Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,63

chaste as it was searing.

And with that, I lost the will to care whether or not Vivienne was right. He might be the best actor in the world.

When his lips were on mine, I couldn’t find it in me to care.

A Deal's A Deal

Tommy

Janessa’s pen scratched on the paper.

When she looked up, it was with a shark smile. “Mind telling me what all this is about?” she asked, handing the NDA to Theo.

Amelia shifted in her seat next to me, her discomfort humming across the space between us. I reached for her hand in her lap.

Janessa followed the motion with interest.

“We’d like to offer you a story,” I said, squeezing Amelia’s hand.

“I’m all ears.”

Theo took over. “Amelia will be writing an editorial about Thomas Bane to be published in a year. If you want it, it’s yours.”

“What’s the angle?” she asked.

“‘My Year with Thomas Bane.’ An editorial to cover all the things you’ve been trying to find out about my brother—not only about his past, but his relationships and family. We’ll willingly offer the story, but while your input will be welcomed, the story will be written our way. If you can agree to those terms and you’re interested, we’re offering it to you first. And in exchange, you will ensure Amelia gets a job at a top New York publishing house.”

Assessing eyes scanned the three of us. “I assumed this was a stunt, but this is more than I could have hoped for. Will you admit in the article that the marriage was fake?”

I chimed in, “We’ll let you know when we decide. I’d like to call a truce. With the volunteering of my story, I want your promise you’ll otherwise leave me alone. No more reporters. No more prying. I’ll feed you what you want, but it’ll be on my terms. And you will get Amelia the job she wants. Deal?”

She smiled. “Deal. We will take the story you give us, and Amelia can take her pick of a Big Five house. I have connections at all of them. What if we do the piece in parts? One for each month of the year, the perspective of your life through the eyes of sweet, unassuming Amelia Hall. The fame. The famous exes. The truth of your history. Will we finally learn about your mother?”

A sharp, hot flare of aversion whipped through me at even the mention of Ma. “You will.”

Theo nodded. “I like the idea of a monthly piece. It could serve as almost an episodic. Expand the piece’s life.”

I turned to Amelia. “What do you think?”

When she met my gaze, it was as if we were having a private conversation. “I think it’s brilliant. The first one could be the wedding. People seem to be interested in the details, and I already have so much material.”

Janessa watched the exchange before speaking. “Would you consider releasing the pieces sooner? If we decide not to spill the beans about the fact that it’s all for show?” Before I could refuse, she kept talking. “Dropping the story sooner will drum up more interest. You’re all anyone can talk about, for now at least.”

My eyes narrowed. “We’ll consider it,” I hedged. “And if you play your cards right, we’ll offer you other exclusive content.”

Her smile widened.

“But you will behave yourself, or we’re taking it to New York Today. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” she said as she stood. “Let’s keep an open dialogue about direction, and I’ll keep an eye out for the contract outlining the details. We’re looking forward to learning all about you, Mr. Bane.”

She offered a hand, which I took, the shake singular, firm, unbreakable. It was a handshake that promised more than words had.

I wasn’t naive enough to believe that promise would ever have my best interest at heart.

But that was where Amelia would step in, bridge the gap. Tell my story in a way that would be honest, heartfelt. True.

I hoped at least.

Control the narrative.

And if the whole ordeal helped save my career and build Amelia’s, we’d both win.

Janessa shook Amelia’s hand, then Theo’s. And seconds later, we were striding out of the newspaper offices with everyone’s eyes on us.

None of us spoke as we rode the elevator down or walked through the noisy lobby, heavy with traffic. Amelia’s hand was in mine, clammy and cool. I wanted to hold her, to nestle her under my arm, wrap my arm around her shoulders. I wanted to be a human shield, deflecting anything—gaze, question, or otherwise—they might fire at