Page 24 of Spin Control

“I take it this is the product of your machinations,” Arjun says quietly, excitement in his eyes. I know better than to confirm that theory, so I paste a pleasant smile on my face. “Precisely how many stories are you about to work on simultaneously?”

Arjun laughs. “There’s no way I’ll be able to interview the president. Look at all that security.”

“When have you ever let something like that stop you?” I ask, and Arjun’s mouth slides up into a grin. “Three stories,” he admits, and I give him an impressed look. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“By all means.”

My eyes sweep over the crowd. There’s no shortage of people with their phones out, recording videos or taking selfies with the president in the background. They’re all also capturing Wes looking physically pained as he speaks with the head of state.

As I finish my glass of Champagne, a waiter immediately takes the empty flute and offers a replacement, but I decline—I’ll wake up with a truly horrific hangover if I have more than two glasses of the stuff.

I zero in on the CEO of a luxury conglomerate who is speaking with Martine’s head of partnerships. After introducing myself and demurely navigating the question of whether I orchestrated tonight’s surprise guest, making it crystal-clear that my work is not only impressive but discreet, the CEO nods and repeats my name as he shakes my hand before moving on to his next conversation.

“That was expertly done, Jacobs.”

I pointedly ignore the shiver that dances up my spine in response to that particular voice.

“Hello, Wes,” I say, looking over my shoulder to find his whisky-colored eyes on mine. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Not particularly. Having to make nice and be photographed with a man I despise is never fun.”

“I figured you were used to Freddie by now.”

Wes lets out a genuine laugh, amplifying his already rampant charm. The fact that he’s attractive on top of it is almost cruel—especially when he’s wearing the hell out of a tuxedo that has been tailored to his body. “Touché, Jacobs. You look beautiful, by the way.”

The silver, halter-necked gown is one I bought during my shopping trip with Chalondra. I kept picking up black and navy blue dresses in classic silhouettes, and she kept countering with pinks and oranges—colors I never wear. But when the sales assistant pulled out this dress, even I couldn’t say no. Once it was on my body, the silk caressing my skin and the color making my eyes look brighter than usual, I knew it would be coming home with me.

“Thank you,” I say simply, glad that the material covers my entire chest. I can feel heat gathering there, no doubt tingeing my fair skin bright red.

“Would you be interested in going outside to get some air?” Wes asks. Though his tone and posture are both casual, he looks worried. He didn’t even look worried when his teammate was trapped in a burning car. What the hell would be bothering him tonight?

I nod and follow him into a back alley—right next to a very full dumpster.

“Charming,” I say flatly, watching with confusion as Wes walks the space from end to end. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure we’re alone. Do you think the dumpster is wired?”

“Wired?” I ask incredulously. “What are you playing at, Wes?”

His voice is a harsh whisper. “I’m not playing.” He’s standing close, and his eyes bore into mine. This isn’t the lovable playboy or the focused competitor—it’s someone else entirely.

“Okay,” I say, evenly. “What’s this about, then?”

Wes takes a deep breath. “I need you to tell the journalist looking into the Bugatti to stop.”

Well. That was the last thing I expected him to say.

But rather than ask how he knows about it and if he is actually a member of the mob, I force myself to stay composed. “Why?”

Wes blinks. “Because.”

“You have to know that isn’t a good enough answer.”

“I don’t know why,” he says. But it turns out that Wes Grant is a truly terrible liar.

“Come on, Wes. I need an actual reason.”

“No, you don’t,” he counters. “You’re….you. Isn’t this your whole job? Don’t you shut down stories you don’t want to come out all the time?”