Scandal: The Complete Series

by Alison Foster

  “What will we be working on?” I manage to ask, now that I’m certain I’m not dreaming. Always ask the right questions if you want the right answers is a phrase that Mark constantly repeats at the office.

  The detective taps his fingers on the desk as his eyes zoom in on my puzzled face. “Devlin didn’t tell you much, did he?” he concludes with a smirk that could be amusement or annoyance, or both.

  “Not really,” I admit, getting quite annoyed myself.

  “All right,” Detective Esposito says, picking the jacket from the back of his chair and putting it on. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  Finding myself seated next to a hardboiled police detective in his Toyota Avalon on the way to The Next Big Thing, one of the world’s most prestigious modeling agencies, was the last thing I expected when I woke up this morning.

  I don’t know how Mark pulled this off and, frankly, I don’t want to know but according to Rick Esposito, I will be the one and only reporter to follow the investigation from up close as it happens.

  It’s not hard to understand why Mark is so invested in this. It’s his one chance at a breaking story that will stretch beyond the scandalous nature of his publication. The mystery of Madison Starr’s murder covered by her very own stepsister in an exclusive blow-by-blow account.

  It’s likely to push traffic to the site through the roof.

  “Here we are,” Esposito says as he pulls into an underground parking lot on Wilshire Boulevard.

  We take the elevator up to The Next Big Thing offices that completely consume two entire floors.

  “You’re not a big talker,” Esposito says as we go through security at the main entrance to the agency.

  “Is this really necessary?” I ask the lady who takes my bag and asks me to raise my arms to shoulder height and spread my legs slightly so she can scan me with the stick she’s holding.

  “Yes,” she says dryly, patting down my arms and legs.

  I turn to watch Esposito’s overly pleased expression as he’s watching me being probed and patted. I can’t shake the thought that he specifically asked the security guards to check me thoroughly for no other reason than his personal amusement.

  “Well?” he says as we’re finally cleared to enter the agency premises.

  “Well what?”

  “Why’d you take the assignment?”

  So far he’s not very likeable. “Does it matter?” I say as I exhale.

  “Not especially, but I’d rather have a partner I can talk to,” he says as he opens a door for me to walk through.

  “So now we’re partners?” I say but am cut short when a glamorous woman – early forties, regal face, hair in a bun, light-blue jacket and skirt, matching pearl earrings and necklace – comes to us with a smile on her face.

  “Detective Esposito,” she says with a nod. “I’m Elaine Parker.” She raises her hand higher and more properly than I’ve ever seen outside of Downton Abbey. “You got here just in time. Mr. Jameson just arrived.”

  “Miss Parker,” Esposito says. “Show us the way.”

  She touches my shoulder tenderly. “You poor, dear girl,” she says. “If you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” I say with more of a whisper than intended.

  Esposito’s eyes meet mine as we walk. “Jameson is presumably the last person to have seen Madison alive.”

  “Donald Jameson?” I say. “Like THAT Donald Jameson?”

  Miss Parker nods as she walks ahead of us. “The very same.”

  My chest tightens under my t-shirt. Shit’s getting real and I have to pull myself together. “Can I ask him questions as well?” I ask Esposito, totally expecting him to say no.

  “I don’t see why not,” he says, much to my surprise. I assumed he’d be territorial over his investigation.

  Donald Jameson is one of the most influential agents in town and a co-owner of the model agency that has expanded into organizing and running high-profile fashion shows. He’s a middle-aged man of a certain elegance and poise but something about him just doesn’t feel right—it’s almost as if he doesn’t belong and has been placed here by accident. He’d fit better in a library or an art gallery.

  He shakes my hand fervently when we’re introduced. He, too, acts as if he’s been expecting me, smiling and offering me a drink. This time I agree as I am both thirsty and mesmerized by the tall toasting flute of Perrier he offers.

  “I understand you were the last person to speak with Madison last evening,” Esposito begins as soon as all pleasantries are dispensed.

