by Evie Hunter
She was cheering up if she was getting sassy.
Although she had moved on from him, he still felt responsible for her. And it would be great to catch up with her after so long.
After they settled the details, Jack looked again at the message from the ‘naughty girl’. No reporters. Ever. He closed down the chat box.
11
Josh Martin pushed his coffee cup away from him. ‘Abbie, just listen to me. I have no control over this. You’re moving to Lifestyle and that’s it.’
‘Lifestyle? What birdbrain thought it made sense to put an experienced news journalist into a job that any first-year intern could do? For goodness sake, Josh, how hard can it be to dig up smut and gossip, and write features about fashion and design and the beautiful people?’
‘I’m sorry about this, but it wasn’t my decision. Jack Winter is hot news at the moment and since you’re involved with –’
‘I am not involved with Jack Winter.’
Josh raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘OK, OK. I didn’t believe that crap about you sleeping with him anyway. You’re more intelligent than that.’
He got up and closed the door, shutting out the noise of the newsroom. ‘Look, Abbie, I’ve been twenty years in the business and I can’t understand it either. The board suddenly decided that you should be moved out of News and into Lifestyle. It’s not something they normally do, but, hey, they’re the board, they call the shots. Suck it up for a couple of months, and I’ll apply to have you back in the newsroom again.’
Abbie huffed a breath. Why did she not feel reassured?
‘And you know, just because you are in Lifestyle doesn’t mean you can’t keep working on the Honduras story. Maybe if you move sideways into Lifestyle, it will take the heat off you and the weird shit will stop.’
She opened her mouth to argue, and then paused. Josh had a point. Someone had been working hard to stop her writing that story. She was used to harassment from people who didn’t want her to write a particular report, but this time it had been worse than usual. Threats she could cope with, but the orchids were new. It wasn’t hard to figure out why someone was sending her the national flower of Honduras; even though she’d left the country, they were still watching her. The flowers had become an almost daily occurrence at the newsroom. Sometimes they were perfect, sometimes torn and broken, each delivery more nerve-wracking than the last. She felt a pang that she had come to dread the sight of orchids. The moment when Jack put one in her hair was one of her happiest memories of the jungle.
‘I’m not scared of them.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Well, maybe you should be. You need to be more careful and if moving you to Lifestyle is the only way to get you to do that, then so be it.’
She nodded stiffly. If she had to go to Lifestyle, she would, even if it killed her. Just as she put her hand on the door, Josh added, ‘And make sure you keep digging the dirt on Tom Breslin at the State Department. He’s the key to nailing the story.’
She left the office and slammed the door behind her. Back at her desk, someone had left a copy of Us Weekly opened at page three. Circled in red was an exclusive interview with Jack Winter. I am not involved with Abbie Marshall shouted the headline. Abbie glanced around to see if any of the guys were laughing, but everyone was apparently buried in their work. Bastards. She picked up the paper and tossed it in the bin.
Fine. If they wanted her to move, then she’d move. Slowly. She refused to clean out her desk in the newsroom. Instead, she packed everything of value into her drawers and locked them. After a second cup of coffee and a muffin, she made her way upstairs.
‘Ms Marshall, welcome.’ Betsy Taylor had been editor of Lifestyle for more than a decade and her reputation was almost as tough as Josh Martin’s.
‘Hi, Ms Taylor, I’m not sure what I’m doing here.’
Oh hell. She knew exactly what she was doing here. Josh hadn’t said it, no one had said it, but it was one of the unwritten rules. No serious journalist would get down and dirty with someone they were interviewing. They might say it was for her safety, but it was a punishment, plain and simple. The sooner she served her time and got back to real reporting, the better.
Betsy eyed Abbie’s neat black trousers and button-down shirt. ‘And how are we on fashion?’
‘We’re … not very comfortable,’ Abbie said. Put me in a jungle or a desert but please don’t put me in heels and expect me to be happy.
