Chapter 7

ELODIE

Roy stared at me, looking as disgruntled as ever. "Wholesome? The guy who likes to screw married women?"

I had to restrain myself from squirming. "Apparently, Mac's turned over a new leaf."

Roy got up from his office chair and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. His coffee maker was probably older than I was, an ancient dinosaur of a machine that made the bitterest, blackest coffee you could imagine. I once tried a sip of whatever noxious brew Roy enjoyed and nearly blacked out. It was so gross.

"You're sure there's nothing interesting about him?" Roy repeated. He drank a long sip of his coffee, his mustache twitching. "Nothing at all?"

I refused to break eye contact, even as my palms started sweating. Could Roy tell I was lying? Considering Roy had worked at getting the truth out of people for decades now, I knew he was no idiot.

But he also had no reason to distrust me. I was normally very honest. Too honest, really. He'd reamed me more than once for being a Goody Two-shoes who needed to pull the "stick from my ass."

"Nothing," I replied.

Roy grunted. "Fuck. Well, I can give you another assignment, then. We don't need to waste any more time on this guy."

Relief washed over me. I no longer needed the assignment to get closer to Mac. I had my ticket into the club whenever I wanted. And now that I was part of that whole story in my own way, I wanted nothing to do with an exposé on Mac Mackenzie. At this point, I mainly wanted to protect him. That was the one thing I definitely knew. As for anything else I wanted? I couldn't be sure.

I also knew that if Mac ever discovered that I'd wanted to meet him because of my job, he'd never trust me again, let alone talk to me. We'd be over and done with.

The thought of Mac hating me made me feel sick. It was one thing if he just got tired of me. It was another if he could never trust me again.

Why do you care so much if Mac trusts you?

I shook myself. Right now, I needed to think about when it came to my relationship with Todd. Because if I wanted to experiment with Mac, I would need to break up with my boyfriend first. I'd toed the line so far. But if I ever crossed it, I wouldn't be able to look Todd in the eyes.

Roy returned to his desk and shuffled some papers around, finally handing me some stained with coffee. "Spilled some this morning," he explained, "but you can still read them."

I scanned the pages. "Trevor and CJ?" I looked up in surprise. "The morning news anchors?"

"Ayup. Apparently, they're screwing." Roy put his feet up onto his desk, looking smug. "Just got the tip last night. Somebody saw them coming out of Le Chateau together after getting real cozy."

"Damn." I shook my head. "Didn't Trevor just have a baby with his wife?"

Roy nodded. "Exactly."

Disgusted, I shoved the documents into my briefcase. "I guess I'm going to Malibu, then?"

"ASAP. Follow them out of the news station, see what you can get." Roy's bushy eyebrows narrowed. "And don't come back here tellin' me that you couldn't find shit. Otherwise, I'm gonna think you're fucking with me, Andrews."

Unfortunately for me, Trevor and CJ had already left the station by the time I'd arrived. Damn LA traffic, I groused. I'd left with plenty of time to run into them, but then I'd gotten caught on the freeway after an accident. I didn't arrive in Malibu until after lunchtime.

I didn't want to go straight back to the office. I got some lunch and did some people watching while hoping to see some celebs. Lots of them lived in Malibu, and it wasn't uncommon to see celebs getting mobbed outside the most popular restaurants in the area.

It was after I finished my salad that I remembered that Mac's old girlfriend—Dawn Morrison—had her pottery studio here in Malibu. Looking up the address, I realized it was only a few blocks away.

And wouldn't you know it, it was open, too.

The studio was small but well-maintained, with lots of plants and natural light filling the space. Words of affirmation were written across the walls, along with a few puns about throwing clay. There was even a painting of the famous scene from Ghost on one wall.

"Are you here for the beginners' class?" a woman asked me as I wandered.

I blinked, my brain working overtime. It took me a second to realize the woman was Dawn herself.

She didn't look at all like she had in high school, mostly because her hair was short and she was covered in tattoos now. She also looked like she worked out. I could see muscles bulging through her tight T-shirt, a six-pack peeking through the thin fabric.

"Uh, yeah," I said on impulse. "Is there still room?"

"Sure thing." Dawn waved me over, and before I knew it, I was sitting in the studio at a pottery wheel, learning how to make a ceramic bowl.

The class consisted of me and three other women. Dawn was an enthusiastic, fast-paced teacher. I could tell that she loved what she did. She made lots of jokes that kept the class from seeming too serious.

As I was trying to make a bowl that didn't fall apart, I racked my brain. How did I get Dawn to tell me about Mac? Their high school had been too small for me to lie and say we'd both attended there.

