Page 78 of Deception & Daylight
Maggie’s phone has been ringing off the hook for the last 72 hours, and her voicemail box is full of people wanting an exclusive interview with the Smut Siren. It would be almost comical if she wasn’t so stressed out about it. “I’m going to throw this fucking thing across the room if it rings one more goddamn time,” she snarls. Right on cue, her phone starts ringing in her hand. She winds up, preparing to toss the device across my living room, but I snag her wrist in midair and remove it from her palm.
“This is Maggie Watson’s phone. How can I help you?” If I had any kind of forethought, I would’ve checked the display before answering.
“Miles, I presume? I’d like to speak to Maggie.”
I twist the phone to show Maggie the name on the screen before putting it on speaker. Her posture goes rigid when she sees “Dad” on the display. There’s no mistaking the fear and trepidation in her eyes, so I respond for her, “I think that ship has sailed.”
“Fine. You relay this message to my daughter. I will not pay for her mistakes. She chose to send illicit photographs to a stranger on the internet and she can live with the consequences of her actions. Furthermore, I refuse to acknowledge her as my daughter and heir from this moment on. It’s a good thing she chose not to use her own name when writing thatfilth— I will not have her sullying the Watson name. Do you think you can adequately relay that message?”
Tears flow freely down her cheeks as each harsh word hits its mark, and I see red.
“With all due respect, sir, fuck you. What kind of man refuses to take up for his daughter when she’s being blackmailed? You should be damn proud to have such a talented, beautiful, incredibly kind daughter. You should be telling the whole world what an amazing woman you raised — but you can’t, can you? Instead, you’ve spent your entire adult life making her feel unwanted. I won’t make that same mistake. Kindly fuck off.”
I quickly end the call and toss the phone onto the coffee table before pulling Maggie into my arms. “I’m sorry, baby. You deserve so much better than that sorry excuse for a father.”
“I’m okay,” she murmurs. “It’s not about dad — I expected as much from him — but what are we going to do about Matty?”
I kiss her temple, letting my lips linger on her skin for a beat longer than necessary. “Let me handle it, Mags. He’s my brother. You have enough on your plate.”
I can tell she wants to argue, but she’s exhausted and who could blame her? It’s been one thing after another for months and she’s handled it all with grace. I’m so fucking gone for her.
Mags
After listening to no less than thirty voicemails from different publications wanting to interview me, I finally settled on LustLit — a magazine aimed at uplifting and amplifying the voices of romance readers and authors. Their mission statement focuses on diversity and female empowerment through romantic literature written by women and for women. It just so happens that they were the only magazine that wasn’t focused on my last name. The others only cared about what my proximity to Arthur Watson could do for their reputation. Jack shit, if his lack of a reaction to the bombshell revelation is anything to go by. He’d likely change my last name entirely if he could manage it.
Agreeing to an exclusive interview with an up-and-coming journalist named Kamilla was the easy part. She agreed to join me at Rosie’s for a casual brunch meeting, and my nosey ass friends insisted on accompanying me. They’re parked a few booths down for what they’re calling moral support.
I recognize the woman as soon as she walks into the diner looking as out of place as you’d expect from a New Yorker landing in rural Kentucky. She’s wearing what could only be described as a power suit in a muted lavender shade with a gorgeous corseted top under the jacket. Her dark hair is slicked back in into a fancy knot at her nape, and her striking green eyes sparkle like emeralds against her bronze skin. I wave her over and she greets me with a wide smile that instantly sets me at ease.
She stands across from me near the booth, offering me a firm handshake. “You must be Maggie. I’m Kamilla, but you can call me Kam. It’s so good to meet you. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve read your book.”
“Thank you. You’re so sweet. Join me.”
Rosie sidles up to the tablejust as Kam gets comfortable. “You must be new in town. I’m Rosie.”
“How did you guess?” Kam laughs and offers Rosie her hand in greeting. “I’m a journalist based out of New York. I’m only here for the day to interview Miss Watson.”
“Nice to meet you. Our Maggie here is the talk of the town. Can I get you lovely ladies anything to drink?” she asks.
I give Rosie an appreciative smile. “I’ll have my usual, Ro. Kam?”
“Just water for me. With lemon, if you have it.”
“Coming right up.”
“Ok, I guess we can get started.” Kam taps away at her phone, pulling up the voice recorder app. “I’m Kamilla Palmer and I’m here with Maggie Watson, also known as M.W. Hartley. Miss Watson, if you wouldn’t mind giving your verbal consent to being recorded.”
“Absolutely. I’m fine with that.”
“Thank you.”
The interview starts slow, but eventually it’s more like a conversation between friends than a stuffy one on one. I find myself laughing and bantering back and forth like we’ve known each other for years. There’s a camaraderie you can only find with a fellow writer, and it turns out, Kam is working on her first romance novel, too.
“It was so good to meet you, Mags. You know they say never meet your idols, but in your case it’s complete bullshit. You’re a doll.”
I snort out a laugh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ve only just met me. Now that we’re friends, I’m going to be insufferable. Just ask my bestie over there.” I point towards the booth in the corner where Paige is flirting with Cade, and Miles looks on with something like pride in his expression. As though she senses our eyes on her, Paige glances over and waves. “Speaking of which, you should totally join the book club group chat.”
“I’d love that! I don’t have a lot of reader friends who aren’t colleagues.”
