Free Heat Of The Moment (Brooklyn Heat) by Locklyn Marx

of his pocket, pushed some buttons, and then showed her what was on the screen . “Our reputation preceded us.”
    She looked down at the pictures on the screen and gasped. It was her. Her and Chad. It was so shocking to see the two of them in a picture together, so unexpected, that at first, she didn’t remember who had taken it, how anyone could have gotten the two of them together. But then she remembered. Last night. The bartender. Getting ambushed outside of Chad’s hotel room.
    “Where did you get this?” she asked, as her fingers slid down the screen. She made the picture bigger. Her hair was all wild, and her clothes looked a little disheveled.
    In the background, you could see the door to Chad’s room, and it was obvious they’d just come out. They both had shocked looks on their faces, like they’d just gotten caught doing something bad.
    “Don’t worry,” he said. “The photo hasn’t been released.”
    “Released? Released to who?” she shrieked, trying not to panic. She could just imagine the headlines. “Connecticut Girl Caught With Bad Boy Baseball Player” or
    “Who’s The Mystery Woman?” or “Chad’s Latest Conquest!”
    They’d critique her hair, her body, her clothes. She’d end up on Perez Hilton, like one of those girls who got caught with Charlie Sheen or Ashton Kutcher. Of course, those girls at least got to have sex with the guys they were accused of messing around with, and then they got to sell their stories. She didn’t even have a story to sell! All she’d done was kiss Chad.
    “To the press.”
    “Oh my God!” She was having trouble breathing, and she felt the blood drain from her face.
    “Hey, calm down,” Chad said. He handed her the flavored water that was on the breakfast bar. She took a sip. “Don’t worry, Expera is owned by the Gulf Group, and they also own a lot of magazines.” He shrugged. “One of the editors at one of their publications got offered the picture, and so they put it on retainer.”
    “Put it on retainer?”
    “Yeah. They paid for an exclusive period of time to hold the pictures and decide whether or not they want to pay for the rights.”
    “So no one’s seem them yet.” She let her breath out in one big sigh. “Thank God.”
    “Nope.” He walked back to the stove and started dipping pieces of bread into the spiced up egg mixture and dropping them into the frying pan. She stared at him. How could he be so calm at a time like this? Yes, he was obviously a lot more used to this kind of thing than she was, but still. Wasn’t he worried about getting his picture plastered all over the papers?
    “So there’s no problem then?” she asked hopefully.
    “The problem,” he said cheerfully, “is that the people at Expera think you’re my girlfriend.” He flipped a piece of French toast expertly. The delicious smell of vanilla and brown sugar filled the kitchen, and Kenley’s stomach rumbled.
    “So what?” she said. “Just tell them I’m not.” Her body was filled with nervous energy, and so she got up from the breakfast bar and started opening cupboards until she located the plates. All the cabinets were filled to the brim with plates and bowls and mugs. It made her a little sad, honestly, thinking of Chad picking things out for this kitchen, hoping his mom would come back one day and live here. Of course, he probably didn’t even pick the stuff out himself. He probably had some assistant or designer or someone do it for him.
    “I can’t,” he says. “Because if I tell them you’re not my girlfriend, they’re not going to sign me.”
    “I don’t get it.” She brought the plates over to him, and he slid a piece of French toast onto each one. They looked amazing, with the perfect hint of cinnamon, and the perfect amount of golden brown on the crusts.
    “Well,” he said, “if they think you’re just some random girl I picked up at a bar, then that doesn’t exactly fit in with their brand.”
    She brought her plate