Taking the Boss to Bed

“So is that a yes?” Simons persisted.

“It’s a ‘no comment.’ Who did you get that story from?” Ryan rested his fist against his forehead.

Simons laughed. “I had a trans-Atlantic call earlier. Tell Jaci that you can never trust a politician.”

“Egglestone is your source?” Ryan demanded, and Simons’s silence was enough of an answer.

Yep, it seemed that Jaci had shared quite a bit during their pillow talk. Ryan sent her another blistering look, deliberately ignoring her pleading, confused face. Ryan felt the hard, cold knot of despair and anger settle like a concrete brick in his stomach. He remembered this feeling. He’d lived with it for months, years after Ben and Kelly died. God, he wanted to punch something. Preferably Simons.

He was furiously angry and he needed to stay that way. This was why he didn’t get involved in relationships; it was bad enough that his heart was in a mess and his love life was chaotic. Now it was affecting his business. Where had this gone so damn wrong?

He hated to ask Simons a damn thing, but he needed to know how much time he had before he took a trip up that creek without a paddle. “When are you running the story?”

“Can’t,” Simons said cheerfully. “Banks threatened to sue the hell out of my paper if we so much as mentioned his name and my editor killed it. That’s why I feel nothing about giving up my source.”

“You spoke to Banks?” Ryan demanded. He felt a scream starting to build inside him. This was it, this was the end. His business had been pushed backward and Jaci’s career was all but blown out of the water.

“Yeah, he was...um, what’s the word? Livid?” Ryan could hear the smile in his voice. The jackass was enjoying every second of this. “He told me to tell you to take your movie and shove it—”

“Got it.” Ryan interrupted him. “So, basically, you just called me to screw with me?”

“Basically,” Simons agreed.

Ryan told him to do something physically impossible and disconnected the call. He tossed his mobile through the open window of the car onto the passenger seat and linked his hands behind his neck.

“What’s happened?” Jaci asked, obviously worried.

“That must have been a hell of a cozy conversation you had with Horse-face last night. It sounds like you covered a hell of a lot of ground.”

Jaci frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Your pillow talk torpedoed any chance of Banks funding Blown Away,” he stated in his harshest voice.

Jaci looked puzzled. “What pillow talk? What are you talking about? Has Banks pulled his funding?” Jaci demanded, looking surprised.

“Your boyfriend called Simons and told him the whole story about how we snowed Banks, how we pretended to be a couple because he repulsed you. Nice job, kid. Thanks for that. The movie is dead and so is your career.” He knew that he should shut up but he was so hurt, so angry, and he needed to hurt her, needed her to be in as much pain as he was. He just wished he was as angry at losing the funding as he was at the idea of Jaci sleeping with that slimy politician. Of losing Jaci to him.

Jaci just stood in the driveway and stared at him, her dark eyes filled with an emotion he couldn’t identify. “Are you crazy?” she whispered.

“Crazy for thinking you could be trusted.” Ryan tossed the statement over his shoulder as he yanked open the door to the car and climbed inside. “I should’ve run as hard and as fast as I could right after you kissed me. You’ve been nothing but a hassle. You’ve caused so much drama in my life I doubt I’ll ever dig myself out of it. You know, you’re right. You are the Brookes-Lyon screwup!”

Ryan watched as the poison-tipped words struck her soul, and he had to grab the steering wheel to keep from bailing out of the car and whisking her into his arms as she shrunk in on herself. He loved her, but he wanted to hurt her. He didn’t understand it and he wasn’t proud of it, but it was true. Because, unlike four years ago, this time he could fight back.

This time he could, verbally, punch and kick. He could retaliate and he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life resenting the fact that death had robbed him of his chance to confront those who’d hurt him. He could hurt back and it felt—dammit—good!

“Why are you acting like this? Yes, I told Clive about Banks, about New York, but I never thought that he would blab to the press! I thought that we were friends again, that we had come to an understanding last night.”