Authors: Lexi Adair
Summer slapped the document back down on the desk. She yanked on his boxer shorts then searched the bedroom for the few belongings she'd brought with her.
Sleazy reporters my ass
, she thought bitterly.
Non-disclosure statement.
"Summer, wait. Please don't leave angry."
"I'm not angry.” Her voice was calm and level even though inside she was trembling. She dragged her purse over her shoulder and stormed across the room.
He lifted an arm and pressed his palm against the doorway to block her exit from the bedroom. His dark gaze settled on her and much to her surprise she saw hurt flicker within them. “You are angry."
"No, I'm not. I'm grateful actually.” She forced a smile even though she felt like crying. “Thank you for the dose of reality. I almost forgot where I was ... who I was with."
"Summer.” Her name came out ragged on his expelled breath.
She ducked under his arm and scooted past him as she headed for the door.
"You know this business, Summer, you know how people are. We all have to protect ourselves. Don't be so touchy, baby."
Unable to resist, Summer turned about on her heels. Her narrowed gaze settled on his handsome face. “I'm not touchy, I'm just realistic."
"It's just a piece of paper."
Summer closed the distance between them. She lifted her chin defiantly. “You think I'm angry because I don't want to sign your little insurance policy?"
Anthony nodded.
Summer stormed past him. She went back into the bedroom and picked up the document. She snatched a pen off the desk and signed her name to the bottom.
She shoved the paper at his bare chest. He slapped his hand over it as she yanked hers away.
She said nothing as she headed for the door. She let her hand rest on the knob as she paused and cast a glance over her shoulder. Anthony stood naked, all but for his boxers and the piece of paper he still clutched against his chest. “Thank you for a lovely weekend, Mr. Phoenix. It was ... enlightening to say the least."
She slipped out of his hotel room and slammed the door behind her.
Alone in the hall she paused. Her knees trembled beneath her, the strength fleeing her body as she drew in a deep, steadying breath.
She waited, counting her breaths. One. Two. Three. Four.
Silence greeted her.
What was she waiting for? Did she expect him to follow? Did she really expect him to come running after her, beg her to stay? She was an idiot. A first class idiot.
Summer stepped onto the elevator and out of his life.
Summer stood in line at the terminal. Somewhere in a private hangar Anthony was doing the same. “Bastard,” she cursed bitterly beneath her breath. Damn arrogant asshole with his fucking paperwork for sex.
She handed the attendant her ticket, forcing a smile she didn't quite feel as she boarded the plane. She plopped down in her seat.
She was the asshole. She had fallen for his seductions. Let him do with her exactly as he pleased and she had encouraged it. Hell, he'd even made her beg for it. What an asshole she was.
She rested her purse in her lap and pawed through the contents until she found her cell phone. She supposed she should call Spencer and check in. Reality was a bitch. But she supposed since she had already dealt with one asshole today so might as well make a day of it and deal with another. She might not have had her dignity anymore but at least she still had her job. Work would save her. Work would rip her from the fantasy and bring her back to reality.
She pushed the buttons, trying to access her contact list, but the screen remained black and silent. “Shit,” she cursed beneath her breath. The damn thing had gone dead.
She yanked the receiver from the phone nestled into the back of the seat in front of her. She swiped her credit card then punched in the numbers and waited impatiently for it to connect. “Hey, it's Summer."
"Summer? Where the hell are you?” Spencer's tone, usually sparked with a constant mild irritation and a hint of bitterness, was strangely upbeat, almost excited.
"I'm on the plane.” Her gaze shifted from the small television imbedded in the back of the headrest to the flight attendant closing the cabin doors.
"The whole office is going crazy. Hell, the whole damn town. Your article, Summer. Newsstands can't keep the magazine on the shelves!"
"Wait, what article?"
"The Anthony Phoenix article, the one you sent yesterday. You cut it close, damn close. We barely got it to press in time."
"What article?” She spoke slowly into the phone as the painful tightening in her chest made it difficult to draw a breath, much less form words.
