Chapter 42 #2
“Thank you,” I tell the receptionist before brushing past the desk.
There are only two other offices across from Rose’s—one door open and the other closed—and a staff room at the end of the hall. A few frames line the walls with small snippets of articles and a signed photo of the Warriors in their retro jerseys from last year.
Suddenly, the door to Rose’s office flies open and she steps out, wearing a navy pantsuit and heels so high they should come with a safety warning. Her thick black hair is tied in a pretty bun at the base of her head, and her makeup is applied flawlessly.
If she weren’t out to get me and my man, I might have asked her for some tips.
“Braxton Heights,” she greets me, painting a sly smile on her glossy lips. “I’m so happy you decided to come in. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now.”
She shifts to clear the doorway, and I walk past her, trying to bite my tongue but failing.
“Oh, but I thought we already had an interview?”
Sitting on one of the dusty pink chairs in front of her desk, I watch her fumble slightly from my peripheral vision as she walks past me and then sits in her desk chair.
“Your father told me about your quick comebacks. I should have been better prepared.”
I hum. “I heard my father also told you not to bug my car, but you did that anyway.”
If it weren’t for the heavy bob of her throat, she wouldn’t have given her discomfort away. Her face stays blank as I stare at her, accusation heavy in my eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I did hear about your head. I hope you’re doing okay.”
“You can drop the act, Rose. I might be here to talk, but I’m not going to give you anything you can use unless you give me some answers. Let’s be honest with each other here.”
She blinks, her lips twisting as she pushes forward in her chair and folds her hands on her desk.
“And here I was hoping this would be a civil conversation,” she says bitterly.
“Oh, it can be. Are you ready to answer my questions?”
“What questions do you want answered?”
“Let’s start with your relationship with my father. How did you meet?”
“He came in after Maddox was seen outside of that bar. He said he had a story that would help put me on the map, one that would help guarantee me a spot at a bigger, better news outlet.”
None of that is surprising to me.
“And you just took his words and ran with them? You didn’t think to verify any of the claims?” I throw back.
She laughs, staring at me as if I’m completely clueless.
“Are you kidding? No. I took the story and ran with it. I’m a journalist writing for a tabloid, Braxton. I take what I get and hope that the story blows up. And that’s exactly what it did.”
“And journalists usually hire people to break into vehicles and bug them? You are aware that that’s a criminal offense, right?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Are you saying you have proof of those claims?”
My lips part, a quick retort at the ready when I swallow it down, a commotion outside of the office stealing our attention.
“You can’t go back there, sir. She’s in a meeting!” the pretty receptionist shouts over the scuffle of feet on the floor.
“I know. And I’m about to be involved in that meeting,” Oakley snaps.
I spin around in the chair, my eyes widening when I see Maddox’s dad storm into the office, a dirty glare on his face. He steps up behind my chair and sets a hand on my shoulder, staring above me at Rose.
“Whatever it is you thought you were getting from Braxton today isn’t happening. You’re going to sit there and listen to what I have to say, and then you will never speak my son’s name or my daughter-in-law’s name again,” he states, confidence dripping from every word.
I don’t even have time to digest the label he just gave me before Rose is laughing, the sound grating.
“That’s a pretty big claim. It’s nice to meet you, Oakley Hutton.”
He snorts a laugh. “I bet it is.”
Rose’s face sours. “You are aware that you can’t just bust into other people’s interviews, correct?”
“Was there an interview? Or were you just talking out of your ass?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, and Oakley gently squeezes my shoulder as if he knows.
“Right. Well, if you came here to insult me, I would appreciate it if you left,” Rose says.
“Have you checked your email in the past few minutes?” Oakley asks her casually, and hell if that cold tone of voice wouldn’t have intimidated me if I were in her shoes.
She blinks, once, twice, and then her eyes are flying toward her screen, fingers tapping on the keyboard.
It’s like watching the main character in a horror film peek out of the door to scan their surroundings, only to find the axed murderer waiting a few feet away. Her entire face goes alight with fear.
“Where did you get this? Who took these photos?” she breathes, wide eyes looking forward at the screen.
“Never underestimate the power of money, Rose. Threatening two very wealthy men while you have nothing might have been the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. Now, are you ready to talk about what happens next? Because I sure am.”
“I never threatened you!” she squeaks.
“You threatened my family. The people I love and care about. You would have been better off threatening my money or reputation,” he growls.
I swallow heavily, questions running through my head that I know I won’t have answers to until Oakley and I walk out of here. A near-crippling feeling of appreciation throttles me, and I have to blink back the emotion it brings with it.
“What happens next?” she asks, suddenly timid.
“You’re going to retract your latest story and create another, one that portrays my son as the person he is, not the one you’ve made him out to be.
I want Braxton’s animal adoption day to be highlighted, along with information about when and where it is.
And then, I want you to forget that my family exists.
You won’t write about them again. Hell, don’t even think about them again.
“If you fail to do that, everyone will know that one of the most popular up-and-coming sports journalists—the one who had the balls to come at the Hutton family—actually has a heavy gambling problem and has been stealing money from Alexander Torrello’s bank account as payback for him breaking up with her to fund said problem.
He might be rich, Rose, but all it takes is one close look to find out what’s really been happening.
You have confidence, though. I can’t think of a person off the top of my head who would stoop as low as to steal the bank information of a man who spent his nights sharing her bed. I’ll give you that.”
My jaw slacks. She was dating Alexander? And gambling? Really? She doesn’t look like a gambler, but I guess I don’t really know what that does look like.
“Oh my God,” she rushes out. “Yes. Fine. And this information . . . these pictures of me . . .”
“The pictures of you gambling that Alex’s PI took? The one he has had watching you for weeks now?” Oakley asks.
She flushes a deep red all the way down her neck and below the neckline of her shirt.
“Yes. They’ll disappear?”
“They’ll remain unseen but not gone.”
She nods slowly, shoulders sagging. “Okay, then you have a deal.”
“One more thing,” I add tightly. “The guy you hired to break into my car. Who was it?”
“I don’t know his name. I asked some random guy outside of one of the casinos I go to often. He wasn’t much older than twenty, I don’t think. I offered him two hundred dollars to slip the bug inside. I didn’t tell him your name, just where to find the car,” she replies, a hint of shame in her tone.
“You didn’t tell him to hurt me?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. My guess is that you scared him and he acted out of impulse. I don’t think it was premeditated.”
I stand then, and it’s Oakley that says, “If I find out a different side to that story, there isn’t a damn thing that will stop me from destroying you. Is that clear?”
She swallows. “Crystal.”