Dirty News (Dirty Network Book 1)

by Michelle Love

  Tandy smiled. “You like Aldo, don’t you?”

  Elli smiled. “He says he loves me, but I haven’t been able to say it back yet.”

  “Where is he at the moment?”

  “Four Seasons in New York. He’ll be back on Friday.”

  “Huh.” Tandy was frowning.

  “What?”

  Tandy shook her head. “No, just something struck me. He’s a solid-gold billionaire, right?”

  Elli half smiled, half frowned at her friend. “So?”

  “Well, it’s just, if I had his money, I would be staying in the penthouse suite. From what I saw, that wasn’t the penthouse of The Four Seasons.”

  Elli shrugged. “Maybe it was already booked. It was a last-minute trip.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I’m getting off the topic. You’ve probably heard this a million times from Viv, Elli, but …”

  “Indio is history. Concentrate on the sexy man in your life now. Yeah, and I know you’re both right. I am trying.”

  Tandy scooched down in the bed and tucked her arm around Elli. “Good. Now let’s get some sleep, or you’ll look like shit in the morning.”

  “So will you, bitch,” Elli laughed.

  “Not possible. Go to sleep.”

  To Continue reading Dark Masquerade click on the link below

  Dark Maskerade: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  No Promises Sneak Peek

  A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  English grad student Anoushka ‘Noosh’ Taylor is working as a junior reporter for a successful New York City radio network under the mentorship of her heroine, Allison Monroe. On the cusp of producing her first big story, an exposé of New York’s BDSM club scene, Noosh is issued a challenge to go the extra mile and attend a club to see for herself. Summoning her courage, she finds herself caught up in a moment she can’t escape with a devastatingly handsome man, and after being humiliated by him, she leaves in tears, vowing never to return.

  Angry and hurt, Noosh drops the piece but cannot stop thinking about her almost lover.

  When they decide to do a piece on the most eligible bachelor in New York, Noosh is thrown into the path of Christofalo Montecito, playboy and son of organized crime boss, Fogliano Montecito. Christo is gorgeous, brooding, sensual – and the man who humiliated her at the BDSM club.

  Noosh reacts badly, but when Christo apologizes, she begins to see a different side of him. Soon, their mutual attraction grows, and Noosh finds herself falling for Christo – but can a son of a crime boss ever be reliable, trustworthy?

  When dark secrets from both of their pasts reveal themselves, Noosh and Christo have to decide whether their attraction is more than just a casual thing, and discover just how far they will go to save it.

  Can Noosh give him the trust he has yet to earn? Or will Christo reveal himself to be his father’s son?

  Chapter One

  Long Island, New York

  Christofalo Montecito stared at his father in astonishment. He couldn’t be taking Christo’s news this easily. Nuh-uh, no way. “Dad, you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Fogliano Montecito gazed back at his son with the same brilliant green eyes he had bestowed on his only child. “Christo, do I look like an idiot? You want out of my business, that’s the crux of the matter, right?”

  Christo hesitated. “Right. Look, Dad, it’s not as if I haven’t mentioned this before, and I’m almost forty now, and it’s time. I’ve given you the last seventeen years, all my time after college.”

  “College that my business paid for.”

  Here we go. “Yes, Dad, and I’m grateful for it, don’t get me wrong. But I need to make my own way…and some aspects of the family business don’t sit easily with me.”

  Fogliano held up his hands. “Enough. Christo, you must do what you think is right, what is appropriate.” He sighed and pushed back from his desk, standing and clapping his son on the back. “Now, you’ll still be coming to the meal tonight?”

  Christo, still stunned, nodded. “Sure, Dad.”

  “Good. Now, I have to get back to work. You can see yourself out?”

  “Of course. See you later.”

  Christo nodded to his father’s personal assistant, Mandy, who simpered at him. Christo tried not to roll his eyes and instead gave her a polite smile. At thirty-eight, with his father’s Italian good looks and devastating smile, Christofalo Montecito had turned heads since he was a teenager. Wild dark curls, long, long legs and a body to die for meant that Christo had the pick of any women he wanted. And he took full advantage.

