With my purse hooked on one arm and my shopping bag on the other, I text Win on the way to the elevator.
Me: Let me cook you dinner.
Win: You had dinner with my mother.
Me: Didn’t say I was gonna eat it.
Win: Pass. Your cooking skills are lacking.
Me: I miss you.
He doesn’t respond.
I let out a ragged sigh of frustration, but don’t give up. I’ll send him a picture later that he’ll be unable to ignore. I’m smiling when I bump into someone.
“Ash Elliott?”
Snapping my head up, I meet the stare of a man with slicked-back hair, a fake tan, and obnoxiously white teeth. Same guy Daniel had to run off the other day outside of the building. And now he’s inside my building. “Huh?”
“I’m Clay Povich from the New York Daily—”
“No comment,” I bite out, mashing the elevator button.
The doors open and he follows me in, filling the space with his overpowering cologne. Ignoring him, I hit the button for the twelfth floor.
“You can’t ignore the press forever,” he says, stepping too close. “We have questions and it’s your obligation to answer them.”
“I don’t have to do shit,” I snarl. “Go away.”
“A source says you’re staying in this building on Mr. Constantine’s dime. Is it or isn’t it true you’re an escort?”
How could he possibly know I’m staying here and Win is paying for it?
My hand shakes as I dial Winston’s number. It rings and rings. Finally, I give up and end the call. The elevator doors open on my floor. I rush out, heading for my apartment. Clay is on my heels, hammering out questions. I try and dial Dad next but he doesn’t answer. The guy grows more and more agitated when I ignore him. When I stop suddenly in front of my door, he plows into me. Since we’re both caught off guard, he lands on me hard. My head hits the doorframe. Everything goes black and soundless for an indeterminable amount of time.
I eventually blink open my eyes, wincing against the throbbing in my skull. Clay is standing over me, snapping pictures with his phone. It takes a second for me to notice my dress has ridden up, revealing my pink panties. Jerking my dress down to cover myself, I screech at him.
“Get away from me!”
“I only want answers,” he says in a cool, confident tone, “and these pictures will disappear.”
“Fuck you!”
Clay is blocking my apartment door with his body, making it impossible for me to get inside if he decides to make this difficult.
“You’d probably do that, wouldn’t you? Rumor has it you’re also sleeping with the other Constantine, Perry. Can you go on record and state that you are, in fact, having a romantic relationship with Winston Constantine’s little brother?”
I dial Winston again, but he doesn’t answer. Tears have begun to burn in my eyes but I’m trying desperately to keep them from falling so this asshole doesn’t take pictures of that too. I shoot Win a quick text.
Me: Help me!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Winston
Nate continues to drone on, but I’m not listening. When Ash’s call came through, I figured I’d see her soon enough. The text, though, sends a wave of panic washing over me.
“I have to go,” I blurt out, hanging up on Nate. “Step on it, Daniel.”
Daniel must sense my urgency because he floors it, weaving in and out of traffic. I try to call Ash back, but she doesn’t answer.
Morelli?
If that motherfucker touches one hair on her head, I will burn this city to the ground, starting with every goddamn rat. I’m rage-filled by the time we reach her apartment building, further incensed by the rather large crowd of reporters exiting vans and beginning to crowd around the door.
We’ve been discreet.
No one, but a handful of people, knows she’s even here which means someone tipped them off.
I don’t have time to worry about that, though. I need to find out what the hell is going on with Ash. As soon as Daniel pulls up to the curb, I fly out of the vehicle, rippling with fury. As though they’re the Red Sea, they part to allow me through. Whatever pissed-off vibes I’m giving off must be enough warning.
Once inside, I take the elevator to the twelfth floor. I hear voices. Male and female. Without considering further consequence, I charge at the asshole looming over Ash. He lets out a startled cry when he hears me coming, whipping around in time to adopt a shocked expression only a second before my fist impacts his face. He crumples to the ground, moaning in pain. I’m no longer concerned about this pussy because Ash is pressed against the wall, her face buried in her knees, hands pressed to her ears. She bellows, scrambling away from me, frantic, teary eyes landing on me. If the guy wasn’t crying like a bitch, I’d happily knock his ass out right now for doing this to her.