Dirty News (Dirty Network Book 1)

by Michelle Love

  Noosh groaned. “Tell me I can be there! I’ve missed out on everything, Ally.”

  Allison sighed. “Alright, you can be there, but – and I mean this – you are not to do anything but watch and say hello to the man.”

  Noosh grumbled but agreed. “When is he coming in?”

  “Thursday…and as part of the deal, until then, you rest.”

  “Fine.”

  “Grumpuss.”

  “Shut up.”

  Christo walked out of his bathroom to find Bartie waiting in his kitchen, helping himself to Christo’s coffee. He smiled at his friend. “How do I look?”

  Bertie looked him up and down, snickering. “Ugly as sin, but smart enough.”

  “Thanks, dude.” Christo laughed. He knew he looked good in the navy sweater and dark jeans, but he was nervous as hell. Bertie studied him.

  “Dude, relax. This will be a breeze. All you have to do is talk about your new business.”

  Christo rolled his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

  Bertie grinned, unrepentant. “You got me. Look, just stick to the truth – it’s easier to remember. Mr. Montecito, did you ever knowingly participate in illegal activities?”

  “No.”

  “But you knew your father’s business was linked to organized crime?”

  Christo sighed. “Yes.”

  “Don’t sigh. Just say yes. Look, buddy, of course they’re going to ask you the hard questions. You knew this and agreed to the interview anyway.”

  Christo nodded. “I listened to the other interviews.” He began to smile. “Helena really met her match, huh?”

  Bertie clutched his heart dramatically. “Do not speak ill of the lovely Helena.”

  Christo laughed. “Bert, you know what would actually make your fantasy real? Asking Helena out. Come on.”

  He grabbed his keys and Bertie followed him out of the apartment. “That,” Bertie said sniffily, “would involve me speaking to her, which I am not.”

  “Because she beat you at squash?”

  Bertie grumbled under his breath and Christo snickered. “Dude, let it go. Trust me, Helena is a pussy cat.”

  “God, you’ve fucked her, haven’t you?” As they got into Christo’s car, Bertie sounded half-angry, half-admiring. Christo shook his head.

  “No, I promise you I haven’t. Not Helena, not knowing how you feel about her. I’m glad I didn’t sink that low.”

  Bertie clapped his friend’s shoulder. “Good boy.” Bertie sat back as Christo pulled the car out into traffic. Christo had always insisted on driving himself, even when he worked for his father, and Bertie watched the streets flow by. After a while, he turned to his friend.

  “So…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You still obsessing over the club girl?”

  Christo shot him a look. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “But you’re still hung up?”

  Christo sighed, then nodded. “I can’t get her out of my head, Bert. She was so lovely, and I treated her like crap. I would be damn lucky to find a girl like that, and I blew it. All I think about is finding her and apologizing.”

  “One of your twelve steps?”

  Christo grinned despite himself. “You’re such a douche bag.”

  “True dat.”

  They drove in companionable silence for a while, then Bertie cleared his throat. “How about putting a private detective on the case? See if he can find her?”

  Christo rolled his eyes. “Yes, dude, because invading her privacy just so I can feel better is the way to go.”

  “Fair point. Thought about going back to the club?”

  Christo shook his head. “No. Look, can we change the subject?”

  “Of course, brother.”

  Ten minutes later they were pulling into the parking lot of the radio station, and Christo hesitated. Bertie waited until Christo nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  They were greeted by a bubbly blonde intern, Liam, who was flirtatious and fun and made them relax a little. “Now, once you have your studio i.d., take the elevator to the third floor and follow the hallway around to Studio C. Noosh will look after you from there. You can’t miss her – gorgeous, sexy, and going hell for leather in a wheelchair at the moment.”

  Christo and Bertie rode the elevator, and Christo blew out his cheeks. Bertie grinned at him. “Not too late to back out.”

  Christo shook his head. “I’m good.”

