Infamous - Free To Read

Chapter One

Justine shrugged, so that the cool silk of her shirt hung artfully off one shoulder, and knocked on her mother’s door. Outside of her mother’s Manhattan brownstone, a tree with a small, wrought-iron fence shaded the stoop on which she stood.

Justine was even taller than her five-eight frame in the new heels she’d been sent yesterday. It still flabbergasted her when stores and designers gave her free clothes and accessories because she had a scandalous past.

She knocked again with more force. It wasn’t like Thea Montgomery to do a disappearing act for a week. They visited one another or spoke every day in the ordinary course of things. On the other hand, it was very much like her if something had gone wrong.

She sighed and pulled the key from her purse, foregoing another knock at the door. She had to meet her father soon, a subway ride away, but concern for her mother dwarfed everything else. “Mom?” she called out.

The kitchen, to her left, always warm and inviting, was empty. To her right, the blue parlor was piled high with empty boxes. On the table in the foyer, a stack of red envelopes overflowed from the crystal bowl where her mother stacked unread mail.

Justine clutched her leather purse tighter and raised an eyebrow at the envelopes, calling out again. “Mom! Thea! Hello?” She stopped to listen, tossing her long ebony hair back over her shoulder.

Sounds drifted down the stairs. Either her mother was hiding away up there, or she’d walked in on a burglary in progress. Confident that thieves didn’t bring their own boxes, she decided to head up to the second floor.

Her footsteps echoed on the hard-wood stairs. At the top, she cocked her head to listen. Soft, weeping came from the bedroom.

With caution, Justine pushed the door open, her heart hammering at the thought of something bad happening to her mother. Her voice faltered as she called out, “Mom?”

More boxes were piled by the closet and on either side of the bed. Sitting in a heap in the center of the big, fluffy, white bed sat her mother, whose five-foot-nothing frame quivered as she sniffled. “I mortgaged the house—and I can’t pay it.” Thea rubbed her hands together, though it didn’t make a sound; moisturizer was a way of life.

The memory of peanut butter cookies, the kind with the criss-crossed pattern on top, washed over Justine. At five years old, Justine’s father had sent the two of them packing, and they moved in here with her Nana. Even after moving out and buying her own apartment with Nana’s inheritance, this remained home. This would always be home for her. She couldn’t fathom the idea of not being able to return here when she was worn down from the world. Thea’s kohl black eyes, like Justine’s own, were red and watery.

“Nana’s house? Why would you do that?”

“Because I didn’t have any money.” Thea shook her head. With a deep sigh, she patted her hair down, an obvious sign of anxiety Justine remembered from when she was a kid and her mother would complain about her “nerves.” Thea went on, “I’m sorry, sweetpea. You deserve a better answer than that. I needed money, so I got a loan to start a business.”

Justine could relate with not being the nine-to-five type. She never held down a real job for long. She made a living auctioning off clothes she got for free after she wore them. That was mainly because no one wanted paparazzi hanging around their stores. Then again, Thea wasn’t the typical day-job sort, either.

But her mother had to have made some provisions, other than alimony and her inheritance until it all ran out, right? When Thea just gave her those sad, expertly lined eyes, Justine said, “Oh, my God. You don’t have any money left.”

“I messed up. I know you’re the daughter and I’m the mother and our roles are supposed to be reversed. But baby, I messed up and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” The words tumbled out so fast it took Justine a couple of seconds to process. She stepped over to the closet where piles of her mother’s clothing were folded in expert-fashion, storage written neatly on the boxes.

For a moment, the sight of all the cardboard overwhelmed her, and she remembered when they moved here. This house was a vital bit of sanity in her ridiculous, paparazzi-riddled life.

“I’m learning at the rather advanced age of fifty, that one must earn money.” Heart racing, Justine plopped down beside her mother while she gestured dramatically. Thea did everything with grace and a touch of drama. “Except I didn’t want to ask you or, God forbid, your father for any help. It was just gone before I realized.”

Justine pulled her phone from her back pocket and tried to remember her bank password. She’d written it down at home. “Okay, I have some money saved from selling my clothes and that ridiculous commercial I did.”

“Baby…”

“No, I can remember this. How much do you need?”

As she tried another password on her phone, Justine said, “Mom? How much?”

“Eight hundred thousand, give or take.”

