by Shen, LJ
But I wasn’t going to do that to myself—be jealous of her. The poor thing had a cheating scumbag for a fiancé, and even now, he looked about as remorseful as a used tissue.
“And you are…?” She circled her manicured finger around my face.
The idiot your partner cheated on you with.
I wanted to fall down on my knees and come clean. Tell her I’d had no clue he was taken, that he was lying, that he was a jerk. Of course, I didn’t have a death wish.
So I settled for a faint smile. “Jude Humphry.”
“Jude. Oh my God. Love your name. So chic. I’m Lily Davis. But, you know, not for long.” She ran a possessive hand over Célian’s muscular arm.
A needle of guilt pierced my heart, my agony pouring out.
“Wow. Congratulations.”
Célian stared at her like she was an alien, a perfect stranger who’d walked into his life unannounced. Sweat coated my upper lip.
“Oh, this little thing?” She wiggled her fingers, flashing a rock that made Dwayne Johnson look miniature. “We’ve been engaged for as long as I can remember. I finally got around to planning the wedding.” She rolled her eyes, laughing. “It is so exhausting.”
Coincidently, so was holding my smile intact while she told me about her relationship with my boss. I decided to excuse myself before I did something that would secure me a night in jail—like slap Célian across the face several times.
“I’m sure you’ll rise to the seemingly impossible challenge.” I reddened, watching the cheater smirk in my periphery. “Well, I have a lot of work to get to. So…” I tilted my head to the door and found my way out. Célian stood next to Lily—they were a united front, after all—staring at me with quiet interest.
Engaged. He is engaged. I was so flustered, so blind with fury, I didn’t even know how I would proceed with my day without doing something stupid and irrational, like trash his entire office.
I stumbled toward my station, keeping my eyes on my Chucks. A hand snaked behind me, clasping my elbow and spinning me in place. I slapped it away instinctively, thinking it was Célian.
It was Steve, sitting at his desk, his dull eyes zeroing in on mine.
“Happy with yourself, Junior?”
What in the fresh hell did he want from me, and did he realize how extremely poorly timed his question was? I couldn’t be less happy with myself right now.
“Define happy, and please don’t touch me again.” I jerked my arm back.
He stood up. Steve was a little pudgy, and not very tall, but he was handsome in the way men who had all the money and time in the world could be. Groomed to a T.
“You made me look like an idiot back there, and we both know it,” he pointed at the conference room, whisper-shouting.
Puzzled, I cocked my head, thinking he must be giving me some kind of backhanded compliment. When his face remained thunderous, mine followed suit.
“I’m not following.”
“You came with that stupid YouTube idea no one knew about. Why did you even talk at all? You’re the lowest goddamn person on the totem pole. Guess that’s all it takes these days. Know how to give a good BJ, get your foot in the door.”
My eyes flared. Not that the accusation was far off the mark. But while Célian Laurent could be blamed for a lot of things—all of them scoring him brownie points in the Asshole of the Year contest—giving me perks for whatever we did or didn’t do wasn’t one of them. When it came to integrity, we both had it.
Besides, there was no way Steve knew about the power room incident. He wanted to rile me up.
Mission accomplished.
“Steve, you’re making a pretty serious accusation here, so unless you’re going to back it up with facts, I would kindly ask you to never speak to me again in a non-professional capacity.” I crossed my arms across my chest.
I didn’t know why the universe had decided to rain calamities on me today. I just knew the day needed to end before I stabbed someone with my mechanical pen.
“I’ve got my eye on you.” Steve pointed at his eyes with two fingers and poked my arm. Again. I did the only thing I could without actually putting that mechanical pen to use. I bumped my fists against each other twice, giving him the finger Friends-style.
“Did you just…?” Kate pushed off her desk, her chair wheeling backward. She held her Sharpie like a cigarette in her mouth.
“I did.” I cleared my throat. “Please don’t judge me. Living with the fact I did it in public is punishment enough.”
