by Meghan March
Why did I think I was smart enough to take on the mob? I’m not. At all. And this cagey old man gesturing for me to enter the elevator ahead of him is going to be the end of life as I know it.
The foreboding feeling follows me all the way up to the club as he makes small talk, but I’m so distracted, I couldn’t tell you what he asked or what I answered. If there’s a quiz later, I’m fucked.
Actually, skip the quiz. I’m just fucked. All around.
When Grice opens the door to the club, there’s a kind smile on his craggy face.
“Good morning, Mr. Casso. Ms. Carson.”
“Grice,” the older man replies with a nod. “Where’s Cannon?”
Grice reaches for the interior door and swings it open for us, but my feet stick to the carpet like they’ve been glued down.
“Not here at present, sir. He was in this morning and then left to run an errand. Said he’d be back as soon as he could.”
I shuffle ahead, trying to at least pretend I’m not eavesdropping like it’s my job as Dom replies.
“He’s not answering his cell, and I have a matter I need to discuss with him. Urgently.”
When Grice glances at me, I know I need to move along before I attract more attention. I take another step forward, wondering why Dom didn’t just call the club to ask if Cannon was here instead of showing up in person.
Probably because he doesn’t want to discuss it on the phone. Then why would he call Cannon’s cell? I succeed in moving into the main area of the club and don’t overhear any more of the conversation that wasn’t meant for my ears.
Letty waves at me from the bar, and I take a few steps toward her.
“What’s up, Letty?”
With a laugh, she shoots me a wink. “Nothing. Just wondering how I could get the boss to run errands for me. You must have him wrapped around your finger, girl.”
I stare at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Cannon going to pick your mom up at the airport. He hurried out of here . . .”
As she trails off at what must be a look of horror on my face, my blood goes from running cold to frozen completely solid, and static fills my ears.
She didn’t say what I think she said. It’s not possible. That’s impossible. No. No. No.
“I guess you didn’t know?” Letty adds, her eyes widening as footsteps come to a halt just behind me.
Dominic Casso’s gruff voice interrupts the heart failure I’m currently undergoing. “Say that again, Letty. You know where Cannon’s at?”
45
Cannon
I see absolutely no similarity between Drew Carson and her mother. None at all, at least, not the real Drew.
Except, there is no real Drew.
“I can’t believe Memphis ignored my calls and didn’t bother to tell me she had such a handsome man in her life. I really appreciate the ride. My daughter always arranges a car service for me because she knows that I don’t have the slightest clue how to do any of that. I wasn’t meant for work. I’m purely here as ornamentation, as I’m sure you can tell.” The woman’s hand skims along my arm, and I move farther onto my side of the car.
“But this car. Good gracious. It makes me think of all those crazy parties we used to have back in the day.” She shakes her blond hair, its color straight out of a bottle, and not a wig.
As much as I wish I could shut her up because every word out of her mouth is a stab to my gut, I can’t. There’s no shutting up Mrs. Leander Lockwood.
Leander Lockwood. Memphis Lockwood’s father. The most recognizable news anchor in the history of broadcasting, who fathered a tenacious investigative journalist who has blown open case after case and helped put dozens of people in jail.
I’m a goddamned fucking idiot. This is what happens when you think with your dick.
Betrayal and anger bubble just beneath the surface like a boiling-hot pool of magma. I’m a goddamned volcano about to erupt, and when I do, it’s not going to be on the self-absorbed woman in the seat beside me. No, it’ll wait until after I drop her off at the Plaza, where she doesn’t even have a room booked because she doesn’t do that kind of thing herself.
I suck in a deep breath, focusing on the road and listening to every word of her inane chatter. It fills in so many fucking blanks, I don’t know how I missed them all.
“Memphis was always a daddy’s girl. She and I never got along. I think it’s because people always mistook us for best friends instead of stepmother and daughter. Because obviously it’s clear she couldn’t possibly be my child. This body hasn’t gone through childbirth.”
She laughs in what is probably supposed to be a seductive manner, but it comes off as brittle and bitter as she smiles over at me with her perfectly applied mauve lipstick.
“She’s probably already told you all that. She’s her father’s accident from a prior relationship. Can you believe he didn’t even tell me he had a child when we got married? I didn’t sign up for that, but I was a team player when he brought her home one day. I was never meant to be a mother, though. I think that gene missed me, but I did my best. Not that she’s ever been grateful for it.”
I exit the highway, wishing I could punch the gas harder instead of having to brake. I want this woman out of my car as fast as possible, but thankfully, she doesn’t notice a damn thing except the sound of her own voice.
“She couldn’t even bother to answer the phone when I called. Always so busy with work.” Finally, she glances at me. “Do you know what she’s working on now? Or is she keeping that a secret from you too?”
My teeth grind together, and my molars threaten to crack under the pressure. It takes me a moment before I can even summon words to answer her because the truth is I am her daughter’s fucking investigation. I don’t have to hear it from Memphis to know.