"It was a little rough, I had Melody touch it up a bit for you, but it was sensational. The best things you've ever written."
"Spencer...” Her words trailed off as a visual playback of her weekend whirled through her mind.
Oh God
. Bile rose in the back of her throat making her choke.
The laptop ... the story she'd been writing. Had she? No, it wasn't possible. She let the phone drop away. Spencer's voice filtered out like a ghost as he called her name.
She rose and stumbled almost drunkenly down the narrow center aisle of the plane. Her knees were weak beneath her as they fought to hold her upright. Her breath was shallow, drawn in ragged spurts. She feared she might actually hyperventilate. No, this wasn't happening ... couldn't be happening.
The flight attendant met her at the door. “Can you I help you?"
Summer fought back against the nausea rising in her throat. “I have to get off this plane."
"I'm sorry, Miss. We're about ready for take off."
"No, you don't understand.” Tears glistened in her eyes. Her body gave her a choice. Let the tears fall or throw up all over the flight attendant's pretty blue uniform. She opted for the less embarrassing of the two. “I have to get off this plane. You have to let me off right now."
"I'm sorry, I can't do that. Now if you'll just take your seat."
Summer leaned in close. She narrowed her gaze on the attendant as an almost primal growl escaping her throat. “I swear to God, if you don't let me off this plane I'm going to have a fucking breakdown right here. And trust me when I tell you I am severely overdue for a breakdown so it's
not
going to be pretty."
The flight attendant let out a deep sigh laced with irritation. “Fine.” She turned the wheel lock on the cabin door and yanked it open.
"Thank you.” Summer darted down the long passageway leading back into the terminal.
She shoved the door open at the end of the passage and burst through the gateway door. The waiting area was nearly empty as Summer tumbled out into the main thoroughfare, nearly tripping over her own two feet.
She caught sight of a newsstand just a few feet away. Her breath locked painfully in her throat.
She darted across the hall then stopped short in front of a rack of magazines. She scanned the covers. Her gaze bounced from
People
to
US
to
Entertainment Weekly
. And then she saw it. Poised at the top of the rack it was wrapped in a black bag, only the bold, red lettering spelling out
STRIPPED
was visible.
Good God.
He'd black-bagged it.
Summer snatched a copy off the racks. She crossed to the register and slapped it down on the counter. The serviceman shot her a knowing glance from beneath a partially raised brow. She didn't fucking care. She handed him the money for the magazine then turned away and ripped the plastic covering off the magazine as she crossed to the awaiting chairs.
A shocking pain ripped through her stomach as if someone had buried a knife, handle-deep into her body. Beneath her trembling hands Anthony's face was pasted across the front of the magazine. The headline beside it read
ANTHONY PHOENIX, A LYRICAL LAY. He's got what every woman wants and Stripped is bringing it you
... Further down the caption boasted “
Slip beneath the sheets with rocker Anthony Phoenix in this
Stripped
exclusive..."
Summer backed up until her knees met one of the plastic terminal chairs. She slumped down into it and let the magazine fall to her lap. He'd even used her title.
Tears snaked down her cheek as she fumbled with the magazine. She flipped through the pages with shaky fingers until she found the article.
A picture of Anthony graced the left page and on the right was her story. The story she had written solely for herself. Her diary that now graced the pages of a national magazine. Summer slammed the magazine shut. How could he?
Trigger dropped a magazine in Anthony's lap then flopped down in the seat beside him.
"What's this?” Anthony stared down at the magazine only to find a picture of himself staring back.
"A little reading for the trip,” Trigger shot back bitterly. “We should have been more careful, boss."
Anthony picked up the magazine. Let his fingers graze the silky cover as the headline jumped off the page at him. He drew in a sharp breath. She didn't, he thought. She wouldn't.
He flipped open the magazine and thumbed through the pages until he saw his picture. His gaze faltered over the print. Her words echoing in his mind as he skimmed the article.