She shook her head, her chest vibrating with laughter. “That was totally epic, in a weird, nerdy way. Good work on the YouTube piece, by the way. I’m Kate.” She offered me her hand.
“Jude.” My tight expression finally melted into a smile.
“Steve, let’s go into Célian’s office.” Kate jerked her head toward the hallway, and the bastard actually had the audacity to stomp under his desk. How old was this guy?
I got back to my desk and stared at the Reuters reports, chewing on my lower lip and trying not to think about Célian’s fiancée. I knew I was being irrational, but I still logged into the LBC software’s messenger app and group-messaged Grayson and Ava. For the past week, I’d been spending my lunch breaks exclusively with them. Not surprisingly, they had their noses in everyone’s business.
Judith: Did you know Célian Laurent is engaged?
Grayson: What’s it to you, Miss I-don’t-know-him-hey-look-a-squirrel?
Judith: It was a surprise, is all.
Ava: They’re childhood sweethearts.
Grayson: Sans the sweet part. I’ve seen them together enough to know the man loves her as much as I love getting my crotch waxed. (The results are far more aesthetically pleasing than shaving, if you’re wondering.)
Ava: We weren’t, but thanks for the mental image.
Judith: Célian doesn’t look like the kind of guy to do something he doesn’t want to do.
Grayson: Let’s just say it’s an arranged marriage of sorts. Célian is doing it for the same reason he does everything—to get ahead in the game.
Ava: Her father owns Newsflash Corp. They distribute eighty percent of the magazines in the US market, plus her family has ten-percent equity in LBC. Don’t worry about Célian. No chance of him ever lifting a finger without calculating the consequences and risks.
“She’s right,” a husky voice boomed above my head, and I snapped my gaze up, my blood freezing in my veins.
My knee-jerk reaction was to apologize profoundly, but then I remembered what had brought this conversation on. My browns met his blues. I tilted my chin up.
“I do whatever—and whoever—I want, and my favorite finger is the middle one. Makes for very unhappy critics. And one-night stands.”
How had this guy not been assassinated yet? He was a walking, talking personal offense.
I kept my mouth shut. We were in a room full of colleagues. No way I could tell him what I thought of him and end the day still gainfully employed.
“Let’s take this conversation somewhere soundproof,” he ordered.
“Pass.” I gathered some reports I’d printed out earlier and began to highlight the headlines I thought would be of interest to Jessica. Hadn’t we agreed our fling was over? It was none of my business that he was a cheater. Even if it made me want to staple my fist to his face for falling under his charm. Twice.
“The sooner you realize I don’t use question marks, the easier you’ll adapt here. Up.” He turned around, storming toward his office. I followed him because I had to. We went in just as Kate and Steve were coming out. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it, hands in his pockets.
“You’re engaged.” I narrowed my eyes into slits, giving his hard pecs a shove. He didn’t move from his position against the door. Just stared at me with his bone-chilling indifference. “Freaking engaged, Célian!”
“I’m sorry, were you expecting a ring after our one night together?”
I hate you
. I hate you. I hate you.
“No, but I was not expecting you to be engaged to another woman. Had I known, I never would have touched you. Just because you don’t have any morals doesn’t mean I don’t, either.”
“Please tell me more about your morals, Miss Still-Owes-Me-A-Grand,” his eyes traveled along my body with boredom.
Fifteen hundred, actually, but that wasn’t something I was eager to correct him on.
I waved a hand at him. “Just say what you want to say and let me get on with my day.”
I turned around, staring at the wall and refused to show him my pain, which he seemed to thrive on.
His posture unstiffened, and he stuck a hand into his unruly, tousled curls. “That being said, it is not what it looks like.”
“Hmm… My favorite cheater line—right after, ‘I can explain’.” I clucked my tongue, still staring at the wall behind him.
“Are you going to listen?” His lips thinned in annoyance.
“Not if I can help it.” I shrugged.
