He leaves me standing alone and wraps his hand around her neck, lifting her to stand. My stomach takes a nosedive. He’s going to do it. “Logan…you promised me that dance,” I say, my voice coming out high and unsteady. When his eyes connect with mine, a shiver of reality chills me to my bones. His eyes are devoid of emotion, a cold stare shooting ice-daggers at me.
“Bitch, I told you, not before I do my job. You wanna go get a dance from someone else? Try. I’ll shoot you too. Now, let’s go. I got a job to do.” He drags the girl, wailing and screaming. She gets a good kick in, causing Logan to grunt. When he passes by me, he stops. “You fucking coming?”
I turn to Vincent, who’s wearing a satisfied smirk, ready to eat me alive if I choose to stay. “Yep, totally coming,” I blurt out, then chase after him as he exits out the side door. The lake breeze almost knocks me off my feet. I sway, grabbing the railing before falling overboard. Overboard…as in… “Oh god, no…” My eyes slam shut. My chest tightens, and I struggle to breathe. I’m outside, about to be thrown into the abyss of my worst phobia.
The girl’s screaming carries in the wind, and I pop my eyes back open. Logan covers her mouth with his hand, hissing, “Shut the fuck up.” She continues to struggle in his arms, landing another blow to his knee. “Fuck,” he grunts, shoving her to the ground. The wind picks up again, causing me to lose my balance. I grip the railing tighter, my dress getting sucked through the slats of the rails. A silent scream rattles my brain, terror invading my reality and cracking me in half.
The girl’s shrieking sobs pull me back. I force the terror down my throat and fight to help her. “Logan, please. Don’t do this. She’s innocent, you know that. It was me. I tossed the invitation right before I went into the gala. She has nothing to do with this,” I beg, unable to comprehend the fact that he’s about to kill an innocent girl. Also, that I was almost her. “Logan, listen to me, don’t—”
“Addy, you seriously have to shut the fuck up right now,” he spits out, reaching in his pocket for his phone. He starts typing out a text message. Is right now really the best time to be sending text messages! Shoving it back in his pocket, he throws the girl to the floor when she tries to stand. Looking at me, he says, “You gotta trust me right now, okay? You trust me?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.” He points the gun to the girl and pulls the trigger, a loud crack slicing through the air. My eyes slam shut. My screams are mixed with hers. Logan is on me instantly, and I fight him, afraid he’s about to do the same to me. “Addy, stay with me. Trust me, okay?”
My eyes barely open long enough to tell him he’s absolutely insane if he thinks I’m going to trust a drug-dealing, murdering thug. But I don’t get the chance to share my opinion. The pinch of a needle sliding into my neck sparks a warmth inside my veins. I barely register the reality that I’m about to join the girl in the lake, swimming with the fish. Dizziness washes over me, and the lights go out.
“Stay still, naughty girl. Time to get punished. And by punished, I mean I’m going to devour every single inch of your succulent flesh.”
“Oh, dear. Please don’t hurt me,” I breathlessly moan as my dress falls to my feet, exposing my burning skin. My nipples pebble at his searing eyes. Inch by inch, he scans over my body and licks his bottom lip.
“Not sure that’s an option, sweetheart. You’ve been a bad girl. Daddy needs to punish you. Now, come over here so I can eat you alive.” He captures me, his large hands digging into my waist as his luscious lips seal over mine. He kisses me rough and passionately, then rips his mouth from mine. His lips move to my neck, feathering light kisses against my skin until he bares his teeth and sinks them into the dip of my collarbone. I moan as his other hand dips between my legs and thrusts—
I shoot forward in bed, a layer of sweat along my brow line, my nipples protruding through my pajama top. I brush my clammy palms down my neck, searching for a bitemark. “Jesus all mighty,” I groan, my skin still buzzing. “I seriously need to stop reading romance books so late at night.” I toss myself back onto my bed. The image of my hot dream man begins to fade in my mind, and I close my eyes in hopes of falling back to sleep and continuing where we left off. Work can wait.
Work.
Work.
Work!
