Fifth Avenue Box Set: Take MeAvenge MeScandalize MeExpose Me

by Maisey Yates

  What the hell?

  Chelsea quickly averted her face, bringing her hands up to her face and flicking at the corners of her eyes as if she could deny that one treacherous little tear.

  And Alex didn’t say anything, didn’t make light of it or mention it at all, because her tear terrified him. What the hell was he doing, trying to reach this woman? Trying to affect her?

  “I thought we were going to get it on,” Chelsea said, her voice just a little bit clogged. “Wasn’t that the idea, Alex?” Sharper now, a demand. “Because we’re halfway back to my place.”

  “Then we’d better not waste another minute,” Alex answered and he pulled her onto his lap. He kissed her deeply then, and she responded, their tongues tangling as he felt a moan rise in his throat. He slid a hand down the front of her jeans and pressed against her. She pressed back in response, causing heat to rise in his groin.

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” he murmured, and she pulled back, arched an eyebrow, all haughty challenge.

  “I don’t do easy.”

  He flicked open the button of her jeans and tugged at the zip. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  It wasn’t easy. But it was fast and hard and hot, and most of all it was mindless. After that tear, Alex knew he needed that now. He was pretty sure Chelsea did, too.

  There was safety in wildness, a comfort in going hot and deep. You didn’t need to think then. You didn’t have the brain space to wonder or care.

  You just felt, and it felt good.

  Afterward Chelsea rested her damp forehead against his shoulder, let out a shuddering breath. Her jeans were caught around her hips, as were Alex’s. The limo pulled up to her building and Alex quickly reached over to press the lock button. Chelsea laughed; he could feel it reverberate through her as well as him, pressed as she was against him.

  “Quick thinking.”

  “I’m good like that.”

  “Yes, you are. Condom in the back pocket, I noticed. Very prepared.”

  “I’m a regular Boy Scout.”

  “Thanks for that,” she said, and suddenly, stupidly, he felt cheap. He, the master of the one-night stand, felt like a gigolo. She’d cheapened something that had already been cheap, or so they’d both believed. Sex and the circus.

  Right.

  Chelsea hit the unlock button and Alex knew he should say something. Ask her to stay. Pull her back toward him. But the memory of that single tear kept him silent, because he didn’t know what to do with a Chelsea who cried when he kissed her. Who had secrets that must hurt, secrets that would make her someone other than the strong woman with the bad-ass attitude. Secrets that made this complicated and emotional and intimate, and he didn’t play that way.

  And so he stayed silent as she opened the door and slid out of the limo, shooting him one fleeting glance over her shoulder.

  “Goodbye, Alex,” she said, and he heard the finality in her tone, saw it in her face. Felt it in himself.

  Time to pull back. Time to focus on Treffen, and not on this pseudo-relationship they’d both been flirting with.

  A sad little smile twisted her lips as she closed the door and Alex just watched. Chelsea might have wanted to leave, but he’d let her go.

  Chapter Nine

  She never cried. She didn’t do tears, and certainly not all because of a kiss.

  She hadn’t cried when she’d had her first awful, slobbery kiss at all of six years old. Her mother’s boyfriend, Bo Fielding, had become a bit too friendly. She hadn’t cried for a whole lot of dispiriting kisses throughout her teens, when she’d kept trying to prove to forgettable boys that she was worth loving. And she hadn’t cried when Brian Taylor had kissed her and bit her lip so hard she’d needed stitches.

  She wasn’t going to cry now, not because Alex had kissed her so softly and tenderly it had reminded her she had a heart and it ached.

  She’d never, not once, been kissed like that before.

  Blinking hard, Chelsea stepped into the elevator and took several steadying breaths as it soared toward her penthouse. She kept telling herself to be careful, to stay hidden, but then Alex started stripping away her layers without even realizing it. And she had a feeling he didn’t even want to; he hadn’t exactly been thrilled or even touched by her tears.

