Teaming up with Knox Casey, the man who humiliated her a decade ago, is journalist Reese Cameron's worst nightmare. But her boss insists, and now she's undercover, posing as Knox's wife at a marriage retreat to investigate odd occurrences. Facing her long-held attraction to Knox was tough enough. Little does Reese know, she's got even bigger challenges ahead.

CONTENT WARNING: Extreme situations involving voyeurism, hypnosis and fictional drugs. No realism intended. Recommended for readers 18+.

Knox

Answering the remaining questions from Melody becomes a struggle, especially when she brings up Reese's terrible date and asks if I know the jerk who hurt her. I resist the urge to confess, knowing that Reese doesn't want her coworkers to know about it. My initial apology for my immature behaviour when I first arrived in town now feels insufficient. Talking to Melody has made me realize that I owe Reese more than just an apology—I owe her the truth, an explanation.

That's where I need to go now that Melody has stopped bombarding me with questions. Reese told Melody she doesn't know why I acted the way I did. If I want us to be friends, I have to provide an explanation. And I genuinely want us to be friends. I've put in a lot of effort to show her how well we connect, but I can't blame her for being hesitant. She doesn't understand what went wrong between us last time. From her perspective, we were friends until suddenly we weren't. And then she discovered I thought she was a snob.

Returning to my desk, I keep my gaze on Reese. "Did you email Bob?"

"Just about done. How did the interview go?"

"Reese, we need to talk."

She looks up but avoids meeting my eyes. "If it's about the story, can it wait until tomorrow? I have some work to finish before the retreat."

"It's about Prom."

"Knox—"

"I know you don't want to discuss it, Reese, but I owe you an explanation."

Finally, our eyes meet. My heart aches as I once again catch a glimpse of hurt in her dark eyes.

Surveying the crowded office, I suggest, "Can we find somewhere private?"

She shakes her head. "I really need to finish my work. Can we have this conversation after we leave?"

"Okay," I reluctantly agree.

I've rehearsed my apology and explanation the entire way back to the office, and I'm eager to get it over with. But she's waited for this conversation for a decade, so I can wait a little longer for her now.

Five o'clock feels like it takes ages to arrive, and when it finally does, Reese sighs and closes her laptop. My heart pounds against my ribcage, adrenaline surging through me. I tug at my shirt collar, suddenly feeling constricted.

In silent agreement, we head to the parking lot together. Since the elevator is still crowded with our co-workers, I don't bring up the conversation. It's not until we reach the parking lot that we're finally alone. I walk her to her car in silence, and once we get there, she places her jacket and laptop in the backseat, leaning against the car as she watches me.

Standing across from her, I cross my arms and take a deep breath. "Do you remember when we were friends in high school?"

"It was more than just a friendship, Knox. And yes, I remember," she replies.

I nod, trying to gather my thoughts. "Well, you know I had my own issues, with my father and with Magpie Grove. I felt like I meant nothing because my mother was dirt poor, and my wealthy father never wanted anything to do with me. He saw me as a mistake and a burden." I pause briefly. "I thought you were different. I wanted to ask you out, but on the day I finally built up the courage to do it, I overheard you telling Bex that you wouldn't date me. You mentioned that your father would never allow me into your house. It made me angry, and I wanted to make you pay for that."

Her eyes widen, and a frown creases her brow. She seems to contemplate my words, and I fight the urge to look away or fidget as a wave of anxiety washes over me.

"I don't recall the conversation with Bex, but my dad wouldn't let anyone into the house, Knox," she says, her voice gentle yet firm. "I wasn't allowed to have people over. And going on a date with anyone would have been impossible because my father was going through a mental breakdown. He was terrified something would happen to me and spent most nights locked in his room crying. That conversation would have applied to anyone."

"It wasn't just about me?" I ask, my voice filled with disbelief.

She shakes her head. "No."

"On prom night, you said the only reason you went with me was because of the bet," I continue.

Her mouth turns downward, and she shrugs, avoiding eye contact. "What else was I supposed to say? I had just found out that you never wanted to go with me."

"Wasn't that the truth?" I inquire.

She still avoids meeting my gaze. The overwhelming urge to step forward and tilt her chin up, to see her eyes and understand her thoughts and emotions, nearly overtakes me.

"No," she finally admits.

That one word squeezes the air out of my lungs, and my stomach drops. "I always thought you walked around thinking you were better than me."

"Well, I didn't," she responds.

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand over my face, before focusing my gaze on the woman standing before me, a woman I failed to truly see a decade ago.

On prom night, she mentioned how significant it was that her father allowed her to go. I had assumed it was because he had an issue with me. But now, I realize it was a big deal because it was likely her first time going out or dating since her mother's death. I don't think I could feel like a bigger jerk if I tried.

"I messed up everything, didn't I?" I say, my voice filled with remorse.

"Yeah, you did," she replies.

Her intense gaze meets mine, and for a brief moment, I imagine what our high school experience would have been like if that misunderstanding never occurred.

The memory of how she felt in my arms on prom night, the way she kissed me with such passion that it took my breath away, is etched into my mind. Once I had a taste of her, I never wanted to let her go. God, how I wish I could have a do-over. I ruined not only our prom but also a friendship that meant the world to me.

One that I'm desperately trying to rebuild.

No wonder she's cautious. She never understood why I walked away, and my own insecurities fuelled my actions. I misjudged her. And then I hurt her.

Reese opens her car door. "I'm going to head out."

I want her to stay. I want to take her out for dinner and start the process of earning back her trust, offering more apologies. But I can't force this friendship upon her. It will take time to regain what I lost.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," I say. "Do you want me to drive?"

She shakes her head. "I'll pick you up from your hotel at midday."

"I'll be there."

A sick feeling churns in my stomach, and a pang of pain hits my chest as I watch her drive away. The distance between us now is the distance I created ten years ago. I'm not sure if I deserve a second chance at being her friend, but I want one nonetheless.

Unfortunately, there's no second chance when it comes to prom night. I wish I never asked her out as part of some stupid bet. But wishing won't change the fact that I did. There's no point dwelling on what could have been if I had taken her on a proper date. I can't turn back time and rewrite history. That opportunity has passed, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth that even water can't wash away.

Reese

Thoughts of Knox consume my mind as I drive home from work. I left him standing in the parking lot, unsure of what to say. He acted out of hurt when he made that bet our senior year of high school. Hurt that stemmed from his misinterpretation of a conversation that, honestly, I don't remember. And he never bothered to ask me about it before seeking revenge.

Part of me wants to hold it against him; it feels safer that way. Yet his apology has shifted something between us. He offered the explanation I secretly longed for. He wanted to ask me out, but he believed I would reject him because I thought I was superior to him—because I was perceived as a snob.

After the obvious rejection he experienced from his father, I became the target of his anger. The one he felt he could take it out on. But it doesn't make me feel any better. My prom was still ruined, my heart was still broken, even though it happened ten years ago. He was just a teenage boy who made a mistake, and I genuinely believe he is sorry for it. I can't hold onto my grudge any longer.

But that doesn't make him any less dangerous to me.

When I finally arrive home, all I want to do is pour myself a large glass of wine, turn on the TV, and try to stop thinking. However, the car parked outside my house means I'll have to postpone my plans.

"This is a surprise," I say to Max as he climbs out of his car and joins me on the front doorstep. "What are you doing here?"

I give him a quick kiss before unlocking the door and gesturing for him to come inside. Instead, he leans against the side of my house and watches me.

"You're still going to the retreat with him, aren't you?" he asks.

I sigh, looking away before meeting his gaze again. My conversation with Knox has taken an emotional toll on me, and I don't want to have this discussion with Max now.

When I remain silent, he shakes his head. "You're really going to pretend to be married to the guy?"

"I need to do this for my brother, Brendan, and Knox and Chapman-"

"You've been obsessed with this story for months. I understand your need to get to the bottom of everything, but with Knox...?"

"I didn't have a choice, Max. It was the only way the paper would send me."

"So you're going to spend the weekend, the whole week, with a man who..."

"Max, this is my job. This is what I do."

"I can handle it, Reese."

"Okay?" My response comes out more like a question because ever since the retreat with Knox came up, he's been upset. And the way he started this conversation...

"I can," he says, stepping closer to me and looking at me seriously. "But what I'm not okay with is not knowing where I stand with you." He pulls me into his arms. "Reese, we've been seeing each other for a year now. When I envision my future, I see you in it." He takes my hand and gently kisses my knuckles. "What I really need to know is if you see me in your future?"

I open my mouth and then close it again. I want to say yes. The hope in his eyes makes me wish I felt more for him than I do. But I can't lie to him. I don't see him as part of my future. At least not right now.

Max looks down at me, and the hope that was once in his eyes fades away, replaced by disappointment that punches me in the gut. "I was afraid that was the case."

His hurt tone makes my chest ache. He's a good man, and he's always treated me well. So why don't I love him? Why don't I see him in my future?

"I hoped it was just the story and how hard you've been working, but it's not, is it?" he presses.

Perhaps it's just how busy I've been—how busy I always am. I rarely take a break these days. And with Knox back in the picture, I find myself even more distracted, more consumed by the past. But even before Knox reappeared, Max was never a priority, and deep down, I know I don't love him the way he wants me to.

I shake my head slowly. "I'm sorry, Max."

"Me too."

He lowers his head and brushes a kiss across my lips. It's a bittersweet farewell. But I can't ignore the fact that I don't feel the flutter of excitement that I should, and the pain I feel stems from hurting him rather than losing him.

"How about we catch up as friends once you're back?" he suggests.

I nod quickly, relieved that he's letting me off the hook so easily. It's more than I deserve. "That would be nice."

"It's a plan," he says, offering a smile. Then his smile falters. "I mean, not a plan, but-"

"Thank you, Max. I hope you know you deserve someone great."

"Take care during your week away, okay?" His frown replaces the grin. "Don't let Knox humiliate you again."

My smile tightens in response. "I have no intention of letting that happen."

Not this time. Both Knox and I have changed over the years. We're older, wiser. The last time Knox got the better of me, he was just an eighteen-year-old boy with a chip on his shoulder. Now, a decade later, he recognizes his mistakes, and I'm certain he's not out to humiliate me again.

But that doesn't mean I'm invincible, does it?

As today has shown, I'm still attracted to Knox, and that attraction could easily resurface and complicate matters. Especially when we're about to confront a dangerous hypnotist. I can't allow myself to be distracted or forget the real purpose of our presence at the retreat. I need to stay focused and uncover the truth about my brother, my neighbours, and Knox's father. The newspaper has invested a significant amount of money in this story about Von Gruber, and if I mess up, my job could be on the line.

"Goodbye, Reese." Max kisses my cheek before walking toward his car.

I let out a sigh as I step into my cozy cottage and close the door behind me. It's time for that glass of wine and some mindless TV. Hopefully, between now and the start of the retreat tomorrow, I can mentally prepare myself and adopt the right mindset to pretend that I'm happily married to my rival. I need to convince the most formidable marriage therapist in the world that Knox and I are committed to our marriage and destined for a blissful future together, without allowing our complicated history or my lingering attraction to him to throw me off track.

It's time to psych myself up and put on my game face.

A/N: Retreat next chapter, finally.

Kiss Me, Break My Heart is being written in tandem with Bet Me, so don’t forget to read those chapters if you haven’t already! :D

Reese

"You really should live a little, Cameron."

I look up from my lunch container. “It’s lunch, Knox, not an extreme sport.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t have some variety, spice things up a bit. Don't you ever get tired of eating the same thing?"

"It's fruit salad.” With my fork, I point to the contents of my container. “It's healthy. And I don’t have it every day.”

When Knox asked me whether I wanted to get lunch at the café down the road from the paper so we could keep working while we ate, I agreed, but I’m quickly regretting my decision.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve had fruit salad every day.”

Putting my fork down, I remind him, “Yesterday, I had muesli and yoghurt. And the day before that, I had a walnut salad.”

“Semantics,” Knox says. “It’s always healthy.”

“So?”

“Healthy is boring.”

“Healthy equals a longer life.”

“Not necessarily.”

Knox leans back in his seat, stretching out his long legs in front of him. His hair is slightly shorter than it was when he first came back to town, and he’s clean shaven today. He left his suit jacket back at the office because it’s warm out, and with the arms of his black shirt rolled up, showing off his strong forearms, he looks more casual than usual. The ladies sitting at the table next to us keep looking over to check out Knox, probably hoping he might notice them back and ask them out. So far, his attention has stayed on me, but any moment I’m sure he’ll see them and flirt a little. Knox manages to pull off an odd combination of gorgeous and approachable.

“You could eat vegetables every day, never drink or smoke, and still walk into a bus one day. Then, poof.” His hand gestures simulate my body and head being separated. At least, that’s what I think he’s trying to say. “You’re dead.”

I snort. “Thanks for that visual of my decapitation.”

Knox’s grin is annoyingly contagious. “I’m merely trying to make you see you’re missing out by walking the straight and narrow all the time. Take these hot chips-”

“That are full of fat and cholesterol and-”

“Are about the best tasting vegetable you’ll ever eat.”

“I’m not sure they qualify as a vegetable.”

“Is potato not a vegetable anymore? Did I miss that headline?” Knox’s mouth drops open in mock-horror. “C’mon Reese, take a walk on the wild side. I bet you that these are the best chips you've ever tasted.”

Shaking my head at his willingness to use a bet to coax me, I ask, "And if you're wrong?"

"You can drive to the retreat tomorrow."

"I was planning on it anyway." I fork a piece of watermelon into my mouth.

"You're planning on driving to our marriage retreat without me?"

"I'll pick you up." I smirk back at him. “Maybe.”

He dips his chin in acknowledgement, then he motions to his plate. "Why don’t we let the chips decide. If you say you’ve had better, you drive. But if these are the best you’ve ever had, I drive."

“Whatever. Fine.”

Knox’s satisfied grin makes my stomach flip and my heart speed up, immediately making me regret my decision. It’s not as if I wanted to give in, but had I resisted, we would have been at the café for the rest of the afternoon while Knox tried to convince me.

I take a chip off his plate now and put it in my mouth, the hot fluffy potato dissolving on my tongue almost immediately, making me want another one straight away.

"There. Wasn't that amazing?" he asks.

I nod, finishing off the last of the chip. "It was pretty good."

"See? I told you."

"But I've had better."

I can’t help but smile when I see his mock-shattered expression.

"Impossible. You clearly didn’t taste it right."

The absurdity of his statement wrenches a giggle from me, my stomach flipping when his mouth kicks up at the corner. Despite our history, it’s just too easy to be around the man. Too easy to revert to the way things used to be between us before Knox decided I was a snob unworthy of his time. Just like when we were friends, we eat lunch together every day, and Knox constantly makes up silly bets that make me smile. Frustratingly, I can’t help getting caught up in the challenges he presents me with and bantering with him.

But it’s not just our bets and our lunches that remind me of our past. Knox is so smart and knowledgeable about all the things that interest me, and it’s so easy to talk to him. He always takes my feelings and opinions to heart whenever I say anything. When we had dinner together two weeks back, I blurted out all this stuff about my relationship with Max because it felt like the most natural thing in the world to tell him.

It’s as if Knox is trying his darndest to pull me back to the time we were friends, but I’m unsure why he would want that when he still believes my family and I are snobs. Because I don’t know what it was about me years ago that triggered his judgements and hate, it would be crazy to risk it happening all over again. So, no matter how much it seems like Knox wants to be friends, it’s safer to keep my distance from the man. Safer to tell myself the time we spend together is a necessity for the story we’re working on.

Grinning wickedly, Knox picks up another fry and holds it out for me to eat, clearly not done with this bet yet.

"Knox…"

"Come on, Cameron.” He waggles his eyebrows. “One more."

The dare in his eyes combined with his smug smile compels me to lean forward and eat the chip right out of his hand. He watches me intensely as he feeds me, as though he’ll be able to tell if I’m lying if he watches me closely enough. The chip really is very, very good, and when I get to the end, instinct takes over and I let my tongue slide over his thumb, licking the salt from his skin before I can think better of it. The low, barely audible moan he makes in response goes straight through me, sending a sudden rush of wet heat to my core. His eyes are as dark as a moonless night when I meet them, and fire licks up my cheeks and the rest of my body in response.

Damn it all to hell, the man still turns me on.

Shame and guilt force me to look away from my old rival. I could only imagine what Max would say if he were here. He’d be furious, and rightly so. To say he wasn’t happy with the idea of Knox and I going to the retreat is an understatement. I’ve talked to him about Von Gruber, so he’s aware of the therapist’s penchant for mind manipulation. The idea of me being under any influence around Knox is not something he’s comfortable with. And while I would never let his concerns stop me from doing my job, and I would never admit this to Max, I’m worried too.

The deep-dive Knox and I did into hypnosis didn’t turn up much we weren't already aware of. The evidence suggests one must be susceptible to hypnosis for it to work effectively, or not opposed to the suggestions made. Thus, being attracted to Knox presents a massive problem. How can I resist any commands or suggestions given if part of me wants to act on them? Knox is already doing a fine job of worming his way through any of the defences I’ve erected between us, so the thought that Von Gruber could further lower or eliminate my inhibitions around Knox makes me want to puke.

"Good?" Knox asks, his voice rough and low.

My heartbeat pulses between my legs and I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod and pray that the tension and sudden awareness between Knox and me magically dissipates and stops making it so difficult to breathe.

The sudden jangle of the bell over the door provides an excuse to focus somewhere else. I nearly sigh in relief when I see my co-worker Melody Murphy walk into the café. She looks around the crowded shop and waves when she sees us. Instead of lining up for lunch, like I expect her to, she skips over to us.

"Guess what?” she squeals. “Bob finally gave in and said I can write a local interest story."

"That's fantastic, Melody. Congrats." Melody has wanted to move away from the gossip column Bob assigned her for six months now, so this is big news for her.

“Thanks, Reese.”

Knox has dropped the intense and hot expression he was sporting a moment ago and is now smiling politely at Melody. "What are you going to write about?"

Melody beams at him, pulling out the chair between Knox and I, and plonking her butt down on it. “Your presence here in Magpie Grove has inspired me. I want to write about the Magpie Grove reunion and the class from a decade ago, I’ll be covering all the big events of that class, including graduation and prom. It's just a fluff piece, but I’m so excited!"