“Then I guess you can’t. Lily is well aware of the fact that I’m seeing other women. We do not share a bed, a house, or even a joint gym membership. As your friends pointed out rather bluntly, my engagement is one of convenience.” He dragged his long fingers over his jaw.
I chose my next words carefully.
“You said your life is none of my business. I tend to agree with that sentiment, especially now that we’re officially done with each other. So while I appreciate you explaining yourself,” I spat sarcastically, “I really think this conversation is over.”
I made a move toward the door he was blocking. He stopped me, resting a hand on my wrist. Our eyes met, and I found his bleeding with pain. But his set jaw, high cheekbones, and smooth, regal forehead all told a story of a formidable man. My lonely heart believed his eyes. The rest of my body knew it made no difference.
“Chucks.”
Stop calling me that. Stop giving me nicknames and orgasms and hope, I internally screamed.
“You said you were legal-savvy. Now’s a good time to withdraw that hand of yours,” I whispered.
He did. I thought he was going to send me on my way angrily, but he didn’t.
“Was Steve giving you trouble?” His voice didn’t sound like steel anymore, though it was nowhere near soft.
“Don’t.” I shook my head. “Don’t pretend you care. Don’t even try to be the good guy. You’re as bad as they come, and now that you came…”
His mouth twitched with a smile.
“…it is time to move on. Congratulations on your engagement. She’ll make a beautiful bride.”
Grayson: Jude? Are you still there?
Ava: Maybe he fired her :/
Grayson: Maybe he kidnapped her :O
Ava: Stockholm fantasies much?
Grayson: The guy does look like Theo James’s beefed/baller/macho brother. Him not knowing my name aside, I would let him show me a good time even if I ended up in his trunk at the end of the night.
Ava: You need professional help, Gray. I’m not equipped to deal with your type of crazy.
Grayson: It would be a spacious trunk, too, I bet.
Célian: If you two were to read anything more substantial than the National Enquirer, such as our company’s newsletter from three months ago, you would know that messenger chats on our web software are now publicly available to view by any user in the company.
If there was one thing I’d learned from producing news for over a decade, it was that wars are not measured in words, or declarations, or assumptions. They are defined by results, the number of casualties, and land conquered. The colder they are, the longer they last.
I made my way back from picking up my own dry-cleaning once again on a spring afternoon because Miss Humphry, my assistant’s assistant—who’d blackmailed me into the task with a blow job more than a week ago—was adamant I didn’t deserve her help. She had won the first battle.
Currently, Judith was avoiding me. I was avoiding Lily, and my father was loitering around my newsroom, sending Jude looks that made my skin crawl so violently, I was tempted to shed it completely and dump it on my office floor. I thought things could not get any worse, but I’d obviously underestimated the clusterfuck called my life, because sure enough, Dan—the reporter I’d tasked with getting info about Jude—stood at my office threshold when I returned.
“Are you ready for this?”
I was somewhat surprised to learn he’d spent the last week actually working on this and not drinking his body-weight with the advance I transferred into his account.
I waved for him to close the door and take a seat. “Drop the game show mannerism. I’m not a ’60s housewife.”
“So, Judith Humphry is neck deep in shit and currently trying to swim her way out against the stream. Mother died when she was thirteen; Dad diagnosed with cancer about a year ago.” He rubbed his fingers across his lips, delivering the news dryly while settling into the chair opposite to mine. “When your girl found out about her pops, she quit her prestigious-yet-underpaid internship and took two temp jobs to help with the bills. But obviously, her income still couldn’t cover a mortgage in New fucking York, not to mention the everyday life of a property owner in Brooklyn. Her dad recently stopped going to chemotherapy because they can’t afford it. Their bills are unpaid, their fridge is mostly empty, and they live in Bed Stuy.”
If I’d had a heart, it would’ve slowed, almost to a halt. But as it happened, I didn’t, so all I could manage was despising her a little less for the wallet stunt. My face remained placid, so Dan took it as a cue to continue.
