California Can Wait, page 1
California Can Wait
Marci Bolden
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Also by Marci Bolden
About the Author
1
Andi Davidson used to dream of a fast life, successful career, and sexy men… Right now, she’d have settled for simply walking out of the Carson County Jailhouse without contracting lice or some other communal disease from the drunk on the bench next to her. Instead of soothing her soul with Ingrid Michaelson as she sped toward the coast to start her life over, she was waiting for her turn to file a report in some dinky West Texas town.
Half an hour. She’d been out of her motel room for half an hour. When she came back, everything she’d left in the room was gone. She’d stood there like an idiot with her mouth hanging open before calling the front desk to ask if the maid had been in her room.
Of course not. She’d been robbed. And why wouldn’t she have been robbed? The way her life was going, she should have expected it.
A seemingly indifferent officer with bloodshot eyes and scruff covering most of his face called her name. She got the feeling he was just as displeased to see her as she was to be there.
She smiled, but he simply gestured for her to follow him to his cluttered desk.
He exhaled heavily as he dropped into his chair and gestured toward an empty one for her.
She eased down onto an unpadded metal seat that was just as battered as the desk. Andi wished he would at least pretend to be interested in her plight. “Do you think I’ll get my things back?”
“Probably not,” he said, not bothering to sugarcoat his prediction. “They’ve probably already been sold.” He glanced up when she didn’t respond. “Sorry. That’s just the way it goes.”
“This town isn’t that big. Don’t you have a list of usual suspects?”
“Yup. That’s how I know your stuff’s probably already been sold or tossed.”
“Then why am I here?”
He met her stare, his face devoid of emotion. “You said you wanted to make a report.”
“I thought you’d be able to get my things back.”
“We can list the items as stolen. There’s a chance they’re at a pawnshop in town.”
She leaned back and bit her bottom lip as she debated whether filling out the paperwork was worth the trouble.
“Are you filing a report?”
“I don’t have a serial number for the laptop,” she said. “My clothes were probably tossed. The cash I had hidden in my suitcase is already spent. Seems pointless to file a report, doesn’t it?”
The officer sighed as he ran a fat hand over his ashen face. “If you want to file a report, your items will be listed as stolen.”
She looked at the other people filing complaints to officers who looked just as bored as the one sitting across from her. One woman cried as the children sitting beside her hung their heads. Another woman stared blankly out a window as she held an ice pack to her temple.
Both of them looked far more downtrodden than Andi felt. The most valuable things she’d lost were a two-year-old laptop and a few hours of time spent sitting in the police station. These women looked like they’d lost their souls.
“Sorry I wasted your time.” She pushed herself up.
“If you plan on staying in town, go to the Mayflower. They have better security there.”
“I think I’ll be moving on.”
“Swing by the pawnshop first. Let them know what’s missing and give them your number. They’ll call if they see your stuff.”
“Thanks.”
She stepped out of the police station and took a deep breath, clearing her nostrils of the stench of stale air from inside. Putting her hand to her forehead, she blocked some of the sunlight blinding her. Though she’d just suffered a major setback in her plans, Andi smiled. There would be plenty of this sunshine where she was headed. No more bitter cold winters that dragged on far too long. Sun and surf were ahead. This was just a little bump in the road, and she’d be damned if she’d let it stop her.
Heading down the street to the diner where she’d eaten the night before, she thought again of how great her life was going to be once she got to California. She pictured herself in a small house in a small town filled with artists and free-flowing margaritas. No more stress. No more pushing herself. No more falling on her face.
Just a nice quiet life and letting go of the past.
The thing she didn’t want to think about was the cash that had been stolen from her room. She’d only pulled enough out of her savings to have some money for gas and food on the road, but she’d still be hard-pressed to make a deposit on the house she’d hoped to rent once she arrived in Encinitas.
She pushed the door to the diner open, and the scents of grease and burgers assaulted her, reminding her of a place her father had taken her when she was young. They’d sit in the back booth and work on a crossword puzzle while drinking milkshakes, eating cheeseburgers, and sharing a heaping plate of fries.
Memories like those were the only ones she wanted to take to her new life.
She grabbed a complimentary copy of the local newspaper from the counter and slid into a booth. She unfolded the paper, intent on doing the puzzle, but frowned at the sloppy layout. The flag was too big, the headlines were too short, and the photos were misplaced. There were gaps in the columns and uneven spaces in the print. She looked at the front page to verify this wasn’t a copy of the local high school paper.
It wasn’t.
Her well-trained eye caught numerous errors as she scanned the content. Flipping to the front page, she found the editor-in-chief’s name.
