by Lucy Score
She was the picture of glowing health. The picture of glowing health that was about to go on national television to lie.
“Nervous?” Xavier asked.
He knew how she’d felt about crowds. But that was a previous life. Long gone were the panic attacks and debilitating fears. She still didn’t love crowds, but she certainly found more enjoyment in them than she had. After her attack, something had changed. She’d found power in vulnerability and confidence in being herself. Once Waverly had become authentically herself in public, the boundaries she set stuck and appearances were something to enjoy rather than dread.
She shook her head. “I’m good. I’ve been on Max’s show before.”
“The last time you were, you wore black, if I recall.”
Burke, her favorite of all of Invictus’ drivers, pretended to be deaf to their conversation.
Waverly raised her eyebrows. “So you saw that episode, did you?”
“I saw that you found a short version of that dress I begged you not to wear to the awards show and wore it on national television,” he told her. “Tell me the truth. That was a message to me, wasn’t it?”
A few years ago, when she’d first been invited on Max Heim’s late night show, she’d taken that dress that Xavier had once so vehemently vetoed and had it altered from an evening gown to a mini dress. She’d strutted out on stage knowing he’d be watching from wherever he was. Knowing there was no way he’d miss her. Knowing that he’d get the metaphorical middle finger loud and clear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said innocently. “I can’t possibly remember all the outfits I’ve worn in public.”
He leaned into her until his arm was pressing against her body. “Angel, you remember the dress, and I’ve never forgotten it either. I didn’t want to walk around a cocktail party with a hard-on all afternoon,” he whispered darkly.
“You seem to handle the blood flow just fine these days,” she said, looking pointedly at his lap.
He adjusted himself. “I just hope to God you still have that dress because I have this fantasy of ripping it off of you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. The image he brought forth seared into her brain.
“I’d start you standing up,” he continued, lips moving against her ear. “I’d spread your legs until the skirt rode up high enough for me to see what sexy little lace thing you had on, and then I’d slowly pull them down to your knees. Then I’d take these fingers—”
The SUV pulled to a stop in front of the production building, and Waverly clapped a hand over his mouth. Her thighs trembled when she pressed them together while her nipples stood at attention. “Jesus, Saint,” she gasped.
Burke got out of the car, and Xavier used the opportunity to bite her earlobe. “Someday you’re going to let me show you all the things I’ve fantasized about,” he promised.
“You’re…” Words failed her.
“Ready whenever you are, Angel.” He buttoned his suit jacket over the vest he was wearing and adjusted his hard-on again, pinning it under his belt.
Burke opened the door for her and she stepped out onto the sidewalk with a healthy flush on her cheeks.
By the time she marched out on stage in front of two-hundred strangers an hour later, she’d finally gotten herself back under control. A reluctant Xavier was locked away in the green room giving Waverly her first easy breath in days. Max Heim, the middle-aged host, looked dapper in his pinstripe suit and kissed her enthusiastically on the cheek.
The crowd applauded at a slightly above appropriate level, and Waverly took her time waving and smiling before taking a seat on the buttery soft sofa next to Max’s desk. She blew a kiss to the bandleader, who patted a hand over his heart.
Max, his grin permafrosted in place, neatly stacked note cards in front of him. They were blank, just a prop. Something familiar for the older generation who still watched the show every night despite the fact that Max was the sixth host of the institution.
“Welcome back, Waverly. It’s always good to see your beautiful face.”
She rested her head on her hand and stared adoringly at him. “I was just thinking the same about yours, Max.” He mugged for the camera while the audience hooted.
The warm-up was easy and friendly, and the audience broke into laughter a few more times before Max got down to business. “Alright then. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, so I think we’re going to go rapid fire.”
The music cued a dangerous riff, and Waverly and Max both turned to Camera One in mock looks of terror.
“Are you ready?” Max asked.
Waverly rolled her shoulders and feigned some stretches. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“You just got back from rehab, true or false?”
“Kind of sort of true,” she nodded.
“Drugs, alcohol, shopping, gambling?”
“None of the above.”
“Sex?” Max pressed hopefully.
Waverly laughed. “Stress. It was more a boot camp for people who are making crappy life choices such as these…” She waved behind her to the screen.
The video cued up and the crowd laughed through a montage of Waverly wearing questionable outfits, stumbling out of clubs, and enjoying every carb known to man.
“So to clarify, when an unnamed source said I went to rehab, I was actually sitting on the beach and absorbing some life coaching,” she filled in. “And then I came back and everyone was like ‘Are you sober?’ and I’m like ‘I just learned to meditate.’ It’s not nearly as sexy a story as if I were all coked up and laying in a gutter.”
“That would be incredibly sexy,” he agreed, eyebrows high.
Waverly laughed.
Satisfied with her answer, Max changed the subject. “Moving on. What is your spirit animal?”
They ran through the pre-approved list of questions rapid-fire. And Waverly felt like she’d done her best to sell the “time out for health” angle.