‘Gossip?’ Betsy asked.
‘Political stuff?’ Abbie said hopefully.
‘No, darling.’ Betsy pursed her lips. ‘There is only one variety of gossip in Lifestyle. Who is sleeping with who, and what were they wearing while they were doing it.’
‘Oh.’ Abbie tried hard not to sound defeated. This was going to be worse than she thought.
‘Of course, with your connections you have access to a lot of important people. Like Jack Winter. Now there is a story. Handsome Irish boy made good and a nice hint of danger to keep the pot simmering. I just love a tortured hero, don’t you?’
Abbie’s journalistic radar went live. ‘What danger?’
‘BDSM, of course. But he hasn’t been caught. Yet. Our Jack runs with a wild crowd. Unfortunately they’re all very discreet. See what you can find.’
A bespectacled assistant waved at the editor. ‘Betsy, I’ve got Paris on the line for you.’
‘Hilton?’ Betsy said.
‘No, France.’
With that, Betsy was gone, leaving a cloud of Jo Malone perfume in her wake.
What the hell? Jack was part of a BDSM scene? Even after what Kit had said, and despite all she had learned about domination and submission on the web, she had still managed to persuade herself that when Jack had spanked her it was because he was overcome with passion and fear for her life. The thought that this kinky stuff was his thing, that she was just one in a procession of women he spanked, made her feel ill.
She shouldn’t have been surprised, she realized. He had been way too good at spanking. He knew exactly what he was doing. Years of practice, no doubt with lots of different women. That thought didn’t make her feel any better.
And while Jack managed to keep all his little secrets, he had no problem with dropping her in it and making her a laughing stock. Well, turnabout is fair play, Hollywood. It was time his secrets came out. Within a week of meeting Jack Winter, she had lost her fiancé, her job and her reputation. It was time to start fighting back and she knew just how to do it.
Abbie found an empty desk, punched in Kit’s number and got her answering machine. ‘Kit, I need a favour. Remember you said you could put me in contact with someone about my, er, problem? Well, I need to talk to them and as soon as possible.’
The coffee bar was noisy. Abbie dropped her umbrella into the metal bin inside the door and scanned the place for Kit.
‘Abbie.’ She heard a voice calling her from across the room. In a small alcove, Kit sat with another woman. Abbie’s heart thumped. She was really going to do this. Talk to another submissive. Not another submissive, she chided herself. You are not submissive.
‘Paloma, this is my friend Abbie. Abbie, this is Paloma.’
Paloma was a surprise. Abbie now realized she had been expecting a scantily clad nymphet who looked like a porn star. Pal
oma was in her mid-thirties, subtly made-up with a rounded figure and a warm smile.
Kit excused herself, leaving them alone. For once, Abbie felt tongue-tied. What was she going to say to her?
Paloma’s smile was understanding. ‘I imagine this is all very strange for you?’
‘Yes, I have no idea what I’m doing here. Kit thought we should meet.’ The reality of what she was doing hit her. This was a real person, not a profile page on an internet site.
‘Everyone has to start somewhere.’ Paloma brushed her dark hair over one shoulder, revealing a silver chain with a small ornate padlock. Abbie had seen similar ones during her trawl of the internet sites, but this one looked old and expensive. Noticing her glance, Paloma fingered the necklace. ‘Sir gave it to me to celebrate our third anniversary.’
‘Oh, it’s pretty.’ Somehow she hadn’t associated the whole whip-and-chain scene with anniversaries.
‘Kit tells me that you want to make a connection with someone to explore your submissive tendencies?’
Put like that, it sounded very bald. ‘Well, I don’t know that I’m actually a – one of you or not, but yeah, I guess you could say that I’m exploring.’
Abbie knew that she sounded too vague. She needed an introduction into Paloma’s world if she was ever going to nail Jack Winter. She had to convince Paloma to help her. ‘Something happened to me while I was away on business. I met someone and we … well, he spanked me.’ She held her breath, waiting to see how the other woman reacted.