“Wow, sounds great.”

Knox is tense when I look at him, worry turning down the corner of his mouth as we lock eyes. My stomach sinks, but I don’t understand why. This is exactly what I need. Melody’s presence and choice of story is a timely reminder of the last time I let my walls down with Knox. Eating the chip out of his hand was insanity. Now the memory of the way his skin tasted and the way his eyes darkened will haunt my dreams.

“I was hoping to get started straight away.” Melody swivels her gaze between me and Knox. “You don’t mind if I interview the two of you together, do you? You were the same graduating year, right?”

I shift in my seat, looking towards the exit, planning my escape. “Yes.”

“Well, I want to hear all about your experiences, and I thought we could start with something fun, like your prom. Did you both go?”

As much as I appreciate Melody’s presence and the timely reminder of how much my senior year sucked because of Knox, I don’t want to sit here and talk about that night. Not with my hands clammy, and my heart racing from fear I might accidentally slip and give away how I felt about Knox back then. Melody might not be the most experienced reporter, but she’s intuitive and interested – a dangerous combination.

Checking my watch, I make a small clucking noise and look back at Melody as I stand up. “I should get back to work, Mel, I promised Bob that I’d email him this afternoon. But I’m sure Knox will be happy to answer your questions. After all, Knox won Prom King that year. He'd be a much better person to talk to than me."

"Really?” Melody squeaks. “Oh, that’s perfect, but please don’t go yet, Reese. I want to get your perspective, too. You did go as well, right?”

“I did.”

“Then please could you stay and answer a few questions. Please! I’ll make them really quick. I’m just dying to get started.”

My smile feels brittle. Melody is so excited and saying no outright would upset the younger girl. It would be like kicking a puppy.

Reluctantly, I sit back in my chair and sigh. “What do you want to know?”

“Who did you go with? I bet he was nice, and totally hot. Was he hot?"

I try not to look at Knox as I tell Melody in the briefest way possible about my "date" for the night.

"The guy I went with took me as a joke, actually," I say. "He dumped me on the steps of the gym and went in with someone else."

Melody's look of horror is almost enough to drag a laugh from me. "That's awful, Reese. Isn't that awful, Knox? Who would do such a thing?"

"A first-class jerk," Knox answers.

The tension in the air is so thick that I’m worried Melody will realise I’m talking about Knox, or worse, ask him if he knows who it was.

"You have to tell me more," Melody says. "Care to shame anyone by name?"

I shake my head. I don’t want the office knowing Knox and I had some stupid past.

"Why?" Melody asks. “Why did he do that to you?”

Putting the lid back on my lunch container, I shrug. "He thought I was a snob and a stuck-up bitch."

"But…that’s awful, and so far from the truth. Why would he think that?"

“Honestly, I have no idea." Without permission, my eyes dart to Knox’s. Regret and shame shadow his features, and I turn away, my heart aching over a past I still really don’t understand. “I thought we were friends once and that was why he invited me. Instead, he wanted to punish me for being a horrible person in his opinion. It was his way of taking me down a peg.”

Melody’s expression changes from one of anger to one of sorrow. "God, if it had been me, I would have cried all night. Did you cry all night?"

"Nope."

I held the tears in as best I could. He didn’t deserve my tears, yet I do remember crying myself to sleep later that night.

"What did you do? What happened?"

"I went to Prom anyway."

Melody grins. "You triumphed."

"I wouldn't go that far.” Pushing my chair back, I stand up once more. “Anyway, I can answer some more questions later, but I really do have to go now, so I’ll leave you in Knox’s capable hands. Please excuse me."

"Reese, wait!" Melody calls after me.

I can’t wait. I can’t stay, so I wave at them both, ignoring the knot pulling tight in my gut when I glimpse Knox’s distraught expression.

I walk back to the office, feeling cold despite the sunshine. The last time I let my guard down around Knox, my heart was torn to pieces. Maintaining an emotional distance between us is something I must work harder at. There’s simply too much at stake to pretend we’re friends. Like my head, and my heart. And with the large sum of money the paper has invested in this story, the stakes are too high to allow distractions of any kind. Not only must I deliver an epic story that beats Knox’s, but I need to uncover exactly what happened to my brother and my neighbours at the retreat.

In other words, I need to keep my mind clear and focused. And the more time I spend acting friendly with Knox? The less clear and focused I feel.

Next episode

Knox

My mood sours as we walk into the Croaky Seagull, and I see my father sitting in the half full restaurant. When my footsteps slow, Reese must see the direction of my gaze because she rests her hand lightly on my arm. “Do you want to eat somewhere else?”

Wrenching my gaze from my father, I turn to stare down at Reese. “No. I’m fine.”

She searches my face for confirmation. “You sure?”

I shrug and force a grin. “Yeah. We’re here to discuss the case, why should he stop us?”

“Hi there. Table for two?”

Reese’s hand drops from my arm as a young and slender blonde waitress greets us.

After casting one more glance in my direction, Reese nods. “Yes, please.”

We’re led to an indoor booth that overlooks the stretch of adjacent beach. Chapman looks up and spots us just as the waitress leaves us with the menus. He stiffens and I offer him a brief nod before picking up my menu. I imagine he wants to talk to me about as much as I want to talk to him, so hopefully my brief acknowledgement suffices.

It’s too late for lunch, so I weigh up the dinner options, ignoring the heated prickle of my father’s stare on the side of my face.

“Knox,” Reese whispers from behind her menu. “He’s coming over.”

Whatever appetite I had vanishes as my father comes to a stop next to our table. Reluctantly, I put the menu down.

His expression is stern, unyielding as he addresses me. “Knox.”

“Chapman.”

His lips thin and his eyes are full of disapproval. When Chapman took me in, he insisted I call him Dad, despite the fact he never wanted to acknowledge his parentage for the first sixteen years of my life, and despite the fact he never acted like any sort of father at all.

Chapman’s look of disapproval drops when his gaze swings across to my dinner companion. “Hello, Reese, it’s good to see you.”

“You too, Mr Ross.”

His lips tilt up. “Please, I’ve told you before, call me Chapman.”

Chapman glares at me a second later, a clear warning that the offer doesn’t extend to me.

“Of course,” Reese says politely. “Chapman.”

“This is quite the coincidence. Max and I have just finished a working lunch, going over a contract my company is considering signing. And, ah,” he spins around to search behind him. “Here he comes right now.”

When I look, Max has just walked out of the men’s restroom. Chapman waves to Reese’ boyfriend, drawing his attention to the three of us. Max’s gaze bounces between Reese and I, irritation flickering in his eyes before he schools his expression into one of congeniality. No doubt, it is an expression drilled into him by his wealthy and influential family. He’s still doing well for himself judging by the suit he’s wearing. Probably a good thing since he appears to spend far too much on hair gel. If I tipped him upside down, I could sweep the floor with the hardened strands of his blond hair.

I’ve made my peace with Brendan, but Max had been just as much of a dick to me as my brother when I moved to Magpie Grove, so he’s up there with my father on the list of people I’d like to avoid. When I glance at Reese and see her watching her boyfriend walking across the restaurant floor, her posture rigid, a smile that looks so strained it might crack her face wide open, I wonder if Reese wants to see Max even less than I do.

“Max, look who I ran into,” Chapman says.

Max nods. “Knox. I heard you were back.”

Max hardly sounds pleased, but he offers me his hand and I take it. In a cliched dick move, he squeezes my hand harder than he needs to.

I squeeze right back, releasing his hand only once he tries to break the handshake. “I take it Brendan mentioned I’m back?”

“Actually, I haven’t seen your brother recently. It was Chapman who mentioned it.” Max’s eyes move to Reese. “Chapman also mentioned you’re working on a story together.”

Chapman frowns, his eyes narrowing and his lips tipping down at the edges as he looks from Max to Reese to me. And there’s that disapproving expression I’ve become so well acquainted with from my father. I don’t know why it’s my fault Reese didn’t tell her boyfriend we’re working on a story together, but Chapman has found a way to pin it on me.

Reese’s smile is still strained and pink tinges her cheeks as she addresses her boyfriend. “You hate it when I talk about work.”

“I would have been interested to hear you’re working with the man who took you to your senior prom and humiliated you.”

“Max,” Reese hisses, the pink tinge turning to a full-blown flush. “That was years ago. It’s water under the bridge.”

Max sneers, revealing the disdain he feels for me. He’s nearly as good at that as Chapman is.

I refuse to flinch, raising an eyebrow instead. “I apologised to Reese, and we’ve put that night behind us. Maybe it’s time you do the same?”

Max ignores my comment and settles his attention on Reese, his expression conciliatory as he squeezes her shoulder before dipping his head and brushing a kiss across her cheek.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Will you call me later?”

His tone makes me think it’s more of a demand than a request.

Reese nods, even as her fingers try to shred the paper serviette in her hands. “Of course.”

Relaxing slightly, Chapman looks at me. “Knox, Grace would like you to come for dinner while you’re in town.”

I swear everything around me in the restaurant stops, the sounds, the smells, the people. Everything pauses. Right now, it feels as if everyone in the place is staring at me, waiting for my answer.

“Brendan will probably join us too,” Chapman adds.

I attempt to clear my throat of the sawdust that feels trapped there. “Tell Grace thank you. I don’t know what my schedule is like over the next couple of weeks, but I’ll be in touch to let her know if I can make it.”

Chapman nods, and I wonder whether he wants me to agree or whether he wants me to make an excuse and not come. Do I want to go? No. I should say no right now, save myself the call. But for some reason I can’t force myself to reject the offer at this moment.

My father and Max say goodbye, leaving just as the waitress comes back to take our orders. Reese asks for a few more minutes to decide, and we sit in silence until the waitress returns.

After we’ve placed our orders, Reese and I look at each other and both start speaking.

“That was fun,” I say.

“I’m sorry about Max, Knox.”

I frown. “What are you sorry for?”

She shrugs. “The awkwardness-”

“Was not at all your fault.”

“What Max said about Prom-”

“Was fair, all things considered. And if I was dating a woman I cared about, a woman who was working with some jackarse who humiliated her like I did to you, I’d have said something too.”

She offers me a weak smile. “I should have told him about us working together before now.”

The waitress brings our drinks over, preventing me from saying the first thing that pops into my head – I told you so. Instead, I pick up my beer and take a swig.

“Now that the cat’s out of the bag, are you going to tell him about the retreat?”

“I should, I know.”

“But?”

She sips her wine before meeting my eyes. “There is no but. I just honestly don’t know how he’ll take the news.”

I lean my elbows on the table before remembering my manners and removing them. “I know you said he doesn’t really get how important your work is to you, perhaps you need to try to make him understand.”

“You really think I haven’t tried, Knox? I’ve been trying for over a year, and because of how much time I spend working, he thinks I’ve got these…” She gestures around herself. “Walls up. Who knows, maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just not relationship material. Maybe I’m…” she trails off. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said all that.”

I shrug. “Maybe because a long time ago, we used to be friends.”

And sometimes, because of how easy it is to work and joke and talk to this woman, it feels like we still are.

It’s her turn to shrug now. “Maybe.”

The strained smile plastered on her face tells me she doesn’t agree. It’s a punch to the gut. She’s made it clear she’s only interested in seeing me as a rival. I thought I was okay with that, but over the past week, I’ve realised I've missed her friendship just as much as I’ve missed our rivalry.

Sighing, I try to offer one final piece of advice. “If Max is as invested in your relationship as he seems to be, he’ll accept that this story is important to you. I mean, he knows about your brother, right?”

“He does know, but what if he still refuses to accept what I need to do?”

“Then dump him."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Or you can continue on in a relationship where he doesn’t get you or understand the most important thing in your life.”

I expect her to tear strips off me for my frankness, but instead she smiles. “Knox Casey, are you giving me relationship advice?”

I smirk. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Cameron.”

She laughs softly, looking so breathtakingly beautiful, I’m left speechless. Perhaps it's obvious because when she stops laughing, she just looks at me. I hold her gaze until she looks away.

Clearing her throat, she says, “We need to talk about the retreat.”

“So, let’s talk.”

I tried to laugh off Reese’s concerns earlier, but all the evidence we’ve uncovered about Von Gruber and his ability to control and manipulate the mind is disturbing. Before her untimely death, my mother suffered from mental illness. Most of the time she kept on top of her diagnosis with medication, but there were times when she thought she was well enough to stop taking her meds. Those times never lasted long because she usually felt out of control of her thoughts and desires soon after.

Obviously, Von Gruber’s unnatural abilities and my mother’s fight to feel sane are separate things, but the stories she told me as a teen freaked me the hell out. The idea of losing my head for any reason, of feeling out of control and spiralling the way she described all those years ago, does not sit well with me. Especially if it’s because some marriage therapist is messing with my head. I mean, how many couples left Von Gruber’s retreat still married because they wanted to be?

It should be impossible to force people to do things against their will, but Von Gruber has never failed at saving a marriage. No one has a one hundred percent success rate. No one. What is he doing to them to ensure they stay married?

“I’ve been thinking.” Reese pulls a pen and notepad out of her handbag, placing them on the table next to her. “I think we need to perform a deep dive into hypnosis. I know we’ve investigated it a little, but we need to understand more about it.”

I nod. “So, let’s go over everything we already know about the subject, and then write down any questions this case raises. Once we’ve explored in depth, we can create a plan that will hopefully help us avoid being hypnotised.”

She taps her pen against the side of the table. “I like that idea. It gives me confidence I’ll come out of that retreat without being influenced, and then I can write the best story and win the bet.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “We haven’t even been to the retreat, and you’re already suffering from delusions.”

“Uh-huh, sure I am. You keep telling yourself that. You’re going to be sitting back in cold and rainy Melbourne, cursing my name when you get the news I won.”

Our meals come out at that moment, preventing me from disagreeing or reminding her Melbourne is as hot as Sydney in the summertime. Besides, her eyes are full of mirth and mischief, and even though she’s talking smack, I like seeing it there.

An easy and companionable silence slips over us as we eat, but my good mood ebbs away as I think about the fact that when the retreat is over and I leave Magpie Grove, I won’t have any excuse to talk to Reese. Of course, I can still keep tabs on what she’s doing by searching for her articles online. But the idea of never speaking to Reese again makes me feel like someone has slipped an axe head between my ribs.

Is there any chance Reese and I can ever truly move beyond what happened in high school? I’ve missed her in my life, and this is a second chance – an opportunity for me to put things right between us. The way both of us reacted while trying to hash out our backstory earlier proves putting things right won’t be a simple task. And okay, I don’t know how a friendship between us will look once I leave the state. But that’s not enough to deter me.

It's decided. I’m not leaving Magpie Grove without Reese's friendship. Somehow, I need to convince her we can be rivals and friends despite the way the past still rides us so intensely.

Next episode

Reese

Neither Knox nor I speak the rest of the way to Gates Crossing. Knox’s map app eventually directs us off the freeway, and after a few quick turns, we reach a newish estate. The house we park outside of is a grey and brown brick two story home. It’s modern, pleasant looking, but not really any different to the rest of the houses in the street.

The late afternoon sunshine on my face is welcome as I step out of the car. I’m about to start walking towards the house when Knox puts his hand on my arm, stopping me from going anywhere. It’s not until I force myself to look up at him that I realise just how close he’s standing. I can see golden flecks in his brown eyes, and I’m once again breathing in the crisp scent of his cologne. His gaze is intense as he looks down at me.

“If you’re not happy with the story we came up with, we’ll change it.”

“It’s fine.”

I cared for him so much a decade ago, and even though I wish I didn’t care about what he thinks now, his judgement still swings a bat at my ribcage, smashing my heart.

But that’s not his problem, it’s mine.

It’s just so easy during moments like this, when he stands so close and appears concerned - caring, almost - to forget what he thinks about me. I’ve made that mistake too many times and I can’t keep repeating it.

“Are you sure?”

I nod and offer him a tight smile. “Yeah. Now, let’s go. They’re waiting for us, Knox.”

On cue, the front door of the house swings open, and we’re waved to by a petite woman with shoulder length dark hair.

Rachel and Tim Jones are a couple in their early thirties. They own a nursery in town and agreed to take the time out to meet with us at the end of the day to answer a few of our questions.

Shrugging off Knox’s hand, I put on a smile and walk towards the woman. “Rachel?”

“Reese and Knox, right?” Rachel puts her hand out and I shake it.

Tim joins us at the door and introduces himself to us, and then we’re being invited into the house for coffee and biscuits. Their home is bright, modern, airy, and the scent of freshly baked Anzac biscuits makes my mouth water.

Rachel brings our coffees into the loungeroom before settling herself onto the couch next to Tim. Knox and I have already taken our seats in the two plush white armchairs opposite, and I’m already halfway through my first Anzac.

Finishing her biscuit, Rachel wipes her hands on her jeans. “You have some questions about the robbery for us.”

Leaning forward, I take another biscuit off the tray but resist taking a bite so I can answer her.

"The two of you went to Peter Von Gruber to undergo hypnosis to quit smoking?"

Tim pulls Rachel against him. “That’s right. I never wanted to go. I'd tried hypnosis before and it failed, but Rachel talked me into it."

Rachel puts her hand on top of Tim’s, absently stroking his hand while watching us. "I was desperate to spend time with Tim and it was a good excuse."

The look she shoots her now-husband is full of affection and he leans in and presses his lips to hers.

He looks a little dazed when his attention finally returns to us. "Rather foolishly, I couldn't see what was right under my nose.”

Knox’s eyebrows draw together. "You weren't dating at all before the hypnosis took place?"

Rachel shakes her head. "No. I was in love with Tim, but he was in love with someone else."

Knox’s eyes widen and mine do too. From everything I know about hypnosis, you shouldn’t be able to fall out of love with one person and fall in love with someone else.

I study Tim. “How strong were your feelings for Rachel before you went to the therapist?”

"I liked her a lot as a friend, but pretty much straight after the session, I decided I had to ask her out on a proper date. It was like all of a sudden, I couldn't keep my hands off her."

"Did the hypnosis work for the smoking?" I ask.