When my bowl collapsed a third time, Dawn came over to lend a helping hand.

"You gotta keep your hands on it at all times," she explained. "And keep the wheel spinning. Yeah, there you go. Don't let up. But try not to hold it too hard either. Mold it into what you want. Don't force it." She winked at me.

I let out a nervous laugh. "I guess I'm thinking too hard. Or I'm just distracted."

"Lots of people come in here when they're stressed about work."

"Oh, it's not my work," I hedged. I shot Dawn a glance. "I'm actually meeting an old boyfriend for dinner tonight. We dated in high school, and he wanted to see me again."

Dawn raised an eyebrow. "You sound terrified."

"Just nervous." I gave her a small smile. "Sometimes I think he's the one who got away, you know? We reconnected online, and when I realized he lived in the area . . ." I shrugged. "And now we're having dinner."

"And what about him? Is he single?" Dawn asked.

"As far as I know. But would it be weird to hook up with my high school boyfriend?"

I felt a little guilty for making up this story, but it seemed to be doing the trick. Dawn sat across from me, only occasionally making sure the other attendees didn't need her assistance.

"Weird? Nah. As long you're both on the same page." She chuckled. "If I were to see my high school boyfriend, well, we wouldn't be on the same page." When I looked confused, she explained, "I'm gay. Married to a woman and everything, and my ex was—well, very much not a woman." She pointed at the ring on her finger.

"Oh. Well, yeah. That might make things awkward." I hesitated, finally asking, "Did you know, back then?"

"That I'm gay? Oh, fuck yes. We both knew. He was my beard, and I was his. Our relationship was for the benefit of others." Dawn's expression turned nostalgic. "We were best friends, but after college, we kinda stopped talking. It's funny. At that age, you think you'll be friends forever with certain people, but more often than not, you drift apart."

What did Mac need a beard for? Was he into BDSM back then and felt he had to hide it?

"Then again..." She chuckled. "My ex is pretty famous now. I doubt he'd be interested in having dinner with his old beard."

"Is he an actor?" I asked innocently.

"Nah, an athlete." When I waited, Dawn laughed. "And no, I'm not telling you who he is."

I added some water to my pottery clay. I needed to know more. "You said you were his beard," I said. "Is he gay, too?"

"Definitely not." She chuckled. "His family was just uber religious and way fucking intense."

My heart sped up a little. "But he was hiding something?"

Dawn's eyes narrowed a little. "Yeah, he was. But that was a longtime ago." She got up and proceeded to help me finish molding my bowl, the subject of Mac's secrets officially closed for discussion.

I returned home with my lopsided bowl, wondering if I'd made a mistake in going to see Dawn. If I wasn't going to turn this into a story for Roy, why was I so interested in discovering more about Mac?

The answer was that I found something about him enthralling. Seductive. I thought of his heated gaze on me as I'd watched that BDSM scene, and it felt like he could've flayed me alive just with his eyes.

How could he make me feel naked without taking a single bit of fabric off my body? I didn't understand it. It was like he could burrow under my skin and discover all my deepest, darkest secrets if I wasn't careful.

My phone started ringing. I ignored it, not recognizing the number. But as I listened to the voicemail, I realized it was for my car payment.

The voice droned on, telling me that if I didn't make a car payment soon, my account would be delinquent and turned over to the collections department.

I swore. I checked my bank account, and to my dismay, there was one overdraft fee after another. I hadn't been paying attention to my money situation in the past two weeks, and I realized that I hadn't gotten paid in a month because I hadn't written any new stories. I thought I'd had enough to tide me over, but now . . .

"Fuck," I muttered, sitting down at the kitchen table with my head in my hands. Living in LA, I couldn't go without a car. I could trade it in for something cheaper, but I'd still have a car payment.And even worse, I wasn't sure if I could make rent, either, not with all these overdraft fees hitting my account.

As I scrolled mindlessly on my phone, trying to figure out a game plan, I saw that the Blades were playing tonight. And because of the Mac story, I still had a press pass to any games I wanted to attend.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the stadium, desperately needing a distraction.

I knew hockey was a rough sport, violent even, but my jaw dropped as I watched Mac, his teammates, and the rival team get into multiple fights. Mac himself was the instigator on more than one occasion, getting his ass landed in what was basically hockey time-out.

I watched as his coach yelled at him. Mac stood, gesturing, his expression ferocious, and I had to fan myself. Damn, why am I so turned on right now?

Mac looked like he wanted to toss his coach onto the ice. Despite being half Mac's size, his coach didn't back down. Mac finally scowled, sat on the bench, and took his punishment, but not before giving a few air kisses to some fans in the stands.