  No, Alex wanted simple, just like she did. The trouble was she didn’t seem capable of simple anymore. Something had opened up inside her and she didn’t know how to stuff it back down again, pretend it didn’t exist.

  So here she was again, running back to her bolt-hole in the sky, knowing that Alex had managed to peel away another layer, touch her soul a little more deeply.

  And she didn’t think she would ever run far or fast enough to escape that.

  But she’d try.

  She spent the night working on her laptop, sketching out new interview questions and ideas, because sleep at the best of times was a passing acquaintance, and tonight she knew it would be a stranger.

  She worked hard and long to keep from thinking about Alex, from reliving that kiss again and remembering how it had felt as if a hand was being plunged right down inside her, grabbing her heart and squeezing it hard.

  It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, that. But it sure as hell woke you up. Made you feel alive.

  And she hadn’t, Chelsea acknowledged, felt that alive, or alive at all, in a very long time.

  Around 3 a.m. when her eyes became gritty and she’d bolted her third cup of black coffee she typed Jason Treffen into the internet search box on her web browser.

  The usual websites and accolades came up: his groundbreaking work with women’s rights through his law firm and charity; photos of him looking debonair and dignified, another shot with his family, a sulky-looking son and a too-pretty daughter, a wife whose smile seemed just a little bit fixed.

  Was that just a random moment caught on camera, or something deeper, darker? Did she know about Treffen’s side activities?

  Chelsea peered closer, zoomed in on Treffen’s face and gazed into those blue eyes that were creased in a smile and looked as clear as a summer sky.

  Even now she had trouble believing what Alex had said. All right, Treffen had some secrets. Clearly. She hadn’t imagined the coldness in his eyes, the implicit threat of revealing her past. She wasn’t that paranoid. But plenty of people, even paragons, had secrets. Treffen might have dodged a tax bill, not pimped his employees.

  Yet she knew what men were capable of. With so much bad experience behind her she tended to judge most men harshly, and too often she’d been right. Why should Treffen be any different? Michael might have slipped beneath her defenses, just a little, and as for Alex...

  It always came back to Alex. Her fingers stilled on the mouse and she stared into space, willing everything in her not just to stop thinking about him, but to forget him.

  Forget the touch of his hands on her body, the slide of his lips over hers. And far more difficult, forget how he made her laugh even when she didn’t so much as crack a smile. She felt it inside, all the lightening and loosening of her tightly-held self...and if he kept at it, if she let him, she might fall apart completely. She might come apart like so many loose bolts and screws, the Chelsea Maxwell machine, never to come together again.

  Why was Alex so determined to wreak his revenge on Treffen, Chelsea wondered. Plenty of terrible things happened in the world, God knew, but Alex seemed to take Treffen personally.

  Which made her wonder just what he might have at stake.

  She frowned, not liking that Alex had secrets but knowing that he must have them, just like she did. And whether or not it was shoddy journalism, she didn’t feel like digging. Didn’t want Alex to dig either.

  This was about Treffen, and Treffen only.

  Three days later she finished filming a show and hurried back to her office to check her mobile yet again for messages. Alex hadn’t called. Of course, he hadn’t said he would call. She might be expecting some contact over Treffen; afte
r all, they had to work together on this.

  She was waiting for that, she told herself. A professional call, not a personal one.

  Yeah, right.

  Her phone buzzed and Chelsea practically leaped across her office to answer it. It was her sister, and she let out an involuntary sigh as she greeted her.

  “Hi, Louise.”

  Her sister huffed a laugh. “Don’t sound so excited.”

  “Sorry, I was expecting someone else to call.”

  “Oh? Someone interesting?”

  Her sister sounded so hopeful on her account. “Just a work thing,” she answered, and Louise let out a little sigh. Chelsea gave a rather brittle laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I just want you to be happy, Aurora,” Louise said quietly, “even if you don’t think you deserve to be.”

  There was so much about that statement that hurt. Chelsea took a deep breath. “My name is Chelsea now.”