The phone clattered to the floor as her fingers went numb. “Oh, crap.”

“Don’t curse.” Avoiding Justine’s gaze, Thea frowned at a spot on the floor. Her shoulder-length, light brown hair seemed to shiver as her mother shook.

Bile rose in her throat. How could she not curse at her mother for doing such a selfish, thoughtless thing? Her throat tightened; she couldn’t possibly make a dig when Thea was already torn up. An invisible weight pushed on her chest, and a coil grew tight around her middle. Little beads of sweat popped above her lip. Slowing down her breathing, Justine closed her eyes, and visualized a quiet beach. If she didn’t calm herself down, she’d have another panic attack.

When she opened her eyes, a tear plopped on Thea’s beautiful designer dress. “Crap,” Thea now whispered.

“What did you do with all the money?”

“I rented a space downtown months ago, so I’ve been paying for that. I hired a contractor to renovate, he did half the work, then disappeared. Now I can’t get another contractor to even look at the place. And I needed some things for the house. Plus, I had bills to pay here. And I may have done some shopping.”

“All right, let me think.” Justine squeezed her hands together in front of her face. There was one person who had that kind of money.

Justine yanked her pocketbook open with purpose to check that her contract was still nestled inside. “Okay, I know what to do.”

She was already nervous about visiting her father today. He was going to hate the new job she was about to take, but it was time for Justine to remind him that he no longer got a voice in her choices. Justine needed to say to him that she was an adult now, one who’d taken care of her financial needs and otherwise for ten years, in her own strange way. And unfortunately, she now had to ask him for money.

Thea paced the bedroom, fingers pressed against her forehead. “They sent me letters. Nice ones, at first. Dear Mrs. Montgomery, we haven’t received your payment. If our correspondence crossed in the mail, please forgive the intrusion. They started using red envelopes, and I realized they were serious.”

“Of course they were serious. It’s almost a million dollars.” Justine checked herself, swallowing down the anger gnawing at her, and patted the sheaf of papers she’d been looking for. “It’s fine. We’re not going to freak out.”

Thea twisted to glare at Justine. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“First things first,” she said. “I’m going to need coffee to deal with a crisis of this magnitude.”

“You need coffee when your favorite jeans are in the laundry.” Thea shook her head but led the way. “Come on, then.”

In the kitchen, Justine began to relax. She’d spent every spare moment in there with her grandmother, drinking coffee, discussing her day, learning to cook and clean up after herself. She let the silence hang between them as she drew herself closer to her grandmother’s presence. She could do this. If she could figure out a way to support herself using her humiliating claim to fame, she could accomplish anything.

Thea sat a mug of steaming, cream-laden coffee down in front of Justine then sat down opposite. “So? Now what?”

“I’m meeting with Daddy in half-an-hour to tell him about my new job. And apparently, to ask him for close to a million dollars so you don’t lose Nana’s home.”

Thea put her hands on either side of Justine’s face. “Oh, sweetpea. I’m so sorry.”

Her mother would only be more upset if Justine cried, so she struggled not to let the tears shine in her eyes. She took a sip of her favorite brew then put the mug down with shaking hands. “I’m sure Daddy will help.”

“He’s going to eat you alive.” Thea frowned, one single worry line furrowing her brow.

“I know how he is, but we don’t have a lot of options, and this is all I’ve got. So I have to do it. At least I have to try. It’s Nana’s house. It’s your home. I grew up here.” Justine paused, taking in the gleaming pots hanging from a rack, the old, cracked heirloom dishes displayed on shelves with pride. “This house is the last normal thing in my whole life. This house matters.”

For a long time, Thea just looked at her and said, “Baby, it’s just a thing. I understand it means a lot to you, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for putting a price tag on our home and then wasting the money. But you should focus on your job. That job is your future.”

Justine downed her coffee, picked up her purse, and stood, pretending to be more courageous than she was. “I have to go. I’ll come by and see you, tonight.”

****

Montgomery-Chase Productions loomed overhead. The building would’ve been intimidating if she hadn’t been visiting since before she could walk. Her heels echoed in the huge entrance hall. Walls burst with yellow and orange, brushed brass hugged the front panel of the reception desk. This room made it seem like she’d walked into the waiting room of the sun.