She gave a slight smile. ‘Spanking can be an intense experience. Was it your first?’
Abbie nodded. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know if it was him, or what he did, and I have no idea how to deal with it. Look, I’ll be honest, I’m a reporter. If this got out … well, my reputation would be –’
Paloma nodded. ‘Yes, I saw you on the news.’
Abbie blanched and put her head into her hands for a shocked second. ‘Oh god, you know who I am?’ This was her nightmare, strangers knowing about her, laughing about it.
‘It’s OK. Discretion is the primary rule in the kinky community. I won’t tell about you and you won’t tell about me.’
Abbie finally made the connection. She didn’t often go to the theatre, but she read the paper every day. ‘You’re Paloma Perez. You won a Tony a couple of years ago.’
Paloma nodded. ‘Discretion, remember? And now I can guess who the man is.’
Abbie’s mouth opened in shock, and her face heated up so much it felt like it was burning. ‘I … I …’
She was lost for words. Paloma laughed gently, giving her time to recover. Finally, Abbie got control of herself again. ‘Yes, but that’s over. He has no interest in me.’
The other woman’s knowing smile made Abbie grit her teeth. ‘And I’m not interested in him. I just want to find out a bit more about this stuff. Maybe join a few websites, go to some parties or whatever.’
But Paloma shook her head. ‘You’d be like a babe in the woods. You’re not looking for a hook-up, no? You just want to find out more about yourself. You need a mentor.’
Paloma fingered the silver padlock again while she considered her response. ‘Ordinarily, my Dom would be happy to talk to you. Help you explore your limits.’
Abbie rocked back in her chair. ‘No, I’m not into that. No funny stuff.’
Paloma’s laughter filled the tiny alcove. ‘I meant online, Abbie. He’s very good. But we’re going through a difficult time at the moment. Things are a little fragile between us. But I can put you in touch with someone else. An old friend who is very experienced. I think you’d like him.’
‘OK.’ Relief washed over her. She would get to speak to someone and maybe if she became convincing enough she would find Jack.
‘Let me call him. You need to choose an online name.’
‘Wild orchid,’ she said quickly.
When she said the name, it sounded so silly, but she was reclaiming the flower from whoever was trying to scare her. It reminded her of Honduras and the jungle and the exotic flowers and, most of all, Jack. She shook the thought away.
‘Fine,’ Paloma nodded. ‘I’ll speak to my friend and e-mail you tonight.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Jack, come out for a drink. You are no fun since you came back from Honduras.’ Kevin slung his gym bag over his shoulder so he could punch Jack in the ribs.
Jack stepped back quickly. ‘Are you a glutton for punishment? What the hell are you doing punching a man who’s just done two hours of MMA training? That’s how you get your teeth kicked in.’
Kevin ignored the not-very-subtle threat and headed down the steps to the street. ‘You weren’t the only one training in there. I can do my share of kicking.’
Jack followed him down, keeping a wary eye out for the paparazzi, but his luck was holding. ‘You can’t have been training hard enough if you still have energy for this.’ He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his damp hair, just in case.
‘Some of us can stay in shape without doing a couple of hundred sit-ups, you know.’
‘And some of us don’t get a pay cheque if we don’t keep in shape.’
It was all very well for Kev. He worked out just to stay fit, and didn’t have to find a gym that wouldn’t brag to the media that he was there or have reporters follow him into the sauna and shower. That had started a lot of Jack’s reputation as a hellraiser. Well, he defied any reasonable man to stand there calmly while a little runt took photographs of his family jewels.
He grinned. At least the angle had been kind. He now had a reputation for being hung like a horse.
This gym specialized in mixed martial arts, had no sauna and the showers had the sort of crappy fixed heads that had gone out of style twenty years ago. But the dumbbells went up to 50kg, there were three power cages and the trainers were ruthless. Jack was limping and would be black and blue tomorrow.
