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“Okay, so what do we do now?”
“This is it.”
“This i...
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“Yeah . . . you just ...
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“And do ...
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“Re...
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“...
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“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting plastered so I don’t remember getting eaten by a bear.”
“You coming in, chicken?”
“Are you fucking insane?”
“Take your shorts off.”
“No way in hell am I offering my dick as live bait for a fucking eel,”
Surely one day he’ll find this funny.
She makes anywhere home.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper. “I can’t tell you here; it’s too risky,” he says as he looks around. “Just tell me,” I almost beg. “Meet me after work, and I’ll tell you everything over a quick drink.”
Jake grabs my hand and kisses me on the lips. I step back, shocked. “What are you doing?” “Kissing you.” He smiles as he leans in to kiss me again. I jump back and out of his reach. “What the hell, Jake? I don’t like you like that,” I snap as I wipe my mouth.
He smiles a broad, cheeky smile and then winks. I glare at him. “There’s no breaking story, is there?”
“I’ve got to go,” I whisper into her hair. “If I stay here, I’m going to fuck you and be late.”
“Good.” She smirks. “Fuck me and be late.”
The front page of the Gazette is a huge image of Emily kissing Jake the investigator.
Jameson Miles—Media Guru’s Fall from Grace In what appears to be the final nail in Jameson Miles’s media coffin, his fiancée, Emily Foster, has been having a secret affair. The two have been spotted in various locations and were snapped holidaying in Italy two months ago. Leaked bank statements released today prove that Jameson Miles has been embezzling money and transferring it to an offshore account. The board is expected to fire him as CEO of Miles Media today, and criminal charges will be laid. Looks like Emily Foster jumped ship just in time.
“There’ve been transfers, Jameson. Millions of dollars have left our bank accounts with your password,”
“This is a setup; I’m sure of it,” Tristan snaps. “Emily wouldn’t do this.”
“I think Emily’s working with Gabriel Ferrara. It’s all a little bit too coincidental, if you ask me. She’s been sent in to keep you occupied while he planned your demise.” “What?” I snap. “That’s preposterous.” “Yes, it is,” Tristan agrees. “Fucking ridiculous.”
Elliot hits the paper with the back of his hand. “What’s this fucking photo, then?” “A setup,” Tristan snaps.
Huge bank transfers have been coming out of the accounts, and nobody noticed,” Christopher replies. “Going to where?” I frown. “An offshore account.”
My girl.
I dial Tristan’s number. “Hi, Em.” “Tristan, what the hell is going on?” I cry. “We’re in meetings; I’ll call you later.” “What?” He hangs up.
I don’t know what the hell is going on. That photo is a setup. You know I love you and would never do that. Call me back, please. I’m freaking out!!!
“You stole her card?” I whisper as I look around guiltily.
“How else are you going to get to see the stupid fuck?” she murmurs.
I don’t trust you. Get out.”
“I’m not leaving. I love you.”
“Did you practice that speech?”
“Attagirl.”
It’s seven o’clock in the evening. I’m wearing a blonde wig and dark glasses, and I have even rented a car.
Yes, I’m on operation stakeout.
Do you want me to come and help you?
I thought you thought this was a bad idea.
I do, I don’t want you in danger.
I miss you.
Move on, I have.
OUCH
“No, what he is is a self-absorbed fucking asshole,”
‼️
“Good riddance, I say; you dodged a bullet.”
“Did you tell him to go fuck himself?”
“No.”
“Why ...
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“It was goodbye.”
THE FUCK
“What?”
