A Conflict of Interest. Barbara Dunlop

his mistake. Jake and Cara were both single. Sure, Jake was in the news business like Max. But a cameraman was quite a few steps removed from the people who actually researched and crafted the stories. He’d be a much safer choice for Cara.

      And Jake certainly seemed to appeal to women. He was tall, physically fit, square-chinned and gray-eyed, with a devil-may-care attitude that got him a steady string of offers from women all around the world.

      “Cara doesn’t date newsmen,” Max announced.

      Cara shot him an appalled expression.

      But Jake laughed easily. “I’m sure she can make an exception in this case.”

      This time she blanched, gripping the back of her chair. And Max realized she’d drawn the conclusion Jake knew about their relationship.

      “Jake means for him,” Max pointed out.

      “What do you say?” Jake asked her easily. “My girlfriend just dumped me. I’m wounded and terribly lonely.”

      Cara seemed to recover from her shock very quickly. She smoothly took her seat and unfolded the burgundy cloth napkin in front of her.

      Then she looked to Jake. “I’m afraid I don’t go on pity dates.”

      Jake clutched at his chest as if he’d been stabbed.

      “Better for you to stay away from the ones with brains, anyway,” Max said to Jake.

      “Aren’t you cynical,” Cara chided Max.

      “Because I don’t think Jake can get a date with a woman whose IQ is over one hundred?”

      “Because you seem to think there’s a critical mass of low-intelligence women for him to choose from.”

      “Ouch,” said Jake.

      “I didn’t mean to offend your gender,” said Max.

      “Which makes it that much worse,” she said tartly.

      “Keep digging, buddy,” said Jake, making shoveling motions with his hands. To Cara, he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

      Max cursed himself for being slow on the uptake.

      “Thank you,” Cara responded with a sweet smile for Jake. “Ginger ale, please.”

      Jake glanced around the crowded pub, obviously checking for their waitress. After a moment, he rose to walk over to the bar himself.

      “He’s a gentleman,” said Cara, her tone a rebuke to Max as she smoothed the napkin out in her lap.

      “He’s flirting with you.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Really, Max. Thank you for clearing that up, since, like many women, I’m of low intelligence and wouldn’t have figured it out for myself.”

      Max clamped his jaw, fighting the urge to defend himself. Instead, their gazes locked, and an instant rush of desire washed through him as the noise of the crowd ebbed and flowed.

      Cara cracked first. “So, what are you doing in Fields?”

      “Same thing as you.”

      “I doubt that.”

      “We’re both here after the story.”

      She straightened in her chair. “No. You’re here after the story. I’m here looking for the truth.”

      “Don’t get all self-righteous on me. It’s not an attractive quality.”

      She leaned in and hissed, “You think I want to be attractive? To you?”

      He lowered his voice, matching her posture. “There’s no way for you to help it, sweetheart.”

      Jake’s arrival broke the moment. “Your ginger ale, ma’am.”

      Cara turned to him and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

      “Pleasure to be of assistance.”

      Max snagged his beer mug by the handle, struggling not to gag on the syrupy sweetness. “Give me a break.”

      “Did you know it was Max’s birthday?” Jake asked Cara in a hearty, if slightly malicious, voice.

      “I did not.” She gave Max an overly sweet smile. “Happy birthday.”