“Graham Bradley.” She scoffed. “Wow. You are one seriously bad editor, Mr. Bradley.”
“Excuse me?”
Laughing softly with embarrassment, she lifted her attention to a man who had stopped in front of her table. “Sorry, I was talking to myself. Bad habit.”
“You don’t like the paper?”
“Well, it’s just…bad.”
“Bad?”
Her smile faded at the clip in his tone. “Yes.”
“How so?”
“Well, um…”
The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth, and his dark eyes bored into her.
She took a breath as she examined the messy layout and then focused on the man again. “You’re Graham Bradley, aren’t you?”
He lifted his brows.
She sighed miserably. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You didn’t,” he said harshly. “The criticism of someone who has never put a newspaper together does not offend me.”
Andi opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he continued.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, lady.”
“I know lazy work when I see it,” she responded with just as much attitude.
“Do you?”
“Yeah, and this”—she gestured toward the newspaper spread before her—“is about as poor-quality work as I have ever had the displeasure of reading.”
He pressed his lips together before muttering, “You don’t know shit.”
He walked across the diner and shoved the door open as he stormed out.
“Wow,” she breathed when he was gone.
Andi tried not to let his words get to her, but his comment about her not knowing shit replayed over and over in her mind. She reached into her purse, pulled out a pen, and made notes on the layout. By the time she finished her lunch, the newspaper was overflowing with bright red editorial marks and comments that contrasted against the black-and-white print. The pages appeared to have bled under the weight of her scrutiny.
When the waitress returned with her check, Andi folded the paper and asked for directions to the newspaper office. It was only a few blocks away, leaving her little time to cool off before pulling open the door that had The Gazette stenciled on the glass. She marched in, ready to rip into the first person she saw.
Only she didn’t see anyone.
“Hello?” she called out over the empty desks.
“Back here.”
A satisfied grin curved her lip at the familiarity of the voice. He was exactly who she’d come to see. She walked down the aisle, her sandals clicking on the damaged white tile. She bypassed half a dozen empty battered desks and headed toward the voice.
She stood in the doorway and scanned the room. Her smirk quickly faded to a frown. Stacks of newspapers lined one wall and ended at an army-green file cabinet so dented it looked like it could fall over at any moment. Handwritten notes and crumpled printouts were scattered across his desk. She’d never seen an office in such disarray. How the hell did he get anything done?
Oh, right, she thought. He didn’t.
Graham continued to stare at his computer screen, so she cleared her throat.
Finally, she said, “Excuse me.”
He didn’t take his attention off the monitor. “Yeah?”
“Hello?”
“What?”
“Hey,” she snapped angrily. “Could you look at me? Make eye contact? Acknowledge
He turned his face to her, clearly stunned at her outburst. That should have given her a great deal of satisfaction. Instead she felt the core of her anger slip away when his gaze met hers. Now that he wasn’t towering over her throwing insults, she noticed he had the darkest brown eyes she’d ever seen, with deep lines around them. His thick brown hair was in the type of mess that came from running frustrated hands through it. A few days’ growth covered his strong jawline. He was tired. Beyond tired. This man was exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed with bags—evidence of his lack of rest.
She knew that look. That was the look of a reporter who’d been on a story for days, maybe weeks, straight. It was the look of someone who had poured his heart into what he was doing. Sleep, cleanliness, and personal comfort be damned.
Looking at him now, she exhaled slowly, almost feeling guilty for intending to barge in here and tell him what an ass he was.
But then he opened his mouth and reminded her that, indeed, he was an ass. “What the hell do you want?”
“Obviously, you have a lot going on,” she said more gently than she had intended. “But that doesn’t give you the right to talk to people like you did to me. I don’t know who you think you are—”
“I’m the editor-in-chief.” His eyes reignited with the anger she’d seen at the diner. “And the sports editor, and the community columnist, and the copy editor, and just about everything else. Who the hell are you?”
She lifted a perfectly arched brow at his rudeness. “I’m the lady who doesn’t know shit.”
Graham sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. It was rude and unnecessary.”
“And inaccurate.” She shoved the edited paper in his direction. “I’ve made some notes. You should read them.”
He puffed his chest up and narrowed his eyes at her. If she wanted a fight, he seemed more than willing to give it to her. The thought didn’t bother her much. In fact, the image of going toe-to-toe with him excited her in a strange way. She had plenty of pent-up anger that needed to go somewhere, and if he was so freely dishing it out, she’d gladly serve it right back.
Standing up from his office chair, Graham crossed his arms over his broad chest. He looked intimidating as he met her hard stare with his own, but she didn’t back down.