Tim and Rachel look at each other, then burst out laughing. "No," they say together.

"Of course, we've given up now, but I walked straight out of that room and lit up," Tim explains. "When Rachel asked me for a cigarette, there was just this…sense of magic about the way the light hit her eyes that had me enraptured."

“Magic,” I repeat.

Rachel beams at us. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Amazing? Disturbing is the word I would use. These two went to a 'therapist' to be cured of their smoking habit and left that appointment still smoking and unable to keep their hands off each other. Then they'd attempted to rob a store six months later. Sure, the two seem happy, and they’re obviously in love and own a business together now, but it’s very perturbing.

I pass them a photo of Lars Von Gruber. "Did you see this man at the hypnosis session?"

Rachel and Tim study the photo and shake their heads.

Knox leans forward in his chair. "Was anyone else hanging around Peter’s office, either before or after you went into the room?"

Tim hands the photo back to me. "When we came out, there was a man with a long ginger beard and a beret waiting to see Peter, but he didn't look like that."

"What do you remember about the attempted robbery at Brighton's on Fifth?" I ask.

Tim rubs his chin. "Very little. I still can't believe we weren't charged."

Rachel nods. "It was like I was asleep.” Tim squeezes Rachel's hand before she continues. "When the music started-"

"Music?" Knox inquires.

"When we went into the jewellery store it was quiet, no music was playing. But then the clerk put on a CD, and…"

"She doesn't remember anything else from that point," Tim says. "Neither do I. We’ve watched the footage from the attempted robbery, but we didn't do that. I mean, we weren't there. We weren't present. Our bodies were in that store, but our minds…weren’t."

"You really don't remember any of it?" Knox fails at keeping the disbelief out of his voice.

Rachel swallows hard. "We know it sounds crazy, but-"

"The police believed us," Tim finishes.

"And thank heavens they did," Rachel says.

“Yeah.” Tim gulps down the rest of his coffee. "But only because his brother Lars Von Gruber came forward and said it was a result of hypnosis, and that Peter had set us up to rob the store. According to him, he slipped us the gun and everything."

"And Peter went to jail for it," I mutter.

"The gun was registered to Peter, and when the police questioned our hypnotist, he knew which song had triggered the robbery, and when they played it in the interrogation room, the police actually witnessed us trying to pull the robbery again until Peter broke us out of our trance."

Peter went to prison, but he says he was framed by Lars. I have so many more questions, but I doubt there’s little else Rachel and Tim can tell us.

We finish our coffee and say goodbye to the other couple.

As soon as we’re out of the house, we head back to the car, Knox unlocking the doors from the distance.

"Well, what do you make of that, Cameron?"

I slide into the passenger seat and look at him once he’s beside me. "It's the craziest story I've ever heard."

Knox nods, starting the engine. "You know what they say? Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction."

“True.”

It’s an effort to keep up my side of the conversation as we drive back to the office. There are too many questions floating around in my head. Will Lars hypnotize Knox and I? Will the two of us come out of this marriage retreat capable of committing a crime? Can Lars truly make unwilling people fall in love with each other?

A light sweat breaks out over my body as a wave of nausea makes me question whether the Anzac will make a reappearance.

God. Losing control of your body is one thing, but losing control over your emotions, too? How much encouragement would I need to fall in love with Knox again? It’s already an effort to remind myself we’re nothing more than friendly rivals. What if Lars Von Gruber forces away the barriers I’m using to control my feelings for Knox?

Maybe that’s how Von Gruber is so successful at fixing marriage problems. No couple who has attended his marriage retreat has ended up divorced. A one-hundred percent success rate is impossible without some extreme intervention, right?

I knew this story was a big one. There’s something wrong with my brother and my neighbours, and I have the chance to uncover all of it, but what if Knox and I are in over our heads? Stupidly, I haven’t anticipated being a victim of hypnosis until now. The biggest cost of this retreat may not be the $20,000 price tag.

"You're awful quite there, Cameron," Knox says, breaking into my thoughts.

"Sorry. I just can't stop thinking about poor Rachel and Tim."

"It certainly wasn't an ideal situation, but they weren't charged for the crime."

"Not an ideal situation? They went to Peter Von Gruber, trusting him to cure their smoking habit, and instead they came out as a couple and attempted armed robbery."

"You think Von Gruber's going to set us up to fall in love and rob a bank or something?"

He tries to scoff, but I hear the concern beneath the amusement.

I turn to look at him. "Right now, the idea doesn’t seem as preposterous as it should. Knox, this could actually be dangerous."

Knox studies me. "You knew it was."

“I did. I guess…maybe I just didn’t realise just how much until now.”

“No one has committed a robbery lately,” Knox reminds me.

“Yes but…What are you doing?”

Knox has just pulled into the car park for The Croaky Seagull. "Why are we here?"

"You're worried and I need you to feel comfortable with this. We can discuss it over dinner."

I’m not sure that spending time with Knox outside of work helps me see him only as my rival. Knox, however, is taking my concerns seriously. I’m grateful for that right this second because the memory of my elderly neighbours hearing music, slipping into a trance, and stripping won’t leave me alone. After meeting Rachel and Tim, the memory just seems even more alarming.

One thing is certain. This will be the story of a lifetime – if Lars doesn’t hypnotize us to fall in love with each other, give away all our money or commit a robbery first.

Next episode

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this crazy story. I hope you're enjoying it. Please note, there is no realism intended, just pure absurdity!

Reese

One week later (two weeks till the retreat)

The hot and sunny spring day that was forecast by the weather channel seems like an empty promise as I step out of my car. I rub my arms, trying to ward off the chill before reaching into the backseat of my vehicle and pulling out my jacket. After sliding the extra layer on, I lock the door then look across the car park, to where Knox is chatting to CeCe. Just like the first time I realised CeCe planned to pursue Knox, concern and irritation flicker through me.

My reaction has nothing to do with jealousy because my days of being jealous of the girls Knox dates are long gone. I’m no longer a high schooler with a crush. But CeCe doesn’t know just how capable Knox is of breaking hearts. She falls hard and fast, and I’ve been her shoulder to cry on after a break-up too many times to count. Fun is not what she’s looking for, that’s just what she says to reel ’em in. Knox has made it clear he doesn’t have time for a relationship, nor does he have the interest in one, and I’ve warned CeCe, but she continues to be lured in by his ‘gorgeous face.’

Fortunately, I’m not having the same problem she is.

I swear I’m not.

Okay, so Knox fills out his clothes so well, it’s a crime, and his face has only grown more handsome over the past decade, annoyingly. But I won’t be lured in by his looks and charm again. Fool me once and all that.

I stride towards the building, determined not to let the thought of CeCe’s imminent broken heart ruin my day.

“Reese!” Knox calls across the car park, stopping me before I’ve stepped foot in the foyer.

CeCe frowns as Knox leaves her side and jogs over to me.

He hands me a cup of coffee I didn’t see until now. “I bought you one.”

Damn the man, I don’t want to feel like I owe him, but I inhaled my first coffee, and this smells much better than anything I can make in the lunchroom. So instead of turning it down, which would be rude, I reluctantly accept it and take a sip, noting it’s hot, sweet, and strong, just the way I like it.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

It’s been a week since Knox and I started working together, and when he’s not goading me and teasing me just the way he used to a decade ago, he’s proving to be quite considerate.

Do you remember what I said about not being lured in by his looks and charm again? It’s moments like this that make it just that bit more difficult. Moments like this where I must fight the urge to admire just how good he looks in the tailored trousers, black shirt, and jacket he’s wearing today. I must ignore the heat that curls through me when his gaze stays fixed on mine, and I’m the sole focus of his attention.

Thankfully, I’ve revived our old rivalry. Meaning, instead of thinking about how sweet Knox is for bringing me coffee right now, I’m going to fantasize about what I will ask Knox for when I win our bet.

A small smile pulls at my lips as I think about it.

Knox raises an eyebrow as we walk into the building. “Good night?”

“I’m just imagining all the ways I’m going to make you suffer when I win our bet,” I tell him.

His eyes dance with amusement. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I look forward to it, Cameron.”

The low and husky promise to his voice sends shivers across my skin, caressing me in places it has no right to. And as we step inside the waiting elevator, our gazes meet, and I’m shocked to see his eyes blazing with heat. The sight sucks all the oxygen out of the small space, lust punching me in the gut.

Damn it, I know better than anyone what happens when I let my guard down with this man. The whole point of our rivalry is to keep some emotional and physical distance between us. I’m desperately trying not to think about how difficult that will be when we arrive at the retreat. My mind insistently rakes over the fact we’ll be sleeping in the same bed once there, causing my heart to go haywire and my body to overheat.

I still need to tell Max about the retreat, but I keep putting it off. Not only because I know Max will be far from happy about it, but because I’m petrified Max may sense my desirous thoughts when I talk about sharing a bed with my rival.

I clear my throat, the doors sliding shut behind us. “How was your night? Did you dig up anything interesting?”

“You better believe it.”

“What did you discover?”

The doors spring open, and Knox merely waggles his eyebrows as we walk toward our desks. I’m trying to contain my excitement, but if Knox is acting like this, he’s found something juicy.

We both sit down, Knox spinning his chair and me spinning mine so that we’re facing each other.

Knox leans back, arms crossed, a smug smile on his face, waiting me out.

“Tell me,” I half-beg, knowing I’m doing exactly what he wants me to do but unable to stop myself.

“If you insist,” he says, looking far too pleased. “Lars Von Gruber has a brother named Peter Von Gruber.”

I sigh, disappointed. “I already knew that.”

“But did you know that seven years ago, Peter was arrested for his odd role in a bank robbery.”

“I read about that. He was arrested for hypnotizing a couple to commit a robbery in a jewellery store.”

Knox leans towards me. “Did you know that at the time it happened, Lars was supposedly in the same city? Peter accused his brother of setting him up.”

“Seriously?”

I don’t want to be impressed, but I am.

Again.

He has a habit of doing this. I want to be annoyed he hasn’t spent as much time as I have digging into this story, but I can’t be. The man knows how to find dirt, which is an asset.

“Admit it, Cameron,” he says, lips twitching. “I did good.”

What I hate more than his impressive research skills is the way he sometimes says my name so softly and suggestively, that my belly flips.

“Tell me how you found out first and I’ll tell you whether I’m impressed.”

“I’ll do you one better; turn on your computer and I’ll show you.”

I spin back to face my laptop and Knox stands behind me. The scent of his mouth-watering aftershave fills my nostrils as he leans over my shoulder. Needing a distraction, I reach for the mouse, but when his hand brushes mine, indicating he wants control, I let go immediately. The hot fiery shock of his touch is too much to ignore.

For more than a year in high school, Knox was the subject of all my night-time fantasies. That was ten years ago, yet sometimes my body still reacts as if he’s my fantasy.

Sometimes, his touch and his scent make me remember every vivid dream, waking and asleep I had about this man.

“This is the website you want to use,” he says softly, his minty breath stirring the hair near my ear. I want to shiver in response, but quell the urge, focusing instead on what he’s showing me.

“I know this website,” I say, watching where he moves the cursor and what he’s clicking on. “I’ve used it before.”

The website holds general information about arrests and is open to the public.

“I’m sure you have, but if you click this tiny box down here, it gives you access to a range of information that the public doesn’t get. You just need Bob’s Sun ID.”

“Did he give it to you?”

“No, I used Whittleman’s for this.”

“How did I not know about this?” I ask, turning to face him.

I expect him to rub it in my face that he knows more than I do, but instead he shrugs. “I don’t know, but now that you do, you’ll be able to use it as a source for other articles.”

There Knox goes again, being easy to get along with and helpful.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says softly in my ear.

This time I can’t control my reaction, and I shiver slightly as he steps back from me, goosebumps breaking out over my skin as lust tugs low in my belly. God, I hope he doesn’t see my response.

“Are you going to make me admit I’m impressed?” I ask huskily, trying to bring our rivalry back to the fore.

“No, I can already see that you are.”

Before I can chastise him for being smug, he says, “Let’s go talk to Kates about this road trip.”

“Road trip?”

“To meet with the couple from the jewellery store heist. I want to talk to them, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I nod quickly. “I do.”

Later that afternoon, I cling to the armrest with one hand as Knox speeds along the highway to the town of Gate’s Crossing. When one obeys the speed limit, the drive takes a little over two hours. We’re already more than halfway there, and we’ve only been on the road for forty minutes.

“There are a few ninety-degree bends in the road ahead,” I warn.

“I remember.”

“Perhaps you could slow down a little then.”

Knox looks at me, sees my expression and eases off the accelerator slightly.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The song list on Knox’s phone has finished playing over the stereo. He switches the radio on, and Butterfly by Crazy Town starts playing. Immediately, I reach out and flick the radio off.

Knox frowns and looks at me out of the corner of his eyes.

“Sorry, bad memory,” I explain.

He nods, then says, “We should work out our back story.”

“What part of it?”

“You know – where did we meet? How long did we date before we got married? What was our wedding like? Who said I love you first?”

Obviously, I knew this was coming, but I’ve been trying not to think about it. Talking about our sex lives has been difficult enough without talking about falling in love. Discussing our ‘happy ever after’ which actually isn’t so happy, considering we’re heading to therapy, doesn’t appeal. It’s all I can do not to moan, ‘do we have to?’

“Do you have any ideas?” I ask instead.

“A few. I think we should say we met in high school. Keep our story as close to the truth as we can.”

I close my eyes briefly and remind myself this is necessary and that he’s not trying to maliciously remind me of how he was with me in high school – of the cruel way we were friends one day and then the next we weren’t. “Okay, what was our relationship in high school?”

“You were dating some rich boy and we were rivals.”

My stomach knots. “If we’re keeping things as close to the truth as possible, I wasn’t dating anyone. You were dating everyone.”

Knox sneaks a look at me before looking back at the road. “Fine, how about we were friends for a while but we had a falling out and stopped talking? I left town after graduation. When I returned a few years later, we bumped into each other and things had changed. We became friends.”

“A falling out?” I repeat tightly. “Okay. How did we get out of the friend zone when you came back to town?”

“I gathered up my courage and asked you out. You jumped at the chance to go out with me.”

His words scrape open all the past wounds he inflicted, reminding me of how I jumped at the chance of going to Prom with him when he asked. I should have been warier and less quick to forgive. But after he’d been my fantasy for so long, I just couldn’t wait to go on a date with him.

Fiction or not, I’m not about to jump at the chance to go out with him all over again.

“How about you begged me for a date?” I suggest.

“I would never beg.”

“And I would never date you.”

Knox turns and glares at me, something flickering in his dark eyes that makes me squirm with something suspiciously close to guilt. After all, he did bring me coffee this morning. And even though we’ve both enjoyed the rivalry between us this past week, Knox has worked hard – we both have – to keep things amicable between us. Furthermore, Knox has gone above and beyond at times to show me things. Even if I wouldn’t date the man or become friends with someone who misjudged me and dropped me at the drop of a hat, he doesn’t deserve such a pointed comment.

Wrenching my attention away from Knox and looking at the road ahead, I gather up my courage. “How about, instead of me jumping at the chance to date you or you begging me for a date, we went out one night, you kissed me, and…things went from there?” I ask a little hesitantly.

Knox turns to me, his eyes darken in that way that makes me feel like I’ve just been kicked in the stomach. “And did we sleep together that night?”

I swallow hard. “Do we really need to answer that?”

“I should know whether you sleep with men on the first date, Cameron. The better I know you, the easier it will be to pull off this marriage sham.”

This conversation is way too personal and I’m far from comfortable, but he’s right – the better we know each other, the easier it will be to pretend we’re married.

And I would tell him that my sex habits were not really something he needed to learn about, except that if the questions on the surveys and questionnaires are any indication, we might spend a lot of our time in ‘therapy’ talking about sex.

“It depends on my feelings for the man involved,” I hedge. “In regards to the fictional night we…’got together’, it’s difficult to answer that question because we weren’t on a date.”

“Fine, we weren’t on a date, we were out as friends and I kissed you. Did it take days, weeks, or months for our relationship to progress from friends to lovers?”

My cheeks feel flushed and I’m too warm. I want to open the window, except Knox has the air conditioning on.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s so far removed from reality.”

“Reese, we need to answer these questions. We have to know our history as well as any couple who are married.”

“Fine. You decide.”

He looks at me briefly. “It took weeks. You weren’t sure we would be a good fit, so I needed to show you we were. Eventually, I proved how good we could be together, and we started dating.”

Our story feels far from authentic. Likely, if his proposed scenario actually took place, things would have escalated out of hand after a kiss. I think back to prom night, the one and only night we went out together. Had Knox’s motivation for taking me out not been revenge – had our date been the real deal – there’s every chance I would have slept with him.

But I’m not about to correct his perception or admit to anything like that.

“Okay,” I say.

“You fell in love with me quickly and I proposed after a year.”

I ignore the ‘falling for him quickly’ part and ask, “So how long have we been married for?”

“Four years?” Knox suggests.

“Marriage problems after four years?”

Knox shrugs. “Our work keeps us busy and we’re growing apart.”

“That’s too weak and vague for the retreat we’re heading to.”

“What do you want to say instead then? I decided how we got together. Why don’t you decide what’s tearing us apart?”

Well, that’s fair, I suppose.

Reminding myself we’re supposed to be keeping this as close to the truth as possible, I think about what wouldn’t be completely out of the realms of possibility.

What do I know about Knox and me? Knox and I are rivals, he is more than capable of assuming the wrong thing about me, and he’s one-hundred percent dedicated to his job.

“When I was promoted at work,” I start. “You felt like you needed to compete with me and earn more money than I do. Since you’ve spent so much time at work lately, I’ve been hanging out with one of my co-workers. You believe we’re having an emotional affair even though I’ve told you I’d never cheat on you.”

I’m pretty pleased with the story I’ve come up with. It fits Knox and me to a tee. Knox, however, is less than impressed, judging by the way his fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

“Not bad, but let’s expand on it a little,” he throws me a look I can’t quite decipher. “Maybe it’s an emotional affair you’re having even though you don’t realise it. And maybe I’m insistent on earning more because your family has always looked down at me for not earning enough.”

