Dirty Headlines Read online

  “You’re a bastard. We grew up together. We’re childhood sweethearts.”

  “If that’s your only defense, it’s lacking. Because I can crush it to pieces by bringing up something you did a little over a year ago.” I chuckled darkly. “Keep the ring, cancel everything else. There will not be a wedding in August, Lily. It’s over.”

  And as I said that, I realized there was not even an ounce of me that was remorseful—not even for letting her keep my family’s ring (it was tainted once she’d worn it anyway) or the missed opportunity for so-called world domination Kate was always teasing me about.

  “I’m going to make your life a living hell, Célian.” Lily wiggled her finger in my face. I took her finger and lowered it, wrapping her dress back around her waist for her.

  “I dare you, sweetheart. It’s been too long since I showed you who I really am. I cannot wait for you to get reacquainted with the asshole version everyone else has been privy to for the past year, partly because of you.” I couldn’t dump all the blame on Lily, though. My father had taken the Worst Dad of the Century trophy, leaving others to eat dust.

  “You’re insane!” she yelled in my face.

  “That’s rich, coming from a half-naked woman who just broke a monitor and accused a gay, middle-aged woman of having an affair with her fake fiancé.”

  “You’re weird. And a smartass. I don’t even like you anymore.” She walked over to the door, made a U-turn, stared at me helplessly, and shook her head. “Tell me how to make it right, and I will.” Her voice cracked around her plea.

  “Get out.”

  The door slammed in my face, and my eyes immediately traveled to the newsroom through the glass walls. Judith was staring at me, like she wanted my eyes to bleed out the truth of what had happened in my office. But I couldn’t invite her in. Not so soon after kicking Lily out. That would be transparent, downright risky.

  I dialed Brianna’s extension and asked her to summon Judith for a one on one rundown meeting in three hours. I asked her to do the same for Kate, Elijah, and James. I had nothing to say to the last three. I just didn’t want it to look suspicious.

  I fell into my seat and closed my eyes. A text message dinged on my phone, and I flipped it over to see who it was.

  Dan: Your father is at a meeting right now, selling ad space to a Vegas-based marketing company that specializes in condoms, tobacco, gambling equipment, and sex toys. I’m sitting in the same restaurant. They’re talking seven figures.

  This deal would be suicide for the LBC brand, and my father knew it. This was a prime example of how far he’d go to sabotage things for me.

  Record everything please, I ordered.

  It was time to take this matter to the board and bury what was left of my relationship with the man who hated me just a little less than I hated him.

  Three meaningless conversations later (Kate was happy to know I’d called the engagement off with Lily; Elijah and I talked baseball; and James tried to give me some fatherly advice about women and relationships, only to be sent out with his tail between his legs.), Judith entered my office.

  The minute she walked in, the urge to push her against the door, spread her legs, and fuck her relentlessly burned through my veins, but I settled for an easy smirk.

  “Humphry.”

  “Sir.”

  I was seated behind my desk—something my erection was very grateful for—and I motioned for her to take a seat across from me. She did so obediently, her back straight. I handed her the notebook I’d managed to retrieve from Lily. It was wrinkled as fuck. Jude took it in shaky hands.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “I’ll buy you another one.”

  “I don’t want another one. I like this one.”

  Fuck. Why did that make me even harder?

  She shook her head, sighing. “You wanted to see me?”

  “There are a few matters we need to discuss as a result of the unexpected appearance of Miss Davis at the newsroom.” I loosened my tie.

  Jude smiled her sweet, innocent smile. “That’s a lovely way of describing a batshit crazy woman who broke a monitor and ruined my notebook, if I ever heard one.”

  I smirked. Sat back. Knotted my fingers together. “I sent Brianna to the third floor to get one of James’ stylists to iron Kipling back into shape.”

  Her eyes widened, her lower lip poking out. “How did you…?”

  “Figured it out.” I waved her off.

