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The second I’m out of earshot, I will be doubling the team on this. And offering the reward I held off on.
“We’ll find her,” I say, but the words feel thin.
Colby nods, but the weight of it all hangs heavy, like it’s slowly chipping away at whatever hope he’s got left.
By the time we step outside, he forces a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “So, a tux, huh? Hot date?” he teases.
I shrug, keeping it vague. “Something like that.”
I’m at the shop,standing in front of a three-way, full-length mirror as Irving, my go-to tailor for years, pins and tugs at the tux. His fingers work with practiced precision, and he’s muttering something about the fabric and shoulders, his Brooklyn accent lending authority to every word.
Not that it matters. I trust him implicitly, which is good, because my mind is a million miles away.
“My, my, my. Don’t we look good enough to eat,” a voice purrs like sticky sweet saccharine.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. I see her inthe mirror—the last person I wanted to deal with today. Roxie Voss.
The nightmare of a reporter. And the woman who got Jules fired.
My patience? Instantly razor thin.
The tux suddenly feels too tight, and I can almost picture myself lunging for her throat.
And where the hell is Logan? The one guy who can shield me from the masses—and, more importantly, shield them from my wrath? Gone. Out for coffee because, like the idiot I am, I sent him off to “stretch his legs.” Rookie mistake.
Now I’m trapped here, in a room with Roxana Voss, Bloodsucker Extraordinaire, the woman who somehow always manages to make me regret not bolting the door behind me.
“Tracking me down like a bloodhound on a still-warm corpse?” I say, turning to face her, my voice flat with irritation. “Whatever it is, you’re wasting your time.”
She smiles, slow and deliberate, like she’s got the secret of Oak Island safely tucked away. “Well, I hear the Excellence Media Gala is going to betheevent of the year.”
Of course. She’s here to weasel her way into that. Always scheming, always calculating. Always day drinking way too much if she thinks she’s getting so much as a press badge from me.
Not today, Satan. Not today.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to crash it,” I say, deadpan, hoping she’ll get the message and leave.
But Roxie? She’s like a cheap wine stain that just won’t come out—persistent, insidious.
“Oh, darling,” she croons, stepping closer. “I don’t crash events. I create them.”
I stare her down, not even sure where this is going. “And?”
“And I’m giving you one last chance.”
“For?”
Her smile sharpens. “You promised me an exclusive.”
I smirk, unbothered. “So, sue me.”
Irving glances at me, awkward and fidgety, his eyes darting between us like he’s silently asking if he should bail. I give him a quick wave, letting him know he’s not going anywhere.
If anyone’s leaving, it’s definitely her.
Roxie crosses her arms, leaning against a counter. “Either you give me the exclusive, or you’ll be making headlines anyway.”
Really? A threat? Why am I even surprised?