I turn in my seat to study him. “I would never be unfaithful. And my family would never look down on you for not earning enough.”

The look he shoots me tells me he doesn’t believe me at all.

The sudden realisation that just because a decade has passed doesn’t mean Knox no longer believes I’m a snob and an uppity bitch is a sudden and crushing blow to my chest. More crushing is the fact I can still feel hurt by his perceptions of me – that his opinion still slips beneath my armour and pierces through me. What did I do or say to make him think so poorly of me all those years ago? How did he get me so wrong?

And can he ever truly know me when he’s still holding onto his past judgements?

It’s doubtful. At least his underlying judgements of my character will make us seem more legitimate in therapy.

“I guess that will work,” I say quietly, turning to look out the window. “That’s your perception. Doesn’t mean it’s true, but it does generate conflict between us.”

“Reese,” Knox calls softly.

Perhaps he can sense just how unhappy I am with what he said, but it hardly matters.

“It’s just fiction,” he tells me.

“It’s a solid story. Let’s leave it at that.”

Fiction or not, he still views me the way his past self did. I don’t know why he feels that way, but I can’t change his perception. And this conversation has just been a timely reminder that no matter how pleasant Knox has been to work with, or how easy it is to fall into the pattern of being friendly rivals, nothing from the past has really changed. Nothing. And if I choose to forget that, I can bank on being hurt all over again.

Next episode

Knox

After the painful dinner is over, I say goodbye to Mara and the children while glaring at my brother, ignoring my father, and forcing a smile for Grace. Once I’m in my car, I head in the direction of the office, knowing work is the only thing that will help me relax and clear my head.

It’s after eight when I arrive, and I quickly use the pass that Bob gave me earlier in the day to let myself into the office. My plans to make myself feel better by ploughing through a ton of work in an empty office, however, go out the window when I see I’m not the only one who decided to work late. A young girl – the newest intern, Melody – is still working.

And so is Reese.

I’m tempted to walk straight out and go back to my hotel room. Except that I came here for a reason, and Reese turns around and spots me before I can get away unnoticed.

When I left work earlier, the strain between Reese and I was awkward and frustrating. I don’t want to deal with it tonight, not on the heels of the dinner from hell. But I came here to work, and I’m not walking away.

Reese watches me with eyes that are more guarded than they were first thing this morning as I stride across the floor, and I wonder again how we can pretend the past never happened. As much as we both want to pretend what happened a decade ago doesn’t matter, certain things leave scars. I’m aware of that even more so after having dinner with my father.

I put the coffee I bought on my way here on my desk and look at Reese. “If I’d known you were still here, I would have bought you one.”

Reese attempts a small smile. “I shouldn’t have any more caffeine tonight anyway. I won’t sleep.”

I’m not sure about that. This morning she looked fresh and put together, but tonight she looks rumpled and tired. Still beautiful, though.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“The same reason you are, I imagine. I wanted to get some extra work in.”

She nods. “Well, I’ll let you get on with it.”

I boot up my laptop and open the document I was working on earlier today. After adding a few more crappy sentences, I turn to Reese.

“I had dinner with my father and brother,” I blurt out.

I never intended to share that tidbit before I arrived, and I don’t know why I said it. When I realise I’ve thrown her completely off guard though, I nearly smile.

Her eyes widen and her lips part a little. “Oh. How was it?”

I turn in my chair so that I’m facing her properly. “I asked my brother about my dad and his wife, you know, how they’ve been acting since they came back from the retreat.”

She folds her hands in her lap and gives me her undivided attention. “What did you find out?”

I tell her what my brother told me, which reminds me I wanted to ask her about something. “Can you tell me more about what happened with Mr and Mrs Burnham?”

“My neighbours?”

“They were in your file.”

She nods. “I went over for dinner not long after they came back from the retreat, and they had the radio on the whole time. In the middle of dinner, Mozart’s Concerto 21 began playing and the two of them completely blacked out.”

“What do you mean?”

She tilts her head as she remembers. “It was as if they forgot everything but each other. Their eyes went wide and blank, and they appeared lost in a trance. Mrs Burnham stood up and began grinding on Mr Burnham, performing a lap dance. He started undressing her, and…” she shudders at the memory. “I ended up walking away because they didn’t seem like they were going to stop. I heard them going at it from the kitchen.”

“They didn’t stop?”

She shakes her head. “And when the music finished, and I walked back into the room, they acted like it never happened. You have to understand, these are two of the most conservative people on the planet, and they had sex while I was in their house, then ignored the fact it even happened.”

“That’s certainly…disturbing,” I tell her.

An image of Reese grinding on me, performing a striptease to a song pops into my head and unwelcome heat sweeps through me. I quickly shut the door on the image, then nail the damn door shut.

After clearing my throat, I ask, “Have you encountered anything similar from anyone else?”

“No. And I played the same piece of music for my brother and his wife, but it had no effect whatsoever on them.” She pauses and studies me. “The second information packet came through for the retreat. I haven’t looked at it yet, but we can go through it now if you want? Unless you’d prefer to use this time to research or work on another assignment?”

She’s clearly hesitant, and I get it. I don’t really want to have another argument tonight or suffer through more awkwardness. I doubt Reese does either. But telling her about dinner and talking about the retreat has erased some of the tension, so maybe we should keep talking while we’re communicating a little better.

I pull my chair closer to her desk. “Let’s go through it now.”

She nods and then pulls up the email. I’m aware of her heat and the delicate scent of her perfume as we both lean in. Looking at her out of the corner of my eye, I can see she’s a little flushed and she’s focusing far harder than she needs on the details of our stay as Mr and Mrs Reynolds. I turn my attention back to the computer, but when we both reach for the mouse at the same time because we need to scroll down the page, she jerks her hand away as if I’ve burned her.

I shoot her a quizzical look, but she ignores me, so I turn back to the screen and continue to read. Seconds later, both of us are startled by the sound of her phone ringing and vibrating on her desk. Max’s name flashes on the screen, and every comment my father made about them as a couple bounces around my brain then burrows under my skin.

“Sorry,” she says, grabbing her phone and standing up. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

While she’s gone, I keep reading through the information in front of me. Most of it fairly straightforward, and I’m half paying attention to the hushed but serious-sounding conversation Reese is having with her boyfriend while I’m reading. That is, until I open another page of the information packet. My whole body flushes and desire stirs in the pit of my stomach as I go through the itinerary of everything I’ll be doing with Reese.

When Reese walks back to the desk, she puts her phone down. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” I force out, sounding huskier than I have any right to. “How is Max?”

Thinking of her boyfriend should bring my body temperature down. Should being the operative word.

She forces a smile. “Fine.”

With my mind still processing everything I’ve just read, I ask, “How does he feel about you going to a marriage retreat with me?”

“Um,” she hedges. “I haven’t mentioned it yet.”

I hold her gaze. “Why not?”

She shrugs and looks away. “Just haven’t found the right time.”

“I don’t think there is a right time to tell someone you’re going undercover and pretending to be married to someone else, is there?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Actually, it is. Or it would be if Reese was my girlfriend. I’m not sure how I’d feel about someone pretending to be her husband. And if their thoughts about Reese were similar in any way to mine right now? I’d probably punch them in the face.

Motioning to her computer, I say, “You might want to read through this information before being so sure of that.”

She sits down and reads through everything on the page I’ve left open for her. I alternate between looking at the screen and watching her reaction. The flush she had going on earlier was nothing compared to the flush covering her neck and face now.

“Still think he doesn’t need to know?” I ask once she’s finished.

“Max understands my job comes first.”

“He doesn’t mind that he comes second to the job?”

Her eyes flash to mine before she looks away unhappily, telling me he does mind. A lot.

“You need to tell him about this, Reese. If I had a girlfriend, I’d tell her.”

“You didn’t leave anyone behind in Melbourne?” she asks tentatively.

“I don’t have time for relationships; I’m married to my job.”

Her lips tip up. “I understand that feeling.”

Clearly, she has the same unrivalled focus she did in high school, only now it applies to her job.

“Max doesn’t like it or get it, does he?”

Her reluctance to say anything to him now makes more sense. Chapman and Grace spoke about how wonderful Reese and Max are as a couple, and how happy Max is, but I’m not sure Reese feels the same way.

Reese doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would be drawn to someone who doesn’t understand or appreciate her ambition. Then again, I don’t know her. Once upon a time I thought I did, but I didn’t. Not really.

Reluctantly, she shakes her head. “He hates the fact the story comes first. He doesn’t understand my preoccupation with this, even though I’ve talked to him about my brother. I’m honestly not sure how he’ll deal with…this.”

“Going undercover together?”

She nods. “Especially with…couples therapy every day.”

“And couples bonding exercises every day,” I add.

“What does that even mean?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. I’m more worried about the compulsory classes and workshops that revolve around satisfying the ‘physical and emotional needs of each partner.’”

Reese doesn’t meet my gaze as she nods, swallowing hard. “Me too.”

“We’re going to be spending a full week together, playing a couple trying to get our relationship back on track; a man and a woman intent on making their relationship work, and satisfying each other emotionally and physically.”

“I know.”

“The cottages we’ll be staying in are built for maximizing a couple’s closeness in every way and encouraging couples to be as intimate as possible. There’s only one bed, no sofa, and I’d rather not sleep on a cold tile floor.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she says stiffly.

If we share a bed, that will be difficult enough. Add in the workshops and classes on increasing emotional and physical intimacy? I don’t exactly know yet what they entail, but my imagination has been off and running since I read about them. Worse, the images and scenarios I keep playing over in my head have me feeling hot and more than ready to dive into a bed with Reese.

“Are you sure you’re going to be up for it? If it’s going to cause problems for you and Max…”

Her eyes flash and she glares at me. “Are you suggesting I quit this story? Knox, you know how much time I’ve put into this. I want – I need – to get in there and find out what happened to my brother. I’m not backing out.”

“We’re going to have to act like we’re together and married and that we actually care about-”

“I’m aware, Knox.” She holds my gaze. “And I’m up for it.”

“With our history-”

“I told you-”

“The past is the past and we should leave it there, I heard you. I didn’t come back to Magpie Grove to rehash history with you, Reese. But after dinner with my brother and father, I’m aware that no matter how hard you think you’re over something, there’s a good chance you aren’t.”

She sighs. “I told you, I overreacted earlier. I’m not still hung up on the past, Knox. I’m a professional and I plan to treat you the same way I’d treat any other colleague.”

Sitting back in my chair, I study her and say, “But we’re not just colleagues.”

“As far as I’m concerned, we are.”

“You can’t possibly believe it’s that simple,” I say, crossing my arms. “We know each other. We have a past. We’re no longer high schoolers. We’re not rivals. We’re not friends. But we’re not meeting for the first time, either. We don’t fit in any one box.”

“I know all this.”

“My point is, this situation between us is…unusual,” I continue. “I think we should be careful we don’t unravel because we’re trying to keep a lid on the past.”

“What do you suggest then?” she asks sharply. “We take a trip down memory lane for the sake of not suppressing our memories?”

“I’m just saying that we can’t just act like this is the first time we’re meeting and that we have no past. Even if you want to ignore what happened in high school, it still happened. If we sweep everything under the rug it may come back to bite us later. And I’ll admit, I don’t know how to act around you now. It’s easy to fall into the pattern of our old rivalry even when I’m trying hard not to.”

“Me too,” she sighs. “But perhaps that’s not the worst thing. At least we know how to act with each other when we’re competing.”

“You always were my favourite rival,” I say lightly.

“And you were mine,” she admits, her smile wry. “As evidenced by the papers you saw.”

“So, you admit that reading my work has nothing to do with this assignment?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re just as conceited as you were in high school.”

Her irritation fills me with a sense of smugness. “I’ve missed this,” I admit.

I’ve missed her and the way I feel around her – even when it was anger or revenge, or rivalry, or admiration. Never did I feel nothing around Reese.

Our eyes meet. “Well, you’re only in town for the story, right?” she asks.

“And the reunion. And to speak at the high school.”

“Maybe we should revive our old rivalry,” she says. “I know we’re supposed to be working together, but rivalry is what we know. Maybe it will be easier to embrace it rather than…suppress it, as you said.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“How about a bet for old time’s sake?”

It would have been inappropriate for me to propose another bet, but since she’s the one suggesting it…My pulse is off and racing, and adrenaline pumps through my veins in response to her proposal. I love the thought, but I need to be careful after everything that happened last time.

“Is that really a good idea?”

“I don’t see why not.” She smirks at me. “Unless, of course, you’re…afraid?”

I can’t help but grin in response to the challenge in her dark eyes. “You know me, Cameron. I’m a betting man. Let’s hear it.”

“I bet you I can write a better article than you, on Von Gruber.”

“Who decides the winner?”

“Our bosses do.”

“Whittleman and Kates?”

She nods.

“What are the stakes? What do you want if you win?” I ask.

“If I recall correctly, you used to like to leave your bets open-ended.”

A sense of unease tugs at me. “And as I recall, that didn’t work out so well last time.”

“I agree. Maybe this can be a do-over. We’ll reinvent history.”

My unease grows, twisting in my stomach, but I shrug it off. Just because our last bet ended very badly doesn’t mean this one will. We’re not the people we were ten years ago, even if we are still shaped by our pasts.

“I take it you have something in mind then?”

She shrugs. “I can’t tell you that. That’s not the way we used to do things ten years ago. I believe you used to say to me, ‘winner decides all.”

More than likely she wants to even the score – turn the tables. I love that she wants to take me on again. It will keep us focused; make me work harder. If it makes her feel better about working with me, then that will be a bonus too. It’s been too long since we’ve done this. Too long since I’ve felt the overwhelming need to compete and win.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” she mocks when I don’t respond straight away.

It’s my turn to smirk. “I’m not scared, Reese.”

“Good. We should make the penalty for backing out the same too.”

“Remind me again what that was.”

“Anything the winner chooses,” she sing-songs. “But Knox Casey would never renege on a bet.”

“No, I’d never back out on a bet, Cameron, but you have to beat me first.”

Her smile is huge, her eyes bright. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I will.”

She says it with so much conviction that for a moment, I believe her.

Next episode

A/N: Okay, so I’ve had some questions about what is happening with Bet Me and what my plans are for finishing the book. Great questions!

I don’t know whether I’ve talked about this before, but even if I have, I want to mention it again. Bet Me and the reboot of Kiss Me, Break My Heart are sort of intertwined and very closely linked. Knox and Reese will end up at the retreat, and so will Cassie and Jace. Whether that is at the same time, or before or after, I’m not sure.

One option - I don’t know how many of you remember the original - but Cassie and Jace may take the place of Tyler and Caroline. This is yet to be confirmed.

What this means is that I will be writing the two stories side by side. I don’t know whether they will be companion books, or whether I will choose the strongest to sell. I just haven’t decided yet. Both storylines work well with the idea of the retreat, though, so I’m keen to have them take place there, and these will be the first of several books to be set in Magpie Grove. A place where all sorts of criminal activities are taking place.

I hope this sheds some light on the situation. If you have any thoughts or comments, please let me know.

And if you haven’t yet checked out the first seven parts of Kiss Me, Break My Heart, Jace and Cassie’s story, I’ll leave the link below in case you want to :-D

Love to you all.

XOXO

Elle

Read Kiss Me, Break My Heart

Knox

“So, how does it feel being back in Magpie Grove?” Brendan, my brother asks.

Before I can reply, the delighted squeal of my niece and nephew pierces the air. I laugh at the way my brother cringes slightly.

“We should have stayed in,” he mutters, looking across the road at the park where his children and wife are playing.

“We didn’t need to go out for dinner.”

My brother and I sit outside The Croaky Seagull – a casual bar and restaurant on the outer edge of Magpie Grove. When Brendan’s wife and children finish playing in the park near the water, they’ll join us so that we can order dinner. I think my sister-in-law, Mara is trying to tucker out my niece and nephew before we sit down to eat. They’re pretty good kids, but they struggle to sit still for long periods of time.

“I thought neutral territory would be better.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why would we need neutral territory?”

Years ago, the two of us couldn’t stand each other. Now, however, we’re tight, so I can’t say I understand his comment.

“No reason,” he says, shaking his head. “You were telling me how you feel about being back in Magpie Grove.”

I chuckle. “I don’t think I was.”

“C’mon. You’ve been gone for years. You coming home is…big.”

Magpie Grove was never home, and it never will be, but for the sake of avoiding an argument, I say, “I’m not sure much has changed.”

“You mean Magpie Grove is still just as full of rich arseholes as it was when you left.”

Reaching for one of the nachos in the middle of the table, I laugh. “Yup.”

Brendan tips his beer in my direction. “You understand that you’re one of us now.”

My smile is tight and I hope he can’t see just how much his words piss me off. I’ve never been one of them and I never will be.

“I didn’t make my fortune here,” I remind him. “And I do all right, but I’m no millionaire.”

“Well, if you come work with me-”

“I love being a journo, and I’m good at it. Besides, Dad would have a coronary if he saw me working in the company he ‘built with his bare hands.’”

Brendan shakes his head. “I know you two have had your differences…and he hasn’t been the father to you that he was to me, but since the heart attack he’s been different. It’s been forever since the two of you spoke, I’d like to think he doesn’t feel the same way. I mean, he has no reason to feel that way.”

“Of course he does, I’m a reminder of his ‘one’ mistake.” I use air marks around the word ‘one’. “And your mum hates my guts because I’m evidence of his transgression before they were married.”

“But you’re his son,” Brendan declares, like that changes something.

Brendan is now a proud father who doesn’t understand how anyone can hate their child.

“Do you know how much he fought to prove that wasn’t the case?” I ask him.

Chapman Ross refused to acknowledge me as his son for the first sixteen years of my life. His name was printed on my birth certificate, but it wasn’t until the hit and run that killed my mum that he agreed to a DNA test. And I don’t doubt he tried to convince the Department of Human Services that they were barking up the wrong tree when they contacted him.

I wasn’t in the room when he received the results confirming that our DNA was a legitimate match, but I remember the first time I stood in the same room as Chapman. His hatred and resentment for me burned in his eyes, a perfect reflection of everything I felt towards him.

