Dirty Headlines(67)

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 he 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.

P.P.S.

I meant it about the claws. I am planning on keeping this one for a while.

After we landed, if Judith was surprised to find we were sharing a Mandarin Hotel suite, she didn’t let it show. She dove headfirst onto the huge bed, making a snow angel on the sheets. I didn’t know why that made me want to fuck her so hard I’d nail her to the mattress. I only knew that scraping her off of it was going to be a bitch, so I opted for jumping in the shower, seeing as I’d been working for thirty-six hours straight so we could take this trip and probably smelled like something had died inside of me, which wasn’t far off.

We still hadn’t discussed my engagement breakdown properly. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. We were both available now. I could fuck Judith raw against James Townley’s green screen with zero consequences, other than having to replace the screen, which was something we were already planning on.

Everyone at work was already privy to the fact that Lily had gotten the boot after her little performance. Including, by definition, Ava and Gary-Graham-Grant. Whatever his name was.

When I left the bathroom, Jude was out on the balcony, her elbows on the white bannister overlooking the ocean. Her ass, clad in those ripped black jeans, swayed from side to side as she stood on one foot. I was still wrapped in a towel when I approached her, clasping her midriff from behind and grinding my erection into her ass.