Page 1 of Score to Settle (Oakwood Ranch #1)
ONE
HARPER
“Yo, Sullivan. Who was that girl you were with last night?”
The football player turns to the camera, mischief dancing in his deep brown eyes.
Every person in the editorial meeting is transfixed by the screen—the line of dark stubble showing from beneath the white slats of his helmet and the smile stretching across Jake Sullivan’s face.
“Just a friend.” He grins, flashing perfect white teeth.
“Don’t tell me you’ve broken another heart already?”
Jake pulls off his helmet, showing black hair styled away from his face. He tips back his head, his laugh deep and long.
Another voice comes from off-screen. “Not if I break your bones first.”
A second later another teammate in the same bright red Denver Stormhawks jersey throws himself forward and the two men fall to the ground in a playful tussle as the person behind the camera laughs.
Tim, my editor at Sports Magazine , pauses the large flatscreen and rolls his eyes at the two women at the end of the table grinning from ear to ear. One of them fans her notebook across her face.
“OK,” Tim says. “I get it. Jake Sullivan is a good-looking man, and at twenty-nine, he’s the best tight end the Stormhawks have ever had. He knows how to catch a football, but what else do we know about him?”
Glances are exchanged. The team’s four reporters and two juniors—of which I’m one—have been called into this meeting and none of us know where this is going.
Alison, one of the reporters fanning her face, flashes a smirk. “There was the thing in the parking lot with the three cheerleaders last summer.”
Tim sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I’ve only been at the magazine for three months, but even I know this means to tread carefully.
Tim is a decent guy. He’s tall and wiry, thinning on top, but then, who wouldn’t be with four kids at home and a fifth on the way?
He buys the first drink on nights out and remembers birthdays, but he still comes with a short fuse. “Anything else?”
Silence.
“Maybe that’s it,” I say, regretting the words the moment they leave my mouth. I’ve survived this far at the magazine by keeping my head down and my mouth shut.
“She speaks,” Tim says, his tone a little mocking but not unkind. “Would you like to expand on that, Harper?”
“OK…” I venture carefully now, tucking my shoulder-length chestnut brown hair behind my ears as I try to gauge where this meeting is going.
All eyes land on me. “What if there isn’t anything else about Jake Sullivan?
What if he likes to screw women and play football and that’s it?
” I shrug, risking a glance across the table.
Of course it’s Callie’s eye I catch. The other junior.
Hired at the same time as me. We both have a four-month probationary period.
At the end of it only one of us will keep our job, and I need it to be me.
I can’t lose two jobs in one year. It’s bad enough that at the age of twenty-six I’ve had to come home to Denver after my short run at Insight —New York’s most prestigious news magazine, read by millions all over the world.
Callie smirks and runs a perfectly manicured nail across her throat before flicking her long dark curls over her shoulder.
But to her surprise and mine, Tim points a finger at me and nods.
“Exactly. Jake Sullivan is known for only two things. Football and women. Which brings me to why you’re all here.
Sports Magazine has been given a huge profile feature on Sullivan.
” Tim strides around the table as he continues, “Stormhawks management wants Jake to clean up his image and they’re giving us five weeks of full access and all expenses paid to follow Jake as the team finishes its season.
We need to go behind the scenes and get to know the real Jake.
They’re hoping our presence keeps him in line, and our profile shows the world what a good guy he really is.
And they want it to come from a local outlet. ”
“But what if the real Jake is the same as the Jake everyone thinks he is?” I ask. “What if he is only about football and women?”
Tim shrugs. “Then that’s what we write. We have full creative control, something Stormhawks management is aware of.
I don’t care what direction this piece takes, but we need to go deep.
If Jake really is as bad as his reputation, then we need to learn why.
This might be a big gamble for the Stormhawks, but for us it’s simple: We write the truth, whatever that might be. ”
“So I’m writing gossip pieces now?” The guy beside me, Kevin Fielding, says, voice dripping with disdain.
