Page 3 of Remember Me

Time’s up.

CHAPTER 2

Skye

Lying next to me, his warm, bare chested body flush against mine, Finn, my husband of seven years, caresses me. His deft fingers graze the gold locket I always wear around my neck. I can feel his hot breath against the nape.

Sex is not on my brain; my mind is elsewhere. An investigative reporter for Conquest Broadcasting News, I’m about to break a story that’s going to blow the entertainment industry apart. If all goes to plan, I will have all the evidence I need to bring down one of Hollywood’s biggest players. The repercussions are formidable. Like bowling pins, one by one, every womanizing asshole in this town will go down. And each time one does, I’m going to do a happy dance. This is the story that’s going to put me on the map. Maybe win some kind of Pulitzer. Get me my own news show. And best of all, let me at last have my revenge.

I resist my husband’s sexual advances and squirm away from him, creating a distance between the two of us. The queen-size bed doesn’t allow for much. I tug at the comforter so that it completely covers my chest.

“C’mon, Skye.”

“Not tonight. Please. I’m tired.”

He huffs a frustrated breath. “That’s what you said last night. And the night before. We haven’t had sex all week.”

“I’ve got too much on my mind. I’m working on a big story.”

“You’ve got to stop working so hard. Whatever story you’re working on, let go of it.”

“I can’t. It’s too important.”

“What’s it about?”

“I can’t tell you yet.” Nicole swore me to secrecy. I haven’t even told my boss about it though I will have to. I’m not sure what he’ll think. Sheldon’s production company, Greenlight Entertainment, is a major supplier to Conquest Broadcasting. Best known for the long-running series,Criminal Justiceand its various spinoffs set in gritty cities from coast to coast. Dominating the network’s prime time line up, the highly rated franchise has earned Conquest billions of dollars in advertising revenue.

Since the meeting with Nicole, I’ve interviewed other victims—including Zoey Taylor, the star of Conquest’s hit comedy,Perfect 10—who told me Sheldon Greenberg squeezed her genitals and played with himself in front of her when she was working as a masseuse. While I have numerous allegations of this sort, running the gamut from sexual come-ons to making victims take showers with him, the key is getting concrete evidence. Tomorrow. Fingers crossed. Until then, it’s he said, she said. Nothing that can be taken to court.

Before I can roll over, Finn turns his head toward me. “Baby, I’m worried about you. You’ve been so distracted lately.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “The story is close to home. It’s personal to me.”

“Youneed to be closer to home. To us. Maybe it’s time to get a desk job. It’s too damn risky being in the field.”

Inching back next to me, he nuzzles my neck, his day-old stubble brushing against my flesh as I process his words. He’s even urged me to quit my job and stay home ever since our life changed drastically nine months ago. Heated arguments have ensued, straining our marriage. But I can’t. Uncovering the truth is in my blood. I need to be in the field as much as he needs tobe in a studio. My stories are his paintings; my words, his brush strokes.

My husband is an artist—a painter—but his creative talent extends from a canvas to a mattress. From his studio to our bedroom. So gifted. And he himself is a work of art, with his sculpted, hard as marble body and chiseled face that looks as if an Italian master crafted it.

Before he can take his ministrations or questions any further, a loud wail from the shoebox size room next to ours pierces the walls.

Our baby.

“I’ll take care of her.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back in a bit.” I pull off the covers and slip out of bed.

Feeding our nine-month-old daughter is just the distraction I need. Hopefully by the time I’m done, Finn will be fast asleep.

CHAPTER 3

Skye

“Thanks for seeing me, Jim,” I tell my boss, seated stiffly in an armchair that faces his pristine desk. My spine is straight, my legs crossed, and my hands clasped on my lap.

“What’s up, Skye?” His Texas drawl is curt, his eyes focused on the dozens of television monitors that line one of the walls of his thirty-first floor corner office, which overlooks all of LA, from downtown to the ocean. Each one is set to a different news channel from around the world.

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