Easy on the Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page B

be?
    I can’t even imagine Keith’s reaction to the stories we do. Lesbian prison wedding scandals. The best bikini bods. Reality
     TV stars.
    He’d say it was crap. And I agree. We weren’t always so soft on real news. It’s only lately, as we try to keep up with the
     other shows. But I think we can do both— Hollywood gossip and human interest stories. People enjoy both. The human interest
     stories just have to be good.
    Grande soy latte in hand, I’m crossing the gleaming glass-and-marble lobby, passing the kiosk that serves as a newspaper stand,
     when a magazine cover jumps out at me.
    COUGAR HUNTING!
    The magazine’s caption screams in huge lurid yellow font. But it’s not the caption on the glossy cover that grabs my attention.
     It’s the photo. It’s Trevor and me.
    I stop in front of the newspaper stand and stare at the cover and wonder how in God’s name did they have our Paris pictures
     on the cover already? It should be impossible to have our photo on a magazine before I’ve even unpacked.
    But there we are, in Paris, both of us dressed in black. It’s raining and I’m holding a red umbrella and he’s smiling down
     into my face and I’m smiling up at him. The photo’s cropped, but I know exactly where we’re standing. We’ve just left Stresa
     after dinner, and my hair is pinned up and loose bits are falling around my face. I’m wearing big gold gypsy earrings, and
     I look so happy that it makes my chest hurt.
    I nearly pick up the magazine, intrigued by this smiling, beautiful couple who have actually very little to do with me.
    Is that what I look like? Am I really that happy?
    It’s strange to see me look like that. It’s not how I feel on the inside. It’s not who I am anymore. Haven’t been happy like
     that since Keith died.
    For a moment I’m lost, trying to remember what truly happy feels like, trying to figure out if I even miss happy, when an
     arm reaches past me, bracelets jingling, and takes a copy of
Us Weekly
and then scoops up an issue of
Life & Style,
which also has a photo of Trevor and me on it, but this one screams, SHE’S GOT IT ALL!
    I keep my head averted as the girl pays for her magazines.
    So this is what I’ve become. Tabloid fodder. In some ways, it’s funny. Not that Keith would find it funny, or my family. My
     father was an American intellectual living abroad. My mother was a brainy South African beauty queen. They raised us kids
     apart from society, teaching us to be different, to think for ourselves, to question people and systems. Maybe that’s why
     I fell for Keith. He reminded me of my dad. Both wanted to change the world. Both died too young.
    I glance at my watch, wondering if I should call Trevor and alert him that our Paris rendezvous made tabloid news. It’s eight
     hours’ difference between L.A. and Nice right now, so he should be done with work and back in his hotel room.
    Back at my desk, I punch in his number and wait to see if he’ll answer.
    As the phone rings, I tell myself everything’s fine between us. Just because we’ve talked only once since I’ve returned from
     Paris doesn’t mean there’s a problem. We’re both just busy. And he’s a twenty-six-year-old man co-starring in a movie with
     Kiki Woods, Hollywood’s sexiest, wildest starlet.
    And then he answers. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says, yawning. “What’s new?”
    I don’t know if it’s his yawn or his voice, but I smile. He is hunky if nothing else. Hazel green eyes. Dark blond hair. A
     lock falling forward, giving him a distinctly James Dean appearance. These last six months we’ve had a good time— he’s fun—
     but we’ll never be serious. There’s too much distance between us, never mind the twelve-year age difference. “You’re dating
     a cougar, you know,” I say.
    “That’s right. We’re on some magazine covers.”
    “You heard?”
    “Max called me.”
    Of course Max would. Max represents both of us, and he was the one who