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He arches an eyebrow. “On or off the record, Ms. Sun?”
“Off the record, definitely. Officially, I’m not Ms. Sun. TheHeraldkept my account and screwed me out of my name.”
He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Which articles were yours?”
“Just the first one.”
He nods, acknowledging the weight behind those words. “Business is business. And brutal. But that article was good. You’ve got real talent. I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement if we can persuade you to come back.”
I shrug, noncommittal at best. “I’m not sure theHeraldis my passion anymore. I’m more of a hometown news girl at heart. Maybe I’ll stick to ghostwriting. Or try freelancing.”
“Here.” He hands me his card, his expression unreadable.
It’s not the same card he gave me before. NoMercer Mediaon it. “Excelsior Media?”
“My new global conglomerate. Twenty-three countries and counting. I’m shifting my focus international.” His smile lifts, just barely. “The good thing about sobriety—it clears the head. Bigger margins. Fewer sewer rats.”
He gestures subtly toward Wyld Richards, who’s got his arm draped around Roxie’s waist. Good to know I’m not the only one who thinks the guy is a walking roach turd.
He takes another sip, wincing. “Bleh. I need to take off. It’s not easy, staring at Roxana Voss and being damn near ready to French kiss that vampire just for a taste of her martini.”
We both laugh, his wink adding a dash of charm before heheads out, vanishing across a sea of people just as the announcer’s voice booms through the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. Presenting our first award—theTrailblazer Award for Journalism—is Mr. Brian Bishop, Manhattan’s own Bachelor of the Year. And with him, the recipient of this prestigious honor...Ms. Sydney Sun.”
Wait—what the hell?
CHAPTER 46
Jules
Brian strides to the center of the stage, a woman’s hand locked firmly in his. And she’s beautiful. Watching him with the living, breathing doll of Sydney Sun is almost too much to bear.
Her long, dark hair cascades the full length of her back as she casually adjusts the Jackie-O sunglasses higher on her nose, like it’s all part of her mystique—which it is. The plunging red dress matches that infuriatingly perfect shade of cherry-red lipstick. Her smile spreads, polished and precise, cutting through the room like royalty.
And what do I do? I stand there like an idiot and watch with everyone else.
I should be furious. I should storm up there, shouting up a storm that she’s a fraud and that I’m Sydney Sun.
The real Sydney Sun. But I can’t.
The louder the crowd claps, the harder my chest tightens.
She’s not just beautiful—she’s a flawless reflection of my alter ego, the image I once dreamed would come to life.
And now, it has.
Just not for me.
My heart slams against my ribs as Roxie’s wolf whistle slices through the noise. And then, in slow motion, everything snaps into place. Wyld’s first job offer. The carefully crafted identity. The job that seemed too good to be true.
And the assignment: Brian Bishop—billionaire.
A hand-picked journalist, molded to draw out the one man no one could get to.
“You all know her,” Brian says into the mic, flashing that smile as a hush falls over the crowd. “The woman whose first article captured me in a light that was both rich and heartfelt, and won over not just my heart, but America’s, too. I’m beyond honored to present the Excellence Gala Trailblazer of the Year award to Ms. Sydney Sun.”
Thunderous applause erupts, and their hands rise together. It’s like watching the tide crash in, wiping out the beautiful castle I’d built.
