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The Dragon kept his gaze on the photos like they held State secrets. Fine by me since from

where I sat it gave me a perfect view of his fine ass. I lifted my camera and took his picture.

He reminded me of one of the Kennedys by the way he leaned down on his desk, hands

splayed on top. Yes,
that
family.

“Because we only have enough space for one. You know the final issue is packed. With

Silvia changing the feature on me, my patience is pretty much non-existent.”

“I can see that.” I lowered my camera. “I never knew you could make a linebacker cry.”

“Steven had it coming. He didn’t check his stats and the oaf was in the fucking game. Why

I let his father convince me he would make a great sports writer is beyond my

understanding.”

“Maybe because he’s the son of a State prosecutor and it wouldn’t hurt to have

connections?” I chuckled when he glared at me. “Hand me Steven’s article.”

Larry picked up the bleeding piece. He faced me and half sat on his desk, crossing his

arms. I scanned the article filled with red marks and whistled.

“I don’t know if I should find a tourniquet for this or just burn it,” I said, lifting my gaze to meet his. A lock of his brown hair fell over his forehead. For a second I wanted to reach up

and smooth it away. Then I quickly reminded myself that ship had sailed long ago. But I

couldn’t deny a fondness for Larry. Beneath the Dragon is a gummy bear if someone took the

time to break through his tough scales. Unfortunately, I wasn’t
that
girl.

“There’s hope for Steven yet if he gets his facts straight.”

I leaned forward and searched the floor.

“What are you looking for?”

“Your balls,” I said. “I think you dropped them somewhere.”

Larry tilted his head back and released a laugh straight from a good place. It was a deep,

throaty sound. The kind that helped drop panties. The silence outside his office indicated the whole staff of the Daily Gossip took a second to think if they should prepare for the end of

the world. If the Dragon laughed, surely an asteroid was barreling to earth at any minute.

I scratched my cheek, refusing to blush. “There’s the Larry I know. Take it easy on

everyone out there. They live to worship the ground you walk on. You know that, right?”

The telltale knot returned between Larry’s bushy eyebrows, but the humor didn’t leave his

gray eyes. “Get back to work!” he barked and the shuffle of feet and the tapping of keyboards

resumed. But the atmosphere in the office definitely shifted from extremely to only mildly

suicidal now. Everyone might survive this particular last issue yet.

“Look,” I inhaled his woodsy cologne, “I get that you’re stressed over the final issue. You’ll get it done. You always do. And you have a pool of writers out there working really hard to

make that happen.”

Not responding to my team player pep talk, Larry pointed at the mutilated article in my

hands then at the photos. I returned my attention there and nodded.

“Since Steven’s focus seems to be on the new team dynamic, the trophy photo would work

best. It would boost morale not only for their team but for the student body too.”

A half-grin pulled up Larry’s lips. “Steven!”

The linebacker ambled into Larry’s office, his nose redder than Rudolf’s. My heart

clenched for him. The big guy was such a sweetie. How he managed to ram into other football

players like a bulldozer unapologetically escaped me. On the field he transformed into the

Incredible Hulk.

Larry took the article from my hands and turned to face Steven. He picked up the photo I

indicated would go best with Steven’s piece and handed everything to the linebacker.

“Just check your stats, Steven,” Larry said coolly. “Your article is good. Make sure you get

the revision back to me by the end of the day and bring the photo to layout.”

Like the gentle giant I knew Steven to be, he reached for his article and the photo like they

were the most precious things in the world—i.e. breakable. The hunch in his shoulders eased

and a glow spread over his face.

“Yes, boss.” He sniffed one more time before heading out, closing the door behind him.

“Why, Laurel Hardy,” I teased. “If that isn’t a compliment coming out of your lips, the

world is upside down.”

Glowering, Larry returned to his crossed-arms, half-seated position on his desk. The pose

didn’t intimidate me because of the hint of mischief in his eyes.