  “That appeared to be the case,” Mr. Jameson says. “Up until a few minutes ago. We just learned that someone else spoke to her after she left my office.”

  “Who?” I say, impatiently.

  Esposito furrows his brow disapprovingly. I step back and let the expert take the stage. “Who was it?” he says.

  I resist rolling my eyes. His question was hardly an upgrade over mine.

  Mr. Jameson gets up from his seat. “Come with me.”

  We take the elevator to the upper floor and walk by offices and conference rooms with glass walls to a reception desk. The receptionist hands a key to Mr. Jameson. She dresses like a wealthy heiress like pretty much everyone else in the agency.

  “This is where the rehearsals take place,” Jameson says, looking at me, as he unlocks a door. “For the fashion shows.”

  I nod, not really understanding what this piece of information has got to do with anything, but when the door opens to a vast auditorium with cameras and professional lights pointing at the catwalk, my heart stops.

  I’ve never seen such an impressive collection of beautiful people, dressed to the nines and looking flawless under the strong lights. Girls with lavish, long hair and endless skinny legs, men whose faces are all angles, jaws and cheekbones. The super human world to which Madison belonged.

  There’s no doubt these are some of the most gorgeous people on Earth, paid to encapsulate and exploit all the secret desires of us lesser mortals. I stare at them in awe—at least until someone else steps onto the runway.

  Everybody instantly vanishes from my view as the most stunning creature steps on the catwalk. He’s simply clad in a white V-neck and dark jeans, a beige wool cap covering most of his dirty blond hair. The bright lights fall on him almost lovingly, like they exist solely to highlight each of his masculine features. He’s the most photographed man on the planet. His magazine covers become instantly iconic.

  Yet, I am realizing now that none of these thousands of photos have done him justice. Jaxson Cole is a fleshy feast of delicious muscles and brooding magnificence. No photos, no words can describe this man.

  My brain has somehow developed a manic heartbeat which explodes every thought with each buzzing pulse. I manage eventually to build a coherent thought. I’m not proud, but it goes something like this: Holy fuck and the seven seas, what a mouthwatering hunk of hotness.

  “Jaxson,” Mr. Jameson says, raising his voice, as he nears the runway.

  Jaxson Cole immediately turns to locate the voice’s owner. Esposito follows Jameson and I drag behind Esposito in a daze until all three of us are standing in a row by the runway.

  “What’s up, Mister J?” Jaxson says with his deep, cool voice.

  “Detective Esposito would like to ask you a few questions. With him is Ella Wade, a reporter.”

  Jaxson’s green-blue eyes go from Jameson to Esposito to me where they unexpectedly decide to linger. He studies my face so intensely, I begin to worry I might have a stain on my cheek or something.

  Then, in a hot flash, he jumps off the stage, landing right in front of me. To my astonishment, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips, gently kissing my knuckles. “Pleasure to meet you, Ella Wade.”

  Detective Esposito clears his throat, an uneasy expression taking over his features. “Jaxson Cole?” he says.

  Jaxson lets go of my hand, winking at me with a confidence that has been earned through years of charming people.
“Yes, that would be me, Detective.”

  What the hell just happened?

  —four—

  Jaxson Cole Can Be Real, Real Bad

  The man is a work of art. The first thing you notice when you look at Jaxson is the divine symmetry of his face. My gaze fixates on his strong jawline and those full, sensual lips. He’s tall with robust shoulders and an impressively-built torso but, at the same time, he emits sensitivity and danger. No wonder Madison never moved on from him despite endless offers from anyone and everyone: film stars, professional athletes, businessmen, the crème de la crème of the world of fame and affluence.

  Jaxson Cole is in a league all of his own. A heartthrob since he could probably remember himself, he’s been in the spotlight for years and, on more than one occasion, has been featured in The Daily Scandal. I imagine all those five-year-old girls when he was in kindergarten having a crush on him for the rest of their lives. And then in high school, how many girls dreamed of him, knowing that he could not be reached even by dream?