  Lately, though, the constant stream of ready women was tiresome. Where was the challenge, where was the fight? Christo was feeling jaded by his entire lifestyle. Rich beyond imagination, he had begun to crave a simpler life, with a partner he could settle down with. Someone who would challenge him hold her own against the shattering weight of his family’s reputation.

  The Montecitos were well known in New York as one of the biggest family businesses – and that business was crime. Corruption, drugs, murder – Fogliano Montecito’s reputation was feared by everyone, even his son. Christo had lost his mother to Fogliano’s devotion to his corporation. Ornella Montecito had leaped to her death from the roof of the family’s eighteen million dollar home in Sands Point, Long Island when Christo was seven years old, leaving her only son bewildered and broken. Christo had become an expert at shutting off his feelings after that, and after graduating summa cum laude from Harvard Law, he had passively gone straight to work for his father.

  Over the years, Christo had told himself that at least he, personally, was on the right side of the law, that he himself never oversaw anything that was technically illegal…but as he’d reached his late thirties, his conscience began to nag at him.

  And there was something else. Christo, like his mother, had an artist’s soul, and the more mired he got into practicing law, the more that side of him – and therefore his connection to his mother – faded. For the last couple of years he had been living a double life, and now that other life was the one he wanted to live. Hence the conversation with his father this morning.

  Christo took the glass elevator from the top of his father’s building down to the basement parking garage, and then slid into his Mercedes. He sighed, blowing out his cheeks, and dialed his best friend’s number.

  Bertie Franklin-Hart answered on the first ring. “Hey, dude, how’d it go?”

  “It went…well.” Christo knew Bertie would hear the astonishment in his voice, and by Bertie’s silence, he knew Bertie was feeling it too.

  “Well?” Total disbelief. Christo’s mouth hitched up in a smile.

  “Yup. Can you believe it?”

  Bertie let out a long breath. “Well, no, to be honest. What’s his game?”

  Bertie, who had been Christo’s roommate at Harvard, had no time for Christo’s father or his associates, and was the only one of Christo’s friends to say as much to his face. Bertie came from old money, older and even more powerful than the infamous Five Families and their successors. Bertie’s money dated all the way back to the signing of the Declaration of Independence – and no one fucked with Bertie’s family. No one.

  Bertie sighed. “Well, I guess you’re clear. Just, for me, take Fogliano’s word at face value for now, but don’t trust him, Christo.”

  “I know. But it’s the first step.”

  “I know you, Christo. You’ve got a glimpse of freedom, and you’ll run at it full tilt. I love that about you, brother, but as your best friend…well…I got your back.”

  “Don’t trust to hope.” Christo’s smile faded, although he knew Bertie was right. Fogliano wasn’t someone people left behind without consequence, not even his own son.

  “That’s what I’m saying, but at the same time, go for it.”

  Christo mulled over his words. “Okay. Look, the dinner tonight?”

  “I’ll come, of course I’ll come. I don’t suppose there will be any chance of s
ome beautiful women to distract us?”

  Christo laughed. “No, it’s one of Dad’s sausage parties. But after…drinks at La Forge?”

  “Deal.”

  New York City

  Anoushka ‘Noosh’ Taylor shifted in her chair nervously as her boss, Allison, read through her proposal. Yes, it was her first big story, and yes, it was out there – even for a late-night radio talk show known for tackling dangerous subjects – but in her bones, Noosh knew Ally would go for it. It was the kind of story Allison Monroe had built her fearsome reputation on; a look into the BDSM clubs of New York’s subculture. Noosh had spent months researching and talking to people who worked the clubs, and now she had put together a fifteen-minute segment for the show – her first chance to be on air.

  Noosh had come to New York from London a year ago, straight from a doctorate in creative writing, and now she had cultivated an honest and friendly working relationship with one of New York’s major radio stars.

