The Big Scoop Read online

  The Big Scoop

  Jenna Rose

  Copyright © 2019 by Jenna Rose

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  1. Harrison

  2. Gwen

  3. Gwen

  4. Harrison

  5. Gwen

  6. Harrison

  7. Gwen

  8. Gwen

  9. Harrison

  10. Gwen

  11. Gwen

  12. Harrison

  13. Gwen

  14. Harrison

  15. Gwen

  More Jenna Rose

  1

  Harrison

  Needing something…

  Really needing something…

  I hadn’t felt that in a long time. Being a billionaire meant you never had to want for anything. Cars, clothes, homes, girls—whatever you wanted, you could have it with the click of a button or the swipe of a card.

  Hell, even if you wanted friends, you could have them too. They might be fake and only after you for your money, opportunity, or just to say they knew you, but you could have them just the same.

  And girls? Forget about it.

  Once I hit my first million, the girls were everywhere. I mean, it wasn’t like I’d done poorly with the ladies before then, but after that…it was just a whole new world—only without magic carpets and a princess who actually loved me.

  No, those girls wanted the same things my fake friends wanted: money, fame, headlines, or just modern day clout from tagging me on their Instagram. I see plenty of guys fall for that kind of act, but not me.

  Sure, I had my fun—who wouldn’t? But I kept my heart shielded and never let anyone get too close to me. I grew up an orphan, bouncing through foster homes every couple of years, so I was used to being alone. I didn’t need anybody…

  …until I saw her…

  I’d come into town on my jet and landed on a private landing strip I’d had built ahead of time. Derby, New Hampshire wasn’t exactly New York City, and having a spot to land close to my new house was a lot easier than flying into Manchester and taking a car.

  I figured there would be some press outside—after all, the house I’d built was bigger than anything the locals in town had ever seen, and I’d heard from Audrey, my assistant, that people had been driving by for weeks.

  But when we got to the front gate, there was an absolute horde of people with cameras and cell phones, all waiting to get an interview with me, Harrison Night, the new (and only) billionaire businessman in town.

  “I’ll just drive through them,” Audrey said from the wheel of the Lamborghini. I’d told her to pick me up in a less conspicuous car, but for some reason she’d showed up in the lime green supercar. I think it was because it was the only one of my cars she hadn’t driven yet.

  “Don’t run them over,” I joked as she thumbed a button on the dash that opened the massive gates that looked like something you’d expect at Buckingham Palace or Versailles.

  “I wish I could.”

  “Ah, come on,” I chuckled. “They’re just grinding away like the rest of us.”

  “Oh, that’s what you’re doing, Harrison?” Audrey replied. “Grinding? What are you, a rapper?”

  “Hey, I’m working hard,” I told her. “You see me lying on a yacht on the Amalfi Coast somewhere with a bunch of Instagram ‘Influencers’? Or am I getting shit done?”

  “I wish you’d get a yacht and park it off the Amalfi Coast,” Audrey laughed. “And take me with you.”

  Audrey started to pull through the gates but I saw something and cried out, “Wait!”

  “What!?” she jumped. “What is it?”

  “Who’s that?” I asked, pointing out the window to where the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen was standing.

  She was tall, coltish with blonde hair that looked like something out of Old Hollywood. She had bright red lipstick on, but she was dressed like a woman who wanted to be taken seriously, and unlike the rest of the reporters around her, she wasn’t carrying a smartphone or a recorder; she had a simple pad of paper and a pen.

  Holy shit…

  “What, I’m supposed to know all the local media?” Audrey asked. “She’s probably with one of the small papers.”

  “Pull up to her,” I said as I rolled my window down.

  I felt like I’d been hit with an injection of some kind of drug that was making me feel something I’d never felt before. My eyes were locked on her, and not only were my pants tightening around my crotch, but there was a funny feeling in my chest too.

  “Finally get your eye on a girl, boss?” Audrey asked as she slowed to a stop beside her and I rolled my window down.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, entranced by her eyes—blue like the morning sky.

  “Gwen,” she replied firmly. “Gwen Thompson.”

  She extended a hand. I took it and shook it.

  “Firm grip,” I said with a grin. “You work out?”

  “Is that a pickup line?” she replied without returning my smile.

  “What?”

  “Well, I hear you’re a bit of a playboy, Mr. Night,” she continued. “Or am I wrong?”

  “You are wrong,” I replied, growing more intrigued by the second. “Is that why you’re here? To do a hit piece on me?”

  The other reporters were flooding around the back of the car to get to Gwen’s side, doing their best to muscle their way into the conversation.

