notion of love, falling as hard as I did for Luke was almost a miracle.
A miracle that was made possible because of a daddy.
Epilogue
Lulu
Victoria is married. I’ve got her old apartment, and basically her old life. I’m a working girl, living in the city, just trying to keep up.
The only real difference between us?
She was a jewelry store clerk turned bartender, and I’m now a shameful writer for The Spread, the magazine that spreads celebrity gossip as fast as the wildfires that threaten to devour their lavish homes.
My only consolation in being a bathroom-read magazine writer instead of a serious journalist?
Though juicy and titillating, we do pride ourselves on one thing; we tell the truth. No matter how salacious or unbelievable the print may seem, if you read it in our mag, it’s true.
My first assignment? To write a smear piece on the Bachmans.
Do I feel like a phony, crappy, backstabbing friend?
Absolutely.
But do I crave success as strongly as breath in my lungs? Am I willing to go to any length to realize my dreams of having an Upper East Side zip code one day?
Most definitely.
And wouldn’t Victoria want the best for me?
I think so.
Still, I can’t shake this skeezy feeling I’m getting from not telling her.
I know I should grow a pair of balls, pick up the phone, and admit to the dear friend who’s given me her apartment, her bed, and her mini fridge that I’m doing a piece on her new family. I can just imagine my intro: “Hello, dear. I’m doing a tell-all number on your highly secretive family and their kinky ways in the bedroom. Do you mind?”
I can’t.
Instead of focusing on my disloyalty, I think about my first conquest: Jet Bachman.
He’s a handsome, dark-haired, ex-federal agent and about to be an initiated member of the Brotherhood. Seeing as he’s a new fish in a huge pond, he should be the easiest to seduce.
I may have also picked him because the man is so damn easy on the eyes. He has this slow smile that can melt the panties off any girl, and a dry, ironic sense of humor that stimulates my brain as much as his muscles pulse my core.
Bedding him is a sacrifice I’m willing to make in order to find out the ways of the family for my juicy tell-all article.
I’ve just got to convince my boss to let my name be anonymous. Or come clean with Victoria.
Sitting at my small desk looking out my one tiny office window, I bite my nails thinking of Victoria. She’s been such a good friend to me, giving me her lease, hanging out with me while I get used to the city, bringing takeout to my apartment.
And what am I going to do in exchange?
Stab her in the back.
Despite the drive that burns inside me, the all-consuming desire to succeed, the fact that my dreams are right within my grasp—I just can’t do it. I’d do almost anything for a good story, but I can’t screw a friend.
I won’t write the article. Not without her knowing.
Texting Victoria, we make plans to meet up at Café Fresca, her treat of course. Since she’s become a billionaire Bachman Beauty, she won’t let me pay for anything when we go out.
An hour later, we’re seated outdoors at a little table for two. She’s dressed head to toe in cream couture, making my colorful bohemian garb look like curtains. Her smile is bright, her hello warm and genuine, reminding me that though she’s now divine and expensive on the outside, she’s still the same old good friend in the center.
Spreading a napkin over her lap, she asks, “How’s the job going?”
I hadn’t expected the topic to come up so quickly. Anxiety bubbles up in my stomach. My mouth opens and I vomit out, “That’s why I wanted to talk to you today. I’m doing this... article. It’s pretty big and it’s my chance at making a name for myself as a journalist but...”
Her aqua eyes glow. “But what? I’m so excited for you and you haven’t even told me what the project is yet!”
I say, “You aren’t going to like it.”
She asks, “What is it?”
Suddenly, my resolve turns to dust, blowing away in the gentle breeze that ruffles my napkin. “You know what, just forget it.”
She leans in, using a tone I imagine she’s picked up from her daddy dom. “Just tell me, Lulu.”
Her gaze searches mine and I find myself spilling the news. “It’s an undercover piece. I’d