Page 133 of No Headlines Please

To think, I'd gone to dinner with him, had coffee with him, dumped dirt all over him – heck, I'd even kissed him while having no idea who he was.

Suddenly, I recalled our conversation over Monopoly. He'd mentioned a cancelled wedding – something about financial issues with the bride.

Sloane Hayworth.

Mom would just love to hear that. I meant that literally, because according to Mom, Cynthia Hayworth – Sloane's mom, then known as Cynthia Rumpus – had been chasing money and status since freshman year.

Mom absolutely hated her.

If Mom and I hadn't been on the outs, I surely would've heard all about the cancelled wedding, whether I'd been living under a rock or not.

I was still lost in my thoughts when Walt asked, "Hey, how come you're all wet?" He squinted at the top of my head. "Do you know you got soap in your hair?"

I reached up to touch it. Sure enough, my fingers came away just a little sudsy. I winced at the sight. "Yeah, I was in the shower."

"Oh." He paused. "Sorry about that."

"I'm not," I said, giving the TV another glance. "Do you think they'll show it again?"

"A story that juicy?" He chuckled. "They'll probably show it every five minutes. It's the news channel, so they're always looking for something."

Before I could respond, Walt pointed at the screen. "See? Told you."

As he cranked up the volume, I turned to look. The truck commercial was gone, and the blonde reporter had reappeared, standing in front of the same building. "In breaking news, sales continue to climb for Sloane Hayworth's explosive memoir, detailing her turbulent relationship with billionaire businessman Maddox McGuiness, long known as the black sheep of the Whitmore family, the powerhouse dynasty behind a global empire of luxury brands and hotels…"

While the reporter continued, Walt said, "Funny, I stayed at a Whitmore once. I was in Tampa for that fishing expo. Nice towels. Kind of pricy, though." His voice brightened. "Except I used some travel points, got it for free."

My eyes were still glued to the screen. I wasn't thinking about hotels or towels. I was thinking about Maddox.

Not Cal.

Not Bob.

And certainly not Slick.

The ramifications hit hard and fast.

He hadn't lied to me about his name.

He hadn't lied about a cancelled wedding.

And he definitely hadn't lied about the bride selling access – because she appeared to be doing exactly that, even now, spilling private secrets in a tell-all book.

But wait…no, she wasn't.

Not if she was missing.

Still, the point remained. Missing or not, it sounded like she'd sold him out completely.

In a flash, I recalled my final conversation with Maddox, when I'd stood outside that penthouse door and treated him like some criminal. At the memory, I couldn't help but cringe.

I'd threatened to call the police, for God's sake.

Or the FBI.

Or something.

By now, a lot of it was a blur.