“Now, I know you don’t answer questions about your love life,” Max said, sending a pouty face to the audience. “So we’ll skip that part. Instead, we’ll move on to the rapid, rapid fire round. You just say the first thing that comes to mind.”
Waverly agreed and prepared herself to escape the trap that was being laid.
“Favorite holiday?”
“Fourth of July,” Waverly answered decisively.
“Favorite farm animal?”
“Chickens?”
“Who was the last person you texted?”
“My friend Kate.”
“What is in your refrigerator right now?”
“Leftover pizza.”
“If you could be a pro in any sport, what would it be?”
“Pro wrestling.”
“First thing that comes to mind when I say Dante Wrede?”
Waverly smiled big. “Charming.”
“How about when I say Xavier Saint?”
She smiled bigger. “Lifesaver.”
The crowd cheered with enthusiasm.
“I understand that Xavier is here with you tonight,” Max said, and an “oooh” went through the crowd.
Waverly nodded. “He’s in the green room.” She was going to kill Gwendolyn.
“I feel like we should bring him out, don’t you?”
Oh, yeah. Gwendolyn was a dead woman. “Uhh—” Waverly was weighing her options while the crowd made their opinion deafeningly clear. When the screen behind her cut to a moving shot from the green room, she knew the decision had already been made.
Xavier was standing up and buttoning his jacket over his vest. Every woman in the studio whooped. A production assistant led him through the short maze of hallways to the studio while the camera followed. And when he stepped onto the stage, the noise was deafening. Max stood to greet Xavier with an enthusiastic handshake. Waverly stood, too, and accepted the peck on her cheek that Xavier delivered as he stepped to her side.
/> The crowd continued to cheer, and Xavier waved politely before taking a seat next to her.
“You’re pretty popular, X,” Waverly commented under her breath while the din could cover it.
“I’m going to stuff Gwendolyn in a trunk and bury her in the desert after this.” His words were in direct contrast to the wry smile plastered on his face. The producer finally had to gesture for people to sit back down again.
Max could barely suppress his glee at having landed the first interview with Xavier Saint and Waverly Sinner together. This was going horribly wrong, Waverly thought. The studio was going to see this interview as her going rogue. And everyone in the country would be drawing conclusions that she and Xavier were together.
“Thanks for being such a good sport, Xavier,” Max beamed at him.
“Thanks for not giving me a choice, Max.” Xavier said with a sharp smile.
Waverly saw Max swallow nervously before pressing on. “Right then. So now you two have never given an interview together, I’m told.”
Both had spoken to the media separately over the years. But Xavier had always refused to answer questions about the night Les Ganim had abducted Waverly. And Waverly had stuck to her guns about never answering personal questions about Xavier.
“We have not,” Waverly agreed. “He’s too argumentative.”
“She’s too stubborn,” Xavier argued.
“No, I’m not!”
“You are,” he nodded.
“I can see that neither one of you has a point,” Max quipped. “Let’s talk how you two met.”
Waverly and Xavier exchanged a glance. It was a relatively safe topic, but they both knew he was just warming them up with softballs.
“Waverly’s parents hired me five years ago to help with some security concerns,” Xavier said.
“They hired him to keep me in line,” Waverly corrected.
“And she wasn’t very happy with the idea,” Xavier grinned at the memory.
“I threw him in the pool,” she admitted. The audience roared.
“I wasn’t happy,” Xavier said, raising an eyebrow at her.
Waverly laughed at the memory of the sopping wet Xavier. “I felt really good about that.”
“But I assume you eventually became very happy to have him in your life,” Max said, switching gears into serious.
Waverly heard the murmur in the crowd and knew that the screens behind them were playing some of the footage from that night. She reached over and grabbed Xavier’s wrist. Her nails dug in. She didn’t need strength, she needed him to not flip out and commit murder on national television.
They kept their backs to the footage, a unified front with the past solidly behind them. It was the longest thirty seconds of Waverly’s life. She could feel Xavier vibrating under her hand. She didn’t blame him. They’d been ambushed into opening up about something so private and painful. Something they’d both rather leave in the past.
It was her price to pay. She had to willingly give up the privacy that others had in order to be successful in this industry. But Xavier had never made that bargain. And it wasn’t fair to make him pay for her choices.
“That night was an emotional one for all of us who are such big fans of yours, Waverly,” Max began. The audience didn’t even need the cue to cheer.
“Thank you,” she said once they’d settled down. “It wasn’t a walk in the park for us either.”
“Can you tell us what you remember about that night?” Max asked in his mellow baritone.
Waverly released Xavier’s hand, but as she gave her whitewashed version of the events of that night, she felt his arm on the back of her chair reminding her that he was never far away.
“What a horrifying ordeal,” Max said sympathetically. “How about you Xavier. What do you remember?”
“Doing my job.”