“Son of a gun!” I lunge forward and twist my head to look at the clock. I’m an hour late. Fudge! I try to my legs from my comforter but get tangled in it and fall sideways off my bed. “Shoot, shoot, shoot!” I’m totally getting fired. I peel my face up off my floor, my eyes catching the bright red material in a pile next to me. My dress. The gala. Logan Justice, the mob thug.
I scurry back, as if the dress is going to attack me, and throw myself against my bed frame, frantically scanning my bedroom. The boat. Logan shot that girl, then… I run my hands over my body in search of bullet holes. Am I dead? Is this my afterlife? Wait…how did I get back to my apartment? I look down, and sure enough, I’m in one piece, no holes oozing blood through my cat patterned pajama shirt. Who dressed me?
I shake my head until I dizzy myself, but no memories resurface. How the heck did I get home? Did someone bring me? Is that someone still in my place? My panic surges and I crawl across the floor to the cracked door of my room. I place my ear to the opening and listen. Nothing. He could be quiet. Waiting for you. Villains never make sounds. True. True. Who says romance is just about sex? The knowledge in those bad boys is endless. Taking a page out of one of my action-packed suspense books, I smarten up and grab a weapon. I’m not really the violent type, and I’m super un-athletic, so I take my eyes off the heavy lamp and crawl over to my desk and grab my stapler.
I slide up the wall, keeping my back to it, and hold the stapler to my chest. I’m just going to go out there, stapler blazing. If anyone’s there, maybe I’ll frighten them, and they’ll take off. Mornings are not my best, so I’m sure my looks alone will do the trick.
“Okay, on the count of three. One…two…three—”
Forgetting my door opens inward, I throw my shoulder into it with all my might, only to fall backwards onto my floor.
The good news is no one’s in my apartment. The bad news: I may have dislocated my shoulder. I jump into gear and get ready for work. My nerves haven’t settled, and the answers I’m desperately searching for are hidden deep inside my stubborn brain. Thankfully, I haven’t forgotten the important details of my night. I need to hurry and get to the office to write them down and present my story to Craig. This isn’t some celebrity scandal. This is big. Promotion big. My own office big! The thought of becoming a senior journalist and getting to boss Rebecca around puts some extra pep in my step.
I push through the doors of Celebrity Dirt, two hours late. When I throw my butt onto my yoga ball, I toss my purse in the direction of my desk. It misses and my things fall to the ground, but I ignore it. Bill stares at me strangely as Rebecca gives me the evil eye. I don’t even bother taking my jacket off before throwing open my laptop and getting to work. I need to get everything I remember down.
“You’re late. Must have been an interesting night.” I peel my eyes away from my screen. Justin is standing in front of me, his eyes gleaming with interest. I completely forgot I saw him last night. Shoooot.
“Yeah, nothing to tell. You?” I’m hoping the instant bead of sweat forming along my brow doesn’t give me away. I suck at lying, because lying is bad, and I was raised to be honest. Probably to a fault.
“You sure about that? You seemed like you had your hands full. Or should I say the guy dragging you across the dancefloor had his hands full?”
That triggers Rebecca’s ears to perk. “Wait, she got into the gala?” Her voice is pinched with jealousy.
Justin nods and takes a sip of his coffee. “Sure did. And from what I saw, got access into the presidential lounge.”
Rebecca gasps while Bill thrusts his chair out and wheels himself closer to my desk.
“Damn, little Miss Addy Finch found an invita
tion? Do tell!” He clicks his pen over and over, waiting for me to spill the beans. My foot taps relentlessly against the floor. I try to figure out what answer will please them, while also keeping my memories of last night strong in my mind to finish getting them down.
“It was easy.” I start, the truth about to fall from my lips when I remember the doomed fate of Francesca Vaughn. You impersonated someone who was invited here to be silenced. “I…I was just let in.” The memory rattles my nerves, and I reach for my coffee mug, accidentally knocking it over.
Justin laughs. “Yeah, doubt that. There’s no way you were just let in. It was a top-notch event. I saw them scanning wrists. You had to have a special stamp to get in to the presidential lounge. Who was the guy you were with?”
