Riding His Longboard - Sienna Blake Page 0,1

as he is good-looking. I gave this assignment to my top reporter and the best she did was to get a door slammed in her face. Are you sure you can do it?”

“I’m sure.”

I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure at all. But that outrageous amount of money would cover my mother’s medical bills and at that moment, that was all I cared about. Sorry, Joel Slater. If I have to choose between you and Mum, then you lose.

“You know, if you’re able to get this done, it won’t just be the money. We’re looking to replace Sandra, the reporter who couldn’t bring this story home. If you can do this, then you’ll have a full-time position here,” he promised.

I was so happy I almost could have kissed him on his bald head.

I didn’t. Instead, I nodded dully as he emailed me the research Sandra had done, plus some other articles from the other Australian tabloids and a few of the British ones. I thanked him, promised to keep him updated on my progress, and walked out of his office and into the streets of Sydney, nervous, overwhelmed, and wondering how the hell I was going to pull this off.

As I stood there hoping I’d be struck by inspiration, I stared at my hopeless expression in the plate glass window of the shop next to Carl’s office. I had worn my best navy slacks, a pale blue linen shirt and some wedge heels. I had chosen the outfit carefully, hoping it would make me look older than my twenty-three years and so professional that it might discourage Carl from patting my rump, which he was known to do to anyone in a skirt.

I hadn’t had time to do much with my hair other than pull it back in a loose ponytail and it was already escaping, my thick brown waves too much for the thin elastic. I pulled it free and shook my head, letting it blow in the breeze that was coming off the Sydney Harbour. The sun peeped through a cloud and bounced off the glass, blocking out my reflection, and I noticed the name painted there in yellow letters: Guylian Chocolates. Maybe I could find inspiration in a little bit of chocolate. Or a lot.

I’d had the chocolate éclair and smuggled a chocolate truffle into the hospital for my mother when I visited her there an hour later.

“How is she?” I asked the nurse on my way down the hall to Mum’s room. I’d only known Sharon for a month, but we felt like old friends. She was middle-aged and sturdily built, with thick legs and arms that could hoist a huge man in and out of bed or use the gentlest touch on a wound. I liked her for all of that, but mostly because I knew she wouldn’t bullshit me.

“The same,” she said, stopping at a washing station to clean her hands before she saw the next patient. “I offered to increase her pain medicine, but she refused.”

“That’s a good sign though, right? Maybe the pain isn’t as bad as it was last week?” I asked, smiling at her but getting a grim look in return.

“Honestly, dear, I think she’s worried about paying for it. Medicare pays for a lot, but not everything.”

Sharon dried her hands, then patted me on the shoulder before the nurse at the desk waved her over and handed her a file. I watched her go, my own face growing grim before I plastered on a giant smile and opened the door to Mum’s room.

“Hello, darling,” she said, her tiny frame looking like a child’s dressed in a yellow pair of pajamas. Her hair was dull and her face too skinny, but the blue eyes I’d inherited from her lit up when she saw me. “Did you turn your big story in? Did your editor love it as much as I did?”

I’d read the story aloud to her yesterday as she cooed and clapped her hands at the sweet parts and laughed at the funny parts, thoroughly enjoying the story of the gorgeous CEO surfer who had fallen in love with the poor dog sitter masquerading as his rich neighbor.

“He didn’t change a single word!” I said, skirting the lie, not wanting to give her another reason to worry. “And I got my next assignment with a big paycheck and a full-time position at the end if I can pull it off.”

“Nicole, that’s wonderful, I’m so proud of you,” she said, fighting