Romano's Reckless Girl

CHAPTER 2

Isabella fumbled with her keys outside her apartment, her mascara smudged and her patience thinner than the cheap metal. She pushed the door open, hit the light switch, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

“Surprise!”

“Argh!” Isabella yelped, stumbling back a step and clutching her chest like she’d been shot. Her bag hit the floor with a thud.

Maddie stood in the hallway with her arms open wide, grinning like a deranged gremlin who’d just won the lottery.

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Isabella muttered, pressing a hand to her heart. “Second, what the hell are you doing in my house? You scared ten years off my life.”

“I used the emergency passcode. For emergencies,” Maddie said, already breezing past her into the living room. She dropped onto the couch and kicked her shoes off. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for like, four hours. Your phone kept going straight to voicemail. I was about to file a missing persons report or, worse, call Drew.”

At the name, Isabella’s shoulders slumped. She didn’t answer. She walked straight to the couch and collapsed into it with the dramatic weight of someone who had emotionally and physically checked out for the day.

Maddie’s brows knit together. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Izzy? You okay?”

“I gave you that code for actual emergencies,” Isabella said into the couch cushion, her voice muffled. “Like if I died. Or if there was a fire. Or if a raccoon broke in. Not for ambush therapy sessions, Maddie.”

Maddie ignored her completely. She pulled her phone from her back pocket and swiped with the urgency of someone about to reveal state secrets. Her thumb hovered, then she turned the screen.

“You need to see this.”

Isabella sat up, one eyebrow raised, still face-down on the cushion. “If it’s another t****k of cats falling off things, I’m going to scream. And then I’m going to cry. And then I’m going to scream again.”

Maddie turned the screen toward her. It was a video. Shaky, vertical, terrible lighting. But unmistakably Isabella.

It was her, at the restaurant. Pointing a fork at Drew. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were furious. The audio was muffled, but you could still hear her voice, sharp and furious. The caption read POV: You find out your fiancé brought his side piece to dinner.It had 2.3 million views.

Isabella stared at it for three full seconds. Her expression didn’t change. Then she let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Wow,” she said. “People really work fast when there’s public humiliation involved. Efficiency. I respect it.”

“That’s not the point!” Maddie shoved the phone back in her pocket and dropped onto the couch next to her, close enough that their knees touched. “Are you insane? Confronting him in public? With a fork? Do you know how many people have sent me this? And why weren’t you answering me? I was losing my mind, Izzy. I thought you were in a ditch somewhere.”

Isabella leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes. “Because I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Especially not people who were going to ask me if I was okay every 30 seconds.”

“Yeah, