Her feline smile made his blood heat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Myles crawled out of the blanket fort because there was no way he’d be able to concentrate with the temptation of Piper right there. “You want anything while I’m up?”
“Napkins. The popcorn is a little greasy, as all good popcorn should be.”
“You got it.” He hit the call button as he headed to the kitchen.
Simone answered on the first ring. “Bad time?”
“Kind of. Is this important?”
“Uh oh. That’s your you-better-not-cock-block-me voice.”
“I do not have a tone for that.”
She laughed. “Don’t be lyin’. I knew you straight out of college.”
“I cannot be held accountable for my actions in the French Quarter at twenty-four. What do you need?”
“There was a development in the front page story for tomorrow. I wanted to go over the proposed changes. I’ll be quick.”
“Go then.”
He passed Piper some paper towels and switched on his editor mode. Simone was right. The whole conversation took less than ten minutes. He made his decisions and gave her last minute instructions for putting the paper to bed. Cameron Diaz’s character had just arrived at Rose Hill Cottage by the time he hung up. But for just a moment, he stood there, trying to switch the inner newspaperman back off. Because talking to Simone had brought the whole goddamned mess with his investor back to the forefront of his brain.
“Myles?” Piper had crawled out of the blanket fort. “Everything okay?”
He tossed the phone onto the end table and forced a smile. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” Crossing to her, he laced his hands behind her back. “Now where were we?”
She stopped his mouth with two fingers. “You forget, I’ve seen you act. Seriously, what’s wrong?”
Myles hesitated.
“I mean, you’re free to tell me it’s none of my business, but when people I care about are upset, I like to try to help.”
He loved that instant support, loved, too, the idea that he was someone she cared about. But did he really want to drag her into all of this? “It’s not that. It’s just—Hell. I’m not gonna be able to turn it off. Let’s go back to the fort for this story.”
“All things are better in a blanket fort,” she agreed.
He paused the movie and they set up on opposite sides this time, each leaning against a chair. Myles picked up one of her feet and began the foot rub he’d promised. “So you know I’m editor of the paper. What you may not know—what very few people know—is that I also own it.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Aren’t newspapers usually owned by big conglomerates or whatever?” Her question trailed off on a moan as he dragged a knuckle down the arch of her foot. The sound almost derailed his brain entirely.
What was he saying? Oh, right.
“Often. Small town ones less so. When I left Philadelphia, I wanted to take a struggling small town paper and turn it around. I wanted my stamp on it. My vision. The only way to ensure I was able to do that was to buy it outright.”
“That must have been crazy expensive.”
“It was. I couldn’t get a traditional loan to do it, and I didn’t have enough capital of my own. So I had to take on an investor.”
She was an attentive audience, listening without interruption, as he spilled out the whole sorry tale.
“So I’m basically out of options, unless I take Tucker’s suggestion and hit up Vegas.”
Amusement lit her eyes at that idea. “Well, you could go find yourself a showgirl on the strip. Or you could take the more obvious answer.”
“Which is?”