The door swings open, and I don't have nearly enough time to take in Laura's stunning yet casual appearance in black joggers and a thick, cable knit sweater. She's wearing furry socks and her hair is up in a messy bun. I find it endearing that this world renowned journalist who is almost always dressed to the nines is answering the door in sweats. I've seen her dressed this way a few times before, but not in the grandeur of this setting.

"Bradley?" Laura puffs out a light laugh, lowering her glasses from the top of her head to her eyes as if needing to get a better look at me. "Holy shit, you came."

I hold up a hand in a cautious wave. "Hey."

There's something sensual about the way she drags her eyes down my body. Part of me would like to say fuck it and press her against the door and have my way with her, but I refrain from acting out on such carnal desire; there's far too much we need to unravel.

"There are surprises and then there are surprises," Laura comments, slowly folding her arms.

"I was afraid if I'd called, you wouldn't want me to have come all this way." I let out a thin breath.

"I extended the invitation." She holds an arm out like a ballerina moving into second position. "I wouldn't have done so if you weren't welcome."

"But showing up unannounced..." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Is a little uncouth?" She lets out one of those effusive laughs that had me swooning the first time I heard it.

I give her a half-smile. "My mama didn't raise me right."

"No, she didn't, but that's neither here nor there." Judging by her beaming smile, she's surprised yet tickled by my showing up on her doorstep. "Please, come in."

"I…I can't…" I stare up at her supple lips, remembering the first time I planted a kiss on them. I never thought our relationship would extend beyond that car ride, yet here I stand on Laura Peterson's porch, hoping she wants me despite all my fucked up baggage.

Her chin wrinkles. "You flew 2,000 miles, drove another 20 from the airport and you can't come inside?"

I hold a hand in the air. "Promise you won't jump to conclusions before I explain."

"Ok," she drags out guardedly.

"My brother is with me." I hook a thumb over my shoulder. "He's in the car."

Her face deflates like a helium balloon.

Nevertheless, I continue. "The other day, I was searching for the best in-patient treatment facilities in the country, and I was shocked to see one in Bozeman. I did a little more digging, talked to Hal, and as luck would have it, they have a spot opening in three days." I'm glad I got through the toughest part. I tilt my head and continue, "He's a good person, Laura, he's just struggling right now, but he's willing to get help."

She blinks a few times, but I can't read her. It's like she's switched into professional mode—interviewer extraordinaire.

"I've had time to process everything that's happened over the past few weeks, and I decided I want to…" I hesitate before continuing. "I want to try this." I motion a hand between us. "Us."

An almost imperceptible smile tugs at her lips, but she's quick to recover. "I want that too, but…"

My eyes widen and my heart swells, hoping that but doesn't mean that while she likes the idea of being with me, I'm too much to handle in her chaos-free life.

"I've felt…balanced for a long time." Laura shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Working when it's convenient or when a compelling story comes along, traveling, enjoying my friends, my success. It took me a while, but I've finally reached this stable stage in my life." She pauses, sticking her hands in her pockets. "You have a lot of...stuff going on." She lifts her shoulders. "It scares me a bit."

I break eye contact; this feels like her way of letting me down gently. It's also not lost on me that I scare her—she told me as much the last time we were together.

"Since I've been at the ranch, I've been able to reflect on my life without the distractions of Manhattan," she continues. "What it's felt like to fill in for Alex the past few mornings; how this whole Covid thing has affected me; not being able to be with you in person..."

My eyes flicker to hers, but I remain still.

"I haven't been…involved with anyone in years—that's been my conscious choice," she notes with a tiny tilt of her head. "I've enjoyed the calmness of a single life—of not having to answer to anyone. Then you came along." She blows out a waft of air and glances away. "You were a surprise." She adjusts her posture. "You are a surprise."

I'm full of surprises all right—here I am on Laura's doorstep in Montana unannounced. It might be cute to her now, but what will happen when one of my surprises isn't so welcomed?

"I had no intention of allowing you to penetrate my peaceful, highly organized life, but there are times when you…you consume me, Bradley." She lets out a staggered little laugh as if admitting this aloud for the first time shocks her. "Yes, your life is chaotic and messy, and you haven't learned how to put yourself first, but fuck if I'm not captivated by you."

Hope settles on my face as my lips part to respond, but Laura isn't finished.

