Page 28 of Wicked Heat

The truth is, I really don’t.

I draw a breath and pace some more. “If he is involved—and he’s not,” I say, though I’m not sure I mean it, “then he’ll either say no so that he can watch from afar as I scramble for the money. Or he’ll say yes because he knows that’s what Innocent Ash would do.”

“It’ll be door number two,” Aria says.

“And if he’s not involved,” I continue, railroading my words over hers, “then of course he’ll pay. So long as he knows it’s to protect Anne.”

“He’ll have it,” Aria says. “I bet you a million—ha, ha—bucks that he either has that kind of money or can get his hands on it super quick.”

I scowl because that’s probably true. So what would I have Fictional Ash do?

I twirl a strand of hair around my finger as I try to parse this out. “Either way, he’s going to pay, even if he has to borrow from some rich friend. That just makes the most sense. But that doesn’t tell me anything. If both Guilty Ash and Innocent Ash pay, I’m still screwed. Because that means this won’t ever be over.”

Ari shakes her head. “No, no, no. Don’t you get it? If he’s really Innocent Ash—and if the real bad guy sticks with the deal—you pay, and the videos go away.”

“A big if.”

“Not so much. Because if they try to hit you up again, they increase their chances of getting caught. Once they get their money, they’ll go away for good. I think,” she adds with a shrug.

Honestly, she’s probably right. “But if he’s Guilty Ash?” I hate even thinking that.

“He still goes away. Because he’s smart enough to know that’s what a bad guy should do.”

“Even though he didn’t get his three million?”

She shrugs. “He can’t risk pulling the same scam again. Not after you’ve paid. He either forgets about the three mil altogether or he blackmails someone else. But he can’t go back to your well.”

I draw a deep breath, my head aching from thinking about all this. From being scared. And from the harsh reality that’s now staring me in the face: It doesn’t matter if he pays or if he walks away, I won’t know the truth. Not ever.

“I thought you trusted him,” Aria says when I tell her as much.

“I do,” I say, but she and I both know it’s a lie. Right now, I don’t trust anyone except Aria. And she doesn’t have three mil to spare.

Ten

Four Months Ago—Bree (Upper Crust Bakery & Cafe)

One thought fills my head as I speed from the Starks’ Malibu mansion to the Upper Crust bakery: Maggie Bridge is a royal bitch.

Yup. After careful study and consideration, that is my final opinion. And I should know. After all, I graduated from NYU with a degree in journalism, then topped that off with an MFA from UCLA. Which means I’m watchful. I know how to ask questions and how to write a damn good article.

It also means I know a hack when I see one. And Maggie Bridge is a hack in reporter’s clothing.

Bottom line? I really don’t like her. Especially after sitting in the Starks’ beautiful house while enduring her inane questions and innuendoes for what felt like a century, but in reality didn’t even hit the half-hour mark. Yeah, it was that painful.

Bitch.

I tap Maisy’s brakes lightly as I take one of the many curves on this section of Pacific Coast Highway, then sigh. Maggie Bridge is definitely a bitch. But I was probably an idiot to agree to the interview in the first place. I mean, it wasn’t like she even needed to talk to me.

She’d come to the Stark house to interview Damien and his family for what was supposed to be a fluff piece celebrating Damien’s life and career. It’s not like anyone’s going to be flipping the pages of the magazine in their rush to read about me.

Then again, I was kidnapped along with Damien’s daughter. So there’s that.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot.” I bang my fist on the steering wheel for good measure. Honestly, what was I thinking when I agreed to let her ask me about the kidnapping? Especially after Damien had made it clear that I could flat out decline.

But noooo. I’d had to go and be all gee-I’m-a-girl-so-I-want-to-please-of-course-I’ll-do-your-stupid-interview-you-annoying-bitch.

Really. Don’t. Like. Her.