Soon, the conversation at dinner veered to her job at the Sentinel. Both Ben and Tim were fascinated by her position as Ms. Rumor-Has-It, which they viewed as glamorous.
It made her want to laugh. She earned a fraction of what they made—and what they could make in the future. She wondered how glamorous they’d think her life was if they saw the small apartment she lived in and the car she’d been driving since her high-school days.
Noah, she noticed, didn’t say anything. Not even a peep about being a favorite target for her column. That was, until Tim asked how she chose her stories. “Yes, Kayla,” Noah interjected in a bland voice, “how do you choose your stories?”
She ignored him, keeping her attention instead on Tim and Ben, who seemed unaware that Noah was one of her favorite targets. “I try to write stories that people want to read.” She shrugged. “But I suppose personal taste comes into play in deciding whether the focus is going to be on politicians, celebrities or other figures.”
“So what do you focus on?” Ben asked.
“I look for stories that are humorous—it’s always amusing to poke fun at egos and pretensions.”
Next to her, Noah guffawed and shifted in his chair, his leg brushing hers.
She tensed but forced herself to keep looking at Tim and Ben. “Of course, sometimes I don’t have to look. The stories come to me.”
“People want to appear in your column?” Tim asked curiously.
“You’d be surprised. There’s a love-hate relationship between journalists and celebrities’ publicists or press agents. Sometimes handlers want publicity in order to keep their celebrity in the public eye. But if a celebrity gets caught in a scandal-worthy situation, his publicist will be on the phone faster than you can say ‘libel suit’ to try to get you not to print the story. That is, if they don’t have a hope of convincingly denying the truth of the story outright.”
Tim laughed, and Ben said, “Marvelous!”
“How do you get the dirt on your victims to begin with?” Noah asked.
She turned to look at him fully. Mild annoyance was stamped on his face. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”
“I thought telling was what you did for a living,” he retorted.
She could come up with an appropriate rejoinder to that, but, she reminded herself, she had to do a passable job of getting along with Noah. At least until she got this story. Then all bets were off.
She smiled brightly at the younger guys facing her. “Just about anyone can be a source. Doormen, bouncers, waiters. Sometimes rivals or so-called friends call in tips, and then, of course, there are the anonymous tipsters.”
“Have you gotten any good tips from anonymous sources?” Ben asked.
“Yup.” She took a sip from her glass of sake. “I’ve broken a few stories because of them, too.”
Ben raised his eyebrows, and Tim said, “Wow.”
“The last story I broke was about the CEO of a troubled department-store chain—”
“I remember when he hit the papers,” Noah interjected.
She nodded. “It turned out he was buying five-thousand-dollar shower mats for his penthouse while his shareholders were bleeding money.”
“Ouch,” Tim said.
“What happened?” Ben asked.
“He’s no longer CEO,” Noah said, answering for her.
“Just like, if Kayla has her way, I’ll no longer be the playboy of the northern hemisphere.”
Tim stifled a smile, while Ben looked from her to Noah and back.
Kayla groaned inwardly. Great. Tim and Ben obviously thought something was going on between her and Noah.
After dinner, they headed to a karaoke bar. Though going to a bar where the patrons were encouraged to stand up and sing popular tunes wasn’t her thing, she was soon laughing and clapping along with everyone else as one guest after another tried to carry a tune, assisted by a microphone, a DJ who loaded the right soundtrack and a TV monitor that displayed the song’s lyrics.
The dim lighting in the bar, as well as the intimacy of their seating arrangement at a small table, kept Kayla acutely aware of Noah, who was seated next to her.
So intent was she on the accidental brush of his leg against hers that she was startled when Noah spoke. “So what’s it going to be?”
“What?” she asked uncomprehendingly.
He indicated the small stage with a quirk of an eyebrow. “What are you going to sing?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“Chicken,” he teased.
She straightened her spine. “I haven’t sung since I was in the junior-high-school chorus.”
“Not even in the shower?”
“That’s not in public.”
“So you do sing in the shower?” he asked. “Funny, I didn’t think you were the singing-in-the-shower type.”
“And you are?” she parried.
“I’ve done many things in the shower,” he said, his look wicked. “Singing is just one of them.”
“The question is, are you good at any of them?”
Noah threw back his head and laughed, drawing the momentary attention of Ben and Tim, who were seated in front of them, closer to the stage, watching someone do a torturous rendition of “Midnight Train to Georgia.”
Kayla felt Noah’s laugh to the tips of her toes. It was low, rich and seductive.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll get up there if you will. It’s practically required. Even Ben and Tim are taking a turn.”
As it turned out, Ben and Tim did a passable rap duet.
She was sort of stunned actually, but all Noah said was “Like I said, the name of the game is novelty.”
“Where do they find the time with their work schedules?”
Noah shrugged. “Rapping helps them attract women.”
Her turn came a few minutes later. She walked to the stage and, in a snap decision, told the DJ to change her song selection.
If the name of the game was doing something out of character, she knew how to oblige.
As the first notes of the song vibrated through the room, she closed her eyes for a few seconds and let herself get caught up in the mood.
Finally, she opened her eyes and began singing “Come Away with Me.” Norah Jones’s hit song was slow, romantic and suited to her own husky singing voice.
For the first minute or so, she avoided looking at Noah. When she did chance a glance at him, her eyes locked with his and she almost stumbled over a note.