Chapter 67

Hugo clears his throat. “If you’ll excuse me…”

The moment he steps away, Miles lets his hand fall away from my face. I glower at him. It’s clear he was only touching me to annoy Hugo.

“That wasn’t necessary,” I tell him.

Miles shrugs, nonchalant. “He didn’t need to be that close to you.”

Cynthia glances between the two of us. “I’ll go reclaim our table. Esther, come over whenever you are ready. No rush. Miles, you are welcome to join us as well.”

“Unfortunately, I am not here for pleasure,” Miles says, and looks off. Following the line of his vision, I see Hugo sitting in a back corner booth, mostly blocked from the rest of the bar. As I wonder what that could be about, two of the Harbinger board members come through the front door.

Cynthia doesn’t see what I see, or maybe rather, she doesn’t know what I know. Without another word, she heads back to the table she claimed, on the other side of the bar from the Harbinger booth.

Alone with Miles now, I ask, “Is this the night you are introduced to the Whisperers?” I keep my voice soft, not wanting others to overhear.

“Yes,” he says, though makes no move to walk away from me.

“I don’t want you to be late…”

“I have time,” he says. “Tell me how you’ve been.”

“I’ve been fine. Mostly working. When I’m not working, I am home with the girls.”

“Not tonight,” Miles says.

“Meaning?”

“I’m not suggesting that you only go out when you are upset,” Miles continues. “But that often seems to be the case.”

Reflecting, I realize I can’t argue with that, so I don’t try.

“Is it because your work is consistently stolen? I promise I will speak to Hugo about this.”

“He already knows… now. We don’t have to push the issue. Plus you are here for something more important.”

“You are important, Esther.”

I do appreciate that sentiment from him, but… “That’s not the only reason.”

“Oh?”

I shouldn’t have brought this up, but it’s too late now. Miles looks at me with intense focus. With an expression as serious as his, he’s not liable to let this go anytime soon.

The only way out of this conversation is through it.

“There’s been some discussion that my… partiality to you has skewed my objectivity,” I say carefully.

“They’re going to drop you because you like me?” Miles asks, in more straightforward terms.

“They aren’t going to drop me,” I say. “At least I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. This was more of a warning.”

“From Hugo?”

“No… My producer said this. She could tell right away that I had written the opinion article.”

Miles tilts his head slightly in question. “And you care about the opinion of the woman stealing your work?”

“I do if she’s right.” I sigh. “It’s true that my feelings toward you have made things more complicated for me…”

Miles immediately leans closer. “’Feelings?’ Why don’t you tell me more about those?”

Me and my big mouth. I should have kept it closed!

My cheeks burn so I cover them with my hands. “Miles…” I know he’s teasing me, but it’s still so embarrassing.

He leans away again, laughing. “What are you supposed to do, Esther? Live in a bubble? People form bonds and connections. How many friends have you made over the years? But you keep it out of your work. That’s the reason you only submitted that opinion piece anonymously.”

That does help somewhat. I’ve been telling myself something similar, but it helps to hear it from someone else – especially someone as successful and confident as Miles. Even with our friendship, I trust him to tell me the truth about things, regardless of whether it would hurt my feelings.

“I’m biased,” I say, my last effort to put myself down.

Softly, he lifts his hand and notching the knuckle of his first finger under my chin, coaxes me to lift my face. Our gazes meet.

“I’d be more upset if you weren’t,” he says. The deep blue waters of his eyes are calm and gentle. I feel safe among them, like I’m floating along a lazy river.

His smile widens. “You are objective in your articles, Esther. You are professional at work, you don’t need to worry about that. What happens in your heart is another matter, but fortunately for us both, what happens in your heart isn’t your job’s business.”

He’s right. I can be both Miles’s friend as well as a professional journalist. I would just have to keep the two separate at work.

Miles drops his hand. “As much as I want to stay by your side, I fear I’m now the last to arrive to my table. I imagine I don’t want to keep this group waiting for too long.”

“Probably not,” I agree, glancing back. In addition to Hugo and the few board members, more men and women now sit at the table that I don’t know. As I look them over, I try to take in their features so I can research them later.

The Whisperers hold a lot of political influence in this town. It feels almost dangerous to let Miles go over there unprepared. I might not be a physical threat to anyone, but I’m not above writing an expose if warranted.

“Don’t glare,” Miles says. “I want to make a good impression.”

“Sorry,” I say turning back to him.

“Don’t. I appreciate your concern, but trust me, alright? I deal with these types all the time.”

While that is likely true, even the kingpins he regularly deals with, I doubt are as prestigious as the Whisperers.

“Just be careful,” I tell him.

“Scout’s honor,” he says, saluting me. Then he steps away and walks back toward the corner booth where Hugo and the others sit.

I watch until he himself lowers down into the booth, then I grab my drink and join Cynthia on the other side of the bar.

“You two seem close,” Cynthia says, grinning like she always does when she’s about to receive juicy gossip. “I take it things have been progressing smoothly between the two of you.”

“You know what’s been going on,” I say. She’s been in the loop, with me updating her fairly often with texts and calls.

“I know, I know,” she says, waving away the words. “But it’s one thing to hear about it and totally another to see it with my own eyes.”

My gaze continues to shift back to that corner booth. Miles, smiling, seems to be charming everyone present, but I still worry.

“Do you know anyone at that table?” I ask Cynthia.

She sips from her wine glass as she glances. “The woman on the inside… I believe she is in the City Council. She’s in my palates class on Thursdays. Erica… something. Sorry, Esther. She’s a snob so I don’t usually pay attention to her.”

“Have you spoken to her?” I wonder aloud. “How can you determine someone is a snob at a palates class?”

“She never socializes with the rest of us. She goes off to the side, like she can’t be seen with the riffraff.” Cynthia laughs. “I suppose I am a bit of a loudmouth, but she doesn’t have to avoid the rest of the group. There are some nice ladies there.”

I hum as I sip from my own wine.

Erica, in the corner, doesn’t seem to have that same attitude with Miles. She’s laughing at nearly everything he says and engaging with him fully.

“Pretty sure she’s married, if that helps,” Cynthia says.

I want it to. But I’m also technically married, and that doesn’t stop Miles’s pursuit of me… or mine of him.

“Don’t worry about them,” Cynthia says. “Let’s just have fun.”

I try to do as she says, and it works for a time. Until I glance over again to see that Erica has switched seats with someone else and is now sitting directly beside Miles. With her hand on his shoulder, she’s speaking to him with her head tilted down, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Married doesn’t seem to mean anything to Erica, either.

She’s clearly flirting with Miles.