Bill leans in, trying to get a peek at my wrist. Thank god the stamp was barely visible to begin with, and I could scrub the remainder away in the shower. “No one. I need to get to work, so if you’ll excuse—”
“Delivery for a Miss Atticus Finch.”
We all turn to the front door to find a man holding a gigantic bouquet of red roses.
“Wait, those are for Addy? Are you sure?” Rebecca gets up and sashays toward the man. “There’s no way she got flowers. No one even acknowledges her. Probably a mistake. Let me see the card.”
She tries to grab for it, but the delivery man pulls back. “Sorry, I was instructed to give these directly to an Atticus Finch.”
“I—I’m Atticus Finch, well…Addy.” My cheeks flush.
“Here ya go.” Walking over, he hands them to me, then leaves. They weigh a ton. There has to be a few dozen in the bouquet.
“Okay, Addy. Now we’re all on the edge of our seats. Who are the flowers from?”
“I’m going with Grandma,” Bill blurts out.
“I’m going with she sent them to herself,” Rebecca says, getting a good laugh out of the other two.
Justin clicks his tongue, rubbing his chin. “I don’t know. I think they’re from her boy toy from last night. Those two were quite chummy. If I’m not mistaken, our Addy here may be taking a page out of Rebecca’s book.”
Rebecca scoffs and throws her pen at Justin. “Yeah, right. No one would go for that,” she says, flinging her hand in my direction.
My shoulders droop at her direct insult. I’m used to them poking fun at me, how I’m not socially outgoing or dazzling in brand names and perfect makeup like Rebecca. I can barely have a normal conversation without putting my foot in my mouth and embarrassing myself. I set the flowers on my desk and straighten my posture on my ball.
“If you don’t mind, I have work to do.” Just as I reopen my laptop, Rebecca dashes forward and snags the card from the flowers. “Hey! Give that back!”
“No way. We’re solving this mystery.” She opens the small envelope, and my heart slams against my ribcage. I have no idea who they’re from, but it’s not my dead grandmother, and I’m too poor to send myself lunch, let alone what looks like half the city’s rose supply.
Addy,
Sorry I couldn’t stay last night and finish devouring every inch of you. Let me make it up to you. Lunch? It’s the least I can do as your boyfriend.
PS: Sorry about ripping your dress off. I just couldn’t help myself.
Logan
Four jaws drag along the floor by the time Rebecca finishes reading the card. Mine included. How did he get into my place? How bad did he rip the dress? Will Macy’s believe me when I say it came that way? Bad stitching—
“No way. You wrote this.” Rebecca tosses the card at me and throws her head back, expelling a screeching laugh. “Nice try, Addy. Pathetic if you ask me. Sending yourself flowers and pretending you have a boyfriend? Please. Give me a—”
“Excuse me.”
We all turn to the door.
All eyes widen at the gigantic piece of man meat standing in the doorway.
“Holy shit, who is that?” Rebecca whispers, frozen at the sight. I’m just as frozen, but my reasoning is because I think he might be here to finish me off to stay quiet. “Well, hello there. Are you here to see me? I’m Rebecca Haines. Why don’t we go into the conference—”
“Here for Addy,” Logan Justice says, his searing eyes, a mix of sex appeal and trouble, claiming hold of mine.
Rebecca’s mouth falls open as she turns toward me. Logan doesn’t skip a beat and walks in as if he’s done it a million times, stopping in front of me.
“Baby, you ready to go?”
Is anyone ever ready to walk to their own death? Probably not. “Um…I really have some work to do here—okay!” I change routes as he scoops me up. Rebecca’s mouth is still hanging open as Logan bends forward and latches his lips to mine, giving me an Oscar-worthy kiss for our viewers. When he finally pulls away, I sway on my feet and don’t feel as bad about my pending doom.
“You ready now?” he murmurs into my ear.
Who can say no to a death warrant when their Grim Reaper looks and kisses like that? “Lead the way, honey boo.” Okay, I’m walking straight to death’s door, and I still can’t be smooth?
Logan chuckles and plants my feet back on the ground. He snatches my hand and shoulder-bumps Justin out of the way. “Let your boss know she’s taking a long lunch.”
