Page 196 of Off Limits Mogul

“Get your facts straight instead of pestering me.”

“Are you going to share some of the money you’ll earn from your new found fame with Chelle’s mom? It’s the right thing to do considering your role in her daughter’s––”

“Why are you so intent on assassinating my character by weaving a web of lies?”

“I’m digging for the truth,” he says.

“You have a warped understanding of the word, truth. You’re pushing so hard, I have to wonder what’s your payoff? Did Margaret Camden promise tothank youbysleeping with youfor dragging my name through the mud and elevating her daughter to sainthood?”

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Guilt weighs heavy on your conscience?” he says. “Is that why you want me to shut up?”

Asshole.

He rolls his eyes like a teenage girl.

“No, I want you to shut up because your voice irritates the hell out of me.”

Since nothing seems to faze him, he opens his mouth and vomits more words. “It’s a struggle for Margaret now that she can no longer count on Chelle’s big fat transfers.” He shakes his head with a disapproving tsk on his lips. “So, so sad. It’s tough in LA for a single mom.”

Patronizing prick.

“And you’d know how?” I can’t resist.

“Margaret has confided in me,” he says. “Rumor has it a UK publisher approached her for tell-all book.”

That should line her bank account.

Given how my friendship with Chelle dissolved, I’m not surprised her mom has no allegiance to me.

Mrs. Camden has a lot in common with my mom—they constantly pick the wrong men.

Chelle had little recollection of her dad. He walked out when she was four years old and returned to his native Australia, never to be heard from again.

Like most of the men Margaret has been with, her last boyfriend wasn’t a prize. That didn’t stop her from claiming she was madly in love two months into their extended bootycall. The bastard hightailed it back across the border to his native Vancouver when he found out she was pregnant with triplets. That was two years ago and another motivation for Chelle to make it big.

“Get away from me.” My anger blooms anew. “You’re harassing me with your stupid questions.”

“We’re simply having a conversation––”

“I can’t stand another minute of this bullshit.”

I snatch the helmet from the handle, secure it on my head, lower my visor, slip my gloves on, jump on the bike, rev up the engine, and get the hell out of there. I gun down the road, hoping to put as much distance between Jedd and me as I can.

I stop at a red light at an intersection. I’m in the middle lane. Jedd fucking Maitland pulls up to my right.

He waves.

Great.

With a smirk twisting his lips, he launches into question mode, leaning against the door, shouting loud enough for people living in Kentucky to hear him. The creep is grating on my last nerve. I want to screamLeave me alone, but instead, I turn my head to the left, intent on ignoring him.

He shouts louder.

Jesus.

Fuck off.