Sweetest Sin: Bad Boy Bundle (30 page)

The
traffic blocking my shuttle to the airport, thankfully, seems to be moving faster than the lines of people at the hotel. We pull up to the curb and the driver helps me drag my bags out of the shuttle. I thank him and run inside to find the check-in counter.

Another line.

I sink into the line and check the time on my phone again.

“Shit,” I whisper. No less than twenty people standing in front of me. Possibly more. And yet the lady behind the counter is taking her sweet time.
Doesn’t she know we’re in a time crunch? You’d think she would be doing her best to herd us through faster
.

A quick slap to my upper arm pulls me out of my thoughts.

I whirl around.

Jackson.

“Hi,” I say with a smile. I can’t believe he found me. I’m ready to lunge into his arms for a hug. But a closer look scares me into backing away.

His breaths are deep and sharp. Nostrils flaring and his cheeks are flushed.

“Why do you look so mad?”

He slams the rolled up paper in his hand against my shoulder. “Is this you?”

I scowl and snatch the paper from his hand. The headline on the paper jumps out at me. My stomach clenches. I have to hold my breath to keep from puking.

L.A. News Reporter Steals Company Data and Pictures and Quits.

I take in a deep breath and stare at the picture of me accompanying the headline.

“Yes. That’s me,” I mutter.

“So, all this time. You were just after some story?”

“What? No.”

“Give me a break. You reporters are all the same. You would do anything to get the scoop. Fucking vultures, the lot of you.”

Memories of the first night in the hotel room flash before my eyes. The other woman. Jackson screaming in the hallway.
Fucking vulture
his voice echoes through my thoughts.

“Fuck you,” he says as he turns to walk away.

Anger wells up in my stomach. My hands start to shake and I fight to keep the tears back. I hate getting this angry because my eyes always gloss over and people always think I’m crying when I’m not. I roll the paper back up in my fist and thrust it back at Jackson. Stepping out of line to reach him.

“No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come storming in here when I’m clearly trying to catch a plane, glare down at me from your high horse, and judge me based on your sob story and a headline.”

I turn back to the line only to see the people behind me crowded forward. I tried to inch back into the spot I had been standing. No one is budging. The people glare at me for even trying. I grab my bags and slink to the back of the line. Cursing my stupid decision to walk out of line after him.

Jackson followed me.

“I don’t get to do this? Are you kidding me? You used me. With your fake line about needing a vacation, and trying something new. Just so you can weasel information from me. Get some story out of me. What were you trying to do? Huh? Trying to get your fucking job back?”

Scoffs huff up from behind me.

I whirl around to see Cody stepping up into line.

Jackson rolls his eyes, and without any warning, he pulls his fist and slams it against Cody’s jaw.

“Oh my God, Jackson,” I step in and try to pull back Jackson’s arm.

Cody stumbles backward, catching himself on the wall.

Jackson pulls away from me. “Fuck you,” he says. “Stay the fuck away from me.” He turns his back on me to walk away.

Cody lunges forward, fist flying, and tries to catch Jackson in the back.

Jackson whirls around and at the same time I reach over to try to grab Jackson out of the way. Cody’s fist collides with my jaw, knocking me onto my back.

I hit the floor with a thump and the wind rushes out of my lungs. The feelings drain from my fingers. I try to roll out of the way when Jackson leaps over me and catches Cody in the throat. Cody drops to his knees, holding his neck and coughing for air.

The ringing in my ears starts to clear as security guards rush us. One guard grabs me by the shoulders and drags me to my feet. Another guard grabs Cody while two more grab Jackson. Jackson screams at the guards to let him go. Then to let me go.

My jaw aches. I shake my head and try to pull out of the security guard’s grasp. He tightens his fist around my arms until I cry in pain.

Seconds later, all three of us are dragged from the airport and placed in cuffs before being loaded into a van.

