Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,52
smirk, “And that’s illegal.”
“Prove it.”
“I’ve got it right here!” I shout, jerking my phone out of my pocket.
“You’ve got a picture emailed to you from a ghost account. Prove it was me. I know you’re not wearing a wire. The metal detectors would’ve taken care of that.”
Damn it, he’s right again. “What do you want?”
A beat passes then he leans forward, “I want her.”
My blood turns to ice. “What?”
“You heard me. I still think you’re full of shit, McCallum, but the Romanov estate wouldn’t bend over solely on the word of some third-rate gossip blog. If this girl really is Alexandra Romanov, she’s guaranteed box office gold.”
“Did you accidentally roofie yourself? I know what you do to your box office golden girls. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you anywhere near her.”
“Technically, the Romanov family is contractually obligated to Silverline. Nicholas Romanov was on the board of directors.”
“Nicholas Romanov is dead,” I growl, my temper blazing. “Along with his wife and four children. Alexandra’s contract voided the minute they were buried.”
“Well, there’s still the matter of this crown jewel.” Picking up the picture, he dangles it between his thumb and index finger. “I bet the tabloids would sell their mothers to buy this.” He pauses, glancing up at me through narrowed eyes. “How about you, Dominic? Would you sell your mother to buy it?”
“Choose your next words very carefully, Rosten.”
“How is dear Brenda doing? I hear Moss Valley is overcrowded these days.”
I swear to fuck if I had my gun, I’d put every damn bullet in his chest, and then pistol whip him just for fun. Greg Rosten has no idea what I’m capable of or what sins I’ve committed. I may have left the life that built me, but every brick of BTN is bathed in blood and then washed in the back of a dirty garage. That kind of violence never leaves you. It’s always there, simmering just under the surface, waiting to erupt.
And the volcano is about to blow.
“You’re the reason she’s there.”
“And you’re the reason she’s leaving.”
Rushing toward him, I slam my fist on his desk. “Fuck you!”
“No, fuck you!” he seethes, narrowing his eyes. “Haven’t you heard? I’m God in this town. I own everybody, and I own you, you little shit.” He shoves his finger in my face, and I smack it away. It doesn’t faze him. “You may have paid off your debt, but you’re still broke as shit. You can’t afford the toilet paper to wipe your ass much less decent long-term psychiatric care.” Leaning back in his oversized chair, he folds his hands behind his head and kicks his feet up on his desk. “Here’s your reality, newsboy, I can have her eighty-sixed from that piece of shit clinic and thrown out on her batshit crazy ass before you even make it to the parking lot.”
My voice shakes with rage. “You can’t do that.”
“You bet your ass I can. And I will, along with sending this”—he points to the photo still lying on his desk—“to every media outlet from here to Antarctica.” A wide smile spreads across his face. “Unless, you convince that pretty little thing to sign on the dotted line.”
I’m not a good man, but that’s sending a lamb to slaughter.
What choice do I have?
“I want my mother reinstated to a deluxe suite at Moss Valley.” I taste every bitter lick of betrayal in each word. “A year’s stay paid up front, and I want it all in writing”
He nods, victory peeling across his smug face. “Consider it done.”
“I’ll need some time.”
“You have until Friday.”
What the hell? “That’s in three days! There’s no way. Besides, it’ll be too chaotic on Friday. Alexandra has the…” The word trails off as the pieces start clicking together, then I grit out, “party.”
Rosten’s smile widens, the gleam in his eye turning my stomach. “Can’t wait. It’s been a long time since I’ve indulged in a Romanov party. Russian vodka is the best, you know. Should be a good time.”
I want to grab his tongue and rip it out. Instead, I grab the picture off his desk.
“You keep that.” He nods toward my clenched hand. “I have a hundred more where that came from. Now get out of my sight. I have work to do.”
I don’t take orders, but I’m afraid if I’m in this man’s presence another minute, I might throw him out the window.
Just as I get to the elevator, he calls my name. “Dominic?”