Red Carpet Arrangement. Vicki Essex

as fast as you usually do.”

      Durst shook his head. “I need cold hard cash to get the information you’re asking for.”

      “What happened to being a good journalist?”

      Durst bleated a short, unpleasant laugh. “You think this is journalism? I was nominated for a goddamned Pulitzer—”

      “And, oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Lance deadpanned. “But that’s not my problem, is it? I’ll remind you I’m the only one willing to believe the word of a proved liar.”

      Jamie sank behind her computer, sensed her colleagues doing the same. Charlie Durst’s career had ended after he’d been caught plagiarizing numerous articles he’d written for a national newspaper about five years ago. Now he chased celebrities for a living. That Lance would mention the scandal made her cringe. She thought Charlie had paid for his mistakes long enough. It had nothing to do with her crush on him, of course.

      “C’mon, Lance. I’m not made of money. Spot me some cash so I can complete the next leg of this story.”

      The older man snorted. “You’re gonna need a whole lot more than a first name and speculation to get me to open my wallet.” He screwed off the cap of a bottle of antacids and popped two into his mouth. “Bring me definitive proof this woman exists and has a tie to Riley Lee Jackson. And I don’t mean the word of a couple of rent-a-cops.”

      “It’s always been enough before. What’s changed? You finally grew a conscience?”

      Lance glowered. “According to Legal, I can’t afford any more lawsuits.” He took a few bills from his wallet and dropped them in front of the reporter. “Bring me something good, ’cause until then you’re not getting any more than that. Now get the hell outta here.”

      Durst took the cash and pushed up in one smooth motion. Jamie fixed her eyes on her screen and held her breath as the reporter walked toward her.

      Just talk to him, Jamie.

      He was three steps from her desk.

      Say hello. Tell him you loved that piece he did last month.

      Two steps.

      Tell him you studied his stuff in journalism school. Tell him you did your independent study on his work.

      He was right behind her.

      “Mr. Durst!” She spun around, nearly crashing into his long legs. The man jumped back as she almost rolled her chair over his toes. She leaped to her feet and stuck her hand out. “Jamie Yarbo. I wanted to tell you I’m a big fan of your work.”

      The corner of his mouth lifted. “Before or after I got shit-canned?”

      Her words stalled. “I... I...”

      “Sorry, I don’t let myself get an inflated ego when pretty young women throw themselves at my feet.” He winked, though there was more than a hint of self-deprecation in his eye. He shook her hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. And, please, call me Charlie.”

      Butterflies took flight in her belly. She pulled her shoulders back, intent on not letting his “pretty” comment faze her. “Would you like to go for a cup of coffee?”

      He regarded her with a tilt of his chin. “When?”

      “How about now?”

      His smile spread. “She moves fast. I like it.”

      She grabbed her purse, heart pounding. Who knew when he’d be in the office next? She rarely saw him, and this was the first time she’d had the nerve to speak to him.

      They went to the café on the ground floor of the building. The food wasn’t anything to write home about, but the coffee was fresh.

      As they carried their coffees to a table in the corner, she said, “I couldn’t help but overhear... Lance was really riding you hard.”

      Durst lifted a shoulder. “He’s allowed to. He’s one of the few guys in town willing to pay me.”

      “You take amazing photos.”

      “Thanks, though they have more to do with luck than any skill of mine. A twenty-thousand-dollar camera does the rest.”

      “You’re so humble.” She nearly slapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t wanted to play the simpering, starstruck ingenue, but she couldn’t help it. “I mean, you’ve done so much... All those stories...”

      “Thanks.” His sardonic smile nearly melted her insides. “What do you do at Limelight Whispers?”

      “I’m the fun-and-games editor.” She cringed inwardly. It sounded as trivial as her mother made it out to be. She amended sheepishly, “I put up the daily puzzles, comics and horoscopes, in addition to a lot of general web upkeep. I’m also working on the redesign. And I copy edit. I’ve written a couple of stories, too. I hope to write more.” She was babbling now.

      Durst sipped his coffee. “You go to school for that?”

      Jamie’s face flamed. Yeah, it wasn’t the Woodward and Bernstein type stuff she’d always dreamed of doing, but it wasn’t as if she was being given the opportunity to find her own stories.

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean that as an insult,” Durst said kindly. “All I meant was that the industry is tough right now. Almost not worth the college tuition to go into it professionally. But kudos for sticking it out. Any job that pays the rent is a good one.”

      Was that all the advice Charlie Durst had for her? She leaned forward, trying to act casual. “So what’s this story you’re working on for Lance?”

      He gave a dry chuckle. “I think you know exactly what it is, Miss Little Pitcher With Big Ears. I bet everyone in the office knows.”

      She lowered her voice. “You’re looking for the woman Riley Lee Jackson helped at the premiere, right?”

      “Isn’t everyone?”

      “But you’re the only one who has a name.”

      “One I paid for, sure. No guarantees it’s not fake. Do you know why I go around in disguise so often? It’s because people recognize me. They don’t trust me and won’t talk to me. They think I’ll lie and make something up about them. In real journalism, you don’t have to pay for good information or wear stupid costumes. But in this town, with my past...” He trailed off with a grimace.

      Poor Charlie. Clearly, he’d learned his lesson—the man deserved a second chance.

      She decided to forge ahead, despite her misgivings. She didn’t want to burn Kat. She’d been sitting on this information out of a sense of loyalty to her friend...but that had eroded with every unanswered email to her friend. “Maybe I can help you.”

      His eyebrow rose skeptically, but he didn’t laugh at her. She had his attention. This was her chance to finally prove she could be more than a web mistress.

      “I think I know who the woman is.”

      Charlie sat very still. “Do you have proof?”

      “I might.” When Jamie saw those photos of the mystery woman Riley Lee Jackson had ushered into his limo, she’d recognized the outfit Kat had worn, the stoop of Kat’s shoulders, the line of her body. The pink streak in her hair was faint enough to be mistaken for a reflection, but Jamie would recognize it anywhere. Along with Kat’s cryptic messages, which she’d traced to a five-star hotel, Jamie was certain her friend was the woman in the picture...and Riley Lee Jackson was her baby’s father.

      She’d planned to go through Kat’s things to see if she could confirm her initial suspicions—maybe find a diary or something that proved Riley was the baby daddy. But Kat had already packed her things and was on her way out of the apartment the day after the premiere. Jamie had felt betrayed when Kat hadn’t let her in on her big secret. She’d thought they were friends. She’d thought