Filthy Headlines by Cassie Mint
Twelve
Grant
Two years later
Heads turn as I push through the Courier office doors, tired eyes blinking behind smudged glasses. They work hard here, I’ll give them that. Every time I come to meet Sasha from work, half the reporters are draped over their desks, computer monitors flickering.
“Francesca.” I nod at my wife’s friend and colleague where she’s leaning one hip against a desk. She grins at me as I stride past, her eyes twinkling.
“Good luck, Grant!”
I push on, ignoring the clench in my gut. I don’t need luck.
These offices always startle me with how old-fashioned they are. Even with the latest tech humming from every desktop, the rooms feel stately. Old. With polished wood paneling on the walls, and checkerboard tiles, and shiny bronze light fittings. I half expect Sasha to step through a doorway, a gloved hand on her hip and an old-timey cigarette holder pursed between her lips.
Instead, I’m greeted by Simon.
The editor regards me closely, his cunning gaze raking over me from head to toe. No detail is missed; no weakness unnoticed. I ball my hands into fists in my pockets.
But I promised Sasha I’d do this, so I ignore the tension building in my spine and force a smile.
“Simon.”
His mouth quirks. “Mr Keller.”
He tips his chin, nodding toward the office behind him, and I follow through the doorway. The buzz of noise from the offices—ringing phones and tapping keyboards, grinding printers and low murmurs—it fades away as a heavy wood door swings shut behind me. Trapping me in here. With him.
And with the love of my life, a wry smile tugging her red lips. Sasha leans against the windowsill, her blazer rolled to the elbows and her legs crossed at the ankle. Her normal pencil skirt is gone, replaced with a stretchy fabric that hugs her rounded stomach.
“You’re late, Mr Keller.”
She winks, and the tension drains away. I blow out a long breath.
Sasha watches, hand drifting lazily over her blouse-covered bump, as Simon sits me at his desk. He places a recorder on the clean surface, empty except for a cup of pens and an old-fashioned paper planner, his monitor dark in the corner.
His chair creaks as he rolls closer. Uncaps a pen and digs in a drawer, before slapping a legal notepad down in front of him.
“Are you ready, Mr Keller?”
He asks the question, but it’s her I look to. Sasha smiles at me, her soft expression hidden over her boss’s shoulder, and gives a small nod.
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “I’m ready.”
It’s the first real interview I’ve ever given. The first personal one, anyway—the first one that will leave me vulnerable. But Sasha insists that the world is changing, and the truth of my injury will be an inspiration, not the end of my career.
It might even help others in similar situations—might start a much needed conversation in the city and beyond.
When I first agreed, I wanted her to do the interview. But she smirked at me, leaned in close, and said: “I’m not really objective, Grant.”
So Simon will do it, but Sasha will be here. And as my eyes flick to her now, I know that this will be okay.
Trust me,she mouths.
I nod at her.
I do.
* * *Thank you for reading Filthy Headlines! I hope you loved Grant’s and Sasha’s naughty-but-nice love. And if you can’t get enough, check out this bonus scene! They have unfinished business in that elevator…
& For another love-struck billionaire, try Beach Baby—or my special bonus story, Beauty & The Kingpin.
Stay sweet. Stay steamy.
Happy reading,
Cassie xxx
