Dirty Headlines(79)

“Chucks.”

I looked up. He had dark circles around his eyes and a three-day stubble. I desperately wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but there was no point in kicking him while he was down.

“Jerk.”

He arched an eyebrow, and I shrugged. “I thought we nicknamed each other the things that represented us.”

He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on my temple. Everybody stopped what they were doing and stared at us, and I felt myself turning crimson. The air stood still in the room. He was gasoline. I was a match.

“Dinner and an apology,” he said—not offered—in front of everyone, so cocky and sure that I would jump into his arms.

“You should probably start with the latter to get the former.” I sat back and looked at him blankly.

He hung his head and shook it, laughing. “I apologize for outing us in a less than diplomatic manner. But not for making sure everyone knows that you’re fucking mine.” He leaned down, his lips grazing my ear. “Hang on to this anger, Chucks. I’ll be happy to work your crazy ass up in bed and fuck every doubt and complaint out of your tight pussy.”

If I were an emoji, I would be drooling a little pool under my feet.

“I guess you could buy me dinner.” I kept my expression schooled, and he tugged at my jacket draped over the back of my seat, helping me into it.

“Guessing is a gambling game. I’m definitely buying you dinner tonight.”

“We’re going to have a long talk,” I said, feeling Jessica and Kate watching us with horror and fascination. I don’t think they’d ever seen anyone talk back to their boss.

“And even longer makeup sex.” He grinned.

Thirty minutes later, we were in a Chinese restaurant off Broadway. Célian was drinking bottled beer as I ordered every single thing on the menu.

“Sorry.” I handed our waiter the velvet red tariff. “I can’t eat when I’m stressed, and this is the first time we’ve spoken since Monday, so I’m making up for lost time.”

Célian unfolded his napkin, frowning at it like it had accused him of something, considering my words.

“We’re tanking,” I told him. “Your father is on a suicide mission, and he’s taken all of us as hostages. The only way to stop him is to overthrow his decision, which you can do by teaming up with the Davis family. Can you at least ask Lily’s father? Go directly to him?”

Every word felt like a sword slicing through my mouth. I was sending him off to the last place I wanted him to be. With his ex.

He fingered the rim of his bottle. “They have their own shit to sort through, and the last thing they need is the motherfucker who cheated on their daughter showing up asking for solids.”

“You haven’t cheated on Lily, though.” I rubbed my nose in frustration. “Why did you agree with that statement?”

If looks could slap you in the ass, I think his expression just did.

“I’m fond of her family,” he said curtly.

“And?”

“And I’d hate to break it to them that their daughter is a piece of work.”

“But…why?”

“They treated me like a son when I had no relatives to speak of but Camille.”

“So you’re content with being the bad guy?” I blinked, my mouth lax.

“Are we living on the same fucking planet? I am the bad guy.”

He had a point, and I understood where he was coming from, even if it made me uncomfortable that he’d protected Lily.

“What about LBC?”

He clutched his beer so tightly I thought it was going to crack, ignoring the steaming dishes the waiter slid on to our table. I wasn’t feeling so hungry myself anymore.

“I’m listening to offers from other networks.”

“What?” I whisper-yelled. “LBC is yours.”

“No. It’s my father’s, for the foreseeable future. Unlike ninety-nine percent of the general population, I’m both good at my job and I love it. I won’t jeopardize my reputation. I’d rather work somewhere else.”

“What about your staff!”

It was an accusation more than a question. No matter how much people feared Célian, they respected and were loyal to him, too. He couldn’t just get up and leave. Not in theory, anyway. In practice, I knew better than anyone how he could be taciturn and detached.

“If it comes to that, I’ll make a package deal to take Kate and Elijah with me.”

He stretched in his seat, and I watched the muscles of his arms looping around his bones like ivy, every curve incredibly male. Then I thought about the muscle inside his chest. The one that pounded, but didn’t get its recommended exercise.

His father was killing him slowly and enjoying doing so. His mother was mostly indifferent toward everything around her. Célian didn’t have a shot, other than the Davis family, and we both knew it.

“And what about us?” I asked quietly. His eyes were cold, but his mouth was red and hot, alive.

“What about us?” His icy tenor glided like an ice cube along my spine. He waved his empty beer bottle at the waiter, signaling for another.

“Are you going to explain that little stint in the newsroom when James showed us the item?”

“Probably not. We agreed it was the best thing to come clean. So I did.”