  Not quite. The mystery had occupied my mind for many long nights. So much so that I’d pieced together every encounter in which she’d mentioned Kipling. She’d had the notebook clutched in her palm in all of them.

  Jude looked touched, and I needed her not to be, so I continued. “At any rate, Miss Davis will be in no position to further damage property or harass LBC employees anymore, especially seeing as I terminated our engagement.”

  Which was really a nice way of saying we could go back to fucking peacefully without Judith giving me the third degree, just not in so many words.

  “Is that why I’m here?” she asked, jutting her chin out. “Because you think I’ll jump back into your bed?”

  “And couch. And office door. And fucking public toilet, if I say so.” I shrugged, sitting back and smirking at her.

  “You’re wrong, Célian. When I told you I don’t do love, I meant it. But I don’t do casual, either. I need it to mean something. I was with Milton because I’m capable of having a relationship. I’m capable of giving.”

  I really didn’t want to hear about that douche, Milton. At the same time, my growing need to fuck Judith might very well make my balls explode. I decided I would compromise my truth—if not bend it just a little—to accommodate her needs.

  “I can do a discreet arrangement.”

  “I don’t want an arrangement. I want a relationship.”

  “Whatever you want to call it, Chucks. As long as you realize there is nothing at the end of that tunnel—no marriage, no wedding, no kids, and no cozy evenings watching Jeopardy with your dad—you can have it. Now pack a bag. We’re going to Miami for the weekend.”

  I thought about all I’d said and decided to amend one thing. “Actually maybe Jeopardy is okay sometimes. Your pussy will need an occasional rest.”

  “Miami?” Her eyes widened like I’d suggested Afghanistan. She recovered quickly, clearing her throat and adding, “We haven’t finished working on the Syria piece.”

  Right. Fuck. Of course we still needed to wrap it up.

  “We’ll work into the night.”

  “I promised Dad I would watch the Yankees game with him.” She reddened.

  I hated that I liked that about her—her fierce loyalty to her family. No matter how late she stayed at work, she somehow always made time for her pops.

  But maybe Jude wasn’t anything special. Maybe I just had no idea how a normal family worked and was giving her extra credit.

  “You may have the night off,” I said curtly. “I’ll send a cab to take you to the airport. Anything else?”

  She stared at me for a few seconds, still blinking in disbelief. I guess I’d expected her to be happier about the news, but I didn’t exactly deliver it with flowers and sugary promises.

  “You’re single?” she confirmed.

  I raked my eyes over her. “Seems that way.”

  “You broke it off with her?” She rubbed her forehead, looking around the room. Why? Was she expecting this to be a big prank? Clearly, she thought very little of me in the morals department.

  “Do you need this in writing, Humphry?”

  “That would be great, actually.”

  I smirked. “Get your smart ass out of my office before I spank it.”

  “You’re awful,” she said, getting up from her seat and walking back to the door.

  I watched her every movement, wondering why I found her so fascinating, and inwardly asking myself what the fuck I was doing, taking this random chick to see my mother—Maman—w
ho was still blissfully ignorant of the collapse of my engagement.

  “You like awful,” I retorted.

  She stopped by the door, bowed her head and shook it, laughing. When she left, the smell of hope crawled into my nostrils, the smell of her vanilla shampoo and gingery, spicy perfume.

  And I had to admit, I liked it a whole a lot better.

  Just smile and act normal.

  Dad sat at my side, wearing an S. Carter jersey and a Yankees ball cap and drinking soda, which was definitely not on his current menu. I let it slide because he looked completely enchanted with the game. I, myself, wore a huge American flag hat and a Frank Sinatra shirt. Close enough, if you ask me.

  I broached the subject when I got back from refilling our bowl of popcorn in the kitchen—another thing Dad shouldn’t be eating, but a little couldn’t hurt.

  “Would you…would you mind if I took off this weekend?” I tried to sound casual through the lump of guilt forming in my throat.

