Be My Babygirl A Billionaire Romance - Jane Henry Page 0,65

gossip channel, I brace myself for more lies. The words, Mr. Morrow, Escort, and used, are constantly repeated.

My tablet sits on my lap, my finger swiping through page after page of articles.

My phone sits beside me, making a bing-bong noise with every text it receives.

I ignore them. I know it’s Sarah, begging me to call her back.

She’ll say she wasn’t the leak, promising me that there isn’t a single person on her staff that she doesn’t trust. But that’s just not possible. The story leaked only twenty-four hours after I hit send. It went to no one else except my publisher.

How could it be Sarah? She’s the only one I really know at the publishing company. We talk on the phone at least once a week, way more when I’ve got a story in the works. She would never do this to me.

But they must have a dirty doer in their ranks—one who would trade a salacious story in exchange for cold, hard cash. Sell my book to the gossip rags, claiming I used Darius only for the story, and pocket a handsome reward.

Kind of like me getting paid for sex? Sinking into my couch I suddenly feel dirty, shameful, and no better than the nasty snitch who’s done this to me.

Sighing, I try to convince myself to flip off the television. To turn off my tablet. To stop watching, stop reading this junk, but I can’t. Seeing your life crumble before your eyes on screen is like an addiction—you can’t tear yourself away.

A new headline, one I haven’t yet seen flashes on the television screen. In bold red font, the words say; Tragedy Strikes a Third Time for Darius Morrow.

A knot forms in my stomach. Grabbing the remote, I turn up the sound.

The news anchor stares steadily into the camera lens, her face lined with disapproval. “A small-town hero from Georgia not only lost his parents, but his football career as well. And now, tragedy has struck for a third time in the form of a curvy blonde escort. Katie Davis, writing under the pen name of Scarlet Rose, has turned her latest romance novel into a tell-all delving into the personal life of Mr. Morrow.”

Wait. What?

Hearing my real name linked with my pen name to the whole world, I cringe, my stomach twisting in knots. I think I might be sick, but I can’t move from this couch. I have to hear the rest of the story. The reporter drones on. “Katie reveals all in her novel—the tragic loss of his family, how he was raised by his grandmother, his devastating injury that prevented him from pursuing his dream in professional football. Forcing him into a deep depression that made him leave his hometown in search of a new life under the shiny lights of Vegas.”

A white-hot heat rushes over my face, every muscle in my body tensing.

I didn’t write that.

I would never, ever tell his personal tragedy to the world.

I rarely curse, but I find myself thinking, what the actual fuck is going on here?

The reporter finishes her story with a cheesy one liner. “Looks like what happens in Vegas, doesn’t stay in Vegas after all.”

Disgusted, I grab for the remote, turning off the television with shaky fingers. The blue glow of the screen fades, leaving me alone in the dark. I go to turn on the lamp beside me, but I’m shaking so badly I almost knock it to the floor.

This is what he thinks I did. My throat clogs with tears. I can’t believe someone did this. He thinks I’ve betrayed him.

When I’ve finally got the light on, I grab my cell. There’s a string of texts as well as a long line of angry red missed calls. Ignoring them all, I pull up Sarah’s number and dial.

Her voice sounds shaky. “Oh my God, Katie. Thanks for calling me back. Are you okay?”

“I'm hanging in there. But what’s this about a chapter in my book about Darius’s personal tragedy?” My voice shakes. I want answers.

She waits a beat to answer. “Um… what do you mean?”

“That’s definitely not in there. Some reporter must have made it up to make the story more grabby. Is there any way your company could contact the press? I mean this has to be illegal, making up shit that I didn’t put in there—”

“Katie.” Sarah says my name in a tone I’ve never heard her use, one that sends a chill down my spine. “That was all in the book. His