I didn't fully understand the game, I had to admit. I'd never been a sports girl, and hockey was as foreign to me as somebody speaking French. But I found something about it enthralling.

Maybe it was the way the guys managed to maneuver across the ice, pushing the puck with their sticks like they'd been born with it in their hands. It was smooth and graceful, almost . . . balletic.

Mac would kill me if I used that description, I thought in amusement.

But the pushing, shoving, and fighting were the opposite of balletic. It was all rough and tumble, pure masculinity on display and for consumption.And consume was all I could sit there and do.

I'd never understood the appeal of this sport. Until now.

It helped that Mac was clearly a talented, savvy player. He easily skated across the ice, scoring multiple goals throughout the game. The stadium erupted into cheers and yells every time he smacked the puck into the net. Numerous women had seats nearest the ice, holding signs, flowers, and God knows what else. I half expected some of them to take off their bras and throw them onto the ice.

I was sitting up in the nosebleed section, which was fine by me. I didn't want Mac to know I was here. Not yet, at least.

The game was a close one, with the Blades scoring the winning goal in the nick of time. Mac and his teammates let out a rousing roar of excitement after their win, gathering together and hooting and hollering like crazy people. I laughed out loud at their antics.

After it was over, I went straight to the locker room, my press pass giving me quick access to behind the scenes. The players came filing in, clearly high off their win, the smell of sweat clinging to them. The guys began taking off their skates and then stripping off the heaviest parts of their gear.

Mac's gaze caught mine within moments. His eyes darkened. I imagined he was shocked to see me, and I realized I needed an excuse for why I was there. I couldn't tell him I was with the press. That would pretty much be the end of things. I stuffed my badge into my pocket and hoped against hope that he hadn't seen it.

"How'd you get down here?" he asked, approaching me with a towel around his neck.

"Oh, you can get anywhere with a little flirting and some cleavage." I laughed nervously.

Mac glanced at my blouse, which showed a grand total of zero cleavage. "Cleavage, huh?"

I shrugged. "I buttoned it up before you guys came inside."

"That's a shame." His eyes sparkled.

I realized people were staring at us. I cleared my throat, putting some space between us.

"Can we go somewhere to talk? Privately?" I asked.

Mac nodded. "Give me twenty minutes. I'll meet you outside in the parking lot. My car is near the south end in lot C, row five."

"I'm impressed you remembered exactly where you parked," I joked. "I swear I can never remember that the second I walk away from my car."

Mac, though, just shrugged off my comment. I could tell his mind was already elsewhere.

He then returned to the bench, now giving the press his full attention. I watched him for a bit, enjoying his answers to their questions. He never failed to have a witty quip or rejoinder. When more than one journalist probed him about his affair with a married woman, Mac managed to say something clever and avoid the subject entirely.

I hated that I couldn't use my press badge without giving myself away. I just had to stand there and watch, feeling awkward. Eventually, I decided to wait in my car.

I let myself relax once I was safely inside, pushing the seat back so it would recline. I'd been so full of energy during the game and after, but the post-adrenaline crash left me feeling extremely tired. I'd experienced it on more than one occasion, usually in the midst of chasing a story and doing something that was borderline illegal.

But I soon regretted leaving the locker room because now my brain had returned to the voicemail on my phone. I needed money, and I needed it quickly. Did I tell Roy about my predicament?

I chewed on my lip. Considering I was lying to my boss about Mac, I doubted Roy would feel inclined to help me out.

I could suck it up and write a story about Mac. That was what I'd been assigned to do, anyway. And I had a big, juicy story to tell, NDA or not. I couldn't imagine how the public would react to the story of Mac going to a sex club. Or his predilection for BDSM.

The world might be more accepting than it was even twenty years ago, but it wasn't that accepting.

I chewed on my lower lip until it was sore. I sighed, rubbing my temples. As much as I knew the money would be great, I could never do it. Even though Roy would probably risk the lawsuit from his employee violating an NDA, the thought of writing about Mac felt like a betrayal. Maybe it was because he'd been so upfront about wanting privacy. And I also knew that The Scarlet Rope probably had the resources to sue me personally for breach of contract if I spilled the beans. Though...I hadn't signed the NDA. Technically, Roxy had. I wasn't even sure if that made a difference or if I was bound to the terms by my actions anyway.

I heard the distant sounds of cheers, which alerted me to Mac's exit. Or rather, his decoy's exit.

Fifteen minutes later, I saw Mac walking to his beat-up old car parked only a few rows from mine.