“You came a damn long way just to see me.”

His words were harsh, terribly uncaring and might have made a lesser woman cry.

Perhaps if she had been some lovesick fan his reaction might have brought tears to her eyes. But Summer wasn’t a fan and she was more than capable of dealing with his type without losing her head. She couldn’t have cared less about his pretty face, celebrity status, gold records or millions of dollars. There was only one thing she wanted from Anthony Phoenix and it wasn’t an autograph. “Let’s make it worth the trip then.”

She didn’t bother to wait for an invitation as she took a seat beside him in the adjoining armchair.

In the shadowed corner of the dimly lit café a half-drawn velvet curtain shielded him from public view. It created a deceptive sense of privacy and solitude amidst the chaos. It muffled the chatter of other patrons, the hiss of the espresso machine, even the clatter of dishes. The curtain created a barrier between their world and his.

Rumor had it that this was his favorite hangout whenever he was back in his hometown. Her sources, damn secretive sources that had been almost impossible to crack, had told her he always made it a point to stop in for a cup of coffee.

Though he’d managed to escape the notice of the other patrons in the quiet Seattle café, he hadn’t escaped Summer, and he certainly wasn’t happy to see her.

“You want an interview you’ll have to contact my agent. I don’t get friendly with the media and I don’t like reporters.”

“So they tell me.” That was just fine by her. She sure as hell wasn’t looking to get friendly with him either—his reputation as a womanizer had made him as famous as his chart-topping records.

Despite her repugnance to his type Summer forced a smile. She might not have been interested in seducing the man, but she had every intention of putting his story to bed. The story they told her was impossible to get. The story that would make her career and prove once and for all to her prick of a boss that Summer Staite was worthy of her own byline. “This isn’t your typical interview, darling.”

“Really? What is it then?”

“A bedtime story.” A hint of a smile curved her ruby painted lips. “I don’t do celebrity weddings. I don’t do dirty gossip. I don’t give a damn where you grew up, who you’re dating or when your next album is dropping. Stripped Magazine is all about the sex. We’re the best magazine to expose it all without ever exposing a thing.”

It was a spiel she had given countless times before. A smirk, a smile, sometimes laughter, that was the standard response. But Anthony stared blankly. Her words, fraught with danger and sensuality hadn’t cracked even the tiniest layer in his stone-cold façade.

“What’s your name?”

She reached across the table and offered her hand. “Summer Staite, Stripped Magazine.”