Page 17 of Lucas

What other excuse will I have for abandoning my assignment, and sneaking away from the party to have sex with…I swallow hard…Lucas fucking Hammer? I drop my head in shame. God help me, I have to tell the truth.

They’ll be shocked. Annoyed, maybe. But I can handle that. I admit, Lucas is the kind of guy we’ve mock at Rubberneckers, but there’s no conflict of interest—we haven’t profiled him or his company, he isn’t a “target” of investigation, not really. It’s conceivable Daylight Holdings is one hundred percent above board, though that may take a little more evidence to convince even me. Wall Street is a swarming nest of snakes I know; some are just more venomous than others.

I’m still working on the wording of my confession as I slide into the cab. After throwing me a knowing smirk, the driver begins to weave through rush hour traffic. Just as I check my cell for the time, it rings, startling me with its pitch. Marnie. I compose myself and answer.

Her voice ricochets through the phone like a shotgun blast. “You will never fucking believe this!”

I pull the receiver away from my ear. “Turn it down a notch, Mar. My ears are still buzzing from the party.”

She harrumphs. “Expect them to be ringing all day then, because we just made Page 6 of the Times again with a whopper of a story about the lawsuit.”

My stomach clenches. “What’s the angle this time?”

It’s been months since the subpoena arrived, along with Mark Newcastle’s accusations that our five-part expose of his company’s shady business practices was libelous, costing him millions of dollars. It’s bullshit, but against the high-powered Wall Street banker, we’ve got no leverage. Even if ethics didn’t demand that we protect our sources, I’d never out the intrepid reporter who dug up the dirt.

And the worst part is that Newcastle has himself some kind of angel investor, an unknown company that blindly champions his cause. Battling the devil you know is one thing, but to go up against a faceless Goliath is something entirely different. The writing’s on the wall, we’re doomed.

“That snake of a reporter from the Times—Buck Andrews—unearthed the names of the assholes bankrolling Newcastle’s vendetta against us,” Marnie says, and then spits out a curse. “Are you sitting down?”

The taxi pulls up to my apartment. I signal the driver to wait, which he acknowledges by rolling his eyes with impatience.

“Ass planted,” I say.

I can’t imagine why it matters. We’re clearly no match for whoever is fronting the cash to bury us in endless lawsuits. Money may not buy happiness, but influence is another thing altogether.

“It’s none other than Daylight Holdings,” Marnie says, smugly, bitterly, completely oblivious to the fact that she has just ripped the floor out from under my feet.

Lucas Hammer’s company.

My chest hollows out, as if someone has reached through my skin, rattled loose my rib cage, and plucked my still-beating heart from my nimble body. My lips part in a soft gasp. Marnie barrels on, her pitch sharpening as anger takes control over her voice. “Those bastards are backing the lawsuit against us, Eden. Can you fucking believe it? What did we ever do to them?”

My throat fills with bile. No. This has got to be a mistake. Tiny cracks fissure around my heart, bringing with them stinging pin pricks of pain. A thousand needles jab at my chest. I am a voodoo doll, going limp with defeat.

“You’re sure Andrews didn’t make this up?” I’m grasping, but I can’t—won’t—believe what she’s saying. It just doesn’t make sense. “Because I saw him last night and he was his usual dick self but he didn’t mention—”

Marnie cuts me off. “He’s a rat, but his sources check out.”

Damn it. A flush of anger rushes through me. Another fucking secret. How could Lucas have kept this from me, after everything we talked about? One lie by omission I can forgive, but this? Impossible.

I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the emotions that threaten to bust through my resolve. It’s over. Whatever I thought Lucas and I had, it has to end. For real this time. “I’m on my way in to the office, Mar. We’ll come up with a game plan, okay?”

“There’s no point,” she says, with a heavy sigh. “We’re fucked.”

My cell vibrates, alerting me to an incoming text. “Marnie, I gotta go. See you soon, okay?”

I cut the call short and glance down at my messages. Lucas’s name swims onto the screen and my ridiculous stomach flips end over end. Why can’t I control my responses to him?

Have dinner with me tonight?

My heavy breath seeps out through my teeth. With only a brief hesitation, I hit the delete button, erasing not only the message, but everything to do with Lucas Hammer.

Chapter 9

The blurred text on my computer screen strings together to form one ridiculous, incomprehensive paragraph. I’ve been chipping away at this piece for more than an hour, but it’s like my satirical wit has gone MIA. It’s tough to muster snark when all I want to do is cry.

I tuck my legs up under my buttocks, and shift the laptop to take some of the heat off my bare thighs. Every few minutes, I cast a longing glance at my cell, at once willing it to ring, while begging it to stay silent.

Any hope I have of forgetting Lucas Hammer hinges on him not making contact. No phone calls or texts. No chance meetings. I shouldn’t be thinking of him—I am. Shouldn’t want him—I do.