Page 108 of Sixth Sin

My fist tightens around the bottle. “Don’t.” Milly flinches at the harsh bite of my tone, but I don’t care. What happened is my fault, and mine alone. It won’t be mentioned inside these walls.

Now or ever.

Rolling her lips over her teeth, she pushes off the doorframe and invites herself into my office. “Dom, it’s been five days,” she says, slumping into a chair in front of my desk. “You’re like a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other. Either you ghost us, or you’re like the manic party crasher who never leaves. You can’t live like this.”

Spinning my chair, I turn the bottle up and stare out at the street. “Why not? It worked for Hemingway.”

“Hemingway shot himself.”

I glance over my shoulder, offering a whiskey-infused smirk. “Maybe he just knew when it was time to leave the party.”

“Jesus!” She yells, slamming her palms against my desk, and the sudden movement causes me to swivel my chair back around. “What’s wrong with you? This isn’t the Dominic McCallum I know. The one who went after the most powerful men in Hollywood. That guy knew everything could blow up in his face, but he didn’t care. You know why?”

I shrug, lifting the bottle again. “Because he’s a fucking moron?”

“No, because he’s not a quitter.” Letting out a frustrated groan, she shoves her glasses back on her face before collapsing back into her chair. “Have you talked to her?”

Her.

She doesn’t have to even say her name. My heart races just at those three letters.

“Nobody’s talked to her.” I rub the space in my chest that hasn’t stopped aching in five days. “Since the leak, she hasn’t left the estate.”

Milly chews on my admission for a few hesitant moments. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. Maybe after everything blows over, this could be a good thing.” She holds up her hand as I roll my eyes. “I’m serious! Actresses launch successful careers off sex tapes all the time.”

Dragging a hand over my face, I let out a heavy sigh. “Not when said actress is already tits deep in a studio scandal and rumors about collusion with yours truly.”

Greg Rosten might be a sexual predator, a pathological liar, a narcissist, and an extortionist, but he doesn’t make idle threats. He promised I’d pay for putting my hands on him, and he delivered.

Five days ago, the picture of Angel and me uploaded to the dark web and immediately crossed over into mainstream. Within minutes, it went viral, and our lives irrevocably changed.

And not equally.

Hollywood is the double standard capital of the world, after all.

I’ve tried calling her, but there’s no answer. Not that I expected there to be. I got so caught up in making her feel what she refused to hear, I neglected to tell her the blackmail didn’t die with Freddy Wiseman.

She threw me out before I could tell her about Rosten’s threat. Maybe that makes me just as responsible as him.

“What about you?” Milly asks. I glance up to see her head cocked to the side and her eyes boring into me. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” I let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m great. You know, other than having to fire all the employees you just rehired, being days away from getting kicked out of this building, and having my house and car repossessed.”

She opens her mouth for what I have no doubt is another motivational speech when the main BTN line rings. It can ring until the end of time for all I care, but when I see Milly’s ass lift off the chair, I shove a finger across the desk.

“Don’t you dare!” I warn. Milly’s one of the only friends I have, but if she makes one more move toward that phone, I’ll wrestle her to the ground. “It’s either a bill collector or another reporter wanting an exclusive on...” I swipe my hand through the air, mocking their newest bullshit headline. “Alexandra Romanov’s Erotic Fall From Grace.”

She plops back down with a huff. “Wouldn’t they just call your cell phone?”

I smirk as the ringing stops only to immediately start again. “They would, if I didn’t toss it in the garbage outside my house.”

Good luck getting a quote now, fuckers.

Four rings later, Milly slams her palms against the armrests of the chair. “Well it’s driving me insane.” In a blur, she’s out of her seat and stomping out the door.

“Wait!” But before I even get the word out, she’s halfway across the bullpen.

Fuck it.

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