"I've been trying to convince myself that my undisturbed life should remain intact. That would be the easiest and certainly the safest way to proceed." She takes a step closer, pulling a hand out of her pocket and placing it on my upper arm. "But I haven't felt this way in a very long time. You make me feel..." She rattles her head as if searching for the proper words. "Alive and wanted and..."

I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around her waist and sighing into her chest, reminding me of a similar move I made when I delivered a Crate & Barrel gift card after smashing her vase. She smells like dark cherries and firewood, and I close my eyes, hoping to catalogue her scent. My heart is pounding so hard I wonder if she can feel it through the layers of clothing between us.

"I know my life is chaotic and right now it seems like I live and breathe negative energy, but I'm finally doing something about it." I pull back, one hand resting tentatively on her hip.

She stares at me, blinking twice but remaining silent.

"I have my first appointment with Dr. Burke on Friday," I announce. "There's a lot to unpack, I know, but I'm willing to put in the work not because you think I need it, but because I do."

The right side of Laura's mouth twists up. "Bradley," comes out in a warm whisper. "What am I going to do with you?" Her hand cradles my face, thumb caressing my cheek.

"Make me your woman?" I offer in a shy but optimistic tone.

She places a feathery kiss on my lips. Once, twice, and then a third time. "Something like that."

My belly tumbles with excitement that Laura Peterson wants me.

"There's a lot we still need to discuss," she says in a sunnier tone than would normally be associated with such a statement. "Namely your brother and where he's going to stay."

"I booked a hotel room, but I can't leave him alone." I hope she understands what I mean: I want to stay with her, but not without Hal.

She quirks an eyebrow as if silently asking me to amend my statement.

"Alright, I won't leave him alone," I correct. "I don't trust him."

"If you don't trust him, how am I supposed to welcome him into my home?"

"It's not like that." I toss my head from side to side. "You saw his destructive behavior at the studio." It's embarrassing to even bring up that horrific moment. "He was high and angry, and I'm not using that as an excuse, but he's not going to yell or break things anymore—he's sober." I swallow hard. "I've been with him every waking moment since finding him at the hospital. He hasn't used drugs or displayed any signs of rage."

"I'm glad he's not using, but I can't erase what I witnessed." She shrugs with an almost apologetic look in her eyes. "He's unbalanced at best and destructive at worst. I won't have that kind of negative energy around me."

I lower my gaze and nod, wishing she'd give Hal the benefit of the doubt but understanding her apprehension.

"I'll stay with him at the hotel until he checks in at the recovery center on Friday." I raise my head. "Maybe we can talk about me staying with you after that?"

"Then there's Covid," she blurts out without answering my question. "Have you and Hal been tested?"

"No, I…" I crease my forehead. "I thought the CDC was recommending testing only if you're experiencing symptoms."

"You went to the hospital to find your brother, right?"

I nod.

"Then you were exposed," Laura calmly notes. "You need to get tested, Bradley." She lifts my hand in both of hers. "I want to be with you, but this virus is highly contagious. I can't take any chances."

"Ok…" I shake my head. "What does that mean?"

"I have friends at the Madison Valley Medical Center," she explains. "There's not an onslaught of people with symptoms in Bozeman, so it's not like you're taking away someone else's chance for survival if you get tested there."

I scrunch my mouth and look away—it's hard to fathom people are battling to survive this virus that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

"As much as I'd like to spend the night with you, and believe me I do," she punctuates her statement with a piercing gaze. "It's best if you get tested first."

"Ok," I repeat. "Ok." I begin to turn away, but she stops me with a firm grip on my shoulder.

"I have a guest house on the property. The two of you can stay there," she offers with a neutral expression, making me wonder if she's not sure if she should be making such an offer. "Besides, I don't want you staying in some seedy hotel." Laura brushes a hand down the back of my head, rubbing a strand of blonde hair between her fingers.

"I'd hardly call the Hilton Garden Inn seedy," I quip. "But I'll pretend it is if that means being closer to you."

Her lips land on my forehead and I feel her smile. "You're something else, Bradley Jackson."

"I'm definitely something." My lips quirk up. "I climbed the fence to get here, you know."

"You climbed the fence?" she giggles. "All you had to do was reach around the gate and open it from the inside."

