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My phone lights up as I’m about to start reading the last proposal. Poppy’s name is on the screen, and the my mood shifts hard into hungry predatormode.

“Hello, stranger,” I growl into the phone.

She laughs like I’m no threat to her at all, and she’s got that right. After the way I’ve been practically panting over her—both while she was here, and in her absence—the truth is she holds all the power here. I don’t mind that at all. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to call. I’ve been run off my feet since I’ve been back. Long days, short nights, zero time in between.”

“I’ve been busy, too.”

“Saving the world?”

“One amateur hiker at atime.”

There’s a nervous beat before she speaks again. “Is this a good time totalk?”

“Yeah. I’m at home.” I rock back in my chair. “About to make myself dinner. How aboutyou?”

“I just got home.” She yawns. No shit—it’s two hours later there than here, and I’m already eating late because I lost track of time in the prospectus.

“Have you eaten?”

“No.” Another yawn. “Can you somehow make food happen through the phone? Is that part of your secret superhero skillset?”

“Sadlynot.”

“Meh. I’ll make coffee and have a proteinbar.”

“Late night ahead ofyou?”

She sighs. “I haven’t filed another story since I got back. Lots of leads, lots of words, but nothing has quite pulled together. Gotta get somethingdone.”

“What you are workingon?”

“Um…” Another nervous beat. Should it be awkward between us? Maybe you don’t know her that well after all. “Actually, I’m doing background for another Department of the Interior story.”

Ah. I rub my jaw. “Lots of the stories there, I guess.”

“Marcus, I won’t—”

“Do your job, Poppy. Always.”

She makes a little sound, like a stubborn sigh, and changes the subject. “I’m also working on a piece I’m going to shop around about the high-end escorts on Twitter.”

I laugh. “That’s unexpected and different.”

“Maybe you’d be able to help me with that.” I can practically hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah? What do you think I know about high-end escorts—on or off Twitter?”

“Come on.” Now we’re both laughing, and this is more like it. Spar, baby, spar. “Are we pretending that you aren’t a man of some means?”

Some. Yeah. At some point, I need to share more with her about that, but not in the middle of a conversation about hookers. “Continue with your wild assumptions, Reporter Girl. But I want it on the record I’ve never hired an escort.”

“I have no trouble believing that, Ranger Boy. But you know people. You’re observant.”

“Now you’re just flatteringme.”

“Is it working?”

“Sure. Tell me about your angle. What’s the headline?”