loves the Flying Doctor.”
“Yes, they certainly do.”
“Did you get a quote from the man of the moment?”
Oh shit. Ellie hadn’t even pulled out her phone last night to record anything. She’d been way too annoyed at him. And then way too distracted.
“I’ll ring him and get one.”
“Tom,” Kerry called out across the floor to one their colleagues who continued to type furiously as he lifted himself from his chair. “Find a shot of Chris Malone shirtless, will you? Flannery’s apparently got a yarn.”
Ellie didn’t need that image in her head. The first time she’d seen him shirtless, emerging out of the water at One Mile Beach like Daniel Craig in a Bond movie, he’d been half-naked and she’d totally lost her cool. She needed to be professional, calm, nonplussed.
“Shirtless?” she spluttered. “He’s a serious, international photojournalist, Kerry, not an underwear model.”
“Ellie, we want people to click on the story when we post it online. Malone with no shirt will hit the top of our most visited list. And seeing how quickly the other story went viral, I’ve got high hopes for this one. All those people clicking on to our website.” She winked at Ellie, who smiled back at her knowingly.
Ellie had to agree. He was totally click-worthy.
Kerry sipped her black coffee. “Since when does Malone do happy snaps, anyway? Last I heard he was in North Korea.”
“North Korea?”
“Or was it Mexico with the drug cartels?” Kerry waved a hand.
“Anyway, go get those quotes and we’ll get this online.”
*
Fortunately, Chris had texted Ellie earlier that morning, so she had his number. His message had simply said,
Looking forward to working with you.
Looking forward to driving her crazy, more like.
Turning up on her doorstep the way he had, bargaining with her over the donation of his time. She still wasn’t sure why she had to be part of the bargain, but now, he was part of her redemption in the eyes of her boss, and she had to get her act together and get the story up.
As she walked over to her desk, she pulled out her phone and pressed his number. The newsroom all around her was buzzing: phones were ringing, the clickety-click of keyboards was interspersed with animated conversations and good-natured arguments and someone else was complaining loudly and dramatically that the biscuit tin was empty. By the time she’d dropped her rucksack on the pile of papers and switched on her computer, he’d picked up the call.
Ellie had to press her phone hard to her ear to hear him down the line.
“Good morning.” That voice was rough and slow, the sexiest morning voice she’d ever heard. Perhaps he’d just woken up. And her mind flew ahead of her. Maybe he was still in bed, lying on some white, high thread count cotton sheets, propped up on a nest of pillows with one arm bent at the elbow and his head resting in his hand. Maybe the muscles would be bulging as his arm flexed and perhaps the sheet covering him would be hastily arranged low on his stomach so there was a hint of …
And what the hell would his bed hair look like?
Ellie swallowed and tried to concentrate on her job instead of her fantasy.
“Good morning, Mr. Malone. It’s Ellie Flannery from the Western Gazette.”
She bit back from asking the question on the tip of her tongue: what are you wearing ?
There was a low chuckle and the sound of it went straight to each and every nerve ending in her body. “Mr. Malone is my father or my brother. And why are you introducing yourself?”
Ellie swore she could hear the rustle of sheets.
“Because I—”
“I think we’re already on first name terms… Ellie.” He said her name slowly, deliberately, on a deep sigh.
She ignored it. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I could, about your donation to the charity ball we were discussing yesterday.”
“On the record, you mean?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a couple of quotes for the story I’m writing
“Yes, they certainly do.”
“Did you get a quote from the man of the moment?”
Oh shit. Ellie hadn’t even pulled out her phone last night to record anything. She’d been way too annoyed at him. And then way too distracted.
“I’ll ring him and get one.”
“Tom,” Kerry called out across the floor to one their colleagues who continued to type furiously as he lifted himself from his chair. “Find a shot of Chris Malone shirtless, will you? Flannery’s apparently got a yarn.”
Ellie didn’t need that image in her head. The first time she’d seen him shirtless, emerging out of the water at One Mile Beach like Daniel Craig in a Bond movie, he’d been half-naked and she’d totally lost her cool. She needed to be professional, calm, nonplussed.
“Shirtless?” she spluttered. “He’s a serious, international photojournalist, Kerry, not an underwear model.”
“Ellie, we want people to click on the story when we post it online. Malone with no shirt will hit the top of our most visited list. And seeing how quickly the other story went viral, I’ve got high hopes for this one. All those people clicking on to our website.” She winked at Ellie, who smiled back at her knowingly.
Ellie had to agree. He was totally click-worthy.
Kerry sipped her black coffee. “Since when does Malone do happy snaps, anyway? Last I heard he was in North Korea.”
“North Korea?”
“Or was it Mexico with the drug cartels?” Kerry waved a hand.
“Anyway, go get those quotes and we’ll get this online.”
*
Fortunately, Chris had texted Ellie earlier that morning, so she had his number. His message had simply said,
Looking forward to working with you.
Looking forward to driving her crazy, more like.
Turning up on her doorstep the way he had, bargaining with her over the donation of his time. She still wasn’t sure why she had to be part of the bargain, but now, he was part of her redemption in the eyes of her boss, and she had to get her act together and get the story up.
As she walked over to her desk, she pulled out her phone and pressed his number. The newsroom all around her was buzzing: phones were ringing, the clickety-click of keyboards was interspersed with animated conversations and good-natured arguments and someone else was complaining loudly and dramatically that the biscuit tin was empty. By the time she’d dropped her rucksack on the pile of papers and switched on her computer, he’d picked up the call.
Ellie had to press her phone hard to her ear to hear him down the line.
“Good morning.” That voice was rough and slow, the sexiest morning voice she’d ever heard. Perhaps he’d just woken up. And her mind flew ahead of her. Maybe he was still in bed, lying on some white, high thread count cotton sheets, propped up on a nest of pillows with one arm bent at the elbow and his head resting in his hand. Maybe the muscles would be bulging as his arm flexed and perhaps the sheet covering him would be hastily arranged low on his stomach so there was a hint of …
And what the hell would his bed hair look like?
Ellie swallowed and tried to concentrate on her job instead of her fantasy.
“Good morning, Mr. Malone. It’s Ellie Flannery from the Western Gazette.”
She bit back from asking the question on the tip of her tongue: what are you wearing ?
There was a low chuckle and the sound of it went straight to each and every nerve ending in her body. “Mr. Malone is my father or my brother. And why are you introducing yourself?”
Ellie swore she could hear the rustle of sheets.
“Because I—”
“I think we’re already on first name terms… Ellie.” He said her name slowly, deliberately, on a deep sigh.
She ignored it. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I could, about your donation to the charity ball we were discussing yesterday.”
“On the record, you mean?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a couple of quotes for the story I’m writing
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