Considering his wealth and influence in this town, it’s surprising he didn’t try and bribe the DNA testers to fix the results.

Actually, he probably did try.

“Family is important,” he tells me.

“Then I’m lucky I have Mara, and Thomas and Tori,” I say, chuckling when he rolls his eyes. “And you’re growing on me.”

He laughs but winces a little. “I deserve that. You didn’t deserve the shit I said about you when we were younger.”

I shrug. Brendan is a year younger than me and attended a private boarding school when I moved in with Chapman. My brother was only home on the holidays, but he resented my presence as much as my father and stepmother for a long time.

“You’ve already apologized for that. Repeatedly. It was what it was. We both would have done things a little differently if we’d been older and wiser,” I tell him, thinking about Reese.

“You were the judgmental one back in high school, Knox. Calling me a stuck-up bitch to everyone else but never having the guts to tell me what you thought about me, just dumping me as a friend without any word as to why.”

Her words have chased themselves around my brain all day. Admittedly, I never thought of it that way before.

When she came back from her break, I tried apologizing again for what happened in high school, and for calling her judgmental, but she blocked my apology with one of her own.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Knox. I overreacted. It won’t happen again.”

“It obviously still upsets-”

“It was ten years ago. I shouldn’t have brought up the past after you apologized, but nor should you have. Let’s make it a habit not to talk about high school. It’s over. We both want to be professional, so let’s act like it.”

With those words, she shut the door on the past, except that I’m afraid that door could spring open at any moment. Neither of us want to rehash history. I had no intention of it when I arrived, not beyond my initial apology, but everything that remains unsaid hangs in the air between us.

And it makes it awkward as hell to answer questions about our sex life together when every conversation and silence between us is filled with awkwardness. We wrote down answers for as many of the questions as we could, but after thirty minutes of struggling through, we both agreed to call it quits for the day and get on with other work.

“You can say that again. I was such a spoilt rich kid,” Brendan says, pulling my attention back to him.

I raise my beer. “Thank god for Mara.”

He laughs, we both do. I’m grateful for Mara, too.

A few years ago, my brother was dating a wealthy socialite, an arrangement orchestrated by Chapman. Brendan was set to marry her when he fell in love with Mara, a down-on-her-luck student on a scholarship at his university. When he broke up with the socialite and got Mara pregnant, Brendan continued to work for Chapman, but they barely talked.

The fallout between my brother and father is the reason Brendan and I reconnected. Brendan started thinking about the choices Chapman made, and his disgust grew the more he thought about the way Chapman turned his back on me. It was what caused him to reach out to me. At first, I told him to screw off, but when he came to Melbourne, showing up on my doorstep with Mara and the kids, I didn’t turn him away. That was the start of some serious fence-mending, and over the past couple of years, it’s continued.

My father had a heart attack a few months back and Chapman and Brendan have been on much better terms since, but I haven’t spoken to Chapman since I left town, after my internship. And I don’t intend to speak to him just because I’m back. Everything I need to know about the old man, I can find out from Brendan.

“What can you tell me about Chapman and Grace?” I ask.

“Well, he keeps giving away money as if it’s free water since the retreat.”

My brother explains that the financial advisors keep asking him about the regular sums of money Chapman is giving away. It reminds me of a couple of the cases I found in Reese’s file.

“Did you ask him about them?”

“Dad says we’ve always supported charities, and this is no different, but he’s spent twenty plus years donating to the same charities and it’s always the same amount. Then suddenly, he changes the charities and the amounts. And he just doesn’t…he doesn’t act the same way, Knox. He and Mum are a lot more…touchy-feely.”

Brendan nearly shudders at the thought. I’m about to ask him just how touchy-feely he’s talking about when he asks, “So, your boss really liked the idea of the article?”

“Whittleman nearly wet himself over it. Especially when I dropped the names of some of the influential people who have left testimonials. There are politicians and rock stars, and A-list TV personalities. The fact that Von Gruber has a strict no media policy makes him that much more suspicious. If all goes well, I’ll be promoted.”

Meaning I can’t let anything stand in the way. Not even my history with Reese. It’s unfortunate this case requires us to pretend we’re married after I screwed her over a decade ago, but I can’t walk away and I know Reese won’t either. She’s as invested in this as I am.

“And you’re working with Reese?”

“Mmm,” I say, finishing a mouthful of nachos.

“How are the two of you getting along?”

A shadow falls over us before I can tell him about just how badly today went, and I look up and curse when I see the person I hoped to avoid while back in town.

Chapman wrinkles his nose when he hears my curse. At twenty-eight, the cold and critical look on my father’s face shouldn’t needle me the way it does.

“What have I told you about swearing, Knox? It’s for the low-class.”

Pushing his chair back, my brother cuts him off by hugging him. “Hey, Dad. Glad you could make it.”

“What is this, Brendan?” Chapman demands. “You invite me for dinner and don’t think to mention Knox will be joining us.”

I glare at my brother. Suddenly, the need for neutral territory makes sense.

Brendan’s expression is downright sheepish. “Surprise, it’s a family reunion.”

He motions to the empty chairs before looking behind Chapman. “Hi, Mum.”

Until now, I hadn’t seen Grace, my stepmother. But she moves forward for Brendan to hug her as Chapman and I alternate between looking away from each other and glaring at one another.

“We’re hungry, Darling,” Grace says, putting her hand in her husband’s. “Let’s sit and eat. Are Mara and the children joining us, Brendan?”

“Yes.” Brendan waves over at the park, beckoning Mara to join us. “They’ll be here shortly.”

Chapman pulls out Grace’s chair for her, and she sits down and smiles tightly at me. “Hello, Knox. It’s good to see you.”

I want to laugh at just how forced she sounds. Maybe I should remind her I heard every bitter and spiteful word she hurled at Chapman about me when I arrived at their home. However, Mara and the children return to the table and provide a good reason to keep my mouth shut.

Awkwardly, we struggle through our meal, Brendan putting in the most effort to make conversation. While it’s obvious Mara doesn’t have the best relationship with Chapman and Grace, Grace is taken with her grandchildren. Listening to my niece and nephew talk about school and their soccer and gymnastics practices is the only enjoyable part of the meal.

After a long and tense silence, Chapman looks at me. “So how long will you be in town for?”

“Around a month.”

“Knox is working at the Sun,” Brendan explains. “He’s working on a story with Reese Cameron.”

“Reese is dating Max, isn’t she?” Grace asks.

I glare at Brendan as I refill my water glass. I’d like to keep drinking bourbon, but I can’t drive away from this clusterfuck of a dinner if I’m drunk. “I believe so.”

“They’re a good couple,” my stepmother says. “Max is the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

“Yes, they certainly seem well-suited,” Chapman agrees. “He’s a real go-getter, just like Kenneth Cameron back in the day.”

“Such a shame what happened to Caroline,” Grace tuts.

“I’m sure she’d approve of Reese and Max,” Chapman tells her. “Kenneth must be pleased.”

The fish and chips I’ve just finished eating turns to stone in my stomach. In a town like Magpie Grove, the wealthy and powerful know everything about one another. So, Grace and Chapman know Reese and Max well enough. Reese, because Grace and Chapman were friends with the Cameron family before the accident. And they know Max very well because he was Brendan’s best friend back in high school.

Chapman always liked Max and was more interested in him than he was in me. Not that I wanted to work for my father, but Chapman would tell Max that he always had a job at the company if he wanted one – something he made sure never to offer me.

My memories and thoughts are more bitter than the lemon I squeezed onto my fish. Being back is a trigger. Talking to my father is a trigger. And so is working with Reese. I’ve worked my arse off at my career, won awards, yet Chapman will never let any words of praise for me leave his lips.

Can I blame Reese for not being over the past when I’m not one-hundred percent over it?

With that question in mind, I finish my water and remind myself that over it or not, I have a job to do. Somehow, I need to deal with the past and move on. Reese and I both do.

Next episode

Knox

“So, you and Reese have a history?” Bob asks as I sit down opposite him.

“As Reese mentioned, we were in competition for the internship here ten years ago.”

He leans forward slightly. “But your history is a little more complicated than that.”

“What makes you say that?”

The way he’s scrutinizing me makes me wonder how he knows that.

“Let’s just say that Reese’s reaction was not what I expected when I gave her the news that she would be going to the retreat. At the time, I believed she was simply overwhelmed with relief because I’d finally agreed to her request, now I’m not so sure that’s what it was.”

“What was her reaction?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Let’s just say that it wasn’t what I expected.”

His words leave me more curious than before.

Bob continues to study me, his frown deepening. “Did you make John aware of your history when he told you that you would be going to the retreat with Reese?”

“No.”

When I found out that Reese was going to be my partner for the retreat, I’d been shocked. Then amused because I couldn’t stop thinking that great minds think alike. But after the shock and the amusement passed, I worried that Reese would still be holding a grudge and that our history might be insurmountable. It’s one thing to share an assignment and quite another to go undercover at a marriage retreat with someone.

Whittleman, however, made it clear I didn’t have much choice about who I worked with when I hinted that I’d prefer to pick my partner for the assignment. Which was why I decided to come to Magpie Grove early to apologise to Reese and deal with our personal history before we started working together.

“Both papers are putting up a lot of money for this story, Knox. I’m sure I speak for John when I say we’re expecting big things from both of you. Will your history be a problem for either of you?”

“Not for me,” I say.

“Good,” he nods. “Reese won’t cause any problems. She’s one of the best journalists I’ve met.”

“She always did work hard,” I say.

My comment seems to garner Bob’s approval and he smiles. “Right then, now that that’s sorted, let’s move onto the business of your few weeks with us.”

Bob begins to expand on the agreement he and John worked out, giving me a list of article options for my first week at the Sun before walking me out of the office and introducing me to everyone.

There’s only one person in the place I remember working with a decade ago. Everyone else I meet for the first time, and they all seem pleasant enough. The office is a nice blend of the old, young and the middle-aged. And then there’s Cecelia, or CeCe as she instructs me to call her.

The statuesque blonde with the short black skirt, sparkly red top and killer legs is forward. She flirts with me, even as Bob tries to drag me away to introduce me to someone else.

Once I’ve finished making the rounds with Bob, I go back to Reese’s desk and sit in the chair I vacated earlier. Reese gives me a quick sideways glance before turning her attention back to her computer.

“Does anyone sit at the desk behind you?” I ask.

“Nope.”

Since I haven’t been allocated a space, I’m assuming I can choose where I want to work. It makes sense to work as closely together as possible under the circumstances.

Reese sits back and looks at me. “We’ve just received our first information package from the retreat. Ready to take a look?”

I scoot my chair closer to hers, inhaling the soft floral notes of her perfume before I can tell myself not to.

Reese opens the first email, the booking confirmation, and we scan through the details. The reservation was made by Reese on Friday. The two of us are attending as Mr and Mrs Reynolds, wealthy socialites from the Gold Coast, and the deposit has been paid.

“Next one.”

Reese clicks on the file. “Questionnaire one – Sex survey,” she mutters, causing a landslide of apprehension to slide through me.

The document opens and both of us start reading.

1. On a scale of 1 – 10, how would you rate your sex life?

2. On a scale of 1 – 10, how would you rate your satisfaction with the frequency of your sexual encounters?

3. How often do you share sexual encounters?

4. How often do you fly solo with your sexual encounters?

Reese clears her throat. “Does that mean…?”

“How often do you click the mouse when I’m not around.”

It’s worth the stab of heat and the tightening in my groin to see her flush and hear her breath hitch.

“Shall we see what the other questionnaires are about?” she asks breathily, closing the sex survey.

“Yeah.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we’re going to have to get used to talking about sex if we’re going to a couple’s retreat together, but I need a moment to cool down. And the problem with talking about sex with Reese? Well, it’s kind of hard not to think about having sex with Reese. It’s not as if I’m sex deprived, but something about sitting next to the girl I once fantasized about so often in high school is definitely doing something for me.

For the second time I wonder how we’re going to get through a couples retreat together, especially if she blushes like that every time I bring up sex and I get horny just from seeing her get all affected.

Reese clicks on the next link, and I’d like to say the next questionnaire is nowhere near as intense, but I’d be lying. He wants the details of our fights, our insecurities, our finances. This guy wants us to lay ourselves bare for him, and a lot of it will require Reese and I collaborating on some fairly intimate and intense subjects.

There are also three more sex surveys to fill in. I only get as far as reading the first two questions on the third survey before she shuts it quickly.

1. What is your favourite sex position?

2. On a scale of 1-10, how much does your partner enjoy this position.

“Should we take a break first?” Reese asks, looking a little flushed and not meeting my gaze as she begins printing out the current survey she has open.

I take off my jacket, also feeling hot. “Let’s break for a bit,” I agree.

Fifteen minutes later, I return to our desk ready to get down to work. However, CeCe is standing at Reese’s desk, talking to her. When CeCe sees me approaching, her blue eyes lighten, her smile widens, and she blatantly checks me out.

“Bob never mentioned how long you’re in town for, Knox,” she says as I reach them.

“Ah, around a month.”

CeCe looks up at me under heavy lidded eyes. “Long enough to have some fun then.”

“I’m sure Knox will be too busy for that kind of fun,” Reese says sharply.

I look at Reese and our eyes lock, and I’m thrown back ten years to when I told her we’d have fun when I convinced her I wanted to take her to prom.

“That’s my kind of fun, too,” CeCe tells me, oblivious to the sudden tension between Reese and me.

Reese’s eyes are as cool as her voice as she says, “We should get on with this, Knox.”

“Maybe we could double,” CeCe suggests to Reese, ignoring the comment about work. “You and Max and Knox and I.”

Reese looks like she’d rather do anything else. “I’m not sure that’s…”

“Going to work this week,” I say, having no desire to double with Max and Reese. “I have a lot of work to get through and I want to settle in.”

Far from being put off, CeCe leans in, putting a hand on my chest. “Maybe some other time.”

“Maybe,” I say suggestively, smiling.

As much as she’s a looker and I like the fact she’s forward, starting something with someone in the office is a dumb idea. Besides, I’m married to my job. It’s been that way since I realized women don’t like coming second to my career.

CeCe gives me one more suggestive look. “I’ll make sure you have my number, you know, for when you have time.”

“Bob isn’t a fan of office romances,” Reese says abruptly as I sit down next to her.

“This is only my temporarily office, and I’m not looking for romance, I’m only interested in-”

“Fun. I remember. That was your M.O. back in high school.”

“Nothing wrong with fun, Cameron,” I say, bristling at what sounds like criticism. “Besides, it was a bit of harmless flirting. I didn’t say I’d take her on a date.”

“You hinted at it, and your flirting isn’t always harmless. Sometimes you lead a girl on and then humiliate her.”

Her eyes flash fire, and I want to point out she was never into me, thus I never led her on. The humiliation, though… “I’ve apologized for prom already, and I thought high school was water under the bridge.”

“It is.”

“Then quit reverting to your judgmental and holier-than-thou self.”

The comment flies out of my mouth before I can stop it. Her face takes on the same pinched expression it did when I apologized for my past behaviour earlier.

“You were the judgmental one back in high school, Knox,” she snaps, standing up. “Calling me a stuck-up bitch to everyone else but never having the guts to tell me what you thought about me, just dumping me as a friend without any word as to why.”

Our eyes lock and hold, neither of us speaking. The hurt in her eyes though, it both surprises and slays me.

“I’m going out for some air. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Reese,” I call after her when she starts walking away.

I look down at the list of questions the two of us need to answer together and then at her retreating back. I don’t know what to say to her, but it seems as if I’m not done apologizing today.

And no matter what she says, she’s not as over the past as she wants me to believe.

Next epsiode

Knox

“Are you still pissed with me about prom night?”

It’s the first thing that pops out of my mouth as Reese and I stare at each other. Ten years have passed, yet it’s like I’m eighteen years old all over again as my rival narrows her eyes at me. God, I’ve missed that look. Even when she’s glaring at me, she’s still breath-takingly beautiful.

Once upon a time, I mistook that beauty for kindness. I thought Reese was perfect. She was smart, stunning, and I thought she liked me the way I liked her. Then I learned it was all an act – that I was her little charity project, and she didn’t care about me at all. I felt like the biggest fool in the world, and I set out to take revenge.

“Ten years was a long time ago, Knox. I’m over what happened.”

Judging by the slightly pinched expression my old rival is wearing on her beautiful face, she’s lying. And since I took her to prom with the express purpose of humiliating her, I owe her an apology.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for using our bet to ditch you at Prom.”

The stunt I pulled was stupid and immature, and I don’t need a therapist or anyone to tell me that I took the resentment I felt towards my father and the town out on her.

More than once, I’ve looked back and winced at how well I misdirected my anger, but I’d feel a lot worse about what happened that night if Reese wanted to go to prom with me. She still spent the night dancing with Gabe, just as she planned to. All I did was derail her night a little.

“Thank you,” she says stiffly.

“I actually flew up on Saturday, hoping to have this conversation with you then.”

“You did?”

I nod. “I thought that since what happened was personal, we should keep it separate from work.”

I made two trips to her place, one on Saturday and one yesterday, but she wasn’t there. Subsequently, I came here early this morning hoping I’d get lucky and run into her before work started. I thought I’d hit pay dirt when I saw Reese sitting in her car – a silver beamer.

“Sorry, I was…out for the weekend.”

“With Max Theroux?” I ask.

The question tastes slightly bitter and I despise myself for asking it. I don’t care who she dates, it’s just that out of all the guys for her to wind up with, of course she’s dating Max. The guy went to the private school with my brother. He’s another Magpie Grove heir born and bred for success. No doubt Reese’s dad approves of her choice of partner in a way he never would have approved of me.

She raises an eyebrow. “You know who I’m dating?”

“Max and Brendan are friends. He mentioned you two are seeing each other.”

“I didn’t realise that you and Brendan still speak.”

Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrow. “You know how much I speak with my brother?”

“I…” she shakes her head. “No. I just…you two were never on good terms. I mean, you hated him a lot when you first moved to Magpie Grove.”

“I hated him for a long time, but time has made me wiser. Anyway,” I say, trying to pull the conversation back on track. “Again, I’m sorry.”

Reese offers me a forced smile. “Consider it water under the bridge.”