For several long moments he read, absorbing every poetic phrase she'd written. Every lovely thought in her head was exposed on the page to be hungrily devoured by millions of readers.
Anthony closed the magazine softly. Let it rest in his lap as his hands covered the photograph and the screaming headlines. Fury vibrated within him though he remained deceptively clam. He couldn't fucking believe she would stoop so low.
A lyrical lay
. He could hear the words she had spoken on their first meeting in the back of his mind. A poetic sentiment that had stirred him. Had him toying with lyrics of his own by that title in a sort of strange lover's tribute to her. Now it seemed so fucking childish.
"Boss?” Trigger put a hand on his shoulder when Anthony had yet to say a word.
Anthony handed him back the magazine. He didn't want to see it, didn't want to touch it. “Tell the pilot we're going to Orange County instead."
By the time she'd arranged for another flight, gotten her car out of the garage at the airport and fought traffic through town, Summer had worked herself into an outright rage. She flew into the parking garage of the
Stripped
building. The tires screeched against the pavement and echoed the sentiment of her heart. Hard, unyielding and angry.
She stormed across the parking garage and punched her finger onto the button for the fifth floor where the editorial offices waited.
Her foot tapped angrily as she watched the numbers on the elevator panel climb. Bastard. Dirty, rotten, underhanded, no good bastard.
The elevator doors slid open and Summer stepped out into the bustling office. She wound her way through the maze of cluttered desks. Her narrowed gaze was focused on the closed door at the end of the room.
She didn't bother with knocking. Instead she threw open the door with such force that it shook the windows surrounding it. “We need to talk."
Spencer looked up from his computer. His red-tinged hair was tousled as though he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times. His pale green eyes flickered over her from beneath his thin-rimmed glasses.
"Congratulations, you did it.” He slipped his glasses off his nose and pinched the bridge between his forefinger and thumb as though an ache had settled there. “The byline is yours. Your own column, creative freedom, everything you wanted."
Summer stormed across his office. She slammed the magazine down on his desk.
"That story was not yours to print!"
Spencer slipped his glasses back onto his nose. “You sent it to me."
"By accident,” she said, throwing up her hands. “I didn't mean to send it to you, Spencer. I thought I was emailing it to myself. Didn't you think it odd that it was unfinished? That it wasn't an article so much as a short story? That it was so fucking personal?"
Spencer shrugged his shoulders. “It was a good story, that's all that mattered."
"But it wasn't your story!” Her voice rose to an ear-piercing octave. “He'll probably sue you, me and the magazine for publishing it."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because he didn't know I was writing it."
Spencer shot up from his chair. “What do you mean he didn't know? You didn't get his consent? What the hell did you write it for then?"
"I don't know.” Tears that rarely found her now threatened to drown her. Her heart beat fiercely. But the anger, intense as it was, could not come close to suffocating the ache in her splintered her heart. “I just wrote it okay, I'm a writer, that's what I do. When inspiration strikes I go with it. I never in a million years thought it would see the light of day!"
Spencer rounded his desk and took her forcedly by the arm. His fingers pressed painfully into her skin. “Do you realize what you have done?"
"What I've done? You're the one that printed it. You should have confirmed with me first."
"How could I?” His grip tightened on her arm sending a painful ache radiating down the length of it. She tried to pull away but he held tight yanking her closer. “You were too busy whoring yourself out to answer your fucking phone."
"Let go of me, Spencer,” she growled between clenched teeth.
"Do you realize what corporate is going to do to me when they find out?"
"Yes.” She huffed out an angry laugh beneath her heavy breath. “They'll fire your ass and mine too."
He pushed her away as if he was disgusted by her. She stumbled backward, tripping over the chair and falling to the floor with a heavy thud.
Movement jerked before her blurry vision and before she could process it, a loud, sickening thump echoed throughout the room.
Anthony's fist slammed against Spencer's face. “Next time you should try picking on someone your own size, you little prick."