Page 4 of Her Nightshade

Without wasting a second, I pulled out my phone and called my assistant. He answered immediately.

“Reese. I need you to find out how to contact Ana Martin, or Ana Del Rosario. The former First Lady,” I said as I stood and made my way towards the bar.

“Uhhh,” he began, clearly puzzled. “Any particular reason why?” he asked curiously.

Reese was one of my best friends, so he never hesitated to question me, and I didn’t mind.

“I just met her at the gala. Holy fuck, Reese. She’s even more stunning in person. She told me if I could figure out how to contact her, she’d let me buy her a drink,” I explained in one quick breath.

He laughed on the other end. “You know she’s way out of your league, Charlie. She’s fucking classy.Tooclassy for you,” he teased.

I smiled as I ordered a whiskey, turning around to scan the room while I waited, still hoping she might come back and change her mind.

“Yeah, I know. That just makes me want her even more,” I said.

“You poor fucker. Alright, I’ll get her contact information,” Reese replied with a laugh. “Hey, isn’t her daughter dating Callan Holt?”

Oh, shit. Yes. Fuck yes. Callan moved to the west coast and started helping with security whenever I had press or appearances out there.

“I’m calling him now,” I said, then quickly hung up.

The night was still young, and with my luck, I’d be having that drink with her by tonight.

I scrolled through my contacts and dialed Callan.

3

Ana

Icouldn’t shake the thought of Charlie the entire way home. Even as I slipped out of my Versace dress and into a pair of comfortable pajamas, the image of his green eyes locked on mine lingered, searing itself into my mind.

Then my phone started vibrating on the dresser. It had to be either my mother, Sloane, or one of the few friends I still had. But when I glanced at the screen, a local number I didn’t recognize flashed. I stared at it, letting it buzz again and again.I’m not answering for a stranger. It went to voicemail and I grabbed it, heading to the living room to find something to binge-watch for the night.

Before I could even turn on the TV, the phone buzzed again—this time, a text. My stomach dropped the second I read it.

Found you. Someone owes me a drink. My place or yours?

How did he get my number so fast? I should’ve known—famous people always got what they wanted. And it wasn’t lost on me that I was one of them.

Before I could even think about replying, the phone buzzed again. This time, it was Sloane calling.

“Hola, pequeña. ¿Qué estás haciendo?” I answered with a smile.

“So,” she began without a greeting. “Guess who just called Callan, asking for your number?”

I rolled my eyes. That sneakycabrón.

“Let me guess: Charlie Ashford?” I replied lightly.

She immediately laughed. “Mom. What did you do to him?”

I scoffed playfully. “I did nothing! He threw himself at me. He can’t be much older than you. It was ridiculous,” I said, laughing along.

“He’s twenty-eight, Mom. Only twelve years younger than you. Totally in the appropriate age range to date,” she said bluntly.

I tsked. “Says the girl who’s engaged to a man twenty years older than her,” I teased.

She laughed. “Don’t break his heart, Mom. He’s like, known for being a sensitive, hopeless romantic.”

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