Outside her father’s office, her heels sank into the piled carpet as she approached his assistant’s desk. She handed Monique a Gucci scarf. “I just got this one, yesterday. I love the blues and the little feathers in the corner.”

Monique’s dimples deepened and she held the scarf between her hands, taking in the texture and color. “I shouldn’t take this.”

“Neither should I, but it’s free, right?”

“Free for you. For someone sitting in an office, behind a desk, wearing Jimmy Choos from three years ago, it’s like two hundred bucks.”

“You want some Choos? I got a pair a couple of weeks ago that are too small for me. You wear an eight, right?”

“Sometimes I think you’re the devil sent to tempt me, honey.”

Justine placed a hand over her heart. “The devil? I am an angel bearing gifts!”

Monique waved Justine toward her father’s office. “Straighten your halo and go on in then, angel.”

Justine looked at the door and gave herself a mental push. She needed to get this one thing over with, and after that, she could start over. Maybe she could save her mom’s home in the process. She’d lead with that, because she had a feeling he wasn’t going to be generous once she told him about the job.

Engrossed in his computer, Daniel Montgomery didn’t look up when she came in. His office hadn’t changed much; everything was steel, glass, and granite, the sterile-masculine school of design. He never redecorated, just added more awards to the pictures on the walls. He’d made some wildly successful television shows, some critics’ darlings, some trashy ratings bonanzas, and a few bombs.

Justine remembered being a small child, looking at those awards. This reminded her that she had never finished anything, not anything that mattered, and it was on this thought that she plopped down across from him in the black leather armchair with an audible sigh. Daniel held up a finger without looking at her, and she said, “Take your time.”

Sitting here, a little like an errant schoolgirl, she couldn’t stop her mind wandering. The sex tape had mattered a lot, it seemed then, because no one in the nation could stop bringing it up. Edited and sold online, it was available to anyone with an Internet connection. Of course, she’d been an accidental participant.

Justine waited, both willing him to hurry so she could get through this horrible moment and wishing she could put it off forever. How could she look so like him, her height, her fuller lips, her tendency to be round and soft rather than toned like her mom, all that, but they were so different?

Daniel glanced at his watch and said, “All right, baby. What can I do for you?”

“When I called to make this appointment, I had something important to discuss with you. I still do, but…the thing is, now I also need a favor.”

“You never ask me for favors. What’s this about?

“I need money right away, quite a bit of it.” She hated doing this. It went against everything in her, everything that she’d struggled for, to ask him for something.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No, Mom’s in trouble.”

He clasped his hands together in front of him and pursed his lips. “I should’ve known. Why is that your problem?”

“Because she’s my mom. She mortgaged Nana’s house.” The tears pricked at her eyes again, and she fought it off. Like with her mother, crying was inadvisable. Except, with her father, showing weakness wasn’t just inadvisable, it was a mistake. It would be cataloged to capitalize on later.

But then, sympathy spread across his face. His one redeeming quality, the one reason she’d never been able to shut him out of her life completely, he loved her. Too much, maybe, and in ways that hurt sometimes, but he loved her. He started to say something, spoke her name, then his voice trailed off. “How much?”

“It’s…something like eight hundred thousand.”

“What do you mean it’s ‘like’ eight hundred thousand?”

“I mean it’s more than eight hundred thousand but probably less than nine hundred thousand. I don’t know what kind of fees she’s looking at. She didn’t give me the letter.”

“Hmph. She came and dumped this in your lap?”

“Daddy, it wasn’t like that. I stumbled on her crying at home. She was embarrassed.”

“She should be.”

“I’m not getting into this with you. You’re going to start trashing her, I’ll get defensive, and then you’ll get angry with me for taking her side. Just think about it. It’s not a lot of money to you. That’s all I can say about it.”

Pleading with him wouldn’t help. The more important it was to her, the higher the probability he would see it as an opportunity to somehow manipulate her. Justine took the contract from her purse, unsure of how to continue. Her mother had knocked her off her game plan, and now she was at a disadvantage. Thea sure had bad timing.

“What did you make an appointment to discuss, then?”

“You know that network, Tattle TV?”

“Trash TV, that’s what it should be called.”

“Sure.” Well, she was in it now, might as well forge on. It’s not like she was going to find a way to say it that he would be okay with. “Anyway, they’re interested in me.”

