Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,64
her.
It wasn’t until we were in the cab that she sighed, sagging against me like she was exhausted.
“You okay?”
She drew a long breath. “I think so. She scares the shit out of me, Tommy.”
“Me too,” I offered.
She shifted to look at me with disbelief. “Really? I never would have guessed. You were kinda scary in there, too,” she said on a chuckle.
“The thing is, we have the upper hand. We have the story. And until we give her what she wants, she’s at our mercy. I’d like to hold that off as long as we can. No sense in being shackled to her before we absolutely have to.”
“So no early articles?”
Theo shook his head. “I’m with Tommy. Let’s keep an eye on her so she doesn’t come at us sideways. Best thing we can do is hold her off. Maintain control.”
Amelia’s brow furrowed. “Are we really in control?”
I wrapped an arm around her like I’d wanted to. “We are. We have her exactly where we need her, and the ball is in our court.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Trust me,” I urged gently. “We are in control. She will do what we want, exactly how we want. And nothing is going to stop us.”
When she smiled, I saw her relief.
And when I looked inside myself, I saw just how thin my promise was.
Money Where Your Mouth Is
Amelia
“Okay, are you sure you’re ready?” Tommy asked, hesitant from head to heel.
I steeled myself, meeting his eyes with courage I tried to tell myself was real. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He reached for my hand. “Just tell me if you need to stop, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I had no idea the pain that was about to be inflicted on me, but I nodded, grateful for his comfort. “Thank you, Tommy.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said on a chuckle as he handed me my laptop.
I took a deep breath and rested the machine in my lap, sitting back on the couch as I flipped it open.
Tommy sat close enough to feel the heat rolling off of him so hard, I could almost tell the topography of his muscles by the waves that hit me. And I could almost hear his thoughts as he watched me navigate to Twitter.
A tingle that was fire and ice crawled across my skin like spiders.
My account was a fucking shitstorm of mentions and DMs. In the thirty-six hours since we’d gotten married, I had gained just over a million followers.
One. Million. Followers.
My tiny, stunned brain could not comprehend that number. I stared at it like it might change if I blinked.
It didn’t.
I opened my notifications, which was the mistake of my life.
At the top was a mention from Us Weekly of their cover.
Their cover that happened to have me on it.
Not just me, of course. Me and Tommy, one of the pictures from our wedding night, the one of us staring into each other’s eyes like we were lovesick. Inset were a few other pictures, including one of us running into the restaurant last night.
I realized distantly that my mouth was hanging open. “How…”
“They move fast,” he answered my unspoken question gently.
I scrolled down. People magazine. TMZ. The Goddamn Today Show. Oprah had congratulated us on our marriage. Page Six. Daily Mail. Entertainment Weekly. Glamour. Vogue. All featured pictures from the wedding, discussion of my dress. My past. My family. My friends. There was even a triptych of sneaky paparazzi photos of Sam and Val, arm in arm in the Village, Court and Rin at The Met, and Katherine behind her desk at the New York Public Library.
My vision dimmed by way of dark tendrils that pulsed with my heartbeat as I scrolled. I realized that was the only sound I could hear—the rushing thunder of my pulse in my ears. I then noticed with clinical detachment that my chest felt like a bomb had gone off in my rib cage, and I couldn’t get enough air, not with the shallow sips that my locked ribs would allow.
“Okay, that’s enough for today,” Tommy said with authority, swiping my computer off my lap and closing it with a snap.
My hands lay uselessly in my lap, cold and numb. He took them, shifting to put himself in my line of vision as I stared through a spot across the room.
“Amelia?” My name was a tender, worried string of syllables on his tongue. “Fuck, I knew it was too soon for this,” he muttered. “Please, say something.”