“I hope you mean that because we’ll be working together for the next month,” I say.

“Knox, I don’t think about the prom, or you, at all.”

Her comment needles me and throws me back ten years, to when I heard her tell Bex that I was her charity project, dismissing everything I thought we had. Not in so many words, but I read between the lines.

I’m not that angry, resentful boy anymore, though. I’m a successful and well-known journalist, on the fast track to becoming the youngest editor at The Melbourne Tribune. I don’t need anyone’s approval anymore. Not Reese’s or her father’s. Not this town’s. And certainly not my father’s.

Though, proving to my father that some bat-shit-crazy marriage therapist duped him is something I’m very much looking forward to.

“I’m heading inside, are you coming?” she asks, sidestepping me and heading towards the unremarkable grey concrete office building.

I pick up the laptop bag I dropped at my feet when Reese stumbled, about to follow her when the sight of the familiar logo on the papers cluttering up her backseat of her car catches my eyes. I peer into her back window for a moment before chuckling to myself and jogging to catch up with her.

“I thought you said you haven’t thought about me, but you’ve been keeping tabs on me, Cameron.”

“What?” she asks, not glancing at me as she continues marching towards the office building.

“Your backseat is full of Tribune papers.”

She nearly missteps and I cup her elbow to make sure she doesn’t faceplant.

“They’re not…” Her face flushes as she stops to glare at me, causing me to keep grinning like a fool. “I was researching your style. I thought it was a good idea since we’re going to be working together.”

She’s known about us working together since when? Thursday? Friday? She had at least ten papers in her backseat.

“Don’t be embarrassed about it,” I tell her, loving the fact she’s been reading my work. “I’ve kept tabs on you, too.”

She starts to deny she’s been tracking my progress before her brows draw together. “You have?”

“Sure,” my grin widens. “I’ve missed our rivalry. No one gives me as good a run for my money as you once did.”

After prom, Reese refused to speak to me. I expected her to hate me after the stunt I pulled, but I wasn’t ready for her to pretend I no longer existed. Instead of our back and forth, and our bets, and her glares, she iced me out. And when she stopped competing with me…well, I missed it. More than I expected to. Even winning the internship felt hollow without Reese to bet against. To taunt.

I’ve never found another rival worthy of my time over the past decade, and from time to time curiosity dictated I look her up to see what she was up to. It pleased me when she took a job here – that she didn’t let the fact I won the internship stop her from working here.

“Ditto,” she says quietly, as if it pains her. “But we aren’t rivals for the next month.”

“If it’s all water under the bridge, you’re not going to have any issue putting what happened behind us?” I ask, studying her carefully.

“None at all.”

“Good.”

“Good,” she repeats.

“I’m glad you’re able to be so professional about this.”

She rolls her eyes and begins marching towards the office again. “Are you coming or not?”

For a moment, I’m spellbound by the sway of her hips and the way her pencil skirt hugs her arse before my brain kicks in and I catch up, falling into step beside her.

Reese is with Max, and even if she wasn’t, I’m here to deliver on the promises I made my boss. That means keeping my eyes on the prize, not reminiscing and rehashing history with my old rival.

After walking into the building foyer, Reese presses the up arrow next to the lift and we wait in silence for the elevator. Once the car reaches the ground floor, we step in. She keeps her eyes locked on the doors as we ride up to level three, and though I know I shouldn’t indulge my curiosity, I take advantage of the moment to let my gaze slide over her.

Her curves are a little fuller than there ten years ago, and her dark hair is longer, hanging in soft waves to her waist. But everything else is the same, the long and shapely legs, dark and expressive eyes, the high cheek bones, button nose and full luscious mouth.

Desire punches me in the gut, heat hitting the pit of my stomach as I remember the way her lips felt against mine. Kissing her hadn’t been part of my plan on prom night, but the girl was pure temptation, and I’d fantasized about her for too long to deny myself the privilege. It was just a soft and innocent kiss to start with, but the cherry lip gloss coating her lips and the alcohol she’d consumed made me feel drunk. She kissed me back as if she wanted me as much as I wanted her, as if she craved me the way I craved her. I’d been lost in the moment, lost in her tentative and teasing kiss; I never wanted it to end.

When Taya appeared to remind me that I was supposed to be taking her to prom, I wanted to deny it. I would have done anything to turn back the clock and take back my stupid plan, make Taya’s words untrue. But I was too late. And Reese didn’t want my apology, she wanted Gabe.

Wrestling my gaze from her mouth, I force myself to stop reliving the hottest kiss of my high school days.

“I’m sure you remember where everything is,” Reese says as the elevator dings, letting us know we’ve reached our level.

Stepping out, we walk up to the large glass door that leads into The Sun’s office, and Reese scans her pass, letting us in.

It’s almost exactly as I remember it, a large open-plan space with plush dark grey carpet and light grey chairs at each desk. The desks are newer and there are more pot plants for the cleaners to water, but not much else has changed.

Reese points to the left. “The Men’s Room is that way, in case you’ve forgotten. I have no idea where you’ll be sitting, so you’ll have to ask Bob when he comes in.”

“Bob.” I repeat. “What’s he like as a boss?”

She turns to face me. “Bob’s a great guy. I know you used to work under Jensen when…”

She trails off and I can’t help but smirk. “When I won the internship.”

Her eyes narrow and she crosses her arms. “Because popularity won over quality.”

I chuckle. “You’re still banging that drum, I see.”

“Now and forever.”

I can’t stop smiling, and when I see her lips quirk up at the corners and she begins to return my smile, I feel my stomach dip the same way it does when I get a good lead on a story.

“Did you know they asked me to be the end of the year speaker?” I ask.

I hadn’t planned to mention that. Beyond apologising for the past, I had no intention of referencing our senior year or bringing up our old rivalry, but Reese is sharp as a whip and being around her has always brought out my super-competitive side. Seeing those papers in her backseat poured fuel on the flames of the competitive spirit that burns inside me. Knowing that she’s been reading my work and keeping tabs on me makes me want to challenge her and compete with her.

Her small smile turns into a frown. “They did?”

“They did. Do you think two rival seniors debated the pros and cons of who should be the end of year guest speaker?”

“If they did, I hope neither were stupid enough to make a bet about it,” she mutters, looking away.

“Nothing wrong with a good bet, Cameron. As long as it’s not made by an idiot like me who took things too far.”

Dark brown eyes lock with mine, and I glimpse an emotion I can’t read flash in her eyes before she turns away from me again.

I should tread more carefully. No matter how much she brings out the desire to challenge myself by provoking her, reigniting our old rivalry isn’t the best idea. We’re supposed to be working together, not competing.

She starts moving again through the maze of desks. “My desk is over here.”

Reese parks her bag on her desk, throws her jacket over her chair, then walks away. For lack of anything better to do, I put my laptop down on her desk and follow her into the staff kitchen.

“Mugs are in the cupboard to your right,” she says. “Sugar is on the bench. Milk is in the fridge. Would you like coffee?” she asks politely.

“Coffee would be great, thanks,” I tell her, taking two mugs out of the cupboard she just pointed to.

“A cappuccino?”

“Please.”

“So, how long have you been working on this story?” she asks, taking one of the mugs I hand her and sliding it under the machine before pressing the button that causes the machine to whir to life.

“A couple of weeks,” I say. “What about you?”

She frowns. “A couple of months.”

I wince inwardly. She’s been looking into Von Gruber for longer than I have, and right now she’s probably wondering whether I’ll have anything of value to add to her months of research.

She hands me a mug of coffee that smells pretty good, and I hand her the second mug so that she can make hers.

“Can I look at what you’ve got so far?” I ask once she’s finished making coffee.

After a curt nod, we walk back to her desk, coffees in hand, and she boots up her laptop. I grab the back of the seat from the desk behind hers, swinging it around so that I can sit next to her. I watch as she unlocks one of her drawers, pulling out a bulky manila folder. As soon as she hands it to me, I open it, shock making my eyes bulge as I see the face on the papers staring back at me.

The moment I look down and see the face on the papers staring up at me, I look at Reese. “This is-”

“My brother. But I don’t want you to think this is just…personal for me. I mean it is personal, but there’s so much more to this story.”

“Don’t sweat it, Cameron. My father went to the retreat a month ago and my brother asked me to look into the place when Dad got back.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.” I put the papers down on the desk and take my USB drive out of my laptop bag, handing it to her. “And the details are on here. I doubt I have the same depth to my research yet, but I might have a couple of things you missed.”

She thanks me, sits down, and plugs the drive into her laptop.

We spend the next few minutes wading through each other’s research. When I’m done with her file, I put it on her desk and she hands my USB stick back to me.

“Well?” I ask.

Crossing her arms, she says, “You’ve managed to compile a lot of information in a couple of weeks.”

I can’t help but smile. It’s obvious she hates letting me know I’ve done a good job. “You’re impressed,” I tell her. “It’s okay, Reese. You can admit it.”

“I wouldn’t use the word impressed.”

I chuckle. “Then neither will I.”

Her research is more than thorough. She works logically and methodically; the interviews she’s taken, her notes and her clippings are all perfectly ordered.

“That’s Bob,” Reese says as the door to the office opens.

The man walking into the office is tall, maybe six-five, and in his early fifties. His dark hair is streaked with grey, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a decade. Fortunately, his arrival stops me from continuing my conversation with Reese. It’s too easy to spar with her. Too easy to try and provoke a reaction from her. Too easy to go back to the way we used to do things and the way we used to be together, and I need to stop that behaviour. Because we’re not high schoolers. Not anymore.

I stand up as he walks towards us.

Serious grey eyes appraise me as he holds out his hand. “You must be Knox.”.

“Mr Kates,” I say, shaking his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Call me Bob, everyone else does. I’ve heard great things about you, son.”

I look at Reese, who is still sitting down, and she shakes her head. “Not from me.”

The older man’s eyes widen at her response.

“Knox and I went to high school together,” Reese explains. “He was my competition for the internship here. Obviously, he won.”

Something seems to click into place for Bob who nods and looks at me a little differently. “Why don’t you come into my office and we can get better acquainted,” he suggests. “You can tell me how you managed to beat Reese for the internship.”

“Make sure you tell him that popularity won over quality,” Reese tells me.

Her voice is cool, but her lips quirk up at the corner, and a small amount of mirth dances in her eyes, making me feel sucker punched by how beautiful she looks when she’s smiling. Before I can think better of it, I lean in.

Her cheeks flush and her eyes darken, and her lips part on a surprised breath. A stroke of lightning hits the pit of my stomach, causing me to swell behind the zipper of my slacks. She’s so damn beautiful and she always has been. Beautiful and unobtainable.

Not that I want to obtain her. The girl was very good at putting on an act and I’ve no doubt the woman is the same.

I ignore the crackle in the air around us. “Quit banging that drum, Reese.”

My gaze drops to her lips again before I force myself to pull back and walk into Bob’s office.

Next epsiode

A/N: There you have it guys, Part 5. The first chapter from Knox’ POV. Back when I started seriously writing ten years ago, I used to head hop from paragraph to paragraph. Now I prefer to keep it in POV for a chapter. Though occasionally I need 2 POVs to tell the story.

Buckle up, this will be one wild ride!

Reese

One week later…

The following Friday morning, I head for Bob’s office with my second cup of coffee and my Von Gruber file under one. I’m still on a high after reading Knox’ latest article in the Melbourne Tribune, and more determined than ever to convince Bob that the board needs to send me to the retreat.

I knock on my boss’ door expecting his usual grumpy response, instead he smiles at me when I walk in.

No, he doesn’t just smile; he beams at me.

“Morning, Reese.”

I almost do a double take as I take my seat. “Someone is in a good mood this morning. You got some sleep last night, didn’t you?”

“A little. Now let’s get this over with.”

His words imply he’s dreading the coming conversation, but his body language is open and relaxed, his smile wide. He almost appears…excited to talk to me.

“Um…” I start.

With Bob staring at me and waiting for me to speak, the script that our conversation usually follows flies out the window and I can’t remember exactly what I planned to say. I’m so used to fighting for him to listen to me that his full attention flusters me.

“This is the part where you tell me what you’ve learned about Von Gruber this week,” Bob reminds me.

“Right.”

I haven’t made as much progress as I would have liked to have, but I’ve still encountered a couple of odd things that I managed to trace back to the therapist. I launch into my findings, telling Bob about my latest discoveries. Once I’ve finished, I wait for him to tell me that I still didn’t have enough proof – that the price is too high. That the board will never sign off on it.

“You can go to the retreat, Reese.”

“Perhaps you could tell the board I…Sorry, what?”

He chuckles, something I haven’t heard him do in a very long time. “There’s a weeklong retreat coming up in around a month, isn’t there? The Board has agreed to send you. You’re going.”

“Are you joking?”

His amusement still shines in his eyes. “I would never be so cruel.”

“The board agreed? They’ll pay the twenty-thousand?”

Just last week, twenty thousand dollars was a price-tag out of reach.

“Ten thousand,” he says. “They’re going halves with the Melbourne Tribune.”

My stomach knots at the mention of my rival’s paper.

“Funny story,” Bob starts, his smile wide. “John Whittleman, the chief editor of The Melbourne Tribune and I went to college together. Occasionally, we still play golf together, and we keep in touch.” He leans in. “So, he calls me on Wednesday afternoon and asks me if I’ve heard of Lars Von Gruber. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I tell him that I have a reporter who has spent months researching him and has some evidence that is certainly suspicious. He then tells me that he has a reporter who is convinced something is going on and the client list of Von Gruber makes this story worth the price tag, especially if we can split it. We then proceed to speak and negotiate a deal to take to our bosses. After talking to the board yesterday, John and I finalized a deal that will see you and a partner there, ready to snoop until your heart is content. I get my dedicated reporter there and so does he.”

“Wow,” I say, feeling lightheaded, probably because I’m struggling to breathe.

“You’re in shock, aren’t you?” he asks, looking a little concerned.

“Who’s the reporter?”

My heart races uncontrollably as I wait for the answer, my ears ring with the sudden knowledge that I might be face-to-face again with my nemesis even if I don’t go to the reunion. As Bob has said many times, I have excellent gut instincts, and right now they’re screaming at me that I already know who the reporter is. It hardly makes me a genius. I mean, who else from the Melbourne Tribune would be interested in a Magpie Grove therapist?

“Knox Casey. You might have heard of him,” Bob continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil and the way my blood pressure has just spiked. “He’s actually from Magpie Grove. To be honest, he’s the reason the board signed off on my request in such a short time. He did his internship here around a decade ago. Jensen called him one of the most promising journalists he’s ever met, and from the few articles of his I’ve read, I have to agree the man is brilliant. He’s even been short-listed for The Golden Pen. It’s a shame he never stayed in Sydney.”

“Yes, a real shame,” I mutter before sticking my head between my knees so that I don’t faint and fall off my chair.

Knox is an excellent adversary. A worthy nemesis, and someone I enjoy competing with at a distance. You heard me. At. A. Distance. But he is the very, very last man on earth I want to pretend to be married to.

When he moved to Magpie Grove twelve years ago, I let down my guard with him. He became a friend, one I cared for and respected. One I fancied myself a little bit in love with. I really believed he got me. But he didn’t get me at all. He dumped me because he thought I was an ‘uppity bitch.’ A snob. And while I was walking around, dreaming of him and his lips and body on mine, living for our bets, and feeling jealous of the girls he dated, he was plotting his revenge against me. The moment he acted as if he wanted to spend time with me, I let him in all over again and wound up hurt, humiliated and betrayed.

How can I pretend to be married to someone who believed such horrible things about me?

“Reese,” Bob says. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him from between my knees.

“The shock is too much, isn’t it?”

He has no idea.

As soon as I think I can breathe without passing out, I lift my head and look at my boss, seeing the concern in his face.

“Is it all…a done deal?” I ask. “Set in concrete?”

“The paperwork and the funds need to be taken care of, but yes. I promise you that you and Knox are going to that retreat.”

“Great.”

I don’t bother asking him if I can take a different partner. He has no control over who I work with because it sounds as if Jensen only signed off on this assignment because of Knox. And as the major shareholder of The Sun, Jensen’s word is binding.

And as much as I’d rather work with anyone else, I am not walking away from this story. I won’t forget what Knox did, and I really – really – don’t want to work with him, however this story is important. I owe it to my brother and to my neighbours to find out exactly what goes on at the retreat, and I’m not willing to jeopardize my chances to get the answers. Knox took the internship I wanted. He took my heart and smashed it to pieces. I’m not about to let him take this story, too.

“How will the partnership work?” I ask Bob, needing to know just how closely I’ll have to work with Knox.

“You and he will research and investigate this story together. You’ll go to the retreat together, but you’ll write separate stories.”

“His will be for the Melbourne Tribune, I take it?”

Bob nods. “It might interest you to know that John and I have a bet riding on this. John told me he thinks Casey will run rings around you, but my money is on you, Reese. There’s no way Casey is as hungry for this story as you are.”

Feeling the knot in my gut loosen for the first time since Bob said I could go to the retreat, I offer him a small smile. My boss doesn’t realize he’s given me the shift in perspective I needed to make working with Knox bearable. This story will just be one more competition with Knox, and I’m going to focus on beating his arse. This time I won’t be runner up. Because this time, I won’t be distracted by my feelings for him. Never again will I let that man into my heart again.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say, standing up and heading towards for the door. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Because even if I hadn’t made a wager with John over it, the board are expecting this to put us ahead of The Sydney Herald in sales.”

“I understand.”

If the board is putting up half the money for the retreat, they’re going to expect a pay-off. Meaning, it isn’t simply enough to wipe the floor with Knox by writing the better article. I need to produce news that will go viral.

“Casey starts here on Monday,” Bob announces just as I grasp the door handle.

Gripping the handle tightly so that I don’t collapse on the floor, I turn around. “What? Why so soon? The retreat isn’t for weeks.”

“The Tribune have agreed to loan him to us until the retreat – he’s going to freelance with us during that time. That way the two of you will be able to get on with researching together and still get some work done.”

“That’s…great.”

“Yup, Jensen is very excited to have Casey back. Between you and me, I think he’s hoping to convince the man to work for us again. Who knows?” Bob shrugs. “Maybe he’ll decide he likes Sydney better than Melbourne.”