I turn back as Logan drags me out of the office. Bill nods. Justin nods. Rebecca still looks broken, her mouth catching flies. Which, may I add, is not the best look on her.
As Logan pushes open the glass door, the summer heat hits me, and reality sets back in. I tug at my arm, but Logan doesn’t release me. “Where are we going? I told you I won’t say anything. You didn’t have to send me those flowers. They had to cost you a fortune. I can pay you back…it might be a while…’cause…well, I’m broke—and did you have to tear my dress? I was planning on—”
He whips around, and I stumble into his hefty chest. “Do you ever shut up?”
My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You and your yapping.”
“I’m not yapping.” I am. It’s my thing. I get nervous and yap. And yap. And— “Okay, I’m yapping, but you’re scary and intimidating, and are you going to kill me?”
A line forms between his brows as he frowns. “Say what?”
“Are. You. Going. To. Kill—” I yelp as he drags me off the sidewalk into the alley, shoving me against the brick wall.
“Would you shut your mouth? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snaps.
“Wrong with me? You’re the one who just dragged me out of my office like a caveman claiming his prize, which was unnecessary, by the way. And God knows where you’re taking me now. I have a feeling it’s not to grab a sub and a milkshake.”
He leans into me, eyeing my lips. “You’re right about one thing.”
“A nice Italian sub and chocolate shake sounds too good to be true?” I ask, hoping it’s not the latter and I’m going to be some fish’s lunch.
He shakes his head.
“Darn.” My voice vibrates with nerves. He’s so close, and I can’t deny how extremely attractive he is. Last night in a tuxedo, he was handsome. In a pair of fitted jeans, and snug black shirt, he’s breathtaking. Total bad boy type. In a James Bond kind of way. I bet he ravishes women just with the sound of his voice—
“You’re mumbling again.”
“Huh?”
“You’re mumbling. Clearly, you haven’t figured out how to think in silence.” He pushes off me, the absence of his body allowing the city wind to skate along my skin. “I’m not here to kill you.”
Phew!
“But I fucking should.”
Not phew.
“What the fuck were you doing pretending to be Francesca Vaughn?”
“I told you, I was there to get a story.”
He thrusts his hand through his hair. “Well, you got one all right.”
I’m glad we’re on the same page! I push off the wall toward him. “I know! And if you can just fill in some of the blanks, I can—”
> “You’re not writing shit.”
“Yes, I am! It’s my job. I can’t pretend I never saw—”
Irritation crackles from his dark eyes as he eliminates the space between us. “You’re not.”
“I am.” Take that. I’m not scared of him. If he thinks he’s going to intimidate me with his good looks and deep, gravelly voice, he’s—
“You write that story, you die.”
Or not. I could probably just stick to the socialite caught doing cocaine story.
“You fucked up. You have no idea who you just got involved with.”
“Fine. Then un-involve me. Let’s break up. There. I’m just going to go back to work—”
Logan grabs my bicep, pulling me into him. “Breaking up is the last thing we’re doing, sweetheart. Wanna know why?” Not particularly. “Because your smart mouth caught the attention of my boss. And he is no one to mess with. He also doesn’t take no for an answer.” Just the mention of his boss gives me chills. Eyes seeping evil. A mob king who eats the souls of his enemies for dinner.
“Why can’t you tell him we broke up?”
“Like I said last night, you vanishing like that looks suspicious. And you know what happens when Vincent feels like there’s a loose end out there?”
Crap, I hate trick questions. “He ties them up?”
Logan grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. When he reopens them, I’m met by his gaze brimming with anger. “No, Addy. He makes them disappear.”
“Oh…” I answer, his meaning starting to make more sense.
“Yeah, oh. That means we’re fucking stuck together until I can figure out a way to unstick you.” I open my mouth to offer a suggestion, but he raises his finger to lock my lips shut. “You’re going to do everything I say. If you don’t, we’re both as good as fucking dead.”
Sudden dread washes over me. “I don’t want to die.”
“Good. So you’ll fucking listen. We need to get some shit straight. Likes and dislikes. If we’re ever together and he tries to drill you, which he will, we’ll need something to go off of.”
Celebrity Dirt: A Fake Relationship Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 4