"Oh…" I twist my head and reflect on how much easier that would have been.

"While I'd love to show you around, I'd rather wait until we have more time together," Laura says. "Let me grab the keys to the guest house, and I'll meet you and your brother at the log cabin just to the West of the main house."

I hug her once more. "Thank you…truly."

I rush to the car to get Hal, half wondering if he's driven off. I'm relieved when I see he's still in the passenger's seat, beating the dashboard to a song I can hear the bass of but not the lyrics.

"How'd it go?"

I smile. "She's letting us stay in the guest house. We have to get tested for Covid tomorrow."

"I don't have Covid."

"We're going to be sure of it." I pop the trunk. "And if that's the small price we have to pay to stay here, it's happening."

He gets out. "You're the one who wants to be here."

"That's right, I do." I plop both of my suitcases on the ground, one of which is filled with the equipment I need to do the broadcast remotely, then strap a duffle bag over a shoulder. "And I'll be damned if you do anything to fuck this up."

He holds his hands up. "Alright, alright." He grabs the bag he's borrowing from me.

I stick my arm between the iron slats and open the gate.

"You should've done that the first time," he comments.

"If I would've known it wasn't locked, I would have, jackass." I look up to see Laura heading towards the guest house with long, graceful strides.

"I've never seen a house like this," Hal says. "It's huge!"

I turn down the path to the left. "We're not staying there."

"Why not?"

I give him a look that I hope conveys I'm not in the mood to fuck around.

"I get it—lowlifes like us stay in the slave quarters."

"Are you fucking serious right now?" I drop the handles and stand in front of him. "Are you?"

He looks away.

"I know you think the whole smart alack schtick is cute, but you need to cut it out now!" I take a step closer and turn his face until he looks me square in the eye. "I swear to God, Hal, one more comment like that and I'm dropping you off at the nearest bus station with a one way ticket back to West Virginia. Don't. Fucking. Tempt. Me." I might as well be blowing smoke out of my nostrils I'm so furious.

He nods.

I grab the handle of my suitcases and proceed down the path, trying to steady my breathing before I come face to face with Laura.

"I think you'll be comfortable here," she greets us as she opens the door. "There's a full kitchen, living room, bathroom and two bedrooms."

"I can't thank you enough," I beam, trying to hide the disdain I feel for Hal at this moment.

"Yeah, thank you," he echoes. "I know my sister really wants to be with you, so…"

Her gaze roams from Hal to me and her lips tug up. "The feeling is mutual."

I feel a blush crawling up my neck and only wish I was able to curl up next to her tonight.

"It's a bit chilly in here." Laura walks over to the far wall. "I'll turn the thermostat up to 70 but set it however you'd like."

"Nothing a few blankets won't fix." I glance around at the ranch-like décor. This is ten times nicer than the house where we grew up and a lot more personable than the Hilton Garden Inn.

"I have to prep for my show in 20 minutes." She glances at her watch. "So I won't be available until after it airs. I'll send you a link to restaurants in town if you feel like picking something up. There's also a little market about five miles from here if you want to do some grocery shopping."

"We appreciate the hospitality," I say, elbowing my brother. "Don't we?"

"Yes, thank you," he adds.

"You're welcome." She squeezes my arm. "Let me know if there's anything else you need."

"Do you offer turn down service?" I joke.

"Soon." Once again, she leans over and kisses my forehead. "I'll check on you after the show."

I nod.

One question I'm surprised she hasn't asked yet is if the folks at UBA know I'm here. The answer to that is a hard no; in fact, I haven't checked my email since mid-air on the flight here and I've refused to even look at my phone for more than directions to the ranch. I know there will be a shit storm of questions I'll have to address, so I haul my bags to the first bedroom I come to and step inside.

"I have some work to do," I call before shutting the door.

I hear the TV power on and what sounds like a sports broadcast. As long as Hal stays in the house, we'll be fine.

After settling myself for a few minutes, hardly believing my plan worked, I spend the next several hours responding to emails and texts as well as talking to Roman Petrov, my publicist, Gayle, RJ, Mia and Stella. All of them are shocked that I'm in Montana, but none seem to have an issue with me doing the show from here as long as it doesn't look like I'm at Laura's ranch. If it comes to my wanting to identify where I am, that'll be a much larger conversation with the higher-ups, including the UBA public relations team and the impenetrable Cybil Richards.

