Break of Day by Mari Madison Page B

band, freeing them to tumble down her back in the soft waves I remembered from the wedding.
    But the expression on her face stopped me from making that mistake. Her brown eyes, flashing fire, her luscious pink mouth set in a distinct frown.
    â€œDon’t call me Red,” she snapped at me. “My name is Piper and if we’re going to be coworkers we need to start acting professional around one another.”
    A smile crept to my lips. Her ferocity was adorable to say the least. “So does that mean you took the job?” I asked, unable to keep the teasing lilt out of my voice this time.
    â€œOf course I did,” she growled, giving me an annoyed scowl. As if she were having a hard time admitting defeat. “What choice did I have?” she added, turning away and biting her lower lip in a way that was way too sexy to be work appropriate. “And . . . thank you,” she muttered.
    â€œI’m sorry?” I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t catch that last part.”
    She glared at me and I had to stifle a laugh. “Thank you,” she repeated louder. She closed her eyes for a moment, then sighed heavily. “And I’m sorry about before. I just thought . . . I mean, I assumed . . .” She trailed off, looking miserable.
    â€œYou thought I sabotaged your chance to get the other job so I could have you all to myself,” I concluded. “Aw, Red. That’s so sweet. But sadly not true.”
    She nodded stiffly, scrubbing her face with her hands. “I know. I gathered that,” she said in a quiet, almost defeated voice. “God, I feel like such an idiot.”
    The smirk slid from my face. I walked over and sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. The gesture was instinctual and was only meant to be friendly, but she stiffened under my touch all the same. I held up my hands in apology and scooted the chair backward to give her space.
    â€œYou’re not an idiot,” I told her in a firm voice. “They are. I don’t know you very well, but you’re clearly a hard, dedicated worker. And a good writer, too. They should have been begging you to take that crappy overnight job.”
    She looked up at me, her eyes a bit red. “How do you know I’m a good writer?” she spit out, still sounding angry. “Just from that stupid speech?”
    â€œThe speech was good,” I assured her with a small smile. “But your scripts are much better.”
    She stared at me. I grinned, enjoying her shocked expression. “What? They were all on the server. Those dummy scripts you wrote for Gary? I logged in last night after the wedding and read through them.”
    â€œYou . . . did?” she said, her eyes wide and astounded. “You read my scripts?”
    â€œWhat did you think? I made you a producer out of pity? Not a chance. I had to make sure you’d make me look good on air before I took you on. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.” I waggled my eyebrows at her, smiling.
    The look on her face, the relief in her eyes, tore at something inside of me. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to continue. “The truth is, Richard has been after me about a producer for a long time now. My mom, too. And if I’m going to be forced to have one anyway, I want it to be someone I picked, not them. And so I picked you. Not because I felt sorry for you—trust me, I am way too much of a selfish bastard for that—ask anyone here.
    â€œI picked you because, well, to be completely frank, I think you want it more than anyone else here. I saw the look in your eyes when you talked about that promotion back at the wedding. That passion, that hunger.” I trailed off, my eyes drifting to the framed photo of my father hanging on the wall above my desk. My mind flashed back to the days when I had felt that passion, too. That pride of following in his footsteps.
    Until I’d