After finishing a fondant daisy and placing it atop the yellow buttercream frosting, Aria stepped back to admire her work. It was midnight, and colorful creations cluttered the bench. Whenever she decorated a cake, she made a few extra sugar-paste decorations for next time. This lemon cake was destined for Saturday night dinner. Every weekend, her parents, brothers, and friends came over for a home-cooked meal. She’d begun the tradition after she moved back to Itirangi, and it had been going strong ever since. She loved being surrounded by the people she cared about and having the opportunity to catch up on gossip and interrogate any new boyfriends or girlfriends.

Flopping into a chair, she remembered what Teri had said earlier about Eli and how he’d hated the media since some fiasco with his ex. Flipping her laptop open, she clicked into Google and typed ‘Elijah Lockwood’, ‘girlfriend’, and ‘scandal’. Immediately, a link to a tabloid magazine, The Star, appeared, with a heading which read Socialite cheats on millionaire boyfriend with biker.

Suddenly, the sweet scent of frosting clogging the air turned Aria’s stomach. Her hand flew to her mouth. She continued reading, her horror growing as the article outlined how Eli’s long-term girlfriend Victoria Burns had been sneaking around behind his back with the leader of one of Auckland’s most notorious biker gangs.

No stranger to the sensationalizing of stories, Aria could have dismissed the article as unfounded, except that it contained half-a-dozen high-resolution images of a gorgeous blonde woman wrapped around a muscle-bound brute. The woman was easily recognizable, and a quick Google search for Victoria Burns confirmed her identity. Of course, the images could have been Photoshopped, but Aria doubted it. Even if someone had had the skills to create these images, Teri’s earlier remark gave the article credence.

No wonder he’d disliked her from the start. If Aria’s personal life had blown up as publicly as his, she’d loathe the person responsible and share his mistrust for the profession. She exited out of the article, unable to bear looking at the sordid photographs for another second. Had Eli spent hours studying them, wondering where he’d gone wrong? Had he retreated into himself when the article was released, or squared his shoulders and soldiered on? Knowing what she did of him, she suspected the latter. Her heart bled for him. But another part of her felt determined to prove to him that not all journalists were the same. Her spine straightened in steely resolution, her mind made up. She could never expose him to public ridicule or hatred in her newspaper. She’d find another way to earn her promotion. As she recalled the kiss, her hand tremored. Perhaps they could come up with something together.