“You should really come in more.” He grunted. “My blood pressure would thank you for

it.”

I shrugged. “You know me, Larry. I like sticking it to The Man. You won’t catch me behind

a desk unless you chain me to it. I’m better for you in the field.”

In a rare show of fatigue, Larry squeezed the back of his neck. “Sometimes I don’t know

what’s good anymore.”

Feeling the mood in his office shift to more personal territory, I rummaged through my

bag for the contract. “If you don’t need me to approve any more photos, there’s something I

need you to take a look at.” I handed the stapled pieces of paper that would forever change

my life to him.

“What’s this? Finally taking a crack at writing?” he joked then his face sobered. “Why

would you have a non-disclosure contract?” His concerned gaze pinned me to his chair.

“Remember when you assigned Sacrifice to Silvia and me?” I intertwined my fingers and

clapped my thumbs. Why I was suddenly nervous, I had no idea. I could feel my fingertips

sweat. “Well, Vicious was there and one thing led to another. Basically, if I sign that contract they will be my subject for the Spring Showcase.”

From the look of awe on Larry’s face, he knew of the band and how important the

showcase was to me. He was smart enough to put two and two together. He returned his

attention to the contract.

“This looks pretty standard to me, but you should have a real lawyer take a look.”

“I don’t have the funds for a real lawyer.” I leaned forward again. “You’re the closest I’ve

got. I just want to know what I’m getting into before I sign.”

He took a deep breath and sighed it out, flipping the pages. “Well, this just states that you

can’t reveal anything that you encounter at Lunar Manor and when you’re with the band to

the press. Your internet access will be restricted for security reasons as will your contact with the outside world.” His gaze returned to my face. “If I’m reading this right, it means you’re

staying with them for the duration of your project.”

I nodded. “Yana, their band manager, believes I could take the best pictures if I’m actually

with the band all the time. I’m inclined to agree with her.”

“Well, this sounds really open ended to me.”

“She said I could set up a meeting to set my terms.”

Larry huffed then nodded. “Good, they are open to a negotiation. Write this down.”

I quickly produced a pen and notepad.

“First, you need to set a time limit for your stay with them. One month, two? Whatever

time you believe you need to take the pictures then leave.” I nodded, scribbling madly. “Then

you’ll want to ensure that you maintain copyright of your photos.”

“That I know.” I had no intention of handing control of my art to them. I knew that from

the second Yana left my apartment.

“I shouldn’t be happy that I might be rubbing off on you, right?”

I pouted at him only so I wouldn’t grin. Flirty Larry was as lethal as the Dragon. Been

down that road. Didn’t like the scenery. Larry knew this as much as I did.

“Lastly,” he returned to serious Larry, “make sure they can’t come after you for whatever

you produce. I get that they are trying to protect their privacy. Other than keeping you from

selling the photos, they don’t have the right to dictate the kind of photos you use for the

introspective. Claim artistic license. This contract isn’t just for their safety. Make sure it’s for your own, too.”

“That’s all?” My pen hovered over the pad.

“Other than that, I believe you have a standard contract here. So long as you don’t spill any

of their secrets or write a tell all, you should be fine.”

I stuffed the pen and pad back into my bag and reached for the contract. When I pulled at

it, Larry didn’t let go.

“Have dinner with me.”

I shook my head. “You know that’s just the stress talking.”

He finally let go and I stood up. “Remind me why we broke it off again?”

“Because we would have killed each other eventually,” I said at the door. “I don’t know

about you, but I’m not really the War of the Roses type.”

“Right.”

“If you need me for anything else, you have my number.” When he nodded, I opened the

door. But before I stepped through, I added, “Thank you for this,” lifting the contract.

“You sure this is what you really want?”

I didn’t have to hesitate this time. “Yes.”