  “I’ve been told you were Madison Starr’s boyfriend,” Esposito says, staring straight into Jaxson’s eyes. “And were you the last person to speak with her before she returned to her apartment last night?”

  Jaxson takes his time to consider Esposito’s words. Then he turns to look at me. Again. Madison must have brought up my name. There’s no other explanation. “Maybe she talked to someone in the elevator. Is there a prize for being the last person to talk to her?” he mocks Esposito. “But yeah, I did talk with her. For a minute or two. About nothing. The name of a movie we’d been wanting to see. Forgive my attitude. I haven’t processed any of this.”

  His voice sounds strangely confident despite his obvious attempt at being vulnerable. I sense some hesitation as he chooses his words.

  “The doorman recalled her reaching her building around nine thirty,” Esposito says. “Any contact with her after that?”

  “None,” Jaxson says without any hesitation in his voice now.

  “We’ll know more once we have her phone records.”

  “I never called her,” Jaxson says. “We weren’t all needy like that. Listen, man, if I had any information on the bastard who slit Madison’s throat, I would have already dealt with him myself.”

  The bastard who slit her throat. The words echo in my head a few times before their meaning settles in. So far, I’ve avoided asking any questions as to the details of her murder. Not knowing the specifics helped to keep it unreal. But Jaxson’s words have made it real. The air gets stuck in my lungs.

  Esposito gives Jaxson a crooked grin. “Your desire for vengeance is understandable, Mr. Cole.”

  Jaxson stares at the detective and then shrugs. “I’d like you to find this killer. My desire for vengeance is between me and my therapist.”

  “You have a therapist?” I blurt out.

  “No, Miss Ella Wade,” Jaxson says. “I don’t. I was making a point.”

  “Oh,” I say, struggling to find something else to say.

  “This killer will be brought to justice,” Esposito says.

  “There will be no justice for Madison,” I manage to say. “You can both play hero all you want. None of it helps Maddy at all.”

  Jaxson locks his eyes on mine. “You’re right, but I’d like to know that this guy suffers for this and that he never hurts anyone again.”

  I’m tired of saying stupid things so I’m just going to avoid speaking entirely while in front of the hottest man in the universe.

  “That will be all for now, Mr. Cole,” Esposito says before turning his attention to Donald Jameson. “Can we see Miss Starr’s dressing room?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Jameson says and then pats Jaxson on the back. “She shared a room with another model. I’m not sure there’s anything of hers there though. Madison never brought anything personal to work, not even a single photo or trinket.”

  Typical of Madison to refuse to attach herself. She’d been that way since her mother died when she was ten. She was even proud of the fact.

  I follow Mr. Jameson and Detective Esposito to the dressing rooms. I’m lost in my private thoughts and fall behind. I realize I would not make a great detective as I hurry to catch up to them.

  When they come to an abrupt halt, I barely manage to keep myself from bumping into their backs.

  The elegant Elaine Parker has blocked our way and is now leaning in to whisper into Donald Jameson’s ear.

  “This cannot wait,” he says, immediately excusing himself. “My assistant, Miss Parker, will help you with anything you need.”

  His assistant turns out to be friendlier than I would have guessed. She folds one arm around my elbow while she speaks to Detective Esposito. “This was such a shock to all the girls here,” she says. “It’s hard to imagine anyone wanting to kill a wonderful girl like Madison. One glance at her should have calmed the most savage heart.” She turns to me, squeezing my arm. “I’m sorry, honey. This must be so incredibly hard on you.”

  Her sincerity is refreshing.

  We come to a dimly-lit hallway with a warning sign that only authorized personnel should enter as everyone else might be at high risk.

  “Our little joke,” Miss Parker explains. “This is just where the dressing rooms begin. Madison occupied number seven, sharing with Rita.”

  “Rita?” Esposito says, raising an eyebrow.

  “Rita North, one of Madison’s closest friends.”

  “I will need to talk to her,” Esposito says, entering the hallway.

