Page 23 of Celebrity Dirt

Bill chokes on his coffee while Justin loses his balance and tips over in his chair. I catch Rebecca out of the corner of my eye looking like she wants to murder me. Step in line, sister.

His tight grip doesn’t give me any choice but to stand up. This time, I grab my laptop and my purse that I carelessly left yesterday. “Mmm…can’t wait.” I turn to my team. “Tell Craig I’m off on an assignment, will you?” Then I allow Logan to drag me out of my office for the second day in a row.

The second we step foot outside, I tear my arm from his grip. “Did you seriously have to say that? Now they’re going to think I’m some sort of hussy.”

The rain has picked up. He takes off his jacket and throws it over my shoulders. “Good, then you’re playing the part of Francesca Vaughn just perfectly,” he snarls, opening the passenger side of his car. “Get in.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!” Let’s be honest, I have about one more back and forth before I drown out here in the rain.

“Addy—”

“Fine,” I huff, and throw myself into the car and snuggle farther into his jacket. Logan jumps in and peels off into traffic. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to be the first to talk, so I take the lead. “How come nothing comes up when I google you?”

“’Cause I want it that way,” he responds, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Yeah, but whether you want it or not, everyone is on the web. You have to be a ghost not to have something there…unless…Logan Justice isn’t your real name.”

He finally grants me his attention, rolling his eyes. “And you call yourself a good journalist?”

I scoff. “I do! You call yourself a good mob thug? You let your prisoner escape right under your nose.”

“I didn’t know my prisoner was stupid enough to jump out a window wearing some god-awful pajamas. Speaking of prisoner, if that’s what you’re calling yourself, maybe I should treat you more like one. Open the glove compartment.” My eyes widen, and I search out the glove compartment latch. “Open it.”

So darn bossy! I open it, and a pair of handcuffs fall into my lap. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes, lover girl. Put ’em on.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think for one second—” He sits forward and reaches for the back of his jeans, exposing his gun. “And on they go.” I latch one around my wrist, faking snapping the second one.

“Addy…”

“Ugh, you know this isn’t safe. What if something happens? I’m bound and can’t help you.”

“I doubt I’ll need your help.”

“Don’t know that.”

He chuckles. The bastard. “I’ll take my chances.”

I throw my back into the seat and stare out the window as we drive out of the busy city into the suburbs. I’m dying to ask where we’re going, but I also want to pretend I couldn’t care less. We pull into a subdivision, and I can’t take it any longer. “Where are we?” I ask as we drive down a rural street. “Taking me to meet your mother already? Hope she doesn’t get the wrong idea when I show up in cuffs. Unless, of course, she knows you’re really kinky.”

He pulls up into the driveway of a modern ranch-style house and turns to me. “My mother’s dead.” Then proceeds to climb out of the car. Oops.

I feel like a jerk now. I try to open the door but struggle since I’m freaking handcuffed. When it finally unlatches, I pour out, and Logan catches me, bringing me to my feet. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Since you can’t seem to behave on your turf, you’re going to behave on mine.” He guides me up the pathway and unlocks the front door. When we enter, I’m shocked to not see beer bottles and heavy metal posters littering the walls. Instead, the place is pretty bare except for a large sofa and even larger TV on the wall. There aren’t even blinds on the windows.

“Whose place is this?” I ask, for real this time.

“It’s mine. While you were busy, Lois Lane, I was taking a call letting me know that Vincent is having us followed.”

“What do you mean ‘followed’?”

“You call yourself a journalist, yet you don’t know what having someone followed means?”

“I know what it means, dingle head, but why?”

His brows raise. Yeah, I called him a dingle head. The floor can swallow me up anytime now. He shakes his head at me. “It means he’s suspicious of us. He doesn’t believe we’re a couple and wants to catch us.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“We pretend harder. We need to play the part.” Haven’t we been playing the part? “We need to learn each other’s likes and dislikes—anything that will help us if he tries to trick us.”

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