His eyes narrowed, and she could’ve sworn his hands clasped together until the knuckles whitened. “Go on.”

“They want to hire me. Like a special correspondent thing.” She spread the contract on her lap; the thick sheaf of papers crinkled. “I thought you could look the contract over for me before I signed it.”

He sputtered at her and at last managed to get out, “Before you sign it? Is this a joke?”

“No.”

This was going about as well as she’d expected. A flush started at his neck and crept up his face. His nose and cheeks turned crimson. “Daddy, listen to me. Really listen, not the pretend listening you usually do. This job…well, it’s not what I’ve always wanted, but it’s close. It’s a start.”

Her father held his hand out for the contract. When she handed it over, he dropped it on his desk like it was a piece of garbage. “You can’t do this show. Forget about that contract. They will make a joke of you.”

Justine looked him in the eyes and steeled herself. Since she had left Travis and gone away to college, she’d been standing up to her father and accepting that she would never be the son he wanted or the docile daughter he’d settle for. At some point, it would stop hurting. Maybe. “I’m taking the job. You’re my father and I knew you wouldn’t be happy, so I wanted to tell you, face-to-face. But it’s not up to you.”

She’d said it. Declaration of independence delivered once again. Maybe this was going to be the last time. It was possible he’d toss her out of his life for good this time. He’d given her every reason to believe he wouldn’t accept her decision.

Her father frowned at the contract. He spoke softly. “You’ll humiliate yourself.”

“And you.” Justine tilted her head to study him and responded in the same soft tone. “Let’s focus on what matters here.”

“This is the life you chose, remember? That damned video came out. Did you go into hiding, let it pass? No.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong! Why should I be ashamed? People have sex every day. It’s not my fault someone invaded my privacy and videotaped it. My crime was not closing the blinds first.”

“Oh, yes, Justine. Having sex with your driver was stellar judgment.”

“You were the one who refused to let me learn how to drive. You were the one who insisted I needed a driver. You were also the one who was paying him to spy on me. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have entered into a relationship with him. It was a relationship, not some random hook-up. A relationship, which involved sex that someone else taped. Does that cover all the points we’re going to hit in this argument? Because I’m pretty sure it’s been done a couple hundred times.”

He squared his shoulders, and they stared at one another, nothing left to say, for a long time. “There’s something you should know as well, then.”

“What? You’ll disinherit me? I don’t want your money, I never have.”

Daniel stood, looked around with a little uncertainty, and then went to pour himself a drink. The ice clinked in the glass. “JD knew his heart was bad,” he began. “And that neither of our children were ready to step up to the plate. He made me a deal using ten percent of his interest in this company when he died. In exchange, I put ten percent of my interest on the table, too.”

“That part, the ten percent part, I was aware of.” What could his dead partner have to do with this conversation? She didn’t turn to him, studying the skyline out his windows and trying to take deep breaths to calm herself.

“But you don’t know that he made me promise to let Travis continue on, learning the business. And if you never grew up, never proved yourself… Then Travis gets his father’s ten percent and ten percent of mine. The other forty will, of course, be divided between you and your mother.”

“JD was a bastard.”

“That video, Justine, and the tabloids after. You’ve allowed yourself to be portrayed as some kind of ridiculous, spoiled, wild-child. You can’t blame him for wanting to protect the company.”

“No, I blame you.” Justine twisted to look at him. “You would give everything you worked for to Travis instead of your only child who has wanted nothing more her entire life than to work here.”

“Don’t start talking about yourself in the third person. I’m not finished.” Over the rim of his glass, he eyed her. A flash of amusement replaced the flush of anger. “I can’t say I’m impressed with the way you’ve lived your life, but I’ve noted your adaptability and knack for turning a bad situation to profit.”

All she’d ever wanted, as long as she could remember, was to work for her father. When other little girls played house, she’d played the boss at the kitchen table, barking orders into her pink play phone. “Every time I think I have cut away everything you could use to hurt me, you find new ways.”

“I’ve come to realize I pushed you far too hard to do what I wanted. I wanted you settled down. I hate you living in that apartment, by yourself.”

She licked her lips, her throat thick and full of sand. “Say it.”

“Married, happy, safe. I wanted you to live happily ever after.”

