I continued to smile.
Brent jerked his head at my bag, grabbing our attention. “What do you have in that duffle that’s so important?”
That was easy. “A picture of a kiss. It’ll be big news and money to the papers.”
Grigori stiffened. “Someone tried this over the kiss between Zoya and me?”
I nodded. “Having breaking news in a world that thrives off the newest information is nothing new. It’s not the first time I’ve been hurt after getting the story first. It’s just a hazard of my job. I normally scope out the competing press that’s in attendance when I’m on assignment, but I haven’t had the time to do it yet. I don’t know who the diehards are compared to the diehard crazies.”
“Sloppy. Your research should have been your first priority,” Daniil reprimanded coolly.
I did not look at him but I nodded. Because yes, I should have. Instead, I had gotten wasted and had sex with the Russian mafia boss man.
My priorities had been a little off their mark.
“Ember was correct. We’ll do this pro-bono for you,” Stash murmured calmly, his smile creepy on his pretty face. “It could be fun.”
“There’s plenty of water to be had around here. He could be seeing the bottom of the ocean within the hour,” Kirill stated evenly. “You wouldn’t have to worry about him again.”
I tried not to gape. They were all fucking loony.
In the silence of the restaurant, they waited patiently for my answer, as if I was seriously going to say yes. The lyrics to “Amazing Grace” by Judy Collins started blaring. I jumped, banging the ice harder against my cheek as everyone peered to the right.
“What the fuck is that?” Roman asked.
I cleared my throat and started moving toward the sound. “It’s my dad calling.” He had set the ringtone himself, seeming amused that he knew how to do it.
Zane started choking again.
I finally found my purse under the table after my dad called a second time. I was still on my knees when I answered, “Hello?”
Dad spoke quickly, “Finally! Look, your mother and I need to speak…”
“Dad, I’m a little busy right now,” I interrupted. I could finally hear the sirens as the police made their way here. “Can I call you back?”
He was quiet for a moment, then asked stated gruffly, “You sound upset. You haven’t been digging for trouble, have you?” I could hear my mother in the background fussing after he said that.
“No, Dad. No trouble. I’m just in the middle of something.”
“Well, call me when you’re through. Your mother and I want you to meet someone. We swear he isn’t anything like the last young man. You actually have a lot in common.”
I leaned my forehead against the table. “Dad, I told you no more blind dates.” The sirens were almost here. “I’ll call you later. Bye.”
“Call me back.” he instructed quickly.
I hung up, sighing as I placed my phone in my purse. I shoved my duffle and purse over my shoulder as I stood, placing the bag of ice back against my cheek. I stopped and groaned in exasperation. “What is it with you people and staring?” They were all watching me. Silently. They weren’t at all remorseful for their blatant eavesdropping.
Ember’s shoulders shook. “What type of men does the preacher set you up with?”
A flashback of my last date hit me. “Some are all right and some not so all right.” I blinked, coming back to myself. “We should open the doors. The cops are almost here.”
Chapter 5
Two days after the incident at the restaurant, I was still trying to come up with the perfect twenty-five questions for the interview with Ember. I had not had a lot of time to compile the list, thanks to the investigation at the restaurant, the cops nabbing a new rookie reporter from the Red Buick, me pressing charges against him and the druggie, getting two stitches next to my temple, and still having to cover the charity events.
The word ‘exhausted’ did not even begin to cover how bone weary I was.
Now I was at yet another party. Instead of dancing and drinks, Mrs. Donovan had been creative, and made three mini-obstacle courses on the first three holes of the golf course here at the resort that were open to everyone. It was a hit because many of the donators acted like they had an itch to get physical after watching all the fights; however, I was not too thrilled. My editor had chewed me out when I had told him I was not interested in joining…now I was.
But, honestly¸ I probably would have anyway. There were all kinds of gossip and news worthy information zinging by my ears, making me grateful that I had a great memory since I could not fit a recorder anywhere on my tank top and shorts. Only the memory card from my camera was cut into the fabric of the underside of my bra, since I did not dare leave it anywhere unattended. I had done my best to cover the hickie with make-up, but half of my face was a shade of pea green so the added color to my neck was not such a big deal.
I waited with the masses to find out who would be teamed up with whom. The competitors were mixed with the donators and press, and there would be ten teams of ten. ‘Awards’ were going to be given out to the first, second, and third place teams of this event. I was a little hopeful that I would be put on a team that did place, because more than likely whatever was in those award bags I could sell and have enough rent for three months. Or even a few new pairs of shoes and handbags. Either way, I wanted one.
From a huge cowboy hat, Mrs. Donovan started pulling slips of paper on which the contestants had written their names. The people that were not joining the festivities drank and mingled on the sidelines. I fingered the tiny bandage that covered my stitches as she read names off. I had taken some ibuprofen. It did not currently hurt, but it was starting to itch, the healing process annoying.
A third of the way through the name-calling, I heard her say mine over the portable mike and speaker she was using. I made my way through the crowd, some of them taking notice of me for the first time, putting the face to the name. As they stared, some were hostile, those who I had done unflattering stories on it the past and some were respectful; those individuals knowing it was hard work being a reporter.
Bluntly, I was not loved by all or hated by all. It was hit or miss.
I exited through the front of the masses, and waved at Mrs. Donovan, showing her I was here. Her stare was stony, one of my haters, and nodded to the right. I smiled amiably, and strolled to stand next to three individuals that were starting the third team of which I was now a part of. I almost grinned, seeing a bag in my hand when I saw that Stash was one of the three. I had learned today during his lone obstacle course that he was one fast son-a-bitch. I did not recognize the other two. They looked like donators, since they weren’t wearing a competitor’s shirt.