“She had a boyfriend, but he seems to be out of the picture. The day you two disappeared into the Laurent Towers Hotel together—and don’t give me any details, because I sure as hell don’t wanna know—was the last time she was seen at his apartment building, according to the CCTV footage. Your girl is unaware of the fact that said boyfriend, Milton, purchased an engagement ring that he is still keeping in his nightstand drawer. But based on the active ghosting she’s doing every time he calls, it’s safe to say a comeback is not in their cards. By the way, did I use the term ghosting correctly?”
I felt my nostrils flaring, and I wasn’t entirely sure what pissed me off more—the fact that Dan was trying to younger than eighty-five, or that Jude could’ve fucked her boyfriend on the same evening I’d had my dick inside her.
“Continue.”
“As far as her hobbies go, Judith likes reading thrillers while sitting on her porch on Saturday mornings, and she prefers Costa over Starbucks and bagels over tacos. On Sundays, she goes to the New York Public Library and reads everything from Newsweek to The New York Times. She skips the Post every single time, never touches the gossip columns, and munches on Sour Patch Kids when no one is watching.
“She shudders when people dog-ear books, and always stops to listen to buskers. Sometimes she throws money into their instrument cases. She prepares an extra sandwich every morning and gives it to the homeless guy living outside the train station near her house.” He paused, letting out a belch. “Put simply, Jude Humphry is barely existing at this point, moneywise. Even so, she seems to be in good spirits, so if you’re worried about her stealing from her workplace or becoming a double-agent for another broadcasting company, I would say it’s pretty unlikely.”
I was hardly concerned about Jude’s loyalty, but I couldn’t tell Dan I’d had him check on her because my dick and I shared an unhealthy obsession with the girl.
“How much is my father paying you here, Dan?” I stroked my chin, changing the subject.
His gaze shot up from his phone. “A hundred and twenty K. Why?”
“I’ll pay you one-fifty to work for me exclusively.”
“Okay.” The leathery-skinned, fifty-something man smiled at that.
Dan hit the bottle three times a week, and we couldn’t rely on him to chase news around New York without making a pit stop at every bar. But he sure was good enough for digging up dirt.
“I want you to keep an eye on this Milton kid—the boyfriend.”
“Got it.” He wrote something in his notepad. Dan was severely old school, with his tattered courier bag, tape recorder, thinning amber hair, and hate for everything with a flat screen.
“Also, find out who Kipling is. But most importantly, I need you to follow my father.”
I didn’t miss a beat, watching said creeper through the glass wall as he approached Judith. She looked up and pushed off her desk, standing. Her puzzled eyes studied him intently, but otherwise her mouth was curved in a polite smile. My father motioned upstairs, probably to his office. My fist clenched and my jaw tensed so hard I thought my teeth were going to turn to dust.
Dan’s head shot up. “What are we looking to find?”
“Everything and anything that could take him down.”
Before Dan could nod, I smoothed my tie and pressed the switchboard button connecting me to Brianna. “Get me a discreet meeting with Mr. Humphry.”
“Sir, as in Judith Humphry’s father?”
“No, as in Humphrey Bogart. He died sometime in the fifties. I’m sure he’s not a hard man to track.”
Silence from the other end.
“Yes, Brianna, Judith Humphry’s father. And make sure this doesn’t get back to her in any way.”
“Yes, sir.”
More silence. Then, “Sir?”
“What?”
“Thank you for doing your own dry cleaning. I really appreciate it.”
She needed to thank Judith, but of course, I would never admit that. It felt like waving a white flag, and all I could see was red, all I could feel was history repeating itself—with my father trying to seduce Judith and her dress ending up in a puddle, like water on the floor of the electrical closet—Catastrophic.
I put the receiver down, waving Dan away like he was a waiter who’d messed up my order. His chin jiggled, along with his stomach on a chuckle.