The only person I don't contact about my whereabouts is Cory. The others will notify him, and surely he'll reach out either pretending not to care or supporting my travel plans though inwardly he loathes that I've chosen Laura over him. While it's true that I trust Cory, I'm not naïve enough to think he won't turn on me if it benefits his career.

A knock on the bedroom door startles me, making me lift my head from my computer.

"Hey." Hal pokes his head in. "Are you hungry?"

I glance at the digital clock on the bedside table and am shocked to see I've been in here for two hours. "I could eat."

"We don't have any food." He holds up a small bag. "Other than these pretzels I stole off the cart on the plane."

"They're free, Hal. All you had to do was ask." I return to my laptop with a huff. "I need to finish this, then we'll go to the store."

He disappears into the living room where the television is blaring what sounds like a basketball game.

If Laura allows us to stay in the guest house for two nights, all we need is a little food to get by. After that as well as a negative Covid test (I hope), I'll drop Hal off at the recovery center and stay in the main house with her—at least that's my hope.

After eating a frozen pizza and a Caesar salad, I read the re-writes for tomorrow morning's show, then I have a brief conversation with Alex. She still feels like shit, so Laura will continue to fill in for her. I've set up a nice area from which to broadcast in the bedroom where the viewer will be able to see the window, curtains and a bookcase against a light green wall. I make sure there are no indications that I'm in Montana and even remove a few books about the state as well as one about ranch life. I could be broadcasting from Anywhere USA, but to be sure it plays well on camera, I do a quick rehearsal with TMS production team.

At 7 o'clock, I watch Laura fill in for Roseanne Tomlin on UBA 365 and marvel at her on camera presence. She has that rare combination of power and grace and knows precisely when to grin, laugh or ask the hard-hitting questions. I've always admired her reporting style, and to think I'm sleeping with her is enough to blow my fucking mind.

My phone rings 30 minutes after the show, and my lips tic up when I see her name. "Hey. Great show tonight."

"You watched?"

"I always watch…" I reply, then think better of my response. "Well, I watch when you're on."

"Thank you," she says through what sounds like a smile. "How are your accommodations?"

I glance at the plaid sofa with a green blanket draped over it and the pictures of what I assume is this very ranch hanging on the walls. "Great, thank you."

"I'm glad." There's a slight echo and I wonder if she's walking around her cavernous home. "We should go over the notes for tomorrow's show."

"Yeah, I was just thinking that." I balance the phone between my shoulder and ear as I grab my laptop. "The first segment is pretty standard. What are your thoughts about the handoff on the second?"

"I didn't mean right now," she chuckles. "Come to the house. We can talk in person."

I furrow my brow. "What about the whole Covid thing?"

"I have it on good authority that wearing masks and staying six feet apart makes contracting the virus less likely," she replies. "Those are the guidelines the CDC will lay out within the next few days. Besides, I already regrettably kissed you."

I jut my chin back. "Regrettably?"

"Only in the sense that if you are infected, I may get it," she replies. "Because of my heart condition, I'm in the high risk category and can't afford exposure. Other than that, kissing you has become one of my favorite activities, Bradley Jackson."

My cheeks heat up at the thought of kissing her. Knowing how much she enjoys it makes me a little horny. I step into the bedroom, kicking the door shut so Hal can't hear. "Well, I'll get tested tomorrow and once I'm all clear, the kissing can resume."

"Not soon enough," she notes.

I flop my head back and swoon.

"Bring your computer and a mask," Laura continues. "I just need to change clothes and start a load of laundry—come over in 15 minutes?"

I cannot picture Laura Peterson doing something as domestic as laundry.

I hang up and hold the phone to my chest as a grin takes over my face. I confessed to Cory that I think I want Laura, but truth is, I know it.

As I shove my laptop in its case, there's a competing sensation gnawing at my gut—my old nemesis, panic, often sets in when I think things are too good to be true. I stand straight and pull in several breaths through my nose. I refuse to allow fear to suffocate the joy I feel.

I hook the strap over my shoulder, then head into the living room. "I'm going up to the main house. Don't go anywhere."

Hal flips the channel. "Where would I possibly go?"

"I'm sure you could find ways to get in trouble."

He laughs but remains silent.