  My palms were so sweaty the popcorn bowl nearly slipped between them. I was going to lie to Dad yet again, and for what? Why did I keep the truth from my father, the closest person to me? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Then again, he was still so fragile and was only now getting back on his feet, literally and figuratively. He was feeling physically better, and between spending time with Mrs. Hawthorne and seeing me thrive at my new job, he was emotionally better too. But I still didn’t want him to know I’d broken up with Milton. That could set Dad back, and if his health took a wrong turn, I’d never forgive myself.

  “Honey.” He patted my knee as I sat down, his hand immediately sliding to the bowl of popcorn. “I think it’s a great idea. You deserve some time off. Mil taking you anywhere fancy?” He smiled.

  “You’re going to hell for this,” Jesus said inside my head. “And if you think I’ll claim your ass when you get there, you obviously weren’t paying attention in bible class.”

  I decided I would, in fact, tell my father I’d broken up with Milton after I got back from Florida. I could even tell him about Célian, as the two seemed to be in contact. I wasn’t sure how much they had in common, but part of the reason I didn’t despise Célian—though it was tempting—was because I knew he had a soft side. I’d seen it when he helped my father. I saw it when he tried to save me.

  “I don’t know…” I dodged the question. “We’ll see. You know I’ll be available on my phone, right?”

  “Yes.” He laughed, shuttling more popcorn to his mouth. “You’ve mentioned so, one or two or a million times before. Plus, if I need anything, Mrs. Hawthorne is just upstairs.”

  I eyed him curiously, smiling. “When do I finally get to meet her in the capacity of being her boyfriend’s daughter?”

  My father looked down and wiggled his toes inside his slippers.

  That’s the first time I’d noticed he was wearing a new pair. Actually, his whole ensemble was new—still the same gray sweatpants and white T-shirt, but they were ironed and looked good on him. He’d also shaved whatever was left of his hair to create a more unified look. I didn’t know why I found it so heartbreakingly joyful to see him happy about another woman. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But he did look kind of good, like a brow-less Bruce Willis.

  “Does he make your heart sing, JoJo?”

  “What?” I pretended to laugh. And failed. Oh, God.

  “Does Milton make your heart sing? Music is such an important part of your life, and when you’re happy, I can see it. Your steps have a rhythm. When you talk, you swing. Are you in love with him? Because if you’re not, it’s not worth it.”

  I looked the other way, pretending to clean invisible lint off of a decorative pillow on the couch. “I can’t fall in love, Dad. I tried.”

  “That’s a load of bull.”

  “It’s true. Mom told me so. She said my heart was a lonely hunter—that it would never find someone else to beat next to. And she was right. It didn’t.”

  I didn’t tell him the whole truth—that I believed her, that I guarded my heart like it wasn’t for the taking. That I probably could have moved in with Milton if I’d wanted to, but I’d never really wanted to. I didn’t want to tell Dad that this one simple sentence had changed my world more than I was willing to accept, and that I was terrified my heart was losing its claws, its weapons, its hunger for blood, in the battle against Célian.

  Dad’s eyes crinkled, and I was so focused on the confusion and awe in them, it didn’t even register that he was laughing. Not just laughing—hooting. Holding his stomach and everything.

  “No, JoJo, no. She didn’t mean your heart is a lonely hunter. She meant the book, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. It was her favorite. The author was twenty-three when she wrote it. Your age.” He looked at me pointedly, like this, too, added meaning. “Mick Kelly was your mother’s favorite heroine. She was a tomboy who was really fond of music. You should read it. We have it somewhere here.”

  He rose to his feet with a groan and made his way to his room. I sat dumbfounded, feeling irrationally furious at both him and my mother for allowing me to look at life through the thick, dirty lens of a person who’d never believed she could experience love.

  The game was still playing, with the Yankees dominating the Astros, and that’s how I knew Dad really was serious about me reading this book. He came back, blowing the dust off the cover, and handed it to me.

  “If you travel at all on your way to this little vacation, make sure you read it. Your mother believed in love. Very much so. She believed in fate, too. That’s why you grew up to be the heroine she always admired.”

