Page 105 of Babies for the Big Shot
“I thought if I told you, you’d run.”
Ididrun.
I left her there, wrapped in that blanket of heartbreak, and I didn’t look back.
Not because I don’t care.
Because I care too goddamn much, and I couldn’t breathe.
And now? Now she’s not here. The walls are closing in, the air thick with something I can’t name but I can definitely feel. It’s crawling under my skin, a quiet pressure building.
I’m halfway to sitting when…
“Shit!” I bark, whipping around.
Jonah’s standing in the doorway, his face unreadable. One hand holds a thick folder, the other gripping something that makes my blood freeze.
“Don’t you knock?” I snap, heart still pounding. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just steps in, shuts the door behind him, and drops the folder on my desk with the kind of precision that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You’re going to want to see this.”
I hesitate for a second before flipping it open.
And everything stops.
Screenshots. Full color. Blown up. From some glossy gossip site I’ve never even heard of but clearly has reach. The headline screams at me, the letters too bold for comfort:
BILLIONAIRE BAD BOY GETS HANDSY WITH HIS EMPLOYEE—GALA NIGHT LIAISON RAISES ETHICAL QUESTIONS
Underneath it? The photo.
Thephoto.
Sara. In the lobby. My hands on her waist. Her laughing, cheeks flushed. Me leaning in, lips just a breath away from hers. That stolen moment. The one I locked away in my desk. The one that should never have left the fucking drawer.
I bite back a curse as my eyes dart over the caption beneath.
Speculation. “Sources” claiming the woman works for my company. A statement that we were “spotted sneaking off together.” Then, a goddamn throwback to some shit I can’t escape:
This isn’t Nick Ashford’s first scandal. Fans will remember the infamous injury during his final season, when he hospitalized an opposing player with a hit many called “deliberate.”
My jaw tightens. My grip on the folder tightens. My knuckles go white.
It’s all here. Laid out as an exposé. Painting me as some reckless, power-hungry bastard who’s racking up PR disaster trophies.
I look up at Jonah.
He doesn’t even flinch. Just meets my gaze, grim as ever. “It hit the site this morning. It’s spreading fast.”
I stare at the photo again. My arm around her. The warmth of the moment twisted into something seedy. Corrupt.
“Where the hell did this come from?” I growl.
“I don’t know. But that photo?” Jonah taps the printout. “That’s the same one you told me was missing. Someone took it from your office. This isn’t a leak. This is a hit job.”
My fists clench, rage building under my ribs in a storm, ready to break. “Rebecca.”
