's that?”

“You agree to go out with me after work. So we can continue this new coworker meet-and-greet.”

I stared at him, not sure what to say. Did I want to continue this? And what was “this” really anyway? I mean, yes, I was having a good time. Good food, good company, friendly banter. But where did Asher see this going? Was he really only interested in getting to know his new coworker? Or was this all a front for him to make a move on me later on? After all, I knew all too well of his reputation. And I really didn't want to be that girl. My career depended on it.

“I don't know,” I hedged.

“Come on,” he cajoled. “I'm heading to work at Oh God Thirty for you. The least you can do is let me cook you dinner.”

“But you already cooked me breakfast.”

“And you enjoyed it, right?”

“I did but . . .”

“Trust me. These eggs have nothing on my carne guisada tacos.”

This was clearly a losing battle. “If I say yes, you'll come to work now?”

“With bells on.”

“And we'll work all day? No distractions?”

“Scout's honor.”

I gave him a skeptical look. He laughed. “Okay, fine. I got kicked out of Scouts. Never did understand the point of the merit badges. But we will work our asses off, I promise.”

I sighed. “Okay then. I guess you've got yourself a dinner guest.”

And with that, the slippery slope I mentioned earlier? It was approaching full-on mudslide.