Great. That’s just fucking great
. There’s no way to make my flight now. I lean my head back against the wall of the van. My jaw is throbbing, but I fight to keep the tears back.

No way I’m going to let either of these two jerks see me cry.

The cuffs are digging into my wrists.

I pull my head back up and glare at the two men sitting across from me. The shuffling noises their feet make as they kick at each other is grating on my nerves.

“Stop it,” I growl at them. “What the hell is the matter with you two?”

Jackson glares back at me. “Wrong with me? You’re the fucking snake in the grass. On the hunt for a story about me?”

“Ha!” Cody chimes in. “The Crying Rich Boy. News at Eleven.”

“Shut up. Both of you just shut the fuck up.” My eyes dart between the two of them. “You, Cody. You’re so fucking insecure that you have to attack anything you see as a weakness in someone else just to make you feel like a man.”

Jackson smirks as Cody stares down at his feet.

“And
you
. What fucking right do you have to pull my character into question when you don’t even know me? So yea. I’ll ask again. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Why else would you fucking be here? Huh? You didn’t work there. You walked into that holiday party and you stole news property. You stole those photos and you ran off with them. And because of that, the investigation never concluded.”

The pain in my jaw finally subsides. I bite my tongue and shake my head. “Fuck you Jackson. You don’t know what you’re talking about. And you punched Cody here for saying less to you than you’re saying about me right now.”

The van pulls up to a building and the doors open up to let us out. One by one, the guards lead us out of the van and into the building.

Humidity
and heat add to the discomfort of the police station. My hair sticks to my forehead as sweat drips down from my temples. I have no idea where Cody or Jackson are. Just sitting in this room by myself, loathing the entire vacation. A few different people walk in, examine my jaw, and then leave. No one talks to me, other than to ask me how I’m feeling.

“Annoyed and confused” seems to be the number one answer.

Finally, someone in uniform comes in with a glass of water and unlocks my cuffs. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Kirsten Anders. Am I under arrest for something?”

“No. Kirsten. We were called because of a disturbance at the airport. When we arrived, we saw you get hit. We pulled you out of there so we could make sure you were safe and allow everyone to calm down. But you’re not in any trouble.”

“Are the guys under arrest for something?”

“That depends on whether or not they decide to press charges. Right now neither one of them will admit to anything except that you got hit by mistake. Did you get hit by mistake?”

“Yes. It was an accident. He’s an asshole. But it was an accident. Does this mean I can go?”

He takes in a deep breath and nods. “Yes. You can go.”

I stand up and follow him out of the room. The station is remarkably quiet. So few people inside that everyone locks eyes with me at one point or another.

A new shuttle takes me and my bags back over to the airport and I slip back into the line. Everything feels surreal. I can’t shake Jackson’s comments out of my head. I reach into my jeans pocket and pull out the flash drive there.  As much as I want to believe that Felicia is my friend and wants me to go back to work with her, I also have no doubt that she has been trying to get her hands on this.

On these awful pictures.

I bury the flash drive back in my pocket, wipe a tear from my cheek, and head up to the lady behind the counter. I hand over my now expired ticket, my ID, and a pitiful look in my eyes.

“Oh, looks like you missed your flight,” she says.

“Yea. I’m. I’m sorry. I did. Can you tell me if there is anything I can do?”

“Well, we do have another flight leaving for Los Angeles, but not until tomorrow night. And the only seat available on that flight is one in first class. Which will be a four hundred dollar bump in price.”

I stare at the counter and drum my fingertips. “You know what. That’s fine. Here,” I say as I hand over a credit card. “I’ll take it.”

“Great!” she says in the happiest, bubbliest tone she can muster up to annoy me with. Her fingers tap at her computer, she swipes my card, and hands me a new ticket.

I paste the best fake smile I can muster onto my lips and nod. “Thank you very much.”

“Have a great day, Miss Anders. It looks like we will be seeing each other again very soon!”