“Maybe.”

Crossing my fingers and praying that never happens, I thank Bob for his time and leave his office. The retreat takes place just before our ten-year high school reunion, so chances are good that Knox will go to the reunion after we’re finished at the retreat. Already, that puts him in the same state as me for too long. I just hope that he’ll leave as soon as the retreat and reunion are over because this paper – no, this town – isn’t big enough for the two of us.

Monday morning…

“Hey Reese, it’s Max. Of course, you probably already know that. Listen…I just wanted to let you know I’m sorry for ruining dinner on Saturday night. I overreacted, and the things I said…” he sighs. “I was just frustrated. If you’re not ready to move in with me, then you’re not ready to move in. It’s not a big deal. I’ll wait until you’re ready to take the next step, whenever that might be. I love you. I miss you. Give me a call when you finish work, ok? Bye.”

I press five on my keypad and delete the voicemail message, leaning back in my car seat and closing my eyes. My plan to spend Saturday night with Max to take my mind off Knox had been a dismal failure. Knox never truly strayed far from my thoughts, and Max and I quarreled over how much time I spend working and whether I should move in with him so we can spend more time together.

The problem is, I like Max but I’m not in love with him. He’s a nice guy – a great guy – and I keep waiting to feel more for him. But it hasn’t happened yet. I want to believe it’s because I’ve been focused on the Von Gruber story and my work, but on Saturday night Max told me I’m holding back with him. He might be right, but I’ve let him in just as much as I can. I wasn’t even aware I had ‘walls.’  

Opening my eyes again, I flip down the visor in my car so I can check that my makeup still looks okay. I need to forget Max and focus on the fact I’m about to go toe to toe with Knox again for the first time in a decade. I’ll need my wits about me. After touching up my lipstick, I flip up the visor, open the car and climb out before reaching back in for my handbag.

Slamming the door shut, I turn around and step straight into a solid wall of muscle.

“Oof.”

The breath rushes out my lungs as I look up and find dark caramel eyes staring down at me. I wobble as I realise I’ve literally just walked into my old rival. Strong hands move to my hips, holding me upright, and immediately I’m transported back to the night of the prom, when I stumbled, and Knox caught me. I put my lack of balance down to the staggering sense of déjà vu I’m experiencing. Even the scent of him is familiar, his aftershave wrapping around me and awakening my brain more than the coffee I consumed on the way here.

The photos I’ve seen on him since we graduated haven’t done his good looks justice. His dark hair is shorter around the backs and sides and styled on top. His shoulders are also wider than they had been ten years ago, and he’s slightly taller now. He’s filled out. In high school he was lean and fit, with the build of a swimmer, but now I can see the outline of his muscles underneath the dark blue collared shirt he’s wearing. With the short dark stubble dotting his jawline, he looks devastatingly handsome.

His caramel eyes glint with amusement and his full lips twist up at the side, making my heart kick from the familiarity.

This man set out to make a fool out of me. He left me to watch him walk into Prom with Taya, after he insisted that we go together – that he wanted to take an old friend. I will never allow this man to distract me again.

His hand slides from my waist and he steps back, leaving me free to breathe more easily.

His eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile grows. “Hi, Reese.”

“Hello, Knox,” I return.

Next episode

Reese

Ten years later…

Tapping my fingers on the front desk of the post office, I wait anxiously for someone to serve me. After what seems like hours, a balding, middle-aged man walks out of the back room, wiping something from his face.

“What can I do for you, love?”

“I’m here to pick up my copy of the Melbourne Tribune.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his non-existent hairline as he studies the card I slide across the counter, the one that tells him I missed my delivery.

“You’re a rare one, you know that? Most kids want to read everything online these days. Isn’t that what your generation is all about? Instant gratification?”

It’s true that I can search for Knox Casey’s articles online, and I obsessively did years ago. This new habit of reading the paper came about because I wanted to kick that habit. Stupidly, I thought that ordering the paper and paying for it would eventually become so burdensome that I’d finally break my addiction to reading Knox’ articles. Instead, the act of reading his articles and underlining parts with my trusty red pen has become my new obsession.

“I enjoy the actual act of reading the paper.”

“So why not read a Sydney paper, then? Why order a Melbourne paper?”

“Bad habit,” I murmur, tapping my fingers on the counter once more and wishing he’d hurry up and go get my paper.

After shooting me a curious look, the man finally walks into the back room and returns with my order under his arm. The sight of it makes my entire body buzz and my insides spin cartwheels. Reading Knox’ article is undeniably the highlight of my week. I feel high as I head for my car, coffee in one hand and paper in the other.

Now, instant gratification would be sitting in my car and flicking through it for Knox’ article. Instead, I fuel my anticipation by driving to work first, shooting longing glances at the paper sitting on my front seat.

Once I park in my usual car space, I turn off the ignition, unbuckle my seatbelt, and take my red pen out of the glovebox, then I open the paper to find Knox’ article.

As usual, Knox’ writing is flawless and smooth. His vocabulary enviable. It’s no wonder he’s been shortlisted two years in a row for the most prestigious award in Australian journalism: The Golden Pen.

Does that stop me from marking the article up with my red pen, though? Absolutely not. The man took me to Prom as a joke, won Prom King, then followed that up by winning the internship I’d worked my arse off for. So if I want to critique his writing, I will.

Since it happened more than a decade ago, some might say I should have let go of the fact Knox rejected me and called me an uppity bitch. 

For the most part I have.

Truly.

Even if his rare screw ups bring me joy, I’m grateful for the humiliation he inflicted upon me that night. It helped me get over the elephant-sized crush I had on him at the time.

But I’m addicted to competing with Knox. Back in high school, our rivalry inspired me to greater heights, and it still does. Reading his work motivates me to write better. Try harder. And every Friday after marking up his article, I walk into work determined to be the best damn journalist the Sun has ever seen.

Yes, that’s right. I work at the Sun now. Knox might have won the internship that gave him a year of experience here while he studied, but he left after finishing it, relocating to Melbourne and finishing his degree down there. So, when I graduated with my degree in journalism and the Sun offered me a job, I jumped at it. The Sun is, after all, the best paper in Sydney. 

I drop my pen back into the glovebox and I’m about to close the compartment when the unopened maroon and gold envelope I shoved in there a few days back catches my eye. Before I can talk myself out of it, I take the letter out, tear it open and find a maroon and gold card inside.

My pulse races as I stare at the words on the card.

Magpie Grove High School, Class of 2011 Ten Year Reunion

Just the thought of seeing my old classmates makes my stomach churn. And when I think about whether Knox might go…

Even if I’m mostly over the humiliation and rejection he dealt me a decade ago – and even if I still secretly and silently compete with him – I don’t need to see my former nemesis.

Nor do I need to spend time with most of the people I went to high school with. The last two years I spent in high school sucked, and even though I have a great job now and the respect of my peers, I don’t feel driven to go back to school and boast about my successes. My approval is what matters – not theirs.

So, I throw the invitation to the reunion along with this week’s Melbourne Tribune onto the back seat, which is currently serving as my trash bin. Then I head towards the office, typing a note into my phone to RSVP to the reunion with the ‘NO’ box ticked.

After making myself a cup of coffee – I need at least two coffees in the morning to function at my best – I greet my co-workers, grab my file on Lars Von Gruber, and head for my boss’s office.   

Bob Kates pinches the bridge of his nose as I enter his office, giving only a quick tap on the door to alert him I’m there.

“Morning, Boss,” I say brightly.

“Do we have to do this today, Reese?”

Ignoring the weariness in his voice, I sit down opposite him. I’ve hit him up for this unscheduled meeting every Friday for the past two months, and I don’t plan to stop until I get what I want from him.

“I only need a minute,” I say. “Besides, it wouldn’t feel like a Friday morning if we didn’t have this conversation, would it?”

The dark circles underneath Bob’s eyes make me feel a tad guilty as he stares back at me blankly. With four step children and a baby, he often looks exhausted. Still, he’s always fair and kind, and he respects and rewards hard work and persistence. Which is why I’ll continue asking my boss to send me to Lars Von Gruber’s retreat.

“The answer will be the same this week at is was last week, Reese. And the week before that, and-”

“And the six weeks before that. I’ve got it,” I say, smiling at his defeated expression. “How are Janie and the kids?”

He shakes his head. “Kaylee is teething. River has wet the bed four days in a row. James and John won’t stop fighting and waking the baby up. Oh, and Corinne has just started dating someone five years older than her.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Bob’s expression lightens, and a small smile pulls at his lips. “Like you have the time to help me. How many hours have you spent looking into the story this week?”

“Just twelve,” I said innocently. Fifteen at most.

“Twelve?” He shakes his head.

“I do it all from home. It’s not interfering with the work you give me, I promise.”

He sighs. “I know that, which is why I worry about you. I know you’re concerned for your brother, but you’re bordering on obsessed. You don’t do anything but work. Are you still dating what’s his name?”

“Max? Yes.”

“What does he think of all the time you’re putting into this?”

“He deals with it.”

That’s not saying he’s happy about it.

“You need a hobby.”

Does obsessing over my rival’s stories count?

“This is my hobby,” I tell him.

“Listen, Reese. I’ve said it before, but since you’re so determined we keep doing this, I’ll say it again. While I admit that all the evidence you’ve presented me with so far seems fishy, there’s no proof Von Gruber has done anything dangerous or illegal.”

“It’s more than fishy,” I protest, holding my finger up to ward off his coming interruption. “He keeps the price of the retreat so high that only certain clientele can afford his weeklong workshops, and many of those clients are worse off financially after returning from the retreat, even if they are still married. Take Macy and Joseph Blakely, for example,” I continue. “Did you know they’ve just declared bankruptcy?”

Bob frowns, and I go on.

“They went to Von Gruber’s marriage retreat at the end of last year. Before they went, they’d just expanded their operations team by hiring twenty more employees and building a shop in Borrowed Meadows. Who does that, Bob? Who hires that many people and then builds a new shop if they’re going under? I asked a couple of employees who worked for the couple if they saw the closure coming. They said that last year the Blakelys cleared over ten million dollars and were talking about upping everyone’s salary. How are they now bankrupt?”

“Perhaps they did up everyone’s salary as intended,” my boss offers, looking puzzled.

“No, they didn’t.”

“Again, there’s no proof that Von Gruber was the cause.”

“I know, but my gut-”

“You have excellent instincts, and perhaps you’re right. Unfortunately, we may never find out. I just don’t have enough money in the budget to fork out twenty thousand dollars for you to go to a marriage retreat, not with the limited proof we have. The directors won’t sign off on it. The price is too high.”

I’d pay for the damn retreat myself if I could, but I bought a house a couple of years back, and while I love my little cottage, the renovations and things that constantly go wrong with it have eaten the remaining part of my savings. Plus, I’m starting to wonder whether I might have to support my brother and his family if things don’t start to change.

“I’m sorry, Reese. My answer is the still no.”

I smile and stand even though I felt defeated right now. “You know I’ll be back next week.”

Real evidence must become known at some point. Something big enough to convince Bob and the board that I’m onto the biggest scandal Sydney has ever seen.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh, and Reese,” Bob says as I walk towards the door.

I turn back to face him. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t work too hard this weekend.”

The smile I forced a moment ago grows into something genuine. “Have a good weekend, Boss.”

Next episode

Reese

On the night of the Prom, I walk downstairs five minutes before Knox is due to pick me up. Instead of locking himself in his room and crying after dinner, my father is standing in the living room waiting for me. When he sees me, he smiles gently and takes out the camera he’s holding behind his back.

“You look beautiful, Reese. Just like your mother.” His smile falls as he thinks about her. “I wish she was here.”

I go to him and hug him. “Me too, Dad. Me, too.”

He clears his throat, and as I let him go he reaches up and wipes his eye. My father might never be the man he was before my mother died, but I appreciate his attempt to be present for me tonight.

I smile and laugh and pose as he takes a few photos of me, and when the doorbell rings, he holds up a finger and motions for me to wait while he goes to answer it. Which works for me because I need to take a few deep breaths and calm down. Knox Casey, my rival and long-time crush, is taking me to Prom. Even before he became the most popular guy in school – when he was a scrawny mess who made me feel better about myself, made stupid bets with me, and blew my mind with how smart he was – I liked him. Tonight, maybe, I won’t have to spend all of my energy pretending I don’t.

Catching my reflection in the mirror, I smile in silent agreement with my father; I do look like my mother. My long wavy chestnut hair is hanging in loose curls down my back. My brown eyes are smoky and dark, and my burgundy plunge-neckline dress matches my lipstick and shoes.

I look away from my reflection just in time to see Knox walk into our living room with my father.

Whatever Knox is in the middle of saying gets cut short as soon as he sees me standing there. His mouth falls open as he takes me in, and I’d probably tease him about his reaction if I wasn’t so busy ungluing my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Knox in a tuxedo? He’s painfully handsome at the best of times, but tonight he’s stolen my ability to breathe and talk. I expected him to try and tame the rogue lock of hair that usually falls over his forehead, and perhaps he did try, but it’s fought the battle against whatever hair product he’s used and won.

My father nudges Knox, starting my date moving towards me.

“You look beautiful,” Knox whispers with a touch of awe, holding out a wristband with a spray of white curling flowers that smell nearly as sweet and fragrant as Knox’ aftershave.

“You don’t scrub up too bad yourself,” I say, holding out my hand out so he can slide the wristband over it.

A smirk tugs at his lips, and standing so close to him – knowing we’re going to dance all night -has me thinking about those lips moving on mine, sending need quivering through my belly. He has to kiss me tonight. There’s no way Knox would take a girl to Prom and not kiss her.

Or try other things.

I haven’t thought about how far I’m willing to go tonight. Okay, I’ve totally thought about it. I should say that I haven’t decided yet.

If the night goes well…

“Are you ready to go?” he asks.

“Mind if I take a few photos of the two of you first?” Dad asks.

Knox looks at his watch.

“We have time,” I tell him.

“Of course,” Knox says, a smile quickly replacing the frown that flickered across his face.

“Have her home by midnight, please, son,” my father says after taking snaps for a good few minutes.

“I promise.”

I’m relieved Knox doesn’t protest, despite the fact that there’s an afterparty tonight.

My father pats him on the back, and I link my arm through Knox’, letting him know I’m ready to leave.

“Please drive carefully,” my father pleads with us as we walk out the front door.

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s a bit protective,” I explain to Knox as we head towards his car – a red and black Holden Monaro SS.

It’s an older car, but well-loved. Knox saved all his money from working the past two years just to buy it, according to the Magpie Grove rumour mill. Hopefully, the fact he didn’t want to split a limo with Bex and her date means he wants to spend time alone with me.

And yes, I know I shouldn’t be so excited to spend time with my rival after he cut me out of his life and rejected my friendship, but graduation is speeding towards us and I need to know if he’s sorry. If he regrets the way things ended. I want to know if he sees me as more than his old friend and current rival.

Knox’ gaze flits down my dress, lingering on my breasts before looking at my face once more. “Honestly, I’m just grateful he didn’t have the shotgun locked and loaded. If he knew all the things that I wanted to do to you when I walked in and saw you standing there…”

“Knox,” I breathe out.

The heat and the intensity in his gaze cause me to shiver. I can’t wait to spend all night dancing with him.

He leans in, and for a moment I hope he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he whispers in my ear, “Get in the car, Reese. Before I do something extremely inappropriate with your father standing there watching us.”

The effects his words have on me…my knees are like jelly as I climb into the passenger seat of his car, thinking of everything Knox wants to do to me.

Knox slides into the driver’s seat, and I silently try and compose myself while fumbling with my seatbelt. After too long, I finally hear the click.

“I’m sorry we won’t have time to go to the afterparty,” I say as Knox starts the engine.

He shrugs and begins making his way around our circular drive, exiting through the large open gate.

“You’ve been to one party, you’ve been to them all. It’s not a big deal.”

I’m so glad he feels that way. “Thank you. I’m lucky Dad even let me out at all.”

“Why, because I’m the bastard son of Chapman Ross?”

“What?”

The anger and resentment in his voice stake me through the stomach. I can’t tell if the hatred in his voice is directed at me or his father.

“Why would you say that?”

He shrugs, his mouth pulled into a tight line and his hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel.

“Since the accident, my father doesn’t like my brother or me going out all that much,” I tell him. “He’s just so…cautious about everything.”

“Right.”

I’m not sure if he believes me or not and I twist my hands in my lap, feeling like I need to explain more even though I don’t know how to. I don’t want to spend my first night out in forever – my first date with Knox – talking about the most devastating event of my life. Even when Knox and I were friends, I never told him about my father’s breakdown. The only person who knew about that was Bex. And that’s because she caught me sobbing one afternoon while I was working at the paper.

“Well, it’s good he let you out for Prom then, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

After a few minutes spent chatting about the antics Mr. Thomas employs to help the students less than enthusiastic about English, Knox pulls into the school lot and drives around so we that we park on the opposite side of the school to the gym.

“Why are we parking here? Shouldn’t we go around the other side?”

“You afraid of a little walking, Cameron?”

“Of course not. I just…there’s no one parked here.”

He turns off the car, but leaves the radio on. “Perhaps that’s the point.”

My stomach dips as he takes off his seatbelt and looks at me, sending heat curling through my middle.

I take off my seatbelt, too, wondering if he’s going to kiss me now. We haven’t even danced together, and our evening has barely begun. After so many nights thinking about his lips on mine, however, I won’t pull away if he tries.

When he moves forward, my heart goes into overdrive and my stomach drops down to my toes. He grins and opens the glove box in front of me, taking out a flask and removing the lid before raising it to his lips and swallowing some of the contents.

“Want some?” he asks, holding it out to me.

I haven’t consumed alcohol since before my mother died, but my nerves are so crazy right now that I could do with something to take the edge off.

“Sure. Thanks,” I say, taking it from him.

I sip from the flask, enjoying the burn of the alcohol down my throat and the immediate warmth that follows. Deciding quickly that I need another hit, I take a breath and then down half of the flask.

He chuckles as I pass it back to him.

“Nervous?” he asks.

“Of course not.”