Instead, she again shoved the paper in his direction. “Look at my edits.”
“I don’t have time for this. I have a paper to put together. As you can see”—he gestured around the empty building—“I don’t have a lot of help.”
“So maybe you should take the help that’s being offered.”
A slow, condescending smirk curved his lips. “Is that what this is? Help?”
“Actually, it’s me knocking your ego down a notch or two and proving that you’re the one who doesn’t know shit. Look at it.”
“Christ.” Graham snatched the paper from her hand. “I’ll read this, and then you are leaving.” He moved around the wing of the desk. “Would you like a cup of coffee while I pacify you?”
Andi smiled sweetly. “No, thank you.”
“Have a seat,” he said with a sarcastic tone. “I’ll be right back.”
Once he was gone, she looked at his computer screen to see what had him so enthralled he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She recognized the layout of the next day’s edition and scoffed with disbelief. “This is the work of the guy who thinks that I don’t know anything?” she muttered as she moved around the desk.
Sitting in his chair without hesitation, she gripped the mouse and went to work fixing his mess. She cropped and adjusted the brightness on the photos and then skimmed over the lead story so she could write a better headline.
Suddenly a hand grasped hers, nearly crushing her fingers into the mouse she’d been using. She looked at Graham’s left hand for a moment, inexplicably staring at his naked ring finger, before she turned her face up to his.
He emphasized every word he spoke. “Don’t do that.”
“Read.”
“I mean it. Do not mess with that.”
“You have this laid out all wrong. The headline needs to cover the photo as well as the story. And speaking of headlines, these are crap. This entire design is crap, actually. Have you ever even seen a newspaper? You don’t design it like a blog or a newsletter. There are actual rules that you should follow.”
He clearly wanted to tell her she hadn’t a clue how to lay out a newspaper but narrowed his eyes again. “Who the hell are you?”
She swatted his hand away. “Read my notes while I fix this.”
Ten minutes later, Graham had finished reading and re-reading the red scribbles she’d made, and Andi had his front page starting to look like a professional newspaper.
Graham skimmed the content on his monitor. “You didn’t answer me. Who are you?”
“The newspaper fairy,” she answered dryly.
She stared him down when he crossed his arms over his chest again and the muscles in his jaw flexed. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him the same daring look he was giving her. He didn’t back down; nor did she.
Finally he sighed. “Does my fairy have a name?”
“Andi.”
“Andi what?”
“Does that matter?”
“Okay, Andi. Most of the corrections you made look good. But I knew there were errors,” he said when she grinned. “It’s really hard to edit your own work.”
“I agree. But that doesn’t excuse the layout.”
He opened his mouth to comment, but his objection seemed to fail as he glanced at the computer screen again. “I could use help.”
“Obviously,” she said.
“So. When can you start?”
She leaned closer to him, tilting her head as she looked up curiously, as if she didn’t understand him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m probably going to regret this, but I’m offering you a job.”
She laughed. “I didn’t come in here looking for a job.”
“No, you came in here hell-bent on telling me how to do mine.”
“Somebody had to,” she practically sang.
“I need someone who knows her ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to putting a paper together. I’ve been looking at that layout for almost an hour and still couldn’t get it right. It took you ten minutes.”
“The flag is too big.”
“You also graciously corrected my grammatical errors,” he said, ignoring her criticism. “I need some backup, not just with editing and layout but writing as well. I can’t run this paper alone, not to the standard that I want.”
“You don’t know that I can write.”
“If you can edit like this, you can write.”
She lifted her shoulder and let it fall casually. “I’m just passing through town.”
“How far are you going to get without that cash you had hidden in your suitcase?” He grinned when the defiant look on her face fell. “I was at the diner to interview you about the break-in.”
“Oh, so you don’t normally go around harassing defenseless women?”
“Defenseless?” He laughed. “Hardly. It seems you need the money as much as I need the help.”
The fun of the game faded, as did her smirk. “I’m just passing through, Mr. Bradley.”
Graham stared her down for a moment before he shrugged. “Right. That’s okay. You probably couldn’t handle the stress anyway.”
Andi creased her brow. “What?”
“The demands of publishing a daily paper are pretty intense. It takes someone who can work well under pressure.”
“And you don’t think I can?”
He was playing her with his feigned innocence, but damned if she didn’t feel herself falling for his manipulation when he said, “I’m just saying it takes a special breed to survive in journalism.”
“A special breed?”
“You know, long hours, lousy pay—”
“Constant scrutiny by inept editors,” she added.
Graham nodded. “There is that.”
“I think I can handle the job.”