  Maddy and I could have been total strangers. I did not even know the name of her best friend. Our lives stopped crossing paths seven years ago when I was barely fifteen. I feel partially guilty when everybody gushes their condolences at me as if I’m a devastated first-degree relative.

  When we reach dressing room seven, I pause, overcome with a sudden sense of doom. My feet refuse to move and my breathing gets faster.

  I grab Esposito’s wrist as he’s about to push the door open. “Would you mind if I waited out here?”

  Rick Esposito isn’t one to coddle. He says exactly what he’s thinking. “I’m sure I can manage without you.”

  He vanishes into the dressing room with Miss Parker.

  I rummage through my purse to find a forgotten piece of gum. My nerves are getting the better of me and pretty soon everyone will know. “Hold it together, Ella,” I mumble under my breath.

  “Do you like lingering in dark corners?”

  Jaxson Cole’s voice makes me jump out of my skin. The gum falls out of my mouth and onto the floor.

  “Shit,” I say without thinking. My cheeks burn a bit when Jaxson picks up my chewed gum and then takes the wrapper from my fingers. When his fingers touch mine, every cell in my body tingles.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says as he squeezes the wrapper around the chewed gum and places it in his pocket for later disposal. “We just need to grab a few things from my dressing room.”

  We? I only now realize there’s a man in a suit standing behind Jaxson.

  “Is this Madison’s sister?” the man says with a pained expression on his face, which makes me assume there’ll be another demonstration of sympathy.

  Jaxson nods and the man takes a step closer, extending his hand.

  “Ed Thurman,” he says. “I was the scout who discovered Madison and helped her through her early days in the business.”

  His reputation precedes him. Jim and Maddy told my Mom and me all about Ed Thurman. His reputation as a sleazy womanizer and corporate leach has only grown since then.

  I wonder if he ever managed to get into Maddy’s bed. He’s not bad-looking and has plenty of money and connections to make a young model’s efforts to please him worth their while. I want to give Madison more credit than that, but I honestly have no idea what kind of woman she became.

  This Thurman guy is annoying. How do you discover a person? What does that even mean? Madison wasn’t exactly a lost continent or a rare s
pecies on the Galapagos Islands.

  To my horror, Thurman brushes a thumb against my cheek. “You are so pretty,” he says. “Exquisite.”

  Lord! This dude must think I’m as dumb as a rock. I’m far from being considered an exquisite beauty, especially among all these beauty freaks that walk these halls. “Right,” I say. “Sounds like you’re losing your magic touch.”

  “Not at all,” he says. “You could be my next great discovery. The genes in your family are shining through.”

  Genes? What’s this antipode of all intelligent life saying now? The only thing shining through is his line of bullshit. Madison was my stepsister. No shared gene pool, dickwad.

  It’s a good thing that Ed Thurman walks away before I have a chance to give him a piece of my mind. Who the hell cares what a complete stranger says anyway? I’m here on a very important mission, which I’m failing.

  Jaxson Cole starts laughing. It’s not subtle, nervous laughter either. It’s full-blown, tummy-busting, falling on the floor kind of laughter.

  I’m astounded. This place is a fucking looney bin. I make no effort to hide my low opinion of the agency as I stare incredulously at him.

  “You should see the look on your face,” Jaxson says, literally having tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he goes on. “I forget what a tool Ed can be. We all just accept him around here.”

  “Are you, okay? You seem kind of crazy. Your girlfriend was just murdered,” I say, getting angry at him despite his volcanic deliciousness.

  “I’m most definitely not okay, Ella Wade,” he says with that fake vulnerability. The fact that he likes to say my whole name is weird and pleasing at the same time. Any woman would enjoy any part of their name lingering on his seductive lips.

  “This is all so overwhelming,” I say, because my emotions are similarly conflicted and all over the place today.

  “I don’t know why, Ella Wade,” he says, “but your face is the only thing keeping me from falling completely apart.”

  His words are sweet if not convincing.

  “Why do you keep saying my whole name?”