  “I don’t do hit pieces, Mr. Night,” she said, holding out an arm like a linebacker to block an overzealous man with an iPhone from getting in front of her. “I’m here with the Derby Tribune to do a piece on you and your business coming to town. Is it true you bought the Macadam Pines—”

  Look at those lips…I thought as I stared back at her. They were DSLs if ever I’d seen any, and the fact that she was so well spoken and assertive had me absolutely on fire. I shifted in my seat to make room for the bulge that was swelling between my legs.

  She had me. I was hooked, like a fish on a line. The black pencil skirt she was wearing stopped just below the knee and didn’t show me a thing, but I could tell she had a rockin’ body under there and probably was one of those girls who just had it and didn’t have to work out to keep it.

  “Then you must know, Gwen, that I don’t do interviews.”

  “I’ve heard that about you,” she replied. “But I thought that I might—”

  “I’d be happy to,” I interrupted. “Get in.”

  “Get in?” she asked, looking thrown off her game for the first time since we’d started our conversation.

  “Do I need to repeat myself?” I smiled, giving her sass right back to her as I opened the door and motioned to her to get in.

  “Only Gwen!” Audrey shouted from the front. “The rest of you stay put!”

  “There’s—there’s no room in there, Mr. Night,” Gwen said.

  She was right; the Lamborghini only had two seats and they weren’t that roomy either.

  “You’ll just have to sit on my lap,” I said.

  “You’re joking,” she replied. “I am not getting into that thing with you.”

  “If you want the story you’ll get into this thing with me,” I replied.

  Gwen paused—but just for a second—then put her pen
in her front pocket, stepped out of the throng of reporters with one hand holding her skirt in place, and slid into the car.

  “There we go,” I said as I wrapped one arm around her and used the other to shut the door. It was cramped, and Gwen’s body was pressing against mine so tightly that there was no way she couldn’t feel what was going on beneath my pants. But she was a professional and didn’t say anything.

  Fuck, I thought as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. She even smells incredible.

  Her thighs and ass were sculpted and firm against my legs and crotch, and her waist was tiny beneath my arm. I glanced over at Audrey, who was giving me one of those disapproving looks your mother gives you when you’ve said something you know you shouldn’t have.

  “Let’s go,” I told her. “Don’t drive too fast, I don’t want Gwen bouncing off my lap here and going out the windshield.”

  “Just so you know,” Gwen said, a serious tone in her voice. “This is not something I usually do.”

  “Ride in Lamborghinis?” I joked. “Yeah, most people don’t.”

  “Ride on men’s laps who I am interviewing,” she replied firmly. “I am a professional reporter, Mr. Night, and I want to be treated that way.”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “And I’m here for the story,” she continued. “Just the story.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  That may have been what she came for, but I had a whole lot more I was going to give her.

  A whole lot more…

  2

  Gwen

  Three days earlier…

  “Come on, Tony!” I shouted as I raced across the parking lot toward the man who was doing his best to look like he wasn’t power walking away from me. “The people of Derby want to know why you’re choosing to destroy a beloved landmark of the community!”

  “No comment!” Tony shouted over his shoulder. He was closing in on his car. I picked up the pace but he already had a good head start on me.

  “If you’d just sit down with me for five minutes—”

  “No comment!” he roared back as he snatched open the door to his car and hopped in.

  “What will the people say when the Pines are gone!?”

  The door slammed in my face. I sighed and stepped back as Tony switched on the engine, flipped me the bird, then stomped on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot.

  “Shit,” I hissed as he sped away.

  Tony Russell was an out-of-state land developer who’d recently come to Derby and started buying up property. The town was small and going through an economic downturn, so people were willing to sell off land to him at prices they normally would never have taken. There were rumors he had been paying people off on the town development board to re-zone land that was already classified as residential or protected for public spaces as commercial so he could break it up and sell it off to franchise businesses.

  In short, he was here to ruin Derby and make as much money as he could doing so, and I was determined to do everything I could to stop him. As a reporter for the Derby Tribune, I figured if I could get a big story about him in the paper and expose him, the townspeople would rally behind me and throw him out of town—or at least the corruption in the planning board would be exposed and maybe we could do something to save Derby. But so far Tony had managed to duck me every time I tried to talk to him, and everyone associated with him had too.

  My phone buzzed in my purse and I checked it. It was Jeff, my editor:

  Can you get to the office in fifteen? Got a story for you.

  I sighed.

  Sure. What else do I have to do right now?

  I texted back:

  Be there in five.

  I felt defeated. I’d graduated from UNH last year with a Journalism major, submitted some articles I’d written in school to the Tribune, was quickly hired on as a freelancer, and then six months later was taken on as a full-time reporter.

  This is it! I remember thinking on my first day when Jeff showed me my desk. Time to change the world!

