Risky Play (Red Card #1)(70)

She shook her head and looked straight at Jagger, who looked equally shocked.

Jagger swallowed and looked away, guilt dripping off every feature. “I may have told her a few days ago.”

“What!” I roared. “That wasn’t your business to tell!”

“She asked, man!” He jumped to his feet. “I was trying to warn her away from you the same way I warned Britney away, and now look what happened!”

I clenched my fists. “You had no right.”

“Neither did I,” Mack said in a small voice. “I should have asked you, not Jagger . . .”

I squeezed my eyes shut and faced Mack. “I need you to be honest, Mack. Did you go to the press? I want to believe you. I want to believe this is all just a nightmare.”

Her crestfallen expression should have been my answer, but she wasn’t saying anything, she just stared right through me like she was paralyzed. “Mack, I need you to talk to me, I need you to tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she rasped. “I didn’t go to the press, Slade. I love you. I would never hurt you. The fact that you even asked . . .” Tears dripped down her cheeks.

“Mack, wait!” She was out the door before I could stop her. Alfie tried running after her, tripping me in the process.

She made it all the way to her car and started it.

I banged on the car window with my palm. “Mack!”

She didn’t look at me, just peeled out of my driveway and out the iron gate that she used to drive through with such care.

Cameras flashed.

Paparazzi yelled.

I felt nothing.

I heard nothing.

I walked back inside the house, grabbed the glass of whiskey, and drank the entire thing.

“So . . .” Britney grinned. “Now that that’s settled . . . I was thinking, we can do a quick press conference, right, Matt? We’ll tell everyone we’re back together, Mack takes the fall, and Jagger can tell the truth—that he introduced me and Slade and we just hit things off.”

“Truth.” Jagger snorted out a laugh. “The truth is, you were fucking us at the same time!”

I blinked at him, then at her. “What the hell!”

Britney shrugged. “I wasn’t sure Slade was a sure thing, plus he was a player. When I actually got to know him—” She turned to me. “To know you, it was different, so much deeper than what I had with Jagger.”

“What bullshit,” Jagger said under his breath. “You’re lucky you’re pregnant, Brit, otherwise I’d be chasing you with my car right about now.”

Matt cleared his throat. “Mack wouldn’t leak this. She has no motive, nothing to gain. So I’m going to ask you again, Britney . . .”

She shook her head. “No, it’s her, it has to be her. This will work. The press will forget about it, everything is going to be fine.”

“Brit,” Jagger asked softly. “Where’s Hawk?”

She bit down on her lower lip and looked away. “Gone.”

“I see.”

“Britney, I can understand you being scared,” Matt said in his empathetic voice he used to calm people down. “But pulling people’s names through the mud—that’s not how we do things.”

“No, we just sleep with the help, right, Slade? And punch people at restaurants.”

I frowned. “What was that?”

She paled. “I said sleep with the help.”

“The other part.” I licked my lips. “About punching people at restaurants.”

“It was on the news.”

“Not the international news,” Matt said quickly.

“I follow CNN.”

“You don’t follow shit.” I laughed. “Britney, I’m going to ask you just this once . . . who the hell did you talk to?”

She stared at her hands.

I looked to Matt for help.

He drummed his fingers against the countertop. “How much did you get for the story?”

“A million,” she said blatantly. “And another two for the cover of People—with Slade. They didn’t want Hawk.”

I eyed her cell.

The one she’d been gripping like a lifeline.

“Well.” I gave her my hand. “I guess that’s it. Two million . . .”

Jagger’s eyes were bugging out of his head as I stood and helped her to her feet.

“Baby, it’s going to be great!” She was practically dancing.

“Yeah, perfect, just one thing. Don’t you think we should take a selfie? Like old times? For the Insta feed?”

Vain, crazy woman.

“Yes!”

“My phone’s dead. Let’s use yours.”

She was too busy primping to realize what I was doing. I took the phone, typed in her password, and tapped on texts.

A: I have everything you need but I need my cut too.

A: She was at Jagger’s house for two hours.

A: I can’t get any good pictures of them in the stadium, too dark. He has a blanket.

A. I want more money. Leave my name out of this. She wouldn’t sign an NDA. I know her, she’s stubborn.

A: I want half a mil for the information.

B: how do I even know you have it? I want proof.