Page 3 of Forbidden Game

Feeling my eyes on him, Parker tilts his head toward me and shoots me a grin. I sigh and stare out the window.

“I was doing relatively well until you called.”

“Now is that the way to talk to someone who is nice enough to give you the heads up about a breaking story?”

Bad news. It’s always bad news.

“I would be a lot nicer if you would allow me to stop the story from running.”

“And ruin my integrity as a reporter? Never.”

There’s no stopping the audible scoff from escaping my lips.

Justin might always warn me about a story, but he only does so to taunt me. No amount of money offered ever stops it from printing. The only benefit is that sometimes he tells me with enough time to craft a counter statement. Sometimes being the key word. It’s all dependent on his mood.

I tuck my phone between my shoulder and ear so I can pull my tablet from my handbag. I swipe it open and begin filtering through my recent media alerts for the boys.

Nothing sticks out other than some paparazzi photos of Aleks and Stevie showing a little too much PDA at the gallery opening. My eyes narrow in on his tattooed hand dangerously close to dipping under her dress.

I swear, if they got caught having sex in public—again—I am going to murder both of them.

“Spit it out, Rivera.”

“Apparently, Parker Covington is about to be disinherited.”

What?

The phone slips from my shoulder onto the seat, and my fingers freeze on the screen before me. A strange sourness swirls in my stomach. The word replays in my brain a few times before I whip my head around to Parker. His brows furrow at the death glare I’m giving him. Parker opens his mouth to speak, but I hold my finger up to shush him while I snatch my phone up with my other hand.

“What’s the proof?”

“An internal source from Covington Hotels.”

“Oh, really? An unnamed source?”

“I have no issue telling you their name. It’s not a secret. Martin Jones.”

“And when is this going live?”

“Three Eastern.”

“That’s in twenty minutes,” I grind out.

“Care to comment?”

I hang up the call, not even deigning to give Justin a response.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Parker asks.

“Martin Jones.”

Parker pauses the game he’s been playing on his phone and frowns at me. “Martin Jones? What does that knobhead want?”

Mother of God. Please let there not be a whiff of truth about this.

“Seems he’s telling people you’re about to be disinherited.” My eyes narrow in on his features, cataloging exactly how he reacts. Parker has a stellar poker face and is a world-class charmer unless he is caught completely off guard. That’s the only way to catch him in a lie.

His eyes widen slightly, and his brows lift a fraction.

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