“Not sure,” I bite out, but in my brain, I’m raging.
What the fuck is she thinking, trying to dig into the goddamned fucking mob? Does she want to end up dead? Does she want to get me killed too? No, she probably just wants to see me behind bars.
How could I have been so fucking stupid? The signs were all there. The wig. The contacts. The two phones. The bits and pieces of information she shared.
And I still fell in love with the little liar, who I now want to pick up and shake until every single fucking bit of the truth falls from her sweet, lying lips.
It’s a miracle that my ability to turn rage to ice is still functioning, because other than the day my mother had been killed, I’ve never wanted to destroy everything I can lay my hands on.
And right beside me, her stepmother keeps going.
“I really hope they have a suite left for me. I’m one of the Plaza’s most valued customers, you know. Leander always kept an apartment here in the city, but I never wanted to stay in it. I told him that important people always stay at the Plaza, because how else is anyone going to know they’re here? If there was ever a man who was completely untrainable, it was Leander. I know the entire world thought he was infallible, but he was a regular man like everyone else. I just wish he hadn’t encouraged Memphis the way he did. She went off to Columbia to get her journalism degree—”
Columbia. Which wasn’t on her fucking résumé because that would have made her way too overqualified for the goddamned job, I think as her mom keeps going without taking a breath.
“And she didn’t even have a single boyfriend the entire time. I’m sure every other girl in her class snapped up the good ones while she had her nose buried in books. She really could’ve benefited from more of my influence, but she only listened to her father.”
Even though I’m seething behind my polite mask, I can’t help but feel a single pang of thankfulness. I’m fucking thankful that Memphis didn’t benefit from any more of her mother’s influence. Except . . . if she had, then there would be no way in hell I would have ever fallen for her.
Blessing or curse? I don’t even know. How fucked up is that?
&
Lockwood. Memphis Lockwood. Even as her name floats through my brain, I can picture the reporter on TV, but she doesn’t look like my Drew . . . at least, not really.
Except she’s not my Drew. She’s a goddamned chameleon.
“I never let anyone see me like this. Ever.” Her words from this morning come back with a vengeance, and now I understand exactly why she never let anyone see her in the one guise she couldn’t change.
When I place Mrs. Lockwood’s Louis Vuitton luggage on the bellhop’s cart that appeared as efficiently as ever, she smiles at me.
“It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Freeman. Do tell Memphis that I’ll be free for dinner tomorrow evening, and I expect her to take me out somewhere nice. A Michelin-starred restaurant, obviously.”
I literally have nothing to say to this woman, so I just nod. “I’ll let Memphis know.”
Without even waiting to find out if she can get a room, I jump back in my car and punch the gas, needing the angry growl of the engine to drown out my thoughts. They all pretty much center around one thing—
Today Memphis Lockwood is telling me the goddamned truth and nothing else.
46
Drew
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Dom thankfully left the club with orders to have Cannon come to his office right away when he returned, but that doesn’t mean I’ve calmed down even remotely.
I nearly spill the tray of entrées I’m trying to deliver to the table in the most private corner of the club. Silas Bohannon, the actor from my first day, sits at the foot of the table with a few other men.
Do not fuck this up. Or maybe I should? Then I would get fired, and I could run away and never come back.
Except, my father didn’t raise a coward. No, he raised a strong woman with balls of steel, who wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything and worshipped at the almighty altar of the truth.
What would Leander Lockwood do? He probably wouldn’t have fallen in love with his target, for starters.
No, strike probably. That’s a definitely.
I paste the most genuine imitation of a smile I can on my face as I deliver the salmon Caesar salad to Silas first. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thank you, Drew.”
Drew. My fake name is like a cymbal clashing in my head as I wait for Cannon to return and cast judgment.
“How are you doing today?” Silas asks.
The rest of the men at the table stop talking and stare at Silas like he’s a freak of nature for speaking to the help. I don’t recognize the others, so I assume they’re entertainment industry types, and not actors.
“Very well, thank you.” I respond as politely as possible, not wanting to engage in conversation because I’m too busy freaking out inside over the coming confrontation with Cannon.
I quickly deliver the rest of the plates and stop next to Silas again. “Is there anything else I can get you, gentlemen?”
Everyone at the table says no and promptly ignores me to start eating, except for Silas. He doesn’t even reach for his silverware or the linen napkin to drop on his lap. He just stares at me.
“Something wrong?” he asks. “You seem tense.”
“I’m fine. Totally fine.” I smile tightly, and he sees right through me. I suppose as an actor, you’re more likely to recognize when someone is acting.
“Have you lived in the city long?” he asks.
I have no idea why he’s making small talk with me and ignoring his guests. Smiling again, I say, “Long enough.”