He’s the senior reporter and the one almost certain to get this assignment.
He’s also an asshole. No doubt I’ll be booking flights and hotels for him for the next five weeks and learning all the reasons why nothing I did was good enough.
“No, you’re not,” Tim says. The reply causes a shifting of bodies in seats.
Sharks circling. Gossip piece or not, every reporter in this room except me wants this story and their name on the byline.
It’s the kind of piece sure to be picked up by bigger news outlets, which means one hell of a career boost.
The bickering begins as each reporter throws out the reasons why they’d be perfect for the job.
I switch off. I’m new here—whatever comes next won’t involve me.
I let my gaze wander to the breathtaking view from the twentieth floor of the Arquette Media building.
The towering skyscrapers on either side frame a picture-perfect scene of distant snowcapped mountains and a vast expanse of endless sky.
New York was buzz and hustle and everything I wanted, but nothing compares to the skyline in Denver in November when the sky is bright blue, the sun pale yellow.
Fall leaves in burnt orange cling to the trees, waiting for one more gust of wind before they drop.
I can almost feel the crisp mountain air on my skin and hear the far-off calls of the golden eagles.
“Harper.” Tim’s voice jolts me back to the meeting.
I jump, surprised to hear my name come up.
“Her?” Kevin says beside me, his upper lip rising in an undisguised sneer. Definitely an asshole.
“Sorry? What’s me?” I ask.
“You’re doing the feature on Jake,” Tim says. A pained expression crosses his face as a bolt of something shoots down my body. Adrenaline? Fear?
“You’re kidding.”
Tim shakes his head, still looking like this is the last thing he wants.
“I was as surprised as you are. Believe me, you weren’t my first choice.
There’s a lot of experience on the team and I don’t enjoy throwing my juniors in the deep end like this.
But,” Tim continues, shooting me a sympathetic smile, “Jake’s mom—who also happens to be his agent—wants you.
I’m guessing you’ve heard of Mama Sullivan?
She runs the show when it comes to her boys.
And she’s not someone you want to cross. ”
I nod dumbly. Mama Sullivan is one of the best agents in the NFL. Her head for business and loyalty to her three sons make her not just respected but feared by many in the industry. She’s not someone you argue with, which I guess is the only reason Tim is allowing me to do this.
“Do you think it was the piece I wrote on the future of baseball at Insight ?” I ask, trying to keep the grimace from my face at the mention of my last job.
The article was my one byline at Insight , delving into the evolving identity of baseball, walking the line between keeping the traditions old fans love and modernizing to bring new fans in.
It was the interview with pro baseball player Quincy Baltimore that gave depth to the piece, but it’s nothing like what they’re asking me to do with Jake Sullivan.
Tim frowns, like he can’t believe it either. “Maybe.”
“But—”
He holds up a hand and the protest dies on my lips.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, Harper, but someone with your background shouldn’t have any problem tackling this.
Just don’t screw it up. And remember—we want depth and we want truth.
Good guy or not, I don’t care, just get to the heart of what makes Jake tick. ”
I feel myself nod. My background? Is he referring to my dad or the details I embellished in my interview to get this job?
Callie shoots me a look of pure hate. “Don’t expect any help from us.
” She talks like she’s been at the magazine for a decade and isn’t just as new and dumb to how things work as I am.
Callie might be a total bitch to me, but she has become everyone else’s friend in the last three months.
I’ve tried to keep my head down, work hard and prove myself, but it hasn’t made me well liked.
No matter how hard I work, no one sees me as part of the team. She’s right. This isn’t going to help.
Tim reaches for the bridge of his nose again. Not a good sign for Callie.
“Do you know how much of our advertising money comes from companies targeting the NFL?” he asks.
I bite back a smile at the sight of Callie’s reddening cheeks. Even though Tim is nothing like my father, I’ve been at enough family dinners with my dad when he’s home from traveling to know what it is to be put on the spot.
“Um…” Callie opens her notebook, flipping through the pages as though the answer will be in there.