I take the car keys so he's not tempted to drive away and head up the path to Laura's house.

As I ring the doorbell, my mind quickly returns to standing in this exact spot a few hours ago. I had no idea what to expect, and a big part of me was worried Laura would turn me away. While I'd much rather be staying under the same roof, I understand her trepidation about cohabitating before I'm confirmed to be Covid-free. Besides, I'm convinced she doesn't like my brother. I can't blame her after the stunt he pulled at the studio for all my co-workers to see.

"Welcome." Laura steps aside and opens one arm. "Please, come in."

I hook the mask behind my ears, noticing she isn't wearing one. "Thanks for inviting me."

Her smile is confident yet cheerful. "Tonight or generally speaking?"

I raise my shoulders. "Both."

She places a hand on my arm and just stares for a few seconds to the point of it being a little unnerving. I don't know what she's thinking. Her smile morphs into something more like…appreciation. "I can't imagine quarantining with anyone else…When we eventually get to that part."

She can't see the thousand watt smile that's taken over my face under this mask, but I hope she can sense it. "Truth be told, I can't wait to get rid of Hal." I follow her into the living room. "I mean, I love him and all, but I've spent every waking minute with him over the last five days and need time away. It's not just 'getting rid of him' but getting him the help he needs."

She pulls a mask out of her pocket and walks to the bar cart, refraining from commenting on my brother. "Drink?" I wonder if that's a tip her therapist gave her—when you don't have something nice to say, change the subject.

"God, yes." I move next to her and eye the 10 or so bottles of booze. "What do you have?"

"Bourbon, vodka, rum, tequila…" Laura lifts a bottle of Dalmore. "Scotch?"

"Sounds good." I adjust the nose of my mask. "How are we supposed to drink with these things on?"

"Lower it, then replace." She pours the amber liquid into two etched crystal glasses. "It'll take some getting used to, but hopefully this will all end soon."

"I hope so." I look around the opulent room. "This place is extraordinary."

There are soaring ceilings on the main floor, and the entire upper portion is glass.

"Will you give me a tour?"

"Sure." She hands me a glass. "But first a toast."

I hold it higher.

Laura tilts her head and I wonder if a faint smile dangles on her lips underneath the white mask. "To unexpected guests."

I tap my glass against hers and take a tiny sip. "Mmm. Damn that's good."

"It's a 15-year-old Scotch, aged in bourbon and sherry casks." She holds the liquid up to the light. "It was a gift from Kelly Clarkson. She has a ranch about an hour away."

I'm still starstruck by the big-name celebrities. "Kelly Clarkson? Wow."

"She texted me the other day." Laura moves back to the foyer where this whole thing began. "She's quarantining here, too. If they lift a few restrictions, we're hoping to get together soon."

"I met her once on the show," I reply. "I'm a huge fan."

She holds my hand and I think she's smirking behind the mask. "Perhaps you'll get to spend time with her while you're here."

I think Laura likes being the person in charge in her relationships—she enjoys impressing me but not in a cocky way. I don't think she uses her celebrity status as a form of intimidation or as a way to lure me in, but my face is an open book, and she knows when she's used her power of persuasion or influence in a way that captures my attention.

She releases my hand. "Do you want the formal or informal tour?"

I choke on a laugh. "You have two kinds of tours for your own fucking house?"

"I do," she replies brazenly. "I had to brush up on my vernacular when Architectural Digest came knocking last year."

"That must've been exciting."

"Exciting, yes, but also a bit intimidating." She touches the wooden door. "I bought the ranch after my tenth year at Your Day America, and it was in shambles. I'd just gone through a messy breakup and needed something to keep me occupied, so I thought I'd remodel it."

"That's one way of staying occupied," I note consciously refraining from rolling my eyes. The way I stay occupied when something's bothering me is more like finding the nearest dive bar and playing pool against the regulars. "Did you do the renovations yourself?"

"I'm handy but not that handy," she chuckles. "I hired a team of designers but was involved in most of the details, including these eight-foot doors crafted from knotty Alderwood."

I place my hand on the thick, blonde door. "They're beautiful."

She points up. "I had this cast iron chandelier made from scraps I found in the barn."

I follow her gaze. "It kind of looks like antlers—I mean in a modern, understated way."

"That was the point." I sense she's giving me one of those smiles where she's impressed with my observation.