  “I know.” Louise was silent for a moment, and Chelsea had a feeling she wanted to say something else. Something she didn’t think she could handle.

  “So why did you call? We’re not meant to have our monthly dinner for another week.”

  “I thought maybe we could do lunch.”

  “Lunch? But—”

  “I know, it’s not part of this routine we’ve fallen into. A very comfortable routine, for both of us. But I know how I operate, Aur—Chelsea, and I think you’re the same way. Another fifteen years could go by and we’d still be meeting for dinner once a month.”

  And she was fine with that. “So why the change?”

  “Because you’re my sister, my only living relative that I know about, and I want to be closer to you.”

  Chelsea didn’t think she could handle two people in her life trying to get closer to her. But then, maybe Alex was done with closeness. With her. Maybe he didn’t even want her help with Treffen anymore. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “I’m free for lunch today. Twelve-thirty okay?”

  “Perfect.” Louise cleared her throat. “Thanks, Chelsea,” she said quietly, and Chelsea thought she heard the ragged note of tears in her sister’s voice.

  Louise was waiting by the iconic statue of Atlas as Chelsea emerged from AMI’s building onto Rockefeller Plaza. The sky was a hard, bright blue and there was just a hint of spring thaw in the air.

  “Hello, Louise.”

  Louise smiled and then to Chelsea’s surprise, gave her a hug. Her arms closed around her sister automatically, even though neither of them were huggy people. At least Chelsea wasn’t. She’d assumed Louise was the same.

  “What’s all this about?” she asked as she stepped away. “Lunch, hugs...I thought you liked comfortable routines.”

  “I do. Usually. But maybe life’s too short to stay comfortable.”

  “Maybe it’s too short not to,” Chelsea answered lightly.

  “That’s how I usually think. But...” Louise stopped, a certain vulnerability shadowing her eyes. “You’re my sister, Chelsea. I’ve spent the last ten years wondering about you, wishing—” She shook her head, her hair flying. “Let’s eat.”

  Wishing what? Chelsea wondered. Wishing things had been different, that they’d been closer? Sometimes she’d wished that, when she’d let herself. Most of the time she didn’t give in to the impulse, to the cold sweep of loneliness it caused.

  “Let’s eat,” she agreed.

  A short while later they were seated in a deep leather booth at one of the upscale bistros that populated midtown and catered to corporate types.

  “So, tell me something exciting that is going on in your life,” Louise said. “Since nothing exciting is going on in mine.”

  “Nothing?” Chelsea sipped her water. “Those women’s studies lectures must be pretty high octane, Louise.”

  Louise rolled her eyes. “Totally. They’re almost too much, sometimes.”

  Chelsea smiled, enjoying this unusual banter with her sister—at least until Louise dropped the smile and leveled her with a look.

  “So tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  “You seem different.”

  “Different?” Chelsea raised her eyebrows. “How?” Why had she asked that? She interviewed people for a living, for heaven’s sake. She knew how to shut down a line of conversation. And yet somehow she was curious about what her sister had noticed.

  “I’m not sure. Edgier, somehow, and yet more relaxed at the same time. If that makes sense.”

  And it sort of did. “I didn’t think you knew me that well.”

  “I knew you growing up, Chelsea,” Louise said quietly. “You might have changed quite a bit on the outside, but—”

  “Don’t.” On the inside you’re still the same. Chelsea shook her head. She so did not need to hear that. “Enough emo,” she said and reached for the menu. “Let’s order.”

  She tried to steer the conversation away from her personal life during their meal, on to slightly safer subjects.

  “You know, I don’t even know where you went to college,” Chelsea said as they dug into huge salads.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, or I know about you.”

  Chelsea speared a tomato. “Well, let’s start with where you went to college,” she said lightly, her tone faintly repressive. That, and no more.

  “NYU, here in the city.”

  “So you’ve been living in New York a long time?”

  “About eight years.”

