Page 51 of Love JD

I made short work of my martini, although I didn’t enjoy that as much, and Mattie pulled me up for a tipsy dance while we waited for our flaming shots to arrive. As we danced on the elevated floor, not bothering to join the humping patrons below us, I shouted, “How does this make him jealous if he doesn’t know where I am?”

Mattie put her hands on my hips and swayed me side-to-side. I didn’t miss that she had kept a hand on me the entire time just in case I fell. “Oh, he’ll know.” I frowned, wondering what she meant by that. “Or he won’t,” she added pointedly with an eyebrow raise. “And in that case, I’ll stop by a pharmacy, buy you plenty of aspirin, and make sure you get home, Shortbread. No worries.”

I giggled, my vision swimming with colors and my chest giddy with elation. “Okay.”

We danced and drank, and slowly but surely, I spiraled into a rocking pirate ship ride of unbalanced joy. When I couldn’t dance anymore, I fell back into my chair and laughed raucously with Mattie as she told me about one of her bosses who had accidentally broadcast a tape of his PI following his cheating fiancée… at their rehearsal dinner.

“Isla Valehart?” someone asked me.

I picked up my head and blinked in groggy confusion. “Yesh?”

“Oh my God, I knew it!” A flash blinded my eyes. “You guys, it’s Isla Valehart! From the news!”

A hand grabbed me and pulled me forward. I slumped, blinking hard and trying to understand why these strangers had suddenly surrounded me. “Fuck, you think she was drinking all day? Look at her!”

“Holy shit, the news was right…”

“… think she’s high?”

“… much do you think they’ll pay if I take off her…”

“… are you here with the lawyer, or did he…”

“Isla!”

“Isla Valehart!”

I gasped, suddenly surrounded by bodies I didn’t know and voices who chomped at me, tearing hunks out of my sanity while flashes blinded my already dizzy vision.

“Shortbread, run!”

Chapter seventeen

Zev

I closed my office door with more force than was necessary, rattling the glass walls. I’d expected to delay things by walking out of that meeting earlier, but Hawk, the efficient, tenacious bastard, had called a lunch recess and had everyone back in the boardroom when I’d returned. Trapped, I had no choice but to allow them to finish hammering out the details for closing the deal. We set a date next week, and it made me want to punch a hole through the boardroom table.

Starla’s smug smile during the meeting had only enraged me more. “I hate my job,” I growled to no one. My office, overlooking the city and at the top of the corporate high-rise, reflected the light of the sunset golden hour through the space. I sat at my desk and punched my computer to life. What kind of choice was this? Be ethical and “save the planet,” which really meant nothing to me because humans would continue polluting it no matter what I did, or save my job?

“Fuckers,” I muttered, clicking through my emails. I wondered if there were any pioneer flights to a Mars space station yet. I was thoroughly fed up with the human species at the moment.

As I shifted in my seat, the SD card in my pocket poked my thigh, and I fished it out. After examining it in the light, I decided that working on Isla’s problem was infinitely more appealing than working on mine. I could find this reporter, figure out what she’d been trying to get pictures of, and pulverize what progress she’d managed to make in her career. I slipped the SD card into the port on my computer and waited while my computer pulled up the file.

I scrolled through news on my phone while I waited, wondering if GreenTech would get outed before I could make a decision either way. I kept looking at news stories, sifting through articles for anything that might point to the whistle being blown. Nothing popped up, but a side article caught my attention.

“Alcoholic Heiress… Caught in a Scandal!”

Tabloid shit didn’t usually show up in my feed, but if it was big enough, it would make its way into major news channels. I clicked the link with my heart already anchored to the ground in dread. A blurred photo of Isla lying on the paving stones of my back yard depicted her out cold with her clothing stripped to her waist. The caption read, “Caught! Alcoholic heiress found unconscious after a failed hook-up with lover and lawyer Zev Brady.”

My fingers tightened until the rubber case around my phone ripped at the seams. Then the pictures pulled up on my computer—all of them were of Isla completely unconscious, undressed, and vulnerable.

Rage wrapped around my head and squeezed with tentacles of white-hot fury. I stood from my chair and barreled out of my office. “Dom,” I snapped loudly. One of my paralegals and most reliable assistants stumbled out of his cubicle to follow me. I stormed down the hallway. “Cancel the rest of my day.”

He tapped away at his phone, bewildered as he tripped to keep up with me. “Sure. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Go straight to ScandalSphere and hit them with a cease and desist for Isla Valehart right fucking now.” I dialed Tristan’s number as I walked.

“Okay, boss,” Dom said, catapulting himself past me and vaulting down the stairwell. I must have really looked like a bat out of Hell if he was too nervous to wait for the elevator. Good.

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