  I smiled and thanked him, and I didn’t wait for tomorrow.

  I devoured the whole thing in one night.

  Every single page. A to Z.

  Then I read bits of it again as I packed my summer clothes and dragged my suitcase down our narrow stairway in the morning, waiting for the cab.

  My heart was not lonely.

  It was desperate and beating and alive.

  It frightened and delighted me at the same time, knowing that I could, and I would, and I should fall in love—whether it was with my boss or otherwise.

  And when the alarm started singing, I slid into the right Chucks and wiggled my toes inside them, knowing he was going to notice. They were yellow.

  Hope.

  I’d only been on a plane two times prior to my trip to Florida with Célian.

  One had taken us to California when I was six—Mom’s sister got married, but she had since decided to divorce, then migrate to Australia. She sent a postcard when Mom died, but didn’t bother to keep in touch. The second time was for a spontaneous vacation in New Orleans. That had happened when I was fourteen. Dad had been trying his best to act like everything was fine after Mom died. He dyed his hair at home to forget he had any silver strands, took cooking classes, and decided we should live in the moment. New Orleans was great. Us living off mac and cheese for two consecutive months afterward because we’d spent too much was not.

  I’d assumed I was likely to get on a plane again sometime soon. I’d imagined Milton would plan something nice for our honeymoon, if we ever got married.

  Business class, however, was something I’d never imagined.

  Yet here I was, clutching my tattered copy of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter with a glass of champagne by my side, wondering where on Earth Célian was. We had five more minutes before the plane took off.

  He stumbled through the door right before they locked it, wearing the same clothes as yesterday and nursing a cup of Starbucks. His leather Armani duffel bag hung lazily from the tips of his fingers, and the minute he saw me, his tired face cracked into a dangerous smile. I licked my lips, looking down and pressing my thighs together.

  What the hell was wrong with me? Ever since I’d learned the truth about what Mom had told me, thinking of Célian was weird.

  It felt like we were no longer rivals, like he had the upper hand. Which was ridiculous, because h
e always had. I’d simply refused to accept it.

  Célian shoved his bag into the overhead bin and thanked the air hostess for hysterically offering to do so herself. He then slid into the seat next to me. He smelled of alcohol, coffee, and hope.

  I wiggled my toes inside my yellow Chucks. “Came straight from work?”

  Instead of answering my question, he cupped the back of my neck and erased the distance between us by sealing my mouth with a hot, demanding kiss. I groaned against his lips. When we disconnected, his eyes were half-lidded and drunk, and I assumed mine were too.

  “That’s…very relationship-y,” I mumbled, staring at his lips. “Did I get all the information right?”

  Célian plucked a red marker from the book sitting in my lap, uncapped it, and wrote A+ on the back of my hand. Then he kissed the inside of it, like Phoenix had done to me, and like I’d done to him. I swooned inside.

  “Here’s to many more revelations, and to saving the world, one item at a time.” He took my glass from my side table, tipped it back, and then smashed his lips into mine again, this time letting me taste the alcohol in his mouth.

  The plane had begun to take off when he looked more closely at the book in my lap. He grabbed it, examining it from all angles.

  “Is it good?” he asked.

  “The best,” I said, resting my hand on the cover.

  He put his hand on mine.

  My heart smiled at that.

  And all I could think was, please don’t hurt us.

  Shortly after takeoff, I sent Maman a heads-up of what was to come. Diplomatic it was not, but if she was looking for direct and honest, she certainly received it, and in spades.

  Célian: Hopping on a plane to discuss Mathias with you, who, by the way, fucked my fiancée over a year ago. Consequently, I no longer have a fiancée. But I am bringing over a woman, so keep your claws tucked in.

  P.S.

  Brianna booked a conference call with the entire board later this afternoon, and that includes your philandering ex-husband. I sent you some recordings you need to listen to, so please do that in between auditioning new boy toys.