Max let the silence stretch on for a few moments before moving on. “And you clearly did it well. Now, is it true that you had a parting of the ways after that night?” Max prompted them.
She felt Xavier’s hand on her back and Waverly nodded. “It was a traumatic incident, and I think we both needed to get away from the reminders of how difficult that night was.”
The audience was riveted.
“And now?” Max leaned forward.
“Now we’re getting to know each other again,” she said.
“So your relationship is strictly professional?” Max pressed.
“Let me put it this way, Max.” Xavier said the man’s name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Waverly and I have been through a lot together to the point where ‘strictly professional’ isn’t possible. I care for her very much, so whether it’s in a personal or professional capacity, if anyone wants to hurt her, they’re going to have to go through me first.”
The audience thought that was awesome and got to their feet.
“I’m here with Waverly Sinner and Xavier Saint,” Max said turning to Camera One. “Don’t go anywhere because, when we come back, we’ll be playing puppy poker with our favorite Sinner and Saint.”
--------
A Katy Perry tune filled Max Heim’s green room and had Waverly snatching up her phone, hoping Xavier stayed out in the hallway for a few more minutes.
“Chels?”
“Hey, I don’t have much for you, but hopefully it’s a starting place,” Chelsea began.
“Okay, go.”
“Stepanov looks clean. Squeaky clean. That doesn’t mean he’s not into something dirty. It just means if he is, it’s buried deep. He juggles about a gajillion business deals a year, real estate, manufacturing, etc. I did come across something that lines up with your timing though. About two months ago, this biotech firm—Axion Pharmaceuticals—says they want to buy some of his pharmaceutical manufacturing licenses, a hypertension drug and an antimalarial.”
“Did they make an offer?”
“Several, but the deal never went through. It’s not like Stepanov makes a ton on the formularies. Pills of each are sold for between seventy-five cents and a buck apiece.”
“So what happened to the deal?”
“The biotech company lobbied pretty hard, but Stepanov turned them down flat in August.”
Right around the time the studio had assigned Waverly to befriend Petra. The timing lined up, Waverly mused, but what would prescription drugs have to do with Petra? And where did Dante fit in?
“Thanks for digging. You are, as always, a lifesaver, Chels.”
“Always happy to help. I’ll keep snooping and see if there’s anything that rings funny for Stepanov. In the meantime, I’m sending you my report so your eyes can glaze over and go crossed while you read through it.”
“You’re the best!”
“How are things with my brother?”
“Tune in to Max Heim’s show tonight and find out. Make sure your parents are watching, too. Two words: Puppy poker.”
“Oh, this is going to be good.”
They disconnected, and Waverly was ready to stuff her phone in her bag when a text from Kate came through.
Petra’s at Club Volt! Celeb Spotting just reported it!
Waverly jumped to her feet. Finally, she could get to Petra and get some answers. She looked down at her dress. But first she needed to change. She poked her head out into the hallway and spotted Xavier speaking with a production assistant. She flagged him down.
“I’m going to change. I feel like going out.” She held up her phone with the picture featuring Petra’s arrival with her two bodyguards at Volt on the screen.
“I’ll tell Burke.”
“You’re not trying to talk me out of it?”
“Fastest way to get answers,” he shrugged.
“I promise it will be better than the last time we went to a club together.”
He glared at her. “Not even close to being funny.”
She winked. “Thanks for being a good sport with all
this.”
“It goes with the territory, and I want the territory.” He rubbed a finger under her chin. “Go change.”
She felt the zing when she closed the door. She’d been out of action long enough that she’d almost forgotten the adrenaline an assignment brought on. She felt sharp, ready. Or was that the Xavier effect? She pushed the thought aside and dug through the weekender bag that accompanied her everywhere.
Her go bag had been replenished since Belize to better cover both sides of her professional life. Tucked between evening clothes and workout wear, she found an outfit that could pass for club wear. And in the bottom of the bag, inside a soft-sided case, Waverly found a small handgun and a fixed blade knife in a skinny sheath.
She pulled on the pleated black miniskirt and tucked the .38 into the built in waistband holster. Next came the top. It was a long line bustier that stopped a few inches above the waistband of the skirt. It’s molded cups with their butterfly print not only made her boobs look incredible, but they also provided secret access to a tiny pocket that was designed to hold her knife.
She dragged on a cropped leather jacket and examined her reflection. No one would ever guess she was carrying with this outfit. She took a minute to freshen up her make-up and was repacking her bag when Xavier knocked. He stuck his head in the door, “Ready to go?”
Waverly zipped the bag closed. “Oh, yeah.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
It feels good to be doing something, she thought as Burke sped through downtown as fast as traffic would allow. She’d spent enough time waiting. It was time for action.
“So I take it you have a plan?” Xavier asked, tucking his phone into his jacket and shooting yet another judgmental look at her outfit. He hadn’t demanded that she take it off, which she considered progress for him.