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By day six, I’m dying to hear his voice.
I pace around my living room, debating if I should call him.
My escort-gig-only phone rings.
Bryce?
I run to the coffee table, snatch my phone, and check the screen.
Disappointment slams into me.
I debate to let it go to voicemail.
Might as well get it over with.
I knew my pimp––I mean, my booking agent––would eventually call.
“Hey, Todd.”
“How are you keeping up?”
“Good.”
“You must be gobbling up this news about Bryce’s CFO. Talk about scandal.”
I frown at the phone. “There’s a scandal surrounding his CFO’s death?”
“May he rest in peace, but Derek Chamberlain is stirring up a lot of drama from the grave.”
“You lost me.”
“The news hit an hour ago, and it’s already a media frenzy.”
“What’s going on?”
“You really haven’t been watching what’s going on with Linden Corp?”
“No, I haven’t.” I march towards my laptop.
“The cat is out of the bag.” I freeze. “Derek Chamberlain was having an affair—”
“He was married with three kids.”
“As if that’s ever stopped anyone.”
I guess he’s right. “Is the adulterous seeking her fifteen minutes of fame or is she pregnant?”
“No, no, and no.”
“Todd, why don’t you just tell me.”
“She isn’t seeking instant celebrity. She’s not pregnant. In fact, she isn’t a she.”
“That sounded German to me.”
“Bryce’s right-hand man—who was married to a high-society girl and father of triplets—was having an affair with pretty young thing Jayden Whitfield. As in multi-Olympic gold medal-winner in man’s downhill skiing, Jayden Whitfield.”
“What?” I shriek.