  And she’d been here for ten. Amazing to think they’d both left Alabama for the Big Apple, had lived within a few miles of each other without ever knowing it.

  “I looked for you, you know,” Louise said abruptly. She bit her lip, her gaze sliding away from her.

  “And you found me.” Keep it light.

  “No, I mean before.”

  Chelsea tensed. “When?”

  “A couple of years ago. Six, seven? After...well, when I was in a good place.”

  And what did that mean, Chelsea wondered. She wasn’t going to ask. “I’d already changed my name by then,” she said and Louise nodded.

  “You never told me why you did change your name.”

  “I told you there was someone in Alabama I’d rather avoid.”

  “A man.”

  “Yes—why are you asking all this, Louise?” Her skin prickled and she felt a sudden, terrible lump in her throat. “I thought we agreed to let the past just lie.”

  “Did we?”

  “Maybe not in so many words, but you don’t seem all that keen to rake it up. Your personal history. You haven’t told me a damn thing about the last fifteen years. All I know is that you went from trailer park trash to tenured professor.”

  “And you to talk show host and celebrity.”

  “Thank God we both managed to move on.”

  Louise nodded slowly, then raised her dark gaze to Chelsea’s. “Except sometimes I don’t think we really have.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “Is there something in the water that is making people go all emo and personal lately?”

  “So there is something going on in your life,” Louise shot back. “Something personal. Some man.”

  “No—”

  “I can tell, Chelsea. I might not know you now, but I knew you when you were six. Ten. Sixteen.”

  “And I don’t want to remember any of that.”

  “I know.”

  Chelsea opened her mouth to tell her sister to stop with the interrogation when suddenly she thought, screw it. She was so tired of putting people off. Pushing them away. And what did it matter if her sister knew what had happened? Chelsea didn’t think she’d condemn or judge her; she certainly wouldn’t blab to the tabloids.

  And it would feel so good to tell someone a little bit about her life, like lancing a wound.

  “Okay, you want the truth?” she said and Louise’s gaze widened in surprise even as she nodded.

  “Absolutely.”

 
“I met this guy. His name is Alex. He originally sought me out for a—a work thing, but...” She trailed off, not knowing how to explain. How much to say.

  “But?”

  “It became kind of personal. More personal than I ever expected, or even wanted.” Except part of her did want it. A big part. She swallowed hard.

  “And?” Louise asked quietly.

  “And that’s it, really. I think it got too intense for him—I got too intense for him, and he backed off.” She swallowed again. “Quickly.”

  “Have you talked to him about it? About what happened, whatever it was?”

  “No.”

  “Then—”

  “It’s just as well,” Chelsea said abruptly. “I’m not interested in a relationship.”

  “Why not?”

  She just shook her head. Too much water under the bridge.

  “What about Michael Agnello?” Louise asked and Chelsea stared.

  “What about him?”

  “You’re close to him.” Louise shrugged. “So I’m asking.”

  “I’ve never slept with him.” Louise nodded, and Chelsea suddenly asked, “Do you believe me?”

  Her sister’s eyes turned dark with sorrow. “Yes.”

  “I’m capable of it,” Chelsea blurted. Now, why had she said that? “Sleeping with someone for a job. I did it before.”

  “Fifteen years ago we were both desperate,” Louise answered calmly. “Desperate people are capable of a lot of things.”

  “What were you capable of, Lou?” Chelsea asked softly, using the childhood nickname that hadn’t crossed her lips in well over a decade.

  For a second, no more, Chelsea thought Louise might tell her. Her mouth twisted and her eyes darkened even more and then she shook her head. “We’re talking about you. And this guy.”

  “I want to know about you,” Chelsea said, and realized she meant it. Louise shook her head again.

  “Another time. Tell me about Alex.”

  And so she did. She told her about the night in her apartment, leaving out a few salient details, and their one date. She even told her about the tear.

  “I never cry,” she said, although in that moment she actually felt close to tears yet again. “But when he kissed me like he knew me...almost like he...like he...”