  Allison Monroe was known for her exacting methods, razor-sharp intellect, and her ability to convey her natural warmth and vivacity with her interviewees. She set the proposal down now and looked at Noosh over her spectacles. Noosh’s heart was pounding hard against her ribs; she couldn’t read her boss’s expression.

  Allison studied her young friend for a minute then took her spectacles off, laying them gently down on her desk. “Noosh…how old are you again?”

  Noosh felt her face redden. “Twenty-four.”

  “And I’m assuming you’re not a virgin?”

  The blush deepened. “No.”

  Allison sighed. “Sweetheart, while this proposal is well-written, obviously researched, and full of good intentions, it sounds like it was written by a virgin.”

  Noosh felt a lump settle on her chest. “Oh.”

  Allison smiled kindly at her. “I don’t mean to be rude, darling, but here’s my thing – there’s a sense of ‘Gosh, golly’ about it. And by that, I mean you’re painting this world as some kind of otherworldly experience that ordinary people don’t subscribe to. The people you’ve interviewed here – hookers, security guards, club owners…what about the clientele? And I have one more major question which overrides all that.”

  “Which is?” Noosh tried to stop her voice from croaking with distress but failed, and Allison got up and came to sit on the desk in front of her.

  “Noosh…did you actually go to the clubs?”

  “Yes, of course,” Noosh said defiantly. Don’t sulk, you’re not a teenager.

  Allison smiled. “I mean, at night, as a client?”

  Noosh was horrified. “No, of course not.”

  “See? How on earth can you expect to convince our listeners you’re an expert on this subject if you yourself have no experience with the places? And Noosh, just so you know, BDSM is no longer a dirty little secret. With safety in mind, it can be a thrilling experience if that’s where your particular peccadillos find their home.” She sat back down behind her desk. “I’m not saying you have to go out and fuck a ton of men or get spanked by them, I’m just saying you should go, sit at the bar, have a drink and see what happens. Watch the interactions between people, talk to them. But don’t tell them you’re a journalist, for fuck’s sake. Pretend you’re the clientele for the night. You might surprise yourself.”

  Noosh’s face was burning. “So…”

  “So…keep working on it. There’s promise, but it’s not quite there yet.” Allison handed the proposal back to Noosh. “Darling, it’s coming along. I just think you need to go the extra mile. I’m pushing you because I believe in you. I believe you could be a rising star. I just want your debut to be as perfect as it should be.”

  Noosh was still thinking about Allison’s words as she took the train home to her studio apartment in Queens. The 7 train was crowded and sweaty, and by the time she opened the door and dropped her bag on her floor, Noosh was exhausted. Coming from London, she was used to the hassle and annoyance of the Tube, so the actual train journey didn’t bother her, just the amount of people. Then why did you move to one of the most crowded cities in the world?

  To disappear…

  Noosh pushed the thought away and stripped off her clothes. She thanked God she didn’t have to wear a suit to work, that her usual uniform of blue jeans, t-shirt and Chuck Taylor’s was accepted office attire. She didn’t own anything that could be described as formal wear, except for the ruby-red dress she had worn for her graduation. She loved that dress. It had been a gift from her parents – her parents who had loved and supported her throughout her education, cheered her on, and scraped together their money to buy the designer dress for her. Noosh had worked and paid for her degrees with loans and grants – her parents would never have been able to afford to pay for it themselves.

  Noosh had been born into a working-class family and had been brought up without wanting anything other than the food they provided and the love that they shared. In a modest two-up, two-down house out in the suburbs, both her parents worked as bank clerks and made sure that, even without the material things some of her classmates had, Noosh wanted for nothing.

  To their credit, she had grown up with a strong work ethic, and their pride in their daughter knew no bounds as they watched her graduate with top honors from one of London’s most prestigious universities.

