That had come out much more minxish than she'd anticipated, he'd had a point.
In the midst of the rather heady attraction, the girlish squeals of "he is flirting with me!" and the startling predatory "I'll show you throes of insobriety," Greta could not deny there was a small, niggling sense of uncertainty. Hmm, she thought to herself, was this unethical? Journalistic integrity… subject of article… outing of a comradely nature… pending publication of a story on subject in very near future…
Oh, hell. She'd known him in school! She didn't have big columns, anyhow. Greta's eyes slid back toward Ludo. Well, she hadn't.
Before the tricky moral codes of the newspaper business further ensnared her, she had a little tug-of-war with herself before conceding. "We'll see. But you'll have only yourself to blame if you find something unexpected written about you," she said, not without a hint of smug- and/or primness.
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