Page 69 of Forbidden Desires

She sucks in a labored breath, and I do the same. The air is charged with tension. She stands, smoothing out her skirt, and I follow her lead. “This is Gisele Kelley, and we need just a moment of your time to straighten out a mix-up.” Her words are clipped and cold, and while there is some eye contact, it’s that same death stare I saw in the lobby. She really hates this guy.

Remembering my manners, I hold out my hand and plaster on my best showstopping smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Prescott,” I offer, hoping to ease some of the friction.

He smiles warmly, his handshake firm. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Kelley. I hear you're quite the celebrity, come straight to our little town from the Big Apple.” He keeps his hand in mine while he takes me in. He has a commanding presence, a kind of cockiness about him that tells you the world falls at his feet, but I don’t immediately hate him like I thought I might. He’s charming.

I can feel Emerson's anger radiating off her, so I slip my hand from his. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m just a regular girl, trying to live my life.”

“Are you going to show us in? I don’t have all day,” Emerson snaps, glaring at him in disgust. She must be immune to his magnetism.

“Miss Alexander, it’s always such a pleasure.” He stands back so we can pass him and take a seat in his office. He closes the door. I think he’s going to take a seat but instead he leans against his desk. Folding one arm over the other, he studies us. And the way he looks at Emerson—holy fuck.

I feel like the third wheel in some sort of messed-up fantasy where you don’t know if the heroine will fuck or kill the leading man. At this point I think it’s kill, but he definitely wants to fuck her. I clear my throat so they both remember I’m sitting right here.

He cocks a brow. “I take it this isn’t a friendly visit.”

She shoves the folder she brought toward him. “Since your paper seems to be so obsessed with writing articles about my family business and its employees, I have a new one for you.” He takes the folder from her hand, and she falters momentarily. Her confidence slipping.

“What Emerson is trying to say…” I take over for her, and his attention returns to me. “Is that your paper has said some not very nice things about me and my boyfriend this week. And I, for one, don’t appreciate it. I also don’t feel I deserve it. From the moment I moved here I have fallen in love with this sweet town and its people. I want it to be my home, but I just don’t see how I can stay knowing this type of trash is being spat out about me. It’s quite devastating. I know you’re a reasonable man, and I also know you weren’t the one who wrote the article. So Emerson and I are here to ask if you could possibly do a follow-up story that is the correct version.” I keep my composure, trying to keep things light and pleasant, hoping I can appeal to his sense of decency.

His assessing gaze meets mine, and I can see him thinking over my request. He runs a hand over his sharp jawline. “Are you saying my journalist didn’t check her facts before publishing this story?”

“What we’re saying is your journalist is full of shit and wants nothing more than to destroy my family,” Emerson snaps back, full of venom.

I smile at her, trying to tell her to keep it kind. “The story simply wasn’t true, Mr. Prescott. I didn’t meet Mr. Alexander when I came to this town. We met back in New York, and that’s when our story started. He is also not my boss at all. That is Emerson’s job title. So, you can see how some of the information published is misleading.” I try to backtrack, hoping to stay on his good side and appeal to his better nature. “Brody is not his father, and he shouldn’t be punished for his crimes. You and Brody share a lot in common, as both of you have taken overfamily businesses from your fathers. I'm sure you would prefer to establish your reputation based on your own merits, rather than that of your father’s. Shouldn't Brody be entitled to the same?”

His rehearsed demeanor falters as soon as I bring up the last part. He didn’t expect me to know they have a history, and right now, he’s wondering exactly how much I know about his family and the Alexanders. I know it all, buddy. Your mother played her part as well as their father did. And right now, the only ones being punished are the Alexander children.

Emerson glances my way and nods, seeming to find herself. “We want to tell a story of truth about our new coordinator. Gisele has collected testimonials from some brides she has worked with, and I’ve had Brody write you a statement addressing his relationship status. Gisele is also happy to talk with your journalist and tell her side of the story. You know this story went too far.” She glares at him, her temper simmering dangerously close to boiling point. “Fix it.”

He looks us both over, scratching his fingers through his stubble. “I could have one of my journalists put that together for you.” His eyes fix on Emerson. “But it’s going to cost you something.”

“What?” she snips, but I see her armor faltering. This guy really rattles her.

A cheeky smile breaks onto his face, dimples and all. He moves, crossing the room to stand in front of her, his eyes locked with hers. “A date with me.” He beams.

Abruptly she stands from her chair, outraged. The chair flies back, falling to the carpeted floor. “You must be kidding me. I wouldn’t go on a date with you if you were the last man on earth.” Her hands go to her hips, and she stares him down, angrier than I have ever seen her.

“Then you don’t get your article,” he singsongs, like he could care either way and is having way too much fun at Emerson's expense.

If I thought the tension was bad in here before, now it’s so uncomfortable. I want to just disappear through the door. I’m sure neither of them would even notice me do it.

“Come on, Hamilton. You owe me, you know you do,” she pleads with him. Silence hangs heavy as neither of them gives in.

And something inside of me snaps. I’ve had about enough of their staring contest, and I’m sick of being nice. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but the way I see it you have two choices, Mr. Prescott.” I can’t leave here until this problem is fixed, so I know I need to sort it out. “You either help us and get the journalists who wrote the story to retract it and re-write it correctly, or Brody and I sue you for slander.”

Hamilton looks impressed, and I can see why he pisses off the Alexanders so much. He’s a cocky asshole. Rich and entitled, he reminds me of my father, and the only way to get what you want with him is to be strong and direct. “I can see what Brody sees in you, Gisele, so feisty. You would have to be to put up with him. Okay, ladies, I’ll play. Go down to the fourth floor and ask for Sophie Hilliar. She can help you.”

“What about the woman who wrote the article? Annabelle Grace Turner,” I ask, confused.

He smirks. “She’s a freelance writer. I’ve never met her personally, and she most certainly doesn’t write the stories she’s told to.”

Emerson’s lip curls. “So what you're saying is you don’t even know who this bitch is who writes these gossip stories about my family.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Either way, you’re not privy to that information. Miss Turner likes to keep her identity hidden for good reason.”

“Because she’s making up lies to destroy people's lives,” Emerson snaps.

Hamilton's lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Because she’s not afraid to push the boundaries and report on stories others wouldn’t touch.”

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