I nod my head again and dart back out of the airport. By the time I hop back onto the shuttle, I am near to tears. And now I have to figure out where I’m going to stay the night. Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to sit and wait in the airport that whole time.

Back at the same hotel. With the same front desk. Yet somehow, none of the same smiles. “I’m sorry Miss Anders. If we had known you would be coming back we would have been happy to make accommodations. Unfortunately, we’re already overbooked. We just don’t have the room for you.”

“Look, if it’s a matter of money, I can pay—.”

“No, Miss Anders. It’s not the money. We really just don’t have the room. I wish there was something I could do. I can recommend another hotel to you. My cousin works at this one. It’s very nice, but it’s further away from the beaches so there are less tourists there. They might have room.”

He slides a business card across the counter at me.

“Okay. Thank you very much for your help, such as it is.” By now I am out of smiles. I just need a bed and a glass of wine.

The shuttle ride into the city seems long and uncomfortable. I keep trying to tell myself that this is a good thing. That all of this means an extension in paradise. And how bad can that be?

There’s another line. Another group of people standing between me and sweet, sweet slumber. And to top it all off, the man in front of me is taking his sweet old time. I roll my eyes at his fedora, thinking about how stuck up and ridiculous he must be.

When he finally moves out of my way, I step up to the counter and lay my ID on top. “Hi. I just need a room. Just any room.”

“Okay. We have rooms available. But it’s a VIP suite. The cost is $800 per night.”

I choke at the words eight hundred. He can’t be serious, can he?

“I’ll cover it,” a voice calls out from behind me.

I clench my eyes shut and shake my head. I already know who it is. How am I supposed to react to Jackson showing up like some knight in shining armor and paying for my hotel room after that spectacle at the airport? Slowly, I turn around to send my glare his way.

Okay. Maybe not shining armor. Maybe a knight in blue jeans and a sweaty white tee shirt.

“No thanks,” I mutter and turn back to the man at the front desk. “Look, I missed my flight, and they booked me onto another flight but that one doesn’t leave until tomorrow. So I just need any room. It doesn’t have to be the best room. Just any room.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he says.

I already don’t like him.

“But the only rooms we have available are all VIP suites. We can move you into a less expensive room tomorrow after people check out.”

I take in a deep breath and lay my forehead on the counter. This just can’t be my life right now.

“Here,” Jackson says as he passes a credit card over my shoulder.

The front desk clerk swipes the credit card with a smile and passes along the paperwork. A few humiliating moments later, he hands over a key and asks if I would like to be helped to my room.

“No. Thank you,” I say as I grab my bags for what feels like the hundredth time and head over to the elevators.

I didn’t even bother thanking Jackson for the room. I suppose I should. But the blend of anger and embarrassment grips me and holds me in smoldering silence. I just hope I can get upstairs and find my room before he’s done getting his room so he can’t come after me.

No such luck.

Of course, I had plenty of time to lose him. I just got lost. So while I’m wandering around the hotel lost and searching for my room, Jackson finishes checking in and I run into him on the elevator.

“Oh. Hi. I thought you’d be locked up in your room by now.”

“Yea so did I. But I ended up getting off on the wrong floor by accident.”

He stifles a chuckle and moves over in the elevator so I could step in with my bags.

“So, you want to explain to me about why you lied about who you were?”

“I never lied to you.”

“Right. You just didn’t tell me the truth.”

“I told you I quit my job. And that’s the truth. There was no reason to tell you anything else.”

“Really? No reason at all?”

“Fuck you, Jackson. Do you honestly think that if I was just after a story I would have bothered sleeping with you?”

“Then why not tell me who you were?”

“There was nothing to tell! I came here to get on vacation. To try new things. To get away from everything! And now, thanks to you, I’m stuck here.”

“But if you knew who I was then why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”

“I didn’t know who you were.”

