Taming the Carefree Billionaire - Marie Higgins Page 0,9

Both she and Joslyn laughed.

“One quick drink, that’s all I need,” Joslyn begged. “At Pete’s.”

“But Pete’s is so greasy and blah,” Morgan thought aloud. “How about The Greenery? They have good beer, wine, and even food. I want food.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll meet you there at five o’clock.” Joslyn moved to her car and climbed inside.

Morgan wandered over to her white Honda 500 sports bike. She slid on her black leather jacket and black slick helmet with the dark sun visor. Riding a motorcycle was much more fuel-efficient than a car, and Morgan found it easier to move in and out of California’s rush hour traffic. She was lucky enough to have two older brothers who were into dirt bike racing and taught her early on how to handle a motorcycle.

The Greenery wasn’t too far away. Morgan actually wanted to go straight home, change into her lounge shorts and tank top, and watch Netflix with leftover Chinese takeout. Preparing food for one was difficult because she always ended up with days of leftover food and then she’d get sick of it. The few times during the month that she dated, the men always went to restaurants that served very little food, so she couldn’t have leftovers.

During her ride, her mind returned to the idea of changing careers. The Tribute was a well-paid job, but she could get so much more if she could be the journalist and the photographer. In college, she’d studied both, but Joslyn already was the star journalist, and their editor didn’t think anyone could be as wonderful as Joslyn.

Morgan shook her head. Larry had never actually seen Joslyn during her interviews, he’d only read the articles after they were turned in. He couldn’t possibly know everything about his star journalist like Morgan did.

She entered the parking lot at The Greenery, and just as she’d figured, Joslyn hadn’t arrived yet. Morgan parked her bike before entering the mid-classy building. She stopped at the hostess station and asked for a table for two. Just as she was being seated, Joslyn finally appeared. Morgan asked for a glass of water with a slice of lemon, and Joslyn ordered white wine.

Morgan studied her menu, looking only at the inexpensive dinner items. She was hungry, so she would eat anything – as long as they weren’t high priced. The problem was, most everything on the menu was higher priced.

“So,” Joslyn began, “did you get the photos laid out for the article?”

“Yes, they fit nicely inside the new layout.” Morgan set the menu down on the table, finally deciding what she’d order. “What are your thoughts on the vineyard fires? Do you think it’s the owners burning their own fields?”

Joslyn shrugged her thin shoulders. “One policeman I spoke with hinted that it could be a way for those who aren’t very successful to get the insurance money.”

“And you believe that?”

“It makes sense.” She sipped her wine. “People are greedy nowadays.”

“But they all seemed so distraught over their loss.” Morgan frowned, recalling the day they had interviewed the last family that had their fields burned. “I really don’t think they did it.”

“Well, the story is already written. I’m not changing it.”

Morgan tapped her fingers on the table. She’d worked long enough with Joslyn to know not to argue with her the times she was being headstrong and bossy. After all, Morgan was just the photographer, it’s not like she could capture the true essence of a person with words. Shaking her head, she looked down at the table. The lights overhead showed all of the cuts and scrapes the piece of polished wood had gone through over the years.

“Oh, my gosh!” Joslyn gasped as she grabbed Morgan’s hand from across the table. “He’s here.”

“Who?” Morgan scanned the room.

“Thomas Powers,” Joslyn whispered, fumbling in her purse and pulling out a compact mirror. She batted her false-eyelashed eyes and pinched her already heavily rogued cheeks. “He’s sitting right over there by the window.”

Morgan glanced at the man whom she’d be happy to never see again. He resembled the jerk she’d seen at the casino the other night. He dressed the same, but maybe not as fancy. His dark hair was combed to perfection, and he looked as though he had just come from a photo-shoot for a high-fashion magazine. His shoulders nicely filled the black, button-down shirt, and the red tie against the dark color of his shirt made him look very successful. He leaned into a woman with short, spiky blonde hair who was smiling