AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Just working on my story.”
“I overheard you telling Stella that you’ve got a new angle for the story. I’m glad you’ve moved on from the ditzy prostitute.”
“Madison isn’t ditzy,” Eden said. “She just needs some direction.”
Mike shook his head. “Great. Now you’ve become her life coach. Was she the friend that dropped by and kept you from meeting me for dinner?”
“I’m so sorry about that, Mike.”
“Sorry enough to have dinner with me tonight?”
It was her night off so there was nothing keeping her from accepting the offer. Nothing but the hope that Nash would stop by her apartment. And with no customers to wait on, she might actually get some answers. Or maybe some more refrigerator sex.
“I can’t tonight,” she said. “I need to stop by and see my grandparents.” It wasn’t a lie. After receiving the marijuana in the mail, she needed to have a little talk with her grandparents. Again.
His face fell. “Yeah, sure. Maybe another time.” He glanced at the laptop. “So if you’re doing a story on prostitution, why were you looking at a picture of Nash Beaumont? Please don’t tell me you’re crushing on the guy like every other female in the city.”
Crushing? It was more like lusting. And trying to hide her blush, she swiveled her chair back around and shrugged. “I just stumbled upon the picture.”
“That’s good, because the guy is a pervert.”
“What?” She whirl back around so fast that she kicked the mop bucket with her foot and sent it sailing toward Mike. Mike grabbed the mop handle before it hit him in the face, but the bucket still cracked his shins.
“Damn, Huckabee,” he said as he grimaced in pain. “I get that you don’t want to date me. You don’t have to use violence to make your point.”
“Sorry,” she said. “So how do you know about Nash?”
He rubbed his shins. “I planned on doing a story about the Beaumonts when they first came to town. But after I dug up some dirt, Stella vetoed the story. She said it wasn’t newsworthy enough to warrant getting into a lawsuit with the Beaumonts.”
Eden stared at him in disbelief. She had wasted all this time working on a story that Mike had already written and Stella had already vetoed. Which meant that Stella wasn’t going to rehire her. And unless Eden wanted to spend the rest of her life in the janitor’s closet, she needed to pack up her things and accept the fact that she wasn’t going to be a reporter here… and maybe not anywhere. She waited for depression and heartache to set in, but all she felt was a slight stab of disappointment.
Maybe Stella was right. Maybe she had been chasing the wrong dream. But if reporting wasn’t in her blood, what was? It was a good question. One she needed to find the answer to. But she wouldn’t find it here in the janitor’s closet.
Getting to her feet, she started taking down the pictures on the corkboard. “Stella is a pretty hard sell.”
“You can say that again. I thought I had a great scoop when a friend I know from Louisiana told me his sister sat on the jury when Nash’s case went to trial.”
The thumbtack slipped from Eden’s fingers and pinged off her laptop before it hit the floor. She slowly turned around. “Trial?” Her voice squeaked out the word.
Mike’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know? But I thought that’s what we were talking about. What other perverted thing did Nash Beaumont do?”
It was hard to answer when her heart felt like it was getting ready to beat out of her chest. Nash had gone to trial? But for what? Certainly it couldn’t be for seducing women in the dark.
She tried to smile, but her lips felt brittle. “Nothing. I just didn’t realize he’d gone to trial for… it.”
Mike shrugged. “He probably shouldn’t have. It turned out there wasn’t much evidence. But I guess the girl had yet to turn eighteen and had a father who just happened to work for the district attorney’s office. Of course, the jury found him not guilty. Which is why Stella was so against publishing the story. But I think the guy did it. I think Nash Beaumont raped her. Why else would she commit suicide?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Something was wrong.
Not with bra sales. Or finding the right catalog model. Or hooking Samuel up with the UPS guy. Or even Grayson stealing Nash’s Lothario costume and switching it out for his puffed-sleeve, embroidered Romeo shirt and tights. What was wrong had to do with an escort who talked with her hands. Ran awkwardly. And was no longer interested in playing his games.
Nash shouldn’t blame Eden—what woman would want to hang out with a guy as screwed up as he was? And yet, he did blame her. He blamed her for canceling their morning runs with the lame excuse of a twisted ankle. He blamed her for treating him like he had a contagious disease when he showed up that night at The Lemon Drop to check on her injury. And he blamed her for completely ignoring his invitation to the Lover’s Ball and making him feel like someone had punched him in the chest with a set of brass knuckles.
“I should’ve known that you wouldn’t wear the tights.” A woman swept up in a medieval dress with draped sleeves. Even with the long, blond, braided wig and jeweled mask, Nash had no trouble recognizing Deirdre Beaumont. She, on the other hand, didn’t recognize him at all. Of course, his face was half-covered by a mask. And all the Beaumont brothers had the same unruly hair and stubborn jaw.
She swatted his arm. “Shame on you, Grayson. Romeo didn’t wear faded jeans. Although since your doublet still looks too short, I guess I don’t blame you. The women are already eyeballing you and Nash like desserts on a tray. We wouldn’t want to start a riot.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I must say that Olivia was right. All Nash needs is a black fedora and a sword, and he’d look just like Zorro.”