"I really hate these masks."

Laura appears confused.

"I want to see your face," I try as a blush crawls up my neck. "I like seeing your face."

"I like seeing yours, too." She leans forward, running the pad of her thumb across my cheek above the mask. "But for now, this is the way it has to be."

The interior resembles an upscale ski lodge-meets-country retreat. Laura moves in and out of the rooms on the main floor, pointing out detail after detail right down to the strand-woven Poplar flooring reclaimed from a Montana carpenter's shop. From the hand-forged ironwork detailing and copper sinks, to the custom light fixtures featuring elk antlers, no corner was left unturned. The artwork is one of a kind and hung in a way that allows the natural light to highlight each portrait at certain times of day. The fireplace is made from hand-laid, smooth river rocks straight out of the Gallatin River that runs along the edge of the property. I can't wait to cozy up next to it under one of her thick blankets…naked.

The lower level consists of Laura's studio, which is hardly little as she described it initially, a movie room, gym, and a game room complete with a pool table, foosball and shuffleboard.

"Do you play billiards?"

"You mean do I shoot stick?" I ask in my best Southern accent. "I'm from Bumfuck, West Virginia, of course I play billiards." I put the term in air quotes.

"Good." She lines up three cubes of pool chalk on the ledge. "We'll have to 'shoot stick' while you're here."

I'm looking forward to playing any kind of game with her—something tells me she's competitive and doesn't like to lose. We should be formidable opponents.

"You know, I could picture you having a home theater." I roll the 8-ball into the corner pocket. "But you don't strike me as the game room type."

She tilts her head. "You don't think I can be playful?"

"I'm not saying that…" I lift a shoulder and chuckle. "Well, yeah, I guess I am."

"I threw a grape at you in that Las Vegas hotel suite," she says with mock hurt in her tone. "That's the very definition of playful."

I get a good chuckle out of that—while it's true, and it was playful, she's not the most lighthearted person I've ever known. In fact, she can be downright intimidating, which is one of the reasons she makes such an effective interviewer.

"The game room wasn't exactly my idea," she admits through a light chuckle. "My interior designer said it would be good for resale value, plus, I had the space with four bedrooms, a gym, and the studio."

Laura speeds through what she considers uninspiring rooms, then leads me upstairs.

"You didn't show me your bedroom," I point out.

"Next time." I wish I could see the look she's giving me, but the fucking mask is in the way.

I rake my eyes over her lithe body. The anticipation of being under her bedsheets might kill me. Laura slithers and glides and caresses in bed as if she's a cross between a snake and a ballerina. Her hands are soft and warm and know just where to stop to make me gasp. When she went down on me the last time we had sex, her eyes never left mine—like she was pinning me down with only a stare.

"I've given some thought about where you could do your broadcast from so people don't get the sense we're in the same house," she switches topics as she invites me to sit on the leather sectional.

I love that she's put some thought into where I might work—it proves yet again how considerate she is.

Remembering her advice from earlier, I sit at least six feet away. I can't say I like the idea of being this far from her, but I'll heed her recommendation for now.

"I set up an area at the guest house for tomorrow," I reply. "I even ran it by production earlier today."

"Good." She refills our glasses. "If you're comfortable there, you're welcome to stay, or you can use the sitting area over there." She points to the left.

I twist my head to see a modest space between the living room and what I assume is the master suite. It has two, white wingback chairs, a few houseplants and a gas fireplace. It would be the perfect place to read a book, or broadcast from, I suppose.

"It'll be dark in the morning, so you won't benefit from the natural light, but that lamp has one of those soft bulbs," Laura says. "I have another similar lamp we could move to the foreground. There are pocket doors on both sides so you can have privacy."

A sense of pride swells in my chest—like she really does want me here. I don't know why I'm still doubting that, but old habits die hard. "You've thought of everything."

"I pride myself on attention to detail," she comments around a sip of Scotch and I'm able to see her smirk while her mask is lowered. "That pertains to every aspect of my life."

"I can see that."

Again, she stares at me for a moment, and I wonder if she's still trying to figure me out. I'm not the easiest nut to crack or so I've been told. I've never wanted to be labeled, so keeping people guessing suits me just fine, but I don't want it to be that difficult for Laura to peel back the layers of Bradley Two-Fucks Jackson.