We both know it’s a lie. Well, it would have been a lie a second ago. Right now, I’m flushed, legless and filled with more confidence than I was. Thank you, alcohol.

Knox raises the flask to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. I’m aware that his lips are touching the place mine just were. Need and heat intertwine inside me. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and I’m ready to climb into the backseat with him. If we don’t get out of here soon, I’ll let on just how affected I am by him.

“We should head in,” I say.

He looks at his watch. “We should.”

He caps the flask, puts it back in the glove compartment, and then gets out of the car, coming around to open my door for me. I take his hand when he offers it, feeling a little unsteady on the gravel crunching underneath my very high heels.

Apparently, I consumed enough alcohol to give me a confidence boost and impair my co-ordination. The car park isn’t very well lit, and when I step on a pebble my ankle twists a little. Before I fall, Knox snakes an arm around my waist, holding me up.

“Sorry,” I say, giggling. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”

I expect him to laugh, make a joke at my expense. Instead, he’s staring down at me, his intense gaze focused on my mouth.

“Reese.”

For a moment we simply stare at each other, and then he dips his head and I wait with bated breath for his lips to touch mine. Finally, they do, and I feel even less steady than I did a moment ago as he fills my senses.

Kissing Knox isn’t anything like I imagined. His lips are hotter, for one, and they fit over mine so well, it’s like they were made to kiss me. And when his tongue dips into my mouth, my whole body feels as if it’s on fire. Heat, energy and colour shoot off in all directions inside of me, like fireworks. I cling to him, running my hands under his jacket and over his chest, until he’s kissing me so passionately, my head is spinning.

Needing to take a breath, I force myself to break away from him, staring into those eyes as he stares back down at me, the heat in them making me want to dive back into the car with Knox.

“Knox!”

The sound of a sharp female voice scolding my date turns my head in the direction of the school gym. Taya McDonnel walks towards us dressed in a sapphire blue frock, her dark brown hair weaving down her back.

“You said eight o’clock,” she whines. “You know I hate waiting. I want to go to my Prom.”

I look between Taya and Knox, trying to understand what’s happening. Because Knox told me he wasn’t taking Taya.

“Didn’t you tell her you were coming with me?” I ask him.

Taya snorts. “Like he’d ever take you to prom, Reese.”

I expect Knox to tell her off, to tell Taya to go away. But when I see him swallow and look away from me, the most horrific empty cold feeling fills my stomach.

“Knox?”

“Tell her,” Taya says with a cruel smile on her face as she moves towards us. “Tell her that taking her to Prom was a joke.”

No. Even if I know deep down that something – that everything – is wrong, wrong, wrong, I don’t want to believe this was a joke. I can’t believe that Knox brought me here, made me break my date with Gabe, for the express purpose of humiliating me. Even though he ended our friendship and we’ve been rivals for the past twelve months, I can’t believe Knox would do something so cruel to me.

He looks at Taya and then back at me. “I told her I was taking you.”

“Yes, as a joke,” Taya says impatiently. “And the joke is over now. It’s cold out here and I want to go inside.”

“You brought me here as a joke?” I choke on the question, instead of sounding in control and chilly like I want to. “Why?”

“He thinks you’re a snob, Reese,” Taya says. “He wanted to teach you a lesson for being such an uppity bitch.”

“A snob?” I ask, doing everything I can to hold back the tears stinging my eyes and nose. “You think I’m an uppity bitch?”

I want to say it’s just anger raging through me making me want to cry, but the pain in my heart, the way it’s twisting in my chest, is so excruciating I don’t know how I’ll survive it. We were friends for eighteen months before Knox turned his back on me. An entire year and a half. When did he decide he hates me this much? When did he start believing I was a snob?

And why? What have I ever done to him to deserve this…this punishment and humiliation? I thought he invited me to Prom because he liked me. Because he regretted everything and wanted to make amends.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, shaking his head as if he’s made some sort of silly mistake instead of breaking my heart. “At the time, I thought it would be funny.”

“You thought it would be funny?” I repeat.

He nods and takes a step towards me. “I can see now that it was a stupid idea. I really screwed this up. Let me make it up to you.”

“How? How can you possibly make it up to me?”

“Let me take you to prom. For real. I wasn’t serious when I asked you, but I’m serious now.”

His golden-brown eyes appear earnest, but I can’t trust them. I can’t trust him.

“Knox,” Taya says with annoyance. “You’ve had your fun, now leave it.”

I look at Taya. Seeing her dressed up – knowing she was the one Knox wanted to come with – isn’t something I can forget. And how can Knox expect me to carry on with our date as if she never announced I’m here with him as a joke and he thinks I’m a snob? Maybe, after our kiss, he thinks I’ll be an easy lay and he can humiliate me further by telling everyone I slept with him at Prom.

In other words, he can go to hell.

I will never, ever, allow myself to feel vulnerable around Knox again. Nor will I let him know just how much his opinion of me has cut me to the quick.

“I don’t want to be your date to prom, Knox. I never wanted to go to Prom with you. I should have been here with Gabe. He was the one I wanted to go with.”

It’s a lie, and I’m still so stricken I don’t know if he’ll even believe me, but I hope he does. I want to hurt him like he’s hurt me. Not that that’s possible.

“I was right all along, wasn’t I?” he asks, a bitterness he has no right to feel coating every word. His dark gaze is now icy enough to make me want to wrap my arms around myself. “The only reason you ever agreed to come with me is because of our bet?”

He has no right to sound as if I’m the one who wronged him. If I’d won our bet, I never would have humiliated him like this. But one good thing has come out of this evening’s pain and humiliation. He’s cured me of the feelings I’ve been trying to shake off for so long. God, I’m embarrassed that all it took in the first place was a few kind words and an offer to be my date and I was ready to forgive him for walking away from our friendship. He must have been rubbing his hands in glee when I agreed so readily.

“I can’t think of anyone I wanted to go to with less,” I tell him, standing straighter, tipping my chin up, doing my best to look down my nose at him. If he wants to see a snob, I’ll give him one.

“In that case…” he holds out his arm and Taya links hers through his. “Enjoy your evening, Cameron. I know I intend to.”

Taya smirks at me before the two of them turn their backs on me and walk into Prom, leaving me standing there as the tears start falling.

I choke back my sob, brush the tears away, take a deep breath. And then I walk into Prom. My heart might be aching, and I feel like the biggest idiot this side of the planet, but I’m not letting Knox get the best of me. If he thinks he ruined my night, he wins, and I’m not about to let him win ever again. Not if I can help it.

Next episode

Reese

Magpie Grove High School, 10 years ago…

“And that is why Kirk Gibbleshot should be the end of year guest speaker, not Glenda Thornrims.”

The basketball stadium, packed with our entire year level, stands up and applauds for my enemy. Knoxfield Sebastian Casey.

Gone are the days where he wore his hair like a mop, and he didn’t care what kind of clothes he wore to school, and his teachers thought he had a bad attitude. Now he wears the right clothes. His wavy light brown hair has been cut so that it’s long enough to fall over his forehead but looks stylish instead of messy. He charms the teachers, and he takes a different girl out every weekend.

He isn’t my friend anymore; he’s one of them – the same group of lemmings we used to joke about.

“Sorry, Reese,” Gabe says beside me as if it’s his fault we lost this battle.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Reese,” Bex chimes in from next to him. “I know how much you wanted to win.”

It’s not Gabe and Bex’ fault we’ve lost the debate. It’s not their fault that I’ve been tied up until now with Knox for the internship offered by The Sydney Sun. It’s not their fault I made a bet with Knox over who would win this debate. Stupidly, I believed our classmates would vote for my team when they heard our logical and passionate speeches. But they’ll never pick my team over Knox’. I’ve lost, and Knox knows it, too, because he chooses this moment to look over and smirk at me.

My traitorous heart beats harder as his golden-brown eyes lock with mine. He has no idea, thank God, that it’s his hands I imagine on my body every night, and his lips I go to sleep thinking about. The hurt and rejection I felt when he ended our friendship without any explanation should have put a stop to the fantasies I’d had about him back when we were friends, but I’ve spent the last year trying to overcome my crush.

“Our arguments were great,” I tell my team, my gaze still locked with Knox’. “We put the effort in, and it showed. They just have a few extra voters on their side.”

Knox chooses this moment to walk over and stand in front of our table. I focus on maintaining eye contact. I don’t let my gaze drift down to admire the way his shirt has moulded itself to his muscles. He wasn’t always so built or so tough. When he arrived in this town, he was tall and thin. Now he’s muscular and tanned from all his time spent swimming and lifeguarding.

“I hope you’re not going to try and weasel out of our bet, Cameron.”

“I’d never weasel out of anything,” I force out between gritted teeth. “I was merely commiserating with my team over the fact that popularity will win over quality.”

He crosses his arms, but that smirk – that annoying smirk that I just want to slap off his gorgeous face – grows bigger. “So, it’s sour grapes, then?”

“I’m not sour at all. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We put forward our best arguments-“

“Good. I wouldn’t want to think you lost on purpose because you enjoy cleaning my car so much.”

I don’t blush easily, but the way Knox is looking at me, as if he knows – knows! – how much I wished it was me he was taking me out in that car he loves so much instead of Taya McDonnel, causes my face to sting with heat.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Knox. I don’t want to go anywhere near your car again.”

He leans in closer, closer, closer, until his lips are just millimetres away from mine, and his sweet peppermint-scented breath hits me. I can’t take my eyes off his lips. How many nights have I thought about that mouth on mine? His reputation for bringing girls pleasure is well-known.

He stands up straight again, his small and intimate chuckle ringing through me and turning me inside out. “Don’t you?” he asks smugly.

Curse you, Knox. I will never, ever, give you the satisfaction of knowing just how much you affect me.

I sit back and glare at him, wishing my face would stop burning and my heart would stop racing like a greyhound after a rabbit. “Mr Thomas hasn’t announced the winner yet. You might be cleaning my car,” I tell him.

Annoyingly, he doesn’t look too upset by the idea. If anything, he looks amused. “Would you like that? For me to wax your car?”

The way he says wax…it’s so dirty. My racing pulse moves lower, settling in my belly as my heart beats even harder.

“You’re disgusting,” I hiss, hoping like hell I don’t look and sound as excited as I feel right now.

“Knox,” Mr Thomas says, walking over to our table. “Can you sit down now? We’re going to work out the winner.”

“Isn’t everybody voting on the way out?” I ask our English teacher, nervous that we may have an answer so quickly.

I need at least the weekend before the official result is announced. I can’t face the consequences of the losing today.

Mr Thomas dashes my hopes by shaking his head and smiling a small smile. “You know what these kids are like, Reese. Might as well pin them to an answer now.”

He steps away from our table and claps his hands to quieten Magpie Grove’s entire year twelve class.

“Right, listen up!” Mr Thomas yells over the sound of an entire year level gossiping and joking. “We’re going to vote. Let’s start with Reese Cameron’s team first. They had some excellent thoughts on why Glenda Thornrims should be the end of year guest speaker. Can all of you wanting to vote for Glenda as the end of year speaker please stand up.”

I watch with growing horror as a few people shuffle to their feet. I count them. Then I count them again. Over and over, I count them, hoping I’m imagining our complete lack of support. Out of our entire year level, we have eleven votes.

Eleven.

For the second time today, my cheeks sting with the heat of embarrassment. These people used to like me. Before the car accident which killed my mother and my father’s subsequent breakdown, I was popular. I was invited to all the parties and asked out all the time. I used to compete for Queen Bee instead of internships. After I gave up drinking every weekend and going to parties because my father and brother needed me at home, Taya and my whole friendship group turned their back on me. As if it wasn’t bad enough my mum was gone forever…

A few months later, Knox arrived at the school. He was grieving both of his parents and hated living with his uncle, and I was bitter over the way things at school had gone down. We started hanging out every lunchtime, and for eighteen good months, I had a friend. A friend who I grew to care about more and more. And then…poof. He dumps my friendship a year ago for the very same in-crowd he used to look down upon with scorn and bitterness.

No matter how hard I try to forget about him and the way he abandoned me, the memory bites just as much now as it did twelve months ago.

And right now, remembering his easy rejection and seeing how few people are willing to stand up and vote for my team is devastating.

I can feel Knox looking over at me, but I refuse to look back at him. He’s probably grinning at just how large his victory is. Of course, the result doesn’t reflect anything but how much everyone likes Knox these days. If they knew what he used to say to them behind their backs a year ago…

“Is that all?” Mr Thomas asks, clearly surprised by the results.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He likes Knox just as much as everybody else at this school. Mr Thomas is a great English teacher, and I’ve always enjoyed his classes, but he was the one who encouraged Knox to apply for the internship. It’s a position only made available to Magpie Grove High students. This is because it fills the newspaper’s requirements to support public schools, while still giving an advantage to the wealthy residents of Magpie Grove who regularly donate to the paper.

And I get why Knox wants the scholarship as much as he does. But I need it, too. Writing has been my solace since the accident. When no one else was interested in what was happening in my life, it was the school paper that welcomed me with open arms. Bex and Gabe have been wonderful. Incidentally, most of the people standing now are friends with Bex and Gabe and me and write with us on the school paper.

“Right, thank you,” Mr Thomas calls. “You can sit back down now. Can everyone who wants Kirk Gibbleshot to be the end of year speaker please stand up now.”

Adding insult to injury, the whole auditorium, minus the eleven people who voted for us, stand up and applaud.

I still can’t bring myself to look at Knox. Not only is he now ahead on points for the internship, but I’m dreading what he’s going to make me do since I’ve lost out the bet. If he asks me to wash his car again because he’s taking Taya to prom in it, I just might scream.

As soon as Mr Thomas announces Knox’ team the winner, everyone starts filing out of the stadium. I say a quick goodbye to my team, grab my bag, and do my best to file out with everybody so that I don’t have to face Knox again this afternoon.

“Cameron!”

Hearing Knox call me, I push through the stadium door and start jogging towards the school gate, ready to go home.

Knox is faster on foot than I am, though, and when I feel his hand on my shoulder, and tingles shoot down my arm, I know I’m caught.

Whirling around, I glare at Knox. “Congratulations. You won. But can’t this wait? I have to get home?”

Knox grins, looking over at the football oval and then back at me. “You know, I could make you run around the football field naked if I wanted to.”

“You wouldn’t.”

I should never have let him talk me into making another stupid bet. It’s just that we used to make bets all the time when we were friends. Stupid little bets that would make me laugh and take my mind off things at home. The bets should have stopped when our friendship did. But every time he proposes one, I agree. Wrongly, I keep thinking it might jog his memory and remind him we used to be friends.

“I could if I wanted to, is all I’m saying.”

“Then I’m glad you don’t want to.”

The grin slips off his face and he looks at me with an expression that’s serious instead of smug.

“You’re right. I don’t want that.”

“What do you want, then?”

“I want you to be my date for Prom.”

“What?”

I’m not sure I heard him right because it sounded as if he just asked me to prom. And I know that can’t be true because Taya McDonnel has talked non-stop about the fact Knox is taking her to Prom for weeks now.

“I said, I want you to be my date to Prom,” he repeats.

“I don’t understand.”

His smirk is back now, and I don’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I prefer his smugness to his serious face. “You dress up. I dress up. Then-“

“You don’t need to explain what we do.”

He chuckles. “Good. For a second, I thought I was going to have to start drawing diagrams. Come on, Reese. We’ll have fun.”

Fun.

I know exactly what kind of fun Knox likes to have with his dates. I glare at him, even though the very thought of what he’s proposing and the way he’s looking at me right now leaves me hot, bothered, and aching for him the way I do every night as I go to sleep dreaming about him.

“What about Taya? I thought you were taking her.”

“I was going to go with her, but I’ve decided I’d rather go with an old friend.”

His voice is soft and his eyes warm. It’s the first time since he ended our friendship with no explanation that he’s acknowledged we used to be friends. Aside from all the asinine bets he still proposes all the time, anyway. And despite myself, I smile back at him.

“You do?”

“Yeah, don’t you?”

Far, far more than I’ll ever admit. “It might not be too terrible,” I say. “I can think of a time when we could talk about more than who would win the internship.”

I stop smiling just as Gabe and Bex walk past us, shooting me a curious look and reminding me of the conversation I had with Gabe just a few days ago. My entire body slumps with disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Knox, I can’t. I already told Gabe I’d go with him.”

Irritation flares in my rival’s golden-brown depths before he replaces it with a smile and shrugs. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind and you’re going with me now.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then you have to pay the penalty for welching.”

“I’m not withdrawing my application for the position at the Sun, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Then I guess we’re going to prom together. What colour is your dress?”

“I haven’t bought it yet.”

“Let know when you do.” He winks. “See you round, Reese.”

I can’t believe it – Knox wants to take me to Prom. Does he remember our time as friends as fondly as I do? Does he feel bad for turning his back on me? Has he started thinking about me the way I think about him?

I feel awful about having to tell Gabe I can’t be his date anymore, but I still find myself smiling and thinking about dress shopping as I follow everybody else to their lockers. 

Next episode

Description

Working with the man who humiliated her ten years ago is the last thing journalist, Reese Cameron wants to do. Unfortunately, her boss is insisting Reese work with her ex-rival. Now, Reese is going undercover with Knox Casey, pretending to be married to the man as they investigate the strange goings on at a marriage retreat. If Reese thought her biggest worry was surviving the attraction she’s always had to Knox, she was very, very wrong.

© Elle Fielding

*Strong adult content, including: voyeurism, kink, exhibitionism, fictional drugs, and hypnosis. Reader discretion is strongly advised. 18+ recommended.*

Table of Contents

Bet Me: Ep. 1

Bet Me: Ep. 2

Bet Me: Ep. 3

Bet Me: Ep. 4

Bet Me: Ep. 5

Bet Me: Ep. 6

Bet Me: Ep. 7

Bet Me: Ep. 8

Bet Me: Ep. 9

Bet Me: Ep. 10

Bet Me: Ep. 11

Bet Me: Ep. 12

Bet Me: Ep. 13

Bet Me: Ep. 14

Bet Me: Ep. 15

Bet Me: Ep. 16

Bet Me: Ep. 17

Bet Me: Ep. 18