“Happily ever after is for the movies.” Hot tears fought to break free, again, and she screwed up her face to make them stop. After her parents’ marriage imploded, the way they still sniped at each other, the way her father collected wives; she’d made a decision a long time ago that marriage was not for her. But she couldn’t say any of that. Instead, she asked, “That’s still the one thing you want for me?”

“Travis loves you.”

“Okay, that’s not ever going to happen.” Justine snatched her purse from the floor, stuffing the contract back inside. “I’m taking the Tattle TV job, and I guess Mom will have to live with me and then you can be happy because I won’t be alone. And I don’t care what you think about it, because you’re not the boss of me.” She’d said that, out loud, because he’d made her feel ten again. “I don’t know who you want me to be. But I know I hate the person I become when I’m with you. Goodbye, Daddy.”

“Wait.” Daniel plunked his glass down on the bar and crossed the room, taking her arm, stopping her before she could do more than stand up. “Hear me out. You obviously have no intention of settling down.”

“I have no intention of ever getting married. All I’ve seen of marriage is that it’s poisonous and frivolous.”

“I want you to work for me.”

“Since when?” Justine took a step back from him. “Here it comes, let’s make a deal and sell your soul, Montgomery style.”

“I’ve never been more serious. I want you working, here, in this company.” Daniel marched back behind his desk and began shuffling through the papers at a frantic pace.

“This is a way to keep me from taking the job, to tuck me away, out of sight, until I have no prospects.”

“No, this is on the level.” Daniel held up a finger to make his point. “If you can prove yourself, the sixty percent is yours. The company is yours.”

Her breath caught in her throat at his words. She’d never wanted anything but this. “What kind of job?”

Daniel pushed at his sleeves, except they were buttoned at the wrist, so they didn’t move. With a glint in his eye, he settled at his desk. He gestured at the chair, indicating that she should sit as well. “Are we negotiating?”

A thousand butterflies dive-bombed her stomach at once. She’d grown up in the television industry, watching her father’s every move, waiting for her chance.

“I think we are.” Justine lowered herself to the edge of the seat.

“Fine. It’s for a co-producer job. I’ll match the salary and pay the mortgage. You must follow this through, from start to finish, no quitting, no ‘this isn’t fair,’ no changing your mind. You must commit.”

Her eyes narrowed, because this was beginning to sound like a bet. “And if I don’t?”

“Well, it’s not like I can make you marry Travis. Not even I can do that. I guess you continue on your path, wherever it’s going. But if you don’t do this, don’t show me that you can learn what needs done, without quitting when things get hard, then I will give my entire holding in this company to Travis. I can’t give you my life’s work if you can’t prove yourself. I won’t. Maybe when I die, he’ll give you a job. This is the only way I’m going to believe you have what it takes.”

“Are you saying that if I walk out of here without accepting this job, I leave with less than I came in with? Because, a little bit ago you told me your will said I got twenty percent.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Justine struggled to wrap her mind around it, tapping her fist against her lips. The leather armchair creaked as she shifted. “Co-producer. With someone who could teach me?”

“Here.” Daniel pushed the papers aside and gestured at his calendar. “I have a new talk show. The producer will be here any minute. You’ll work with him.”

“I need to think about this.” So much was going through her head right now. She wanted it, she’d always wanted it. But at what cost?

“Let me sweeten the pot. Try it for a week. If it doesn’t set you on fire, walk away. Either way, I’ll pay off the mortgage.”

“So, if I give it a week, Mom’s house gets paid off? But I’m still out of the will.”

“Please stop trying to paint me as the villain. I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re blackmailing me, Daddy.” She could barely comprehend what he was saying to her. Was he offering her the opportunity to prove herself? Or setting her up to fall under his control, once and for all? She’d cut him out for so long. She didn’t know how to move, except she could tell that a misstep might cost her. She repeated, “I need to think about this.”

“If you don’t do this, you’re out of the equation. Let me know by tomorrow.”

A brief knock interrupted them and a man strolled in.

“Am I early?” He looked between the two of them and it was time for her to grow up. Because even now, with her parents ripping her apart with their needs and demands, she couldn’t help but notice his unnatural good looks and lagoon-green eyes. Then there was the long blond hair and the stubble shadowing his chin.

She must harbor some deep self-hatred, choosing this moment to find a man this overwhelmingly attractive. Or maybe it was a coping mechanism.