He wondered if Abbie had bruised after that spanking. Maybe he should have told her to get some arnica. Fuck it, why did every thought, even about big sweaty personal trainers and ratty sneakers, come back to Abbie Marshall? He really needed to get laid, and so far, it wasn’t happening. ‘You’re right, Kev,’ he announced. ‘It is time I went out for a drink.’
An hour later, he and Kev were holed up in an Irish bar on 3rd Avenue. They grabbed a table near the fireplace, and ordered food. Kev ordered Guinness for both of them. It wasn’t Jack’s drink but he couldn’t be bothered arguing. He tried to remember the last time he’d had a drink, and couldn’t. He was overdue.
‘So, what’s the story with you and Abbie?’
Jack choked on the house special, Traditional Irish Shepherd’s Pie, and Kev slapped him, rather too enthusiastically, on the back.
‘There is no story. We haven’t seen or spoken to each other since we got back from the jungle.’
‘Yeah, I’ve noticed you were busy. Doing Kym Kardell. Some guys have all the luck.’
‘Jesus, if you had to spend ten minutes with that woman, you’d be poking pointed sticks into your ears rather than listen to her talk. There’s a reason she’s only in movies where she doesn’t have to say much.’
‘Oh come on, did you notice her boobs? Who cares what she says when she’s got a rack like that?’
‘And I know to the cent how much they cost her, how long her recovery took and how much they are insured for. Trust me, Kym Kardell is work, not play.’
‘Unlike Abbie?’
So, they were back with Abbie, the one subject he didn’t want to think about. ‘Abbie is a reporter. You know how I feel about the press.’ He picked up his drink and took a mouthful.
‘In that case, you’ll have no objection to me having a go at her?’ Kev shoved a forkful of pie into his mouth and chewed. Jack wanted to shove the fork somewhere else.
‘She’s engaged. Remember? Abbie reminded us about her fiancé every time we spoke to her in the jungle.’ Jack was aware that he sounded like every teacher he h
ad ever hated, but he couldn’t help it. The idea of Kev going after Abbie pissed him off.
‘Nope, she’s not engaged any more. Did you not hear? She broke it off with what’s-his-name. So, now she’s a free woman.’
Jack ignored the jump of his heart at that news. It was nothing to do with him.
‘And I’m going to make a move on her.’
‘Leave her alone.’ The order came out before Jack could stop it, and Kev was watching him with eyes that saw too much.
‘Or what? She’s one hot chick. Her boobs are real and very nice too. Great job getting her bra off, by the way.’
‘Leave her alone,’ Jack repeated.
‘Sorry, bro. She’s available, she’s hot, and you screwed up with her.’
Jack had no conscious awareness of what happened next. Later, he blamed it on a combination of MMA training, too much alcohol on an empty stomach, and Kev being really annoying. He punched him. Hard. Kev flew backwards, leaving a path in the sawdust floor, before picking himself up and launching himself at Jack.
By the time the bar staff managed to separate them, the police had been called and they were both arrested. Zeke came to bail him out of jail. He wasn’t surprised by the gauntlet of paparazzi and television cameras he was going to have to run to get out of the precinct. It was always news when a celeb was arrested, even bigger news when he was arrested for slugging his best friend and breaking up a bar. The only good thing was that so far no one had asked either of them what started the fight – two Irish guys fighting in a bar; there didn’t need to be a reason.
It was after dark when Zeke bailed him out, and Jack was almost blinded by the camera flashes going off in his face. He scowled and put his arm up to hide his eyes. God, sometimes he really hated his life. Acting was his passion, not this film-star crap.
A camera swung into his face, and he cursed and knocked it out of the cameraman’s hands. The owner protested, outraged. ‘Hey, that’s a brand-new Hasselblad. Have you any idea how much that cost?’
‘So, sue me.’ Jack had had enough of this. He turned to Zeke. ‘Get me out of here.’