Page 21 of The Tallest Tower (Underbelly Enchanted)

Cutting through the water and trying desperately to rid my mind of the beautiful vixen in gold, then after her, the vague figure of a woman—my mother, what she might have looked like before Tim got his claws into her—I work to clear my thoughts of all things but the cold water on my skin. Of the way my heart thuds with exertion. How my stomach rumbles awake, and the dregs of sleep clear from my thoughts.

Some folks call this meditation.

I just call it finding sanity. Or at least, the only shred that remains in this shitty world.

When I reach the end of the pool, I do a flip, still beneath the water’s surface, and kick off to make my lap back the way I came.

I’ll deal with Christabelle Cannon soon. I’ll deal with her disrespect. Her audacity. Her bravery at asking after my mother in a public setting.

I’ll deal with her how I see fit.

Though, right now… I honestly have no fucking clue what that looks like.

5

CHRISTABELLE

GLITTERATI AND GOSSIPS

“What did you do?” Dana bursts into my office first thing the morning after my night from hell, her eyes wild with panic, and her usually neat hair frazzled, almost like she’s run her fingers through it too many times to count this morning.

She charges toward my desk, her behavior far more familiar than in the past, and slams a magazine down beside the coffee I already bought and drank.

I’m exhausted. I’m not sure I slept a wink last night. And I know for damn certain that Felix Malone’s fingers bruised my hips.

Strangely, curiosity beats out the fear pulsing in my veins, and even dislodges the revulsion I typically feel when I think of him and his family.

“You’re being very loud, Dana.” I rest my elbow on my desk, my forehead in my hand. My hair dangles forward, brushing against the documents under my arm, but my eyes track toward today’s edition ofBeguile Magazine. “Why are you bringing this to me?”

“Because you’re on the freakin’ cover!” She grabs the magazine and flips it over until I’m met with not justmyface in profile, but Felix Malone’s too.

Beguile Magazineis supposed to be about celebrities; who’s pregnant, who’s not, who is dating who, and which A-list couple is getting a divorce this week. Neither I nor any of the Malones fit among its cast. ButBeguilerarely troubles itself with facts.

A pained sigh works along my throat, my eyes scouring the photograph I had no clue was taken at the Eriksons’ penthouse. Somehow, my lips are curled up in the image. Smiling… though I know for damn sure I didn’t smile at that asshole last night. Felix’s eyes stare down into mine. His gaze, penetrating and somehow… nice. Though I know he wasn’t pleased with me either.

I guess that’s the magic of capturing a miniscule second in someone’s day… or mastering Photoshop.

“‘Cannon Daily heiress, dating her target’?” Dana sneers. “You write these scathing pieces about him, and now you’re smiling at him! Respectfully, what the F, Ms. Cannon?”

“God.” I read the headline a second time. Then a third. Finally, I close my eyes and try to will the image ofusfrom my mind. “We are absolutely not dating.”

“So this image is fabricated? Made up?”

“Yes!” I snap my eyes open. “I absolutely did not smile at this jerkoff last night.”

“And you didn’t dance with him?”

“Well—”

“Youdancedwith him?!” She slams her butt to my desk and bends, putting her face on my level. “You danced with Felix fricken Malone—and lived to tell the tale?”

“I was dancing with someone else.” I push away from my desk and slouch in my super-ergonomic-something chair. “Felix cut in without my consent, assaulted me, threatened me, and then left. I assure you,” I drop my hand forward until my fist lands on our printed faces, “we did not smile.”

“He threatened you?” Her cheeks pale, her jaw, quivering with fear. “Wh-what did he say?”

“Something about silencing me.” I shrug and snatch up the almost-tabloid, flipping it open.

We’re in the centerfold. A double-page spread. Six whole columns ofstorythat can’t possibly exist except in the mind of a ‘journalist’ who trades in fiction.

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