“Oh please. You honestly expect me to believe that a reporter covering the San Bernardino shootings didn’t know who—.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know because I wasn’t there to cover the shootings. Junior reporters don’t cover things like that. They cover shit like dog weddings and are the parasites living in your water. I was in a class. The Department of Public Health was holding a training event. And during the lunch, I noticed the holiday party so I snuck in. When that shooter showed up. And instead of sitting in that class, bored, learning about who knows what and writing out pitches for new stories. Instead of living my boring life. I had to sit there while people showed up and started killing other people. I had to hold my ears to block out the sound of gunshots. I had to watch people die. Die!
Junior reporters don’t cover terrorism
.”

Jackson’s mouth hung open. Fixed and dumbfounded. Tears sting at the back of my eyes yet again. My chest aches and I’m starting to lose control over my breathing.

I’m about to lose it.

As if the universe sent me an act of mercy, the elevator doors open before the tears could break free down my cheeks. I grab my bags and dart out of the elevator to search for my room.

Of course, I can’t count on Jackson to leave me alone. I don’t know if he’s trying to annoy me or trying to comfort me. Either way I can hear his footsteps against the hard carpet behind me. Each step that carries him closer to me thumps in my clenching stomach.

I need to get away from him.

Finally, I find my room and swipe my key along the lock.

Locked.

I try again.

Still locked. What’s going on now? Why is the universe trying to punish me?

Jackson grabs my arm. “One question. Just one. Why does the newspaper think you stole data?”

“Because technically the flash drive that I had with me is theirs,” I say between weak breaths. “A few months ago, I was taking an extra journalism class, looking for a promotion. And I had to buy some supplies. Only I didn’t have my card with me. So I put the charge to my friend’s card. Except that then she got promoted and she put it on her new expense account. She said it was fine as long as I paid her back after. I practically forgot about it, but after I quit she…she reported me. She said she didn’t have a choice. And she said she can fix it all if I go back to work. But even if I wanted to, I can’t. I’m here.”

Jackson grabs the key from my fingers and calmly slides it through the lock. The light on the handle turns green and finally turns to open.

“So. You really don’t have anything then?”

“No. Not really. I have a few pictures of the shootings. But. I didn’t want to go through it. I didn’t want to hand it over while it still had all my homework and stuff on it. But I couldn’t bring myself to go through it.”

“So you took pictures of the attack?”

I nod my head and step into my room, holding the door open so Jackson can follow me.

Instead of walking into the room he grabs my shoulders and pulls me into his chest for a hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t bother,” I say as I push away from him.

“Kirsten.”

His eyes really do look apologetic. I’m sure he means it. And without explanation, the tears I’ve been trying to fight back come pouring out. I have no idea what’s happening or why I’m crying. It’s like his apology gave my tears permission to finally fall, and now I can’t bring them back under control.

Jackson takes in a deep breath and steps into the hotel room. “Come on,” he whispers and closes the door behind him. He sits down at the small table and pulls out his cellphone. “This is my sister, Ericka.”

I lean over to look at the picture displaying on his cellphone.

“She was working that day.”

“Oh my God.” I grab the cellphone from his hand. “She was there.” I stare at Jackson.

“Yea. She was.”

I grab the seat next to Jackson and wipe my tears. He stares at the cellphone, a fake smile plastered on his face.

“She survived the initial shooting. Died at the hospital later. But no one remembers her. Everyone remembers the shooters. You know? The pricks who walked into that building and decided to shoot up people just because they were celebrating a different religion. You know? As if killing a follower can kill a God.”

“So why sue the police?”

“They should have been there. You know? That’s their job, to protect federal buildings. But no one was on duty. They weren’t there the way they were supposed to be there. And maybe if they had been. I mean, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. The D.A. said that there was no proof the police did anything wrong. There’s no proof that if they had been there that they could have stopped them sooner. Saved more lives. And what really sucks is no one will remember the people they hurt. But those sons of bitches, they’re going to be famous. And for what? Famous for what? For hating us?”

I grab his shaky hand. “I get it,” I whisper.