  They followed the hallway as directed and finally came to the door of Studio C. Christo, his mouth dry, stopped at the water cooler outside of the studio as Bertie knocked on the door, opening it to speak to the woman inside.

  “Hey, are you Noosh? Hi, I’m Bertie, Mr. Montecito’s assistant.”

  Christo heard a soft voice. “Oh, hey, nice to meet you, I’m Noosh Taylor. Come on in, Ally’s just setting up. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  “Oh, hey, do you need a hand?”

  “No, it’s okay, I’m just getting used to this thing. I don’t really need it, but Ally insists. Won’t be a moment.”

  There was something familiar about the voice, and Christo stepped into the room just as the woman turned away from him. No. No way. His heart began to beat faster as he recognized the soft wavy hair falling down her back, the caramel skin, the curvy body, now sitting in a wheelchair. How? Why?

  He made an involuntary noise, and she looked up. Her face paled as she stared back at him with a mixture of horror and shock.

  It was her. It was his sweet girl.

  Chapter Six

  Noosh stared at him, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. After a moment, she remembered where she was and cleared her throat. Unsmiling, she nodded to him and turned back to Bertie. “Ally will be out in a second. Can I get either of you some coffee?”

  “Please, don’t trouble yourself,” Christo Montecito said in that deep, sensual voice of his, and Noosh felt her belly quiver with desire. No. Nope, this wasn’t happening. She looked away from that intense green-eyed stare, the curiosity in them. She knew he was wondering about her wheelchair and felt a wash of embarrassment. She leveraged herself out of the chair, wobbling, and both Bertie and Christo stepped forward to help her. She waved them away, her face burning. “I’m fine.”

  Ally opened the door at that particular moment – damn it – and made a frustrated noise. “Again, Noosh? What was our deal?”

  Noosh’s face flamed even redder. “I was just practicing. Anyway, our guests are here.”

  Ally immediately switched into her professional mode. “Bertie, how nice to see you again.”

  Bertie winked at her. “You too, Ally, looking good. Can I introduce my friend, Christofalo Montecito?”

  Ally shook Christo’s hand and Noosh could see her boss sizing him up. She risked another glance at the man. If it were possible, he was even more beautiful than she remembered, and he looked better, healthier than when she’d met him in the club. His olive skin was smooth, his beard neatly trimmed, his dark curls freshly washed and brushed neatly. Noosh longed to run her fingers through them.

  Stop it. You’re hardly in any condition to think about sex. She realized Ally was speaking to her and dragged her attention back to her boss. Ally was hiding a smile, obviously having noticed her preoccupation. “Sorry, Ally, I missed that.”

  “You’ll be sitting in on this interview today, Noosh.”

  Oh, god damn it. She could barely stand the tension between them as it was, and to have to sit by him for the next couple of hours…

  Even worse, once they got in the small studio, Ally managed to sit Noosh beside Christo, where she could feel his body heat, breath in his scent of fresh linen and spice. It drove her senses wild and she struggled to maintain her composure. Just before the interview began, Christo looked around at her, and she met his gaze, feeling something shift in the air. She could see he was nervous, and weirdly, she sensed he was looking to her for confidence. She gave him a small smile and a n
od, and she saw his shoulders relax. It was such a small moment, but it made her feel… How did she feel? Flattered? Happy? She couldn’t tell.

  Christo made for an honest, interesting interview. He told Ally about his plans to go into the bespoke furniture business, discussed the stark change of direction, and when Ally questioned him on his father’s business, he was honest and forthright.

  “I don’t pretend that I don’t know what my father’s business is, and yes, for a long time I took his money and turned a blind eye. From now on…I’m going to try and make up for that. For a lot of things.”

  Ally nodded. “Do you regret anything?”

  Christo was silent for a long time. “Yes, one thing. One thing I regret very much…but it has nothing to do with my father.”

  Noosh felt a jolt – he was obviously talking about their tryst now…but was he regretting making love to her, or what happened afterward?