Chapter Six

Terms

After my talk with Larry, I emailed Yana my terms. Thinking I would be in for a long wait,

I left to take a shower and settled in for the night. I had a couple of projects I wanted to hand in earlier than their deadline. At Wexler, exam week stretched for two. They reserved the first week for juniors and seniors and the second for lowerclassmen. Depending on your point of

view, this could be a really good thing. The freshmen and sophomores liked it because they

got an extra week to study and hand in papers. Much better for the upper classmen because

we got to relax the final week of school and still got the perk of having an extra week for final requirements.

When I passed my laptop, towel drying my hair, it pinged. A new message. Hair still

dripping, I stared wide-eyed at Yana’s reply without clicking to open it. My heart hammered

in my chest. A fast reply could mean two things. One, she was cool with my terms and would

send over the revised contract immediately. Or two, and this one I didn’t like, my terms were

too stiff and the deal was off. Even if you hear a hundred good things the one bad thing was

what you clung too.

“Get a grip,” I told myself.

With a shaking hand, I moved the cursor to the email.

Two minutes later, I brewed a pot of coffee for an all-nighter. I needed to get all my final

requirements done. Yana had agreed to my terms and asked to meet.

The next morning, I sat at a corner table in an empty café off campus waiting for Yana to

arrive with the revised contract. I twirled my teaspoon in my coffee mug, watching white and

black mix together. I usually preferred my coffee black with lots of sugar when I only slept an hour, but this morning I needed the comfort of milk. After my previous meeting with Yana, I

got the feeling I would only have a few minutes to prepare. She didn’t seem the type to mess

around. Neither did I. This opportunity meant the world to me. Maybe that was why my

stomach tumbled within itself. Too much hung on this one chance. Maybe I accidentally

placed all my eggs in one basket. What if something happened? What if this didn’t work out?

Too many what-ifs swirled in my head by the time I finished my first cup. I raised my hand

to order another, but no one came. When I entered the café, a guy stood at the back of the

counter and a waitress set tables. Since it was early on a Saturday, I wasn’t surprised to be the only patron. The upperclassmen were probably still nursing hangovers from celebrating the

end of exams while the lowerclassmen were nursing headaches from successive all-nighters.

I twisted in my seat in search of the waitress since I made the mistake of sitting at a table

favoring my blind spot. I thought Yana would want the privacy. I should have chosen a table

nearer the entrance. Anyway, I craned my neck but even the guy behind the counter

disappeared. What the?

Suddenly, I felt like an extra in a really bad horror film. Or the rapture happened and I was

left behind. Chuckling at my bad joke, I stood up. They were probably just in the back or the

storeroom getting something. I shuffled toward the counter and leaned against the cool

pastry display case. A cherry Danish called to me.

Shifting to my toes, I craned my neck further to get a better look at the tiny window that

separated the front from what I assumed was the kitchen. “Excuse me?” I called. “Hello?”

“Something you want?”

I whirled around to face the source of the smooth as caramel but a hundred times more

sinful voice I first heard at Sacrifice. A gasp fell out of my lips, not from surprise but from the look of him. Luka pulled off a black button down shirt and tight leather pants without looking like he tried too hard. I got the feeling clothes sat contently on him, enhancing his body

instead of just covering it. He wore the same cross around his neck and the bolt on his brow.

Since he had his hands in his pockets, I couldn’t be sure if he wore the rings. Rolled up

sleeves bared the cuts of muscle on his forearms. A single braided leather bracelet graced his wrist. His hair still fell in messy curls, setting off the mischief in his eyes and the grin on his lips.

My lungs burned. Only then did I realize I’d been holding my breath. When I finally

remembered to exhale, something sweet yet spicy passed through my nose. It took a second

for my brain to recognize the scent of Luka’s cologne or soap or whatever the hell he used. It reminded me of holiday smells: pumpkin pie, spicy hot chocolate, candy canes—the

yummiest things. I liked it a little too much. Saliva filled my mouth.

“What are you doing here?” I asked after swallowing. Okay, not the best question to lead