Page 31 of Torrid Passion
We both take a long sip of our champagne, eyeing each other from above the rim of our flutes.
This night has been such a disaster, the only thing I want to do is dive head first to the bottom of a bottle so I can drink myself into oblivion.
Of course, that would be only adding another problem I don’t need.
“What was that all about, Kyla?”
I remain silent.
“Come on, talk to me,” Loki coaxes.
I nod slowly. “I met Magnus at the premier night of a much awaited rom-com movie.”
“In New York?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Four and a half months ago.”
“Got it.”
“It was your typical Hollywood-meet-NYC crowd. Dad sent me the invitations and I went with a few classmates from film school. The DJ was cranking the hits, waiters were doing rounds with drinks, and food was overflowing. In other words, people were having a great time. I was waiting at the bar for my drink when all of a sudden this guy comes and stands next to me. I recognized him from billboards of a designer underwear campaign across Manhattan. He was everywhere at the time. He introduced himself. We chatted. His charisma won me over. We made plans to meet for dinner.”
“I see.”
“I went out with him twice. The first time, Magnus took me to Serendipity 3. After the retarded thousand-dollar dessert photoshoot, we had a VIP night on the town… with six of his closest friends and their girls—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“Not a word of a lie. He always goes out with an entourage.”
Loki shakes his head. “What a loser.”
“Yup. At about nine o’clock, I had had enough. I feigned a headache from the sugar rush and told him I was heading home.”
“Good for you.”
“Dad always says to give a person a chance before Googling the hell out of them. So I did. After my night with Magnus, I sat behind my laptop and I went crazy.”
“What did you find out?” Loki asks, doing a poor job at hiding his amusement.
“Magnus Waitfield was born Izzy and until a few years ago he went by his mom’s last name. His dad is Silas Waitfield—a former big Broadway actor. Silas never recognized Magnus as his son.”
“Ah, the bastard child,” Loki sniggers.
“Exactly. His mom, Liberty Freedom Dollangagger—”
“That can’t possibly be her name.”
“Oh, it is,” I grin.
“Magnus’s name is Izzy Dollangagger?”
“IzzyBookerDollangagger.”
“Wow.”
“Liberty was the nanny and wriggled her way into Silas’s bed,” I continue. “He claims she drugged him and then assaulted him. The jury is out. The rest is cliché.”
“Incredible.”