His head tilts to the side as he studies me. “Have you ever lived in LA? You seem really familiar. I thought it last time I was here, and now I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
Heavy hands clamp down on my shoulders, keeping me grounded as opposed to jumping out of my skin at the fright. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Cannon’s scent and the anger rolling off him tell me plenty.
“Drew has one of those familiar faces. Don’t you, Drew?” His fingers tighten their grip, almost to the point of pain but stopping short.
He knows. I know he knows. He knows I know he knows too.
Jesus Christ. What a clusterfuck.
“Funny, I swear it’s more than that.” Silas’s gaze skips from me to Cannon and then back again, stalling on the way Cannon’s touching me.
Hell, Silas probably knows too.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Bohannon,” Cannon says. “If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. Letty will be taking over your service. I have to borrow Drew for a bit.”
Something in my gut tells me that if I were to mouth the word help, Silas is the kind of man who wouldn’t hesitate to jump in and save me from Cannon, but that wouldn’t do me any good, actually. It would be the worst possible thing I could do.
Instead, I smile and nod. “Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Bohannon.”
Cannon’s heavy hands lift off my shoulders. He spears me with a glare and says nothing before turning and walking toward the entrance of the Upper Ten.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I don’t dare do anything but follow him. Emotion rolls off him in nearly visible waves, and all I can think is, Thank you, God. It’s been a good ride. Whatever happens next, I know I brought it on myself.
Cannon strides back into the entryway, and Grice opens the door for us.
“Boss, you want me to let Mr. Casso know you’re on your way?”
“No.”
Cannon’s clipped reply causes Grice’s head to jerk back.
“But he said it was urgent. Sounded important. You might want to—” Grice stops speaking when Cannon’s head swings toward him.
“I’ll handle it. Hold down the fort. Tell Letty she’s on her own. If she needs help, call Stefano in.”
With that, Cannon stalks out of the Upper Ten and punches the elevator call button.
I stop six feet away from him, and as soon as the door closes quietly behind me, Cannon’s gaze sharpens to an even more vicious point. I open my mouth, not even sure what I’m going to say, but he holds up a hand.
“Don’t say a fucking word until I tell you to.”
Whatever happens next, I already know my life will never be the same.
47
Cannon
Just seeing her has the ice encasing my rage thawing, and by the time we reach my car in the garage, it’s growing hotter and hotter. I walk to the passenger door and practically rip it off its hinges.
“Get in.”
Drew—no, Memphis—presses her lips together hard, flattening them. Lips I’ve kissed. Lips that have told me more lies than anyone has ever managed. Just looking at her makes me want to break something.
She opens her mouth, and I glare at her.
“Not gonna say it again. Get in the fucking car and don’t say a goddamned word.”
To her credit, her eyes don’t well up with crocodile tears. That’s something, at least.
She slides inside, and I slam the passenger door. Rounding the front, I barely stop myself from putting a fist-sized dent in the cherry-red hood.
Women. They’re going to be the fucking death of me. That’s one thing I know for sure.
Warren pops his head out of who the hell knows where. “Boss? Can I drive you somewhere?”
“No.”
“Mr. Casso was looking for you. He called my cell, checking to see if you were with me.”
I grip the chrome door handle until the metal should threaten to bend. “I’ll find him when I’m ready.”
Warren’s gray eyebrows shoot up to his receding hairline. “He said it was urgent, Boss. He sounded serious.”
I release the handle and take three steps toward him. I’ve always wondered if I could trust Warren, and my confidence is dropping with every moment.
“You didn’t see me. Got it? If I find out you told him you saw me, you won’t ever want to fucking see me again.”
The threat underlying my tone has Warren stumbling back a step.
“Sorry, Boss. I didn’t see anything. He won’t hear it from me.”
The shock on his face tells me I’ve made a very grave tactical mistake. Never let anyone see your anger. It just makes them more suspicious about what’s going on.
Whatever.
It’s not every fucking day you find out that the woman you were falling for is going to get you and herself killed. Fucking Christ.
I stalk back to the car and yank open the door and slide in. The only thing that remotely soothes the raging beast in my soul is the roar of the big block as I rev the engine. All I want to do is drive straight the fuck out of town, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I find out what the hell she was doing and come up with a plan.
Instead, I haul ass out of the garage and crank the wheel to the right, cutting off a cab that lays on its horn. I don’t even bother to throw up the middle finger. He can suck my dick.
We can’t go far. Not without making Dom more suspicious than he already is. The fact that he’s so desperate to find me tells me I’m already dealing with a big fucking problem. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s been that insistent on tracking me down, and every goddamned time, someone was either about to die or already dead.
I blow through a yellow light, drive a few more blocks, and ignore the woman sitting in the passenger seat. To her credit, she hasn’t said a word.
I change lanes, finally having a destination in mind. Just over the river in Jersey City, we’ve got a construction site for a new storage building that is waiting on permits.
When we take the bridge, I glance over at Drew. No, Memphis. Memphis fucking Lockwood. Ace reporter. Investigative journalist wunderkind.
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