  But so far all I’d been doing was local reporting and puff pieces for the website to attract readers. Finally, I had my eye on a real story, but I was being thwarted at every turn.

  I’d given up so much for my degree and my career; I’d sacrificed my social life, spending my late nights (including weekends) working, reading, and practicing my writing.

  I’d had one boyfriend freshman year—who’d ended up cheating on me—and then remained single after that.

  There will be time for that later, I’d told myself. But here I was, twenty-three years old (almost twenty-four), and still single, still a virgin, and nowhere near where I wanted to be with my career.

  So, when I got to the office, I was hoping Jeff had a story for me that would light a fire inside of me, and this time, it turned out he did.

  “Harrison Night,” he said as I sat down at his desk. “What do you know about him?”

  “Billionaire dickhead,” I replied. “Playboy reputation. Made his money selling some cybersecurity system to Microsoft?”

  “That’s right,” Jeff nodded. “Boy genius. Made his millions before finishing high school. Built and sold various computer companies and now he’s branching out into fuel-efficient home generators for rural areas and places facing frequent power losses.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s moving to Derby to open up his new factory,” Jeff replied.

  “Wait, what? Seriously?”

  Jeff passed his tablet across the desk to me. It was open to a website showing a ridiculously huge house with the words Billionaire Playboy Mansion in Derby? written above.

  “How have I not heard about this?” I asked.

  “You’ve been too wrapped up in that Macadam Pines story,” he replied. “I’m surprised you even know what month it is.”

  “This looks like it’s up on Redridge Road?”

  “Yup. Big huge thing, and guess what else?”

  “What?” I replied, staring at the house that looked more like a palace than a home.

  “He’s flying in in three days, and I want you to do the story.”

  “Come on, Jeff,” I sighed, sliding the tablet back over the desk to him. “I’m busy. Get one of the interns to do this. They can post about it on their Instagram or whatever.”

  “Oh, you’re going to want to do this story,” Jeff smiled.

  “Yeah? And why’s that?”

  “Rumor is, Tony Russell is selling him the Macadam Pines and he’s going to clear-cut the whole thing and build his new factory there.”

  This is messed up, I thought as Harrison’s ridiculously good-looking assistant pulled the Lamborghini up to the even more ridiculously good-looking house (if you could even call it that) and parked.

  Not only was I heading to a story in a supercar, but I was also sitting on the lap of the man I was supposed to be doing the story on…

  …and not only that, but I could also feel something pressing against my butt that let me know that he was—well, let’s just say—excited.

  …and not only that, but despite the fact that I already hated this guy, not just by his reputation but by the fact that he was here to destroy our town, I was actually turned on by him…

  This is all kinds of messed up.

  “Home sweet home,” Harrison said. “Get that door for me, would you, princess?”

  “Excuse me?” I snapped, spinning around to face him. I was still on his lap, though, and our faces were so close I quickly pulled back before he thought I was trying to kiss him or something.

  “Could you get the door?” he repeated. He had the smile of a naughty teenage boy, but the face of a classically handsome Hollywood star.

  “Yes I can,” I replied. “But please don’t call me princess. I’m a reporter, not your sugar baby.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, still smiling.

  I bit my lip, but reached behind me and tugged open the door. It swung up to open and I quickly s
tepped out and resituated myself. I felt more like I’d just been driving to prom with my boyfriend than going to a businessman’s house to do a story on him.

  “Have you been inside yet, Audrey?” Harrison asked to his assistant as she stepped out.

  “I was waiting for you,” she replied.

  “Well, I haven’t been in either,” he said, turning to me. “Want to help me christen the place, Gwen?”

  Did he just say that!?

  “Excuse me!?” I snapped. “What are you—?”

  “Take it easy,” he laughed. “I just mean, let’s be the first ones to go into my new home.”

  Uh huh, I nodded. I wasn’t buying any of his act. These accidental quips and innuendos were just a part of his playboy persona. Harrison was rich, powerful, and knew how to get all the girls he wanted, and if I wasn’t careful, he was going to try and pull that game on me.

  But I was here for a story—nothing else.

  And that’s what I kept repeating to myself as we made our way up the wide stone steps that led to a front door that could have been taken from Versailles.

  “Kinda makes you feel like a princess though, right?” Harrison asked from beside me.

  I wanted to smile and nod. I mean, it was impressive, and compared to the small studio I was renting down by the river, it was a whole different reality, but it was important for me to maintain my composure and professionalism and not give into his good looks or status symbols, so I twisted my lips and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Geez,” he replied, glancing at Audrey. “She’s a tough cookie.”

  “She sure is,” Audrey agreed as Harrison grabbed the door handle.