THE BILLIONAIRE'S PROBLEM
img img THE BILLIONAIRE'S PROBLEM img Chapter 3 Making Headlines.
3
Chapter 6 Pressure Points. img
Chapter 7 Headlines. img
Chapter 8 Flashbulbs. img
Chapter 9 The Internet is a Scary Place. img
Chapter 10 Money and Fame go Hand in Hand. img
Chapter 11 The Terms I Name. img
Chapter 12 The Question img
Chapter 13 Midnight Files img
Chapter 14 Names in the Dark img
Chapter 15 Crossfire img
Chapter 16 The Shift img
Chapter 17 Close Quarters img
Chapter 18 No More Waiting img
Chapter 19 Pulling the Thread img
Chapter 20 Beneath the Surface img
Chapter 21 In the Crosshairs img
Chapter 22 Smoke Before Fire img
Chapter 23 Closer Than Before img
Chapter 24 Tangled Intentions img
Chapter 25 Silent Promises img
Chapter 26 Closer Than Before img
Chapter 27 Evidence in the Dark img
Chapter 28 Aftershocks img
Chapter 29 Lines Drawn img
Chapter 30 The Proof img
Chapter 31 The Ruling img
Chapter 32 Lines of Fire img
Chapter 33 Weekend and War Maps img
Chapter 34 Testimony img
Chapter 35 Collateral img
Chapter 36 Scorched Earth img
Chapter 37 Reckoning and Repair img
Chapter 38 Consolidation img
Chapter 39 Aftercare img
Chapter 40 Quiet Before the Next Move img
Chapter 41 Threads Tighten img
Chapter 42 Crossroads img
Chapter 43 Tightening the Net img
Chapter 44 Forward Motion img
Chapter 45 Pressure and Promise img
Chapter 46 Tension Lines img
Chapter 47 Survivor Plant img
Chapter 48 It's Not Over Yet img
Chapter 49 The Line Between Us img
Chapter 50 Paper Shields img
Chapter 51 We Make a Difference img
Chapter 52 Here's to Keeping Marco Safe img
Chapter 53 Expedited discovery img
Chapter 54 Did You Read the Thread img
Chapter 55 Did you see the thread img
Chapter 56 Axel img
Chapter 57 On the Balcony img
Chapter 58 You look like you've slept img
Chapter 59 Call me instead img
Chapter 60 You sound like a politician img
Chapter 61 Choosing What to Protect img
Chapter 62 Defensible img
Chapter 63 New Roots img
Chapter 64 Quiet Evidence img
Chapter 65 The Weight of Calm img
Chapter 66 The Small Quiet img
Chapter 67 Trouble in the Headlines img
img
  /  1
img

Chapter 3 Making Headlines.

Morning crawled over the city like it owed someone money. Lily woke groggy, complaining about the bandage ruining her hair. She laughed, then winced, then cried a little because that's what you do when your body remembers it's soft.

Stacy made toast she didn't want and tea Lily didn't like. It felt like something to do.

The first ping came at 9:12 a.m.

CASS (Lead Stylist):

You good? Heard there was a thing yesterday.

Stacy typed, erased, typed again.

All good. Minor. Be in later this week.

Another ping. And another.

MAYA (Model):

Are you okay?? Paps outside the studio this morning. Something about a car + "Kings."

SAM (Photog):

You trending?

She didn't answer those. She shouldn't answer those.

At 10:03 a.m., her phone vibrated in a different way ... the buzz that meant the internet had made her relevant without consent.

A link. No sender name. Just a headline screenshot:

BLIND ITEM: Billionaire Media King Involved in "Minor Incident" With Mystery Brunette ... Hospital Night?

Her throat dried out.

The photo was from behind. Grainy, long lens. A woman with dark hair and a man whose profile was unmistakable, even blurred: Axel Kings, at the hospital entrance, opening a car door. The woman's face wasn't visible, but her tote bag was: paint-splattered canvas with a small stitched patch ... a red mouth with a safety pin through the lip.

Stacy looked at her own tote on the chair. The same patch. She'd stitched it in on a Sunday when she thought she might still have time for hobbies.

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number:

Don't move. I'm sending someone. –AK

She typed back before she could stop herself.

Do not send anyone to my home.

Three dots. Then nothing.

Lily shuffled out from the bathroom, hair in a lopsided bun. "Why are you looking at your phone like it proposed?"

"Eat," Stacy said, handing her the toast. "Then lie down. No screen time."

"I'm concussed, not in kindergarten."

"Same rules."

Lily took one bite and eyed her sister. "Are we in trouble?"

"Define 'trouble.'"

"The kind where people who don't know us suddenly have opinions."

Stacy didn't answer.

There was a knock at the door. It wasn't loud, but it was decisive ... two taps, a pause, one more.

Stacy froze. Lily went still, too, toast hovering mid-air.

Another knock. The same rhythm.

Stacy moved to the peephole. A woman stood there ... mid-thirties, lean, black blazer over a slate T-shirt, hair pulled back, expression like she'd seen all the stupid things the world could do and chosen to keep her patience anyway.

"Stacy Hookman?" the woman called softly through the door. "I'm Tamsin. Head of security for Mr. Kings."

Of course he sent someone.

Stacy opened the door halfway, chain still latched. "I told him not to..."

"Understood," Tamsin said. "He told me you'd say that."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because there are two men in a gray sedan across the street who aren't on my payroll, and one of them just swapped a long lens for a shorter one," she said, matter-of-fact. "If you'd like to give them candid shots of your concussed sister, keep the chain on. If you'd like to make this go away faster, let me inside and give me five minutes."

Stacy hated that the world made this a choice.

She shut the door, slid the chain free, opened it.

Tamsin entered, eyes skimming the room in a way that felt thorough but not invasive. "You have back access?"

"Fire escape through the bedroom," Stacy said.

"Good." Tamsin handed over a simple, unmarked phone. "Use this for anything related to Mr. Kings or media inquiries. Do not use your personal. Regret lives forever on iCloud."

Lily leaned around the couch, trying to look unimpressed and failing. "Are you like a spy?"

"Like adjacent," Tamsin said, a quick dry smile. "How's the head?"

"Annoyed."

"Good sign."

Stacy crossed her arms. "I don't want a circus."

"That's what we're avoiding," Tamsin replied. "I'll station a car at the alley for forty-eight hours. If you need groceries, send me a list. If anyone contacts you from press, forward it to the number on that phone. If your agency calls, be polite and say nothing. They'll be negotiating what your silence is worth in the background."

"I'm not..." Stacy started, then stopped. "This is insane."

"It's Tuesday," Tamsin said. "On a Friday, I'd call it heavy."

Stacy blinked. "Is this normal for him?"

"For him, yes," Tamsin said. "For you, not yet."

            
            

COPYRIGHT(©) 2022