  Whether by accident or by design, Ally bore Bertie off to talk to him after the interview, and Christo was left alone with Noosh. God, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was, how sweet. For a few minutes, they stared at each other then he smiled at her. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Her voice was wary but soft. He wanted to touch her so badly, stroke her face the way she had his, tell her he was sorry. Instead, he touched the arm of her wheelchair.

  “What happened?”

  Noosh looked away from his gaze. “An accident.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Noosh gave a strange laugh. “Me too.”

  Another long silence. “Noosh…that’s an unusual name.”

  “It’s short for Anoushka.”

  “I like it.”

  She met his gaze, and all he wanted to do was kiss that sweet mouth of hers, hold her in his arms. Christo felt his blood pumping hard through his entire body, his cock twitching, reacting to her. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Noosh…”

  “As I say, Bertie, I’d be most grateful if you would think about it.”

  Christo dropped his hand as they heard Ally and Bertie return, and Noosh, her face red, looked away from him. Ally and Bertie finished talking about whatever they were talking about, and Christo was saying goodbye.

  Noosh shook his hand and he bent down to kiss her cheek. So close to her he could barely stand it, but then goodbyes were said, and he was back in the car with Bertie, feeling bereft now that he was out of her company.

  Bertie shot him an amused glance. “I see you were quite taken with the lovely Noosh.”

  Christo said nothing but gave him a look. After a moment, Bertie’s mouth dropped open, having made the connection. “No. No way. That’s the girl from the club?”

  Christo nodded. “She wasn’t in a wheelchair then…something happened to her. An accident she said, but…I had the feeling there was more to it.”

  “But she’s the one?”

  Christo sighed. “Yes, she’s the one.”

  Ally didn’t mention Christo again until they were at home that evening scarfing down pizza. She studied Noosh, who could feel the questions looming. “So, I take it you’ve met Christofalo Montecito before?”

  Noosh sighed. “I have.”

  “When? Because it seems like, well, the tension between you was pretty smoldering. You sleep with him?”

  “Ally.”

  “Come on, give me details,” Ally was grinning. “The man is gorgeous and clearly into you. How come you’re not dating him?”

  “Because how we met… It wasn’t like that – and he wasn’t the same man we met today. And besides, I have been occupied with other things. Like almost being murdered, for example.”

  Ally’s smile faded. “Of course, darling, I didn’t forget.” She put down her slice of pizza. “Listen, Seth and I were talking…I’m sure our listeners would love to hear about how ‘Sarah’ is doing now.”

  Noosh chewed her food thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be on the air,” she said slowly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since the shooting. Maybe my future lies with being your researcher – your best researcher, obviously.” She grinned, but Ally didn’t smile.

  “Anoushka Taylor, you were born for this job. Hell, I’ve been grooming you for my job since that first day. I’ve never met anyone with such raw talent, curiosity, and tenaciousness. Cards on the table, Noosh – you’re scared.”

  Noosh swallowed her pizza. “Yes,” she said honestly. “I am. I’m scared as soon as I wake up in the morning that whoever tried to kill me will finish the job. I’m scared that everything I’ve ever worked for is out of reach because of it.”

  Ally got up and wrapped her arms around her young friend. “Nothing is gone, baby girl. And we’ll keep on pushing the police to find out who hurt you. It’s okay to be scared, just don’t let it rule you.”

  Noosh wondered if that went for how she felt about Christo Montecito as well. Later, when she was in bed, she couldn’t help recalling the way he looked at her, remember his body heat as he sat next to her, maddening her senses with his fresh, clean scent. The way he’d touched her face just before they’d been interrupted. There was an intimacy between them, it seemed, and Noosh wanted to hold on to it, cradle it because it seemed so fragile and yet so right.

  Part of her wished she could call him right now and talk, that there was something more between them, that they actually knew each other better so she could reach out. She would give anything to be in his arms right now.

  You’re being ridiculous, painting him as your knight in shining armor, especially after the way he treated you. But she indulged in the fantasy a little more anyway, thinking back to when his big, thick cock was inside her and his mouth, god, his sexy, soft lips, were on hers.