"We should get down to business," she announces while still keeping her eyes trained on me. "If you keep looking this beautiful and speaking in that charming Southern accent, I might lose all self-control."

I'm both self-conscious and turned on. "Have you always been a smooth talker, Ms. Peterson?"

"I'm only speaking the truth," she replies matter-of-factly.

If I wasn't blushing before, I sure as hell am now.

She lifts her brows expectantly. "Anyway, business?"

"Yeah." I grab my laptop out of the bag. "Like I said on the phone, the first segment is fine, but I'm not crazy about the handoff in the second one."

We spend the next hour reviewing the script and making notes, calling Mia twice to ensure we're on the same page. As usual, Gayle, Gordon and a few other TMS staffers are also on the line despite the late hour in New York.

When we're satisfied with our progress, Laura gets to her feet and stretches her arms high in the air. Her sweater rides up to expose an inch of skin on her toned belly. My eyes are drawn to the spot like moths to a flame.

"How did the TMS staff react to your coming here?" she asks.

"They seemed surprised," I begin, averting my eyes. "But who wouldn't be?"

"What do you mean?" She holds up a carafe of water as if silently asking if I'd like some.

I nod. "Well, it's not like we've come out as a couple or anything. We haven't even told our co-workers the rumors are true," I respond. "I assume my trapsing to Montana was a shock to Stella and Gayle. I mean, it pretty much confirms we're together without spelling it out."

"And Cory?"

I immediately look away, wishing his name wouldn't have come up. "I'm sure he was equally shocked."

She hands me a glass of water. "I get the sense he likes you." Laura Peterson is not afraid to make people squirm, only this time, it's not in the form of an interview. She folds her feet under her as she returns to her spot on the sofa. "More than platonically, I mean."

I take a long gulp, then set the glass on the rustic but elegant coffee table. "I want to tell you all about that, about him, but not tonight."

"Is there something you need to share?"

My palms begin to sweat. "I really don't want to do this behind masks."

She takes a sip of water with measured calmness, and I wonder if she's always been this steady or if it's taken years of practice. "Should I be concerned?"

"About Cory?"

She nods once.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, deciding it's time to make my intentions crystal clear. "I didn't fly all the way to Bozeman to rack up frequent flyer miles," I say, holding her gaze. "If it isn't obvious, I'm into you, Laura—only you."

She unhooks one of the elastic bands from her ear, letting the mask fall to the side. Her lips stretch up into a consequential smile—not a jovial, ordinary one. "I wanted you to see how delighted that makes me."

My gaze roams from her mouth to her eyes, then back to her mouth. "I really want to kiss you right now."

She reaches a hand across the sofa, linking her fingers with mine. "Soon."

My chest heaves in and out as sex has re-entered my mind. I hate that I can't touch her—can't even kiss her.

I release her hand and stand in a hurry. "I need to leave."

Laura tilts her head, and I'm sure my riled up behavior isn't lost on her—she's a master at knowing when she's struck a nerve. "So soon?"

I stuff my laptop back into its case. "If I receive a negative Covid test tomorrow, which I fully expect, I will not be leaving this soon tomorrow. In fact, you might have to get a bulldozer to haul me out."

She straps the mask back in place but not before I watch a smirk form on her perfect alabaster skin. "I'll plan something nice—something special."

I slip into my coat. "Don't go through any trouble."

"I enjoy fussing after my woman."

I feel my cheeks begin to heat up for the third time tonight. "You know what your referring to me like that does to me, right?"

"What do you mean?" She gives me an innocent look, but fortunately this time I can read straight through it—she's teasing me.

I shoot back a gaze that screams, don't pretend you don't know your flirting is making me weak in the knees.

I can tell from the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes that she's smiling behind the mask.

I scoop my hair from the collar of my coat. "What time do we have to wake up in the morning?"

"The show starts at 5 a.m. Mountain Time, so push that back an hour for read-throughs and pre-production," Laura says. "Let's just say early."

I tug on the coat belt, pulling it tighter. "Ugh, why did I come here again?"

"Because I'm Laura Fucking Peterson," she says with an air of sexy confidence.

"You certainly are." I place a hand on her cheek, wishing I'd feel her soft skin rather than the fabric of her mask. "Good night, Laura."

"Good night, Bradley."