Gage’s dark eyebrows lifted, and he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the fireplace. “In that case, maybe you’ll be interested in what I have to offer. Chiara is going to be in Tahoe visiting with Astrid this week at the same time I’ll be working with Jonah. If you go as my guest, you’d have an opportunity to interview Chiara.”

His offer stunned her, and quite frankly, couldn’t have come at a better time. But the thrill of what that could mean for her was quickly tempered by suspicion.

“How do you know she’d let me interview her?”

Gage shrugged, the gray cotton of his shirt hugging tighter along one shoulder. “You’re a convincing woman, and you’ll be meeting Chiara in the home of a friend she trusts. Why wouldn’t she give you an interview?”

“Her time is worth a fortune, that’s why. She won’t just give it away to someone like me, unless...” Her suspicion grew stronger as she recalled how little Gage followed fashion and beauty. It didn’t add up that he would tout this meeting as a professional opportunity for her unless he had a very specific reason. “She’s doing a personal favor for the Mesa Falls Ranch owners.”

He wandered closer to the desk, one hand shoved in his pocket. “Far more likely she’ll be there to see Astrid’s new baby, but make of it what you will.” He skimmed a palm along the glass-topped desk before lifting his gaze to hers. “You told me you’re following the Alonzo Salazar story for the paycheck, so I thought maybe the chance to speak with Chiara in that kind of setting would be enticing.”

Chiara Campagna was social media gold right now. If Elena could capitalize on that, she would still have a piece that tabloids would vie for, and the payout would probably be even higher than the story she’d wanted about Alonzo.

“What’s the catch?” she pressed, certain this opportunity hadn’t landed in her lap by coincidence.

A scowl furrowed his brow. “I guess the catch is that you’d have to report on someone who is in the public eye by choice, unlike Alonzo, who never pursued fame and avoided it by writing a work of fiction under an assumed name.” He gestured toward her closed laptop on the desk. “But if you’d rather keep searching for dirt about my former mentor, be my guest.”

He shifted on his feet as if he was going to leave.

“Wait.” Her hand darted out to rest on his forearm before she’d had a chance to think about the wisdom of touching him.

He stilled under her touch, and her heartbeat quickened at his sudden nearness.