Blown Away (A Romantic Comedy) (Five More Wishes Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

mouth waters, and I step forward. A tell-all could be my Pulitzer. I hop on my heels in excitement. I raise my hand, like I want to go to the bathroom. Cade takes two steps forward so that he’s blocking me.
    “Cade Reed of the Summer Island Gazette,” he announces. “I’m more than happy to do an honest, fair piece about you, Mr. Samba.”
    Samba frowns. He hates being called Mr. Samba. He’s old school autocrat. He needs pomp and circumstance. “Your Excellency,” I call, elbowing Cade out of my way. “Millicent Mossberg of the Gazette.”
    I don’t need to say another word. He loves being called excellency. Samba’s eyes light up, and he practically skips toward me. He takes my hand in his. Ew. His touch makes my flesh crawl, but I keep my exclusive-getting smile plastered on my face. There’s no missing his attraction for me. There’s mud on my ass, but his focus is fixed on my boobs. I take a deep breath to inflate them.
    Hey, I may have no shame, but I’m going to rip the exclusive out of Cade’s hands no matter what I have to do. Well, not no matter what I do. There are some matters I won’t do. Samba is caressing the skin between my thumb and my forefinger, and I want to vomit.
    “My beautiful Millicent,” he says, sounding a lot like Dracula. “Yes, I will tell you everything and you will tell the world, yes?
    “Yes,” I say and shoot Cade a neener neener face. Cade isn’t paying attention, though. He’s more focused on Samba’s fingers molesting my hands. It looks like Cade is jealous of more than just my scoop.
    “Come, you will interview me in the balloon,” Samba announces with a flourish, taking my arm and walking toward the balloon.
    “The balloon?”
    I’m not going in the balloon. I’m scared of heights. I’ve never gotten above the second rung of a ladder, and I’m pretty sure that a hot air balloon goes higher than that.
    “I will fly over this beautiful land with a beautiful woman and tell her about my beautiful life,” Samba announces in a sing-song voice, which gives the protestors a burst of outrage.
    He’s walking me closer to the balloon with Cade on my heels. The butler is still wrestling with the ropes, which have caught him, making him hang a foot off the ground. “There’s not a lot of land to fly over,” I say, a slight tinge of panic in my voice. “We’re on an island. There’s a big ocean all around us. With water. And sharks. Sharks with teeth. How about we do the interview on the ground? There’s no chance of drowning or getting eaten alive by sharks on the ground.”
    Samba doesn’t care about the Pacific Ocean and the possibility of a terrible death. He’s determined to fly in the balloon as some kind of statement before he’s locked up for the rest of his natural life in a white-collar prison, along with Southern California’s finest Wall Street manipulators, mutual fund defrauders, and general pension-stealing criminals. I tug my hand out of his grip and gnaw on a fingernail.
    No way am I going in the balloon. No way. Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen. I’m never going up in a hot air balloon. I’d rather have my eyes gouged out. I’d rather slide down a slide made of razor blades. I’d rather become a vegan. I’m not going in the balloon. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.
    I need a miracle. I need an intervention. Somebody help me!
    “She’s not going,” Cade says, stopping Samba. “I’ll interview you and go in the balloon with you.” My hero. It’s the most chivalrous thing anyone has ever done for me. It’s also a lowdown dirty trick to steal my story.
    “No,” Samba says.
    “No,” I say, a little louder, getting in Cade’s face. “This is my interview, and I’m going to fly in the balloon.” What am I saying? Has the surge of hormones made me flip my lid? Am I having a stroke? The words are coming out of my mouth, but it’s like they have a mind of their own. They’re imposter words that some jerk has put into my mouth.