  Then it had all come crashing down. Noosh had been targeted by a powerful man who had set out to make her his – whether she wanted him or not. It had almost destroyed her. Now, she could hardly stand to think his name.

  Noosh stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water, enjoying the feel of the spray cleansing her tired skin. Her whole life now was work. Maybe Allison was right – maybe she should get out there, experience a little more of what this beautiful, vibrant city had to offer.

  Supper was a bowl of cereal and then she fell asleep on the couch, not bothering to pull a blanket over herself. It was early fall in New York, still stifling hot on some days and Noosh wriggled uncomfortably in her sleep until she awoke at three a.m., sitting bolt upright. The thin drape at her window was billowing in. She’d left the window open. God, she never did that…ever. Not since…

  Noosh skittered over to the window and slammed it shut, forgetting about the hour. She sent a silent apology to her neighbors upstairs. If only this studio weren’t on the first floor, but the rent had been perfect for her budget and beggars couldn’t be choosers. And baking in the heat of the non-air-conditioned apartment was a small price to pay for her safety.

  After moving to her bed she found she couldn’t sleep. She tried to read but by four had given up on that and was cleaning the apartment – again. She called it her ‘Monica time’ after the character from Friends – cleaning relaxed her, gave her time to think, to try and order her life a little better.

  She thought back to what Allison had said. She should check out one of those clubs. The thought both scared and excited her. Next week, she told herself. Next week, I’ll go and see what gives in those places. She blew out her cheeks. Yep, it would take a week to get her courage up, but she was determined to do it now. Finally, as the city began to wake, she fell asleep again and slept in until mid-morning.

  Senator Destry Papps always woke at 5 a.m. sharp to begin his day. A six-mile run was followed by a shower then a breakfast of oatmeal and a protein shake, and then he was down in his office by 7.30 a.m. It had been his routine for at least a decade now, waking up in his Georgetown townhouse, a block from his office.

  At fifty-three, Destry, a native of New York, had lived his entire life in politics. Following in his father’s footsteps, he had become the senator for the District at thirty-eight and had remained in office for nearly two decades. He’d carefully planned his ascension through the party ranks and now he was, at last, going for the big job.

  There was nothing Destry wanted more than to become President of the United States, and for the last couple of years he had been clearing house, ironing out anything that could stop
him from realizing his goal. People were paid off, offered roles in his cabinet. His lovers, of which there had been many, had been vetted, and even his ex-wife, Telly, had been paid off to keep their dirty laundry private. Destry had no doubt that one day Telly would come to him with something more that she wanted from him, and it would be understood that whatever it was, Destry would provide it. But that was fine with him.

  He checked his reflection out now. Tall, stately, with dark hair shot through with silver at the temples, he knew his handsome face was his ticket to getting what he wanted and had always used it. His patented ‘aw-shucks’ charm worked on the voting public as well as it did with his bed partners.

  There was only one part of his life – as yet, a private part – that he reflected on with anger and resentment. The time in London, the time he’d seen her and felt his whole world shift. That dark, thick wavy hair, those large chocolate-brown eyes, that full mouth. Destry Papps had pursued Anoushka Taylor with the subtlety of a wrecking ball, and even his closest advisors had been scared by his passion for the girl. She was thirty years the Senator’s junior, a grad student, and an unknown quantity.

  What Destry knew and no one else did was that Anoushka – his Noosh – had resisted his charms at first, had expressed doubts over their relationship. At least, she did until he wore her down, first by love-bombing her, promising her that he would give it all up for her, and then when she showed signs of independence from him, he’d shown her in an entirely different way that had nothing to do with love.

  She’d escaped him, finally, disappearing from London entirely. He’d tracked her down, though, to a cottage in the north of England. Destry had made sure Noosh knew how angry he was.

  He thought of her now, how she’d cringed away from his rage, and he smiled. He could still feel her skin under his fingertips, her mouth on his as he took her. He’d told her then, “If you ever leave me again, I’ll kill you.” And he had meant it.