Her father shook the man’s hand, offered him an easy smile. “This is my daughter, Justine. Justine, Sawyer. He’s one of my producers.”

“He’s the talk show guy, isn’t he?” She didn’t even need to ask. Sometimes, life liked to play jokes on her. This was like a big cosmic ‘Kick Me’ sign on her back.

“Tell her about your new project.” Daniel grinned at new-hot-guy with encouragement.

“Don’t bother.” She headed for the door, disgusted with her father and herself.

Daniel called after her, “I’ll need something by tomorrow. Think it over.”

“Whatever.”

Justine waved at Monique, too depressed to stay and chat this time. Damn her father. Right when she’d figured out what she wanted to be when she grew up, he took a wind machine to her house of cards.

****

Justine Montgomery, infamous daughter of his boss, wriggled her way out of the office. Where had she learned to walk like that?

It wasn’t until the door slammed behind her that he realized he’d been staring after her like somebody who’d been in prison a long time.

Silence stretched before Sawyer broke it with a cough. “Your daughter…she’s charming.”

“Very diplomatic.” Daniel sighed and threw up his hands. “She can be. On this occasion, she wasn’t. I apologize.”

Sawyer had no clue how to respond to that, so he ignored it. That wasn’t why he was here, anyway. “So, you wanted to discuss the show?”

Daniel glanced at him, but then stared past Sawyer’s shoulder. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“Yeah, sure.” How bad could it be?

“If I can convince her, my daughter will be working with you on this one.”

Sawyer slipped on a neutral expression. He hadn’t needed anyone holding his hand for a long time. “Work with me how? Like an internship?”

“As your co-producer.” He could imagine Daniel’s face looking that way if he told Sawyer his dog had died. Obviously, this wasn’t good news.

“I’m lost. Does she work here?”

Daniel turned off the humanity like a switch, his face turning to stone. “This show might not make it. My daughter is inexperienced, and she’s flighty. I give her a month.”

“A month for what?”

“Until she quits. She never finishes anything. If I’m right about that, you should be able to course-correct production.” He motioned for Sawyer to sit down. “Gray is retiring. Good Night Live will need a new executive producer. That will be you, if you can help me out on this.”

“Uh…okay. I can do that.” The first rule he’d learned, working here was never refuse Daniel Montgomery. He tells you he wants the moon moved a little closer to Earth, you’d better find a lasso and start twirling.

“Great.” Daniel stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. “We’ll talk tomorrow afternoon, firm up the details.” He’d already dismissed Sawyer, flipping through a folder on his desk. “Get with Monique about a time,” he said without looking up.

“You did offer me a promotion, right?”

“I need someone I can trust to not take advantage of my daughter, to watch out for her, without doing the job for her. That’s key, if she’s going to fall on her face, let her fall. If you can do all of that, then yes, I’m offering you a promotion.”

“I can do all of that.”

“I knew you could.” Daniel went back to ignoring him. Sawyer paused by the door. “What if she doesn’t quit and the show fails?”

Glancing up, Daniel gave a grin. “I’m betting it won’t play out that way, I suppose. Either way, it’s my company.”

He let himself out and walked right past Monique, down four floors to his own office, and flopped into his chair. “What the hell was that?” he asked no one in particular. “What. The. Hell?”

He couldn’t get Daniel’s request, and that walk, out of his head. He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to do. Entertain her? Engage her in slave labor? And if she were just going to be around for a month, how much damage could she do?

****

Hours later, Sawyer balled up the document he’d printed out and tossed it at the trash where it landed on the floor next to a dozen others. From the open door, his assistant, a perpetual smart ass too damned good to fire, cleared her throat. “Uh, Sawyer?”

“Yeah.”

“HR is on the phone. There’s an office open down the hall from Mr. Montgomery, they want to know if you want to put ‘Miss Montgomery’ there?”

Sawyer pushed back from his desk, the wheels spinning on the hardwood floor. “Hell no. She is not getting a better office than me. No.”

Her eyebrows darted toward her hairline. “So? Where will she go?”

He stood up, tugging on his jacket. The best approach to any new situation was to make it clear who called the shots. “You tell them to find the smallest desk in this building and the most uncomfortable chair, carry it up here, and put it in the corner. And that is where Miss Montgomery will be working. Got it?”