  She groaned and rolled over, pushing away the thoughts. Her back throbbed with pain, and she used that to distract her from Christo, finally falling asleep just before midnight.

  When she woke, all thoughts of Christo vanished when she heard the news that Destry Papps was now his party’s official Presidential candidate.

  Chapter Seven

  Destry walked off of the stage, the convention crowd still cheering wildly. He grinned to himself and then patted his assistant’s arm. “Gerry, they love me.”

  “They certainly do, Senator.” Gervais ‘Gerry’ Noll grinned at his boss. Ambitious but kind, Gerry had been with the Senator for years, through everything, through the divorce, and Destry’s fling with Anoushka Taylor. Gerry and Noosh had become friends, but since the split – or rather, Anoushka’s escape – Destry knew Gerry hadn’t seen her.

  He’d kept the bad stuff from Gerry all this time – he didn’t want his closet advisor and probable Chief of Staff, should Destry win the election, to know about his poor treatment of the young girl, or of the attempt on her life.

  When Destry discovered Noosh had survived the shooting – barely – he’d panicked. Would she go to the police? There was no way she could prove it was him, after all. Was he stupid to have done the deed himself? No. There was no way anyone could prove it was him, and besides…he wouldn’t give up the memory of that night for anything.

  Telling his staff he was headed for an early night, he’d instead sneaked out of his house and into the rental car his contact had procured for him. He’d driven the near four hours to get to her apartment, then broke in easily and waited. When she’d come home, he’d watched her for a while from inside her closet, then when she had fallen asleep, walked to her couch and gazed down at her.

  So beautiful…with her long dark hair clouded around her head, her blankets kicked off in the late fall heat, and her top riding up to show the most delectable expanse of midriff. Destry had felt his cock harden. He couldn’t risk fucking her and leaving DNA…he’d said her name, hoping she would wake, hoping she would realize she was being murdered…

  When she opened her eyes, he grinned to himself, leveling the gun at her belly and firing point blank at her. Noosh had gasped in shock, in agony as the bullet tore into her soft skin
and blood began to gush from the wound. Her breathing quickly became labored, but Destry could not tear himself away just yet. He knew he should put a bullet in her pretty head, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, couldn’t ruin all that beauty. Instead, he pressed the muzzle against her navel and shot her twice more, her beautiful body jerking from the impact. So much blood. Noosh lost unconsciousness quickly, and Destry knew she couldn’t survive the terrible injuries he had inflicted on her.

  As he left her to die, he bent down and kissed her mouth, just once, quickly. “I told you I’d kill you if you ever left me, Anoushka.”

  But she had survived. Some nosy neighbor had seen him leave her apartment – thankfully, he had been masked – and called 911. As he drove back to Washington, he scanned the local news for any mention.

  Only a few days later did he catch something on the internet. A news report buried in the pages of The New York Times.

  A young British-Indian woman working in New York was shot by an intruder in her home in Queens Wednesday evening. The young woman, named locally as Sarah Marsh, was asleep at the time – police say there was no robbery involved and the victim remains in critical condition at a city hospital.

  Sarah Marsh? So that’s the name you gave yourself to escape me, Destry thought, but it irked him that she had lived, even if she was in critical condition. This is what comes of not using a professional, of making it personal. He should have had his guy kill her, he knew, but then again…

  Since the shooting, he had stayed far away from her. His star was rising in the political world, and any scandal was out of the question if he wanted the big job. That Noosh hadn’t told the police about him…well, he could see why she hadn’t. Who would believe her? Even her parents, who hated him with a passion and who must have guessed it had been him, had said nothing to the British press either, and Destry knew Noosh must have forbidden it.

  Destry was deep in thought. When he was President – and he knew he would be, come November – then he could make sure she was silenced forever. But any whiff of controversy now…no. He’d let her think he wouldn’t try again. Let her think she was safe. Then he’d take it all away, like she’d done to him.