Veronica’s quirk of her lips on the right told Sawyer she knew something was, in all likelihood, going to be ugly but fun. “I got it.”

Any other day, he’d stay at the office hours after everyone else left. He didn’t have anyone to hurry home to, no other commitments. So, he worked. And then he worked more.

But tonight he cut out an hour before anyone else and headed to Crazy Joe’s in Queens. Defying common sense, he whipped onto the off ramp from the highway and instructed his car to dial his friend, Larry.

It rang seven times before he answered. “If you’re not calling to give me Pulitzer material, go to hell.”

“If I were calling with Pulitzer material, I’d hang up and call someone else.”

Larry let out a dramatic, long sigh. “What is it?”

“Meet me at Joe’s.” Sawyer whipped around a car moving too slow for his taste.

“Yeah, fine. I’ll be there in ten.”

He downshifted as he hit the tangle of traffic, mind still focused on work.

Inside Joe’s, Sawyer squinted through the smoke floating like a heavy fog from the back. This was his place. Mean drunks spoiling for fights and guys who came to forget their jobs and wives for a few intoxicating hours. Women who didn’t care if he never called or didn’t remember their birthdays. People who wouldn’t give a damn about his past if they cared to know, which they didn’t.

He spotted Larry, who looked like a reporter from a comic book; fedora covering his gleaming head, bright shirts, and bizarre tie. On the rare occasion he took his hat off, the intelligence in his eyes gave him away. This guy used stereotypes to distract from the fact that he processed every detail.

Sawyer leaned over the counter to order scotch and took the bottle with him to the table, a finger slipped into both whiskey glasses. He sat, poured, and took a deep drink. The alcohol trailed fire all the way down. “I’m glad you decided not to weasel out tonight. Thirty-year-old scotch. Good stuff.”

Larry glared at him for a minute then poured himself a glass. “I don’t know why you always want to come here. The tables are sticky, the women are trashy, and my lungs are shriveling up by the second.”

“Don’t be such a girl.”

“A desire to breathe is not girly.” Larry poured another shot of scotch and downed it. “What’s up?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“You never call unless something is up.”

“I don’t do that. Ass.”

Larry grinned and jerked his head to something behind Sawyer. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

“Don’t have a girlfriend.” Still, he had an idea who Larry meant, and he turned to smile at Stephanie.

She grinned back at him, and he appreciated how genuine and straightforward she was. Even her hair, long and wavy, was easy and uncomplicated.

Sawyer turned his attention back to Larry. There were too many distractions tonight. “Daniel wants me to work with his daughter, and she may ruin my show. But that’s okay because I’ll get the mother of promotions when she does.” He leveled a finger at him. “You know this is me and you, this isn’t for your notebook.”

“Okay, first of all, everything goes in the notebook. You know that. Second? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Larry was his only friend, but Sawyer wasn’t taking any chances. He protected his ass, at all costs.

Larry cleared his throat. “Justine Montgomery, most notably remembered for starring in amateur porn.”

“Right.” Sawyer stared at his empty glass and wondered, again, what the hell had happened.

“Is she hot? In person?”

Sawyer nodded with a grunt. She was for sure hot in person.

Larry tilted his head, looked around to make sure no one could listen, and leaned forward. “When you look at her, I mean, is it weird? Like flashes of the video, weird?”

“I never watched it.”

Larry looked at him like Sawyer had just said he was a virgin. “You never watched it? How did that happen?”

“Some people don’t spend their spare time alone downloading porn”

“I wasn’t alone. My ex-wife thought she was cute.”

Sawyer pulled a face and tried to block out images of Larry’s ex-wife, Annette, enjoying Justine Montgomery porn. “Jesus, Larry. That was information I didn’t ever need to know. I have to work with this woman.”

“That’s what I’m saying. So, would you…” Larry wiggled his eyebrows like fuzzy worms on crack, “you know, if she were interested?”

“You don’t shit where you eat.” Sawyer poured himself another glass, took another sip, and exhaled in a whoosh.

“You don’t what?”

“Forgetting that you’re begging for a sexual harassment lawsuit, let’s pretend you’re not opening up that can of worms and dumping it on your plate for dinner, that’s messy. You lose your ability to walk away clean.”

“Shit where you eat.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the most twisted way I’ve ever heard anyone refer to sex. You’re sad, Sawyer. Sad and scary.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t marry Annette.”

Larry shrugged in agreement, and they drank in silence for a while. Sawyer wished he’d kept the whole damn thing to himself. This line of thought just made the situation worse. Not that he even understood the situation. There was no way Daniel expected her to walk in off the street and do the job. There was too damn much to cover. And he hadn’t told Sawyer to teach her; the opposite, actually.

“I didn’t download it.” Larry frowned over his glass. “I covered the story. I had a copy.”

“If this story involves Annette, I’m leaving.”

Larry waved the topic of his ex away. “Everybody thought the boyfriend in the video did it. But he didn’t. I traced it back to the bank account of some dummy corp. It wasn’t the boyfriend. He didn’t have that kind of money. He only came into some after they split. Not that kind of money, though.”

“Huh.” Sawyer drained his glass and stood up, deciding to sneak out while Stephanie tried to handle a table of eight drunken men. He dropped a handful of bills on the table. “I got work. See ya.”

Larry waved a hand at him as he left and poured himself another finger of whiskey.

Sawyer made his way home, thinking about Justine Montgomery as he went through the motions of driving. Turn, signal, pass, pay the toll. Who was this woman?

At his house in a residential area of Queens, Sawyer kicked around and made himself a sandwich. His immaculate, tastefully furnished house bored the shit out of him. Buying a house was just his latest attempt at finding what “home” was supposed to look like. This incarnation didn’t seem any better than the others he’d tried.

He drifted to the laptop. Sawyer typed her name in and clicked search.

Jack, his dog, chewed on his pant leg. Now the dog was judging him. “Go play, Jack.”

The computer showed 4.5 million results. Nice. Couple of pictures. Wikipedia entry. Sawyer read the Wikipedia entry and wondered if she might possibly be the one person more screwed up than he was.

And then there it was.

Justine Montgomery Sex Video XXX!

He opened it up, sat down at the desk, and took a bite of his sandwich while it loaded. The first thing he noticed was the green haze from being filmed in night vision. He laughed to himself, because there’s nothing sexier than a woman who looks like she spent a week in a nuclear reactor.

Sawyer could make out the couple murmuring to one another. They were in a bedroom, and the camera zoomed in on their upper bodies, the picture a little grainy then, as the guy pressed himself against her and whispered in her ear.

She tilted her head and smiled up at him. That was not the smile of someone taping a sex video. Someone watching you have sex would make you vulnerable. Someone watching you make goo-goo eyes as foreplay? That was bare-naked vulnerable. The camera zoomed in to catch her face, and he realized the only way it could zoom like that was if someone were operating it. So, if the boyfriend had made the tape, he’d had an accomplice.

Sawyer paused the video, catching the close up, the smile, the look. She looked younger than she did now. Her face hadn’t filled out, and her curls overwhelmed her smaller frame.

Sawyer scratched his head, staring at the still frame. He’d been a year younger than the girl in this video when he’d changed his name to put his past behind him. How did she live with her past exploding in her face like this? And not only this, when she opened her mail now it was cover story copy.

He tried to ignore the strange tug in his gut and pushed the play button. The video drew back as she crossed her arms in front of her and lifted her shirt. Sawyer caught a glimpse of her stomach and smacked the mouse to stop the video. It captured her, preparing to bare herself, and a twinge of sympathy fluttered through him.

How would that have felt, when it came out? Knowing anyone with a computer could watch you at your most private moment, that people were seeing you naked. And believing someone you’d loved had been the one to show it around for money.

Sawyer exited out of the browser and shut the laptop. He’d never be able to look her in the eyes tomorrow if he watched that video. How did she get through the day, normal things like buying a gallon of milk, knowing half the people in the store had seen her nude, having sex? What kind of courage did that take?

Sawyer brushed at the crumbs on the desk. He couldn’t afford to feel bad for her. She might not be all that gutsy anyway.

He had to get her off this project. She was too distracting. If he could make her miserable enough to quit, then she’d be out of his way. He’d have his dream job. Daniel would be happy, wouldn’t he? Proof for her that she didn’t belong there was what he seemed to expect. Sawyer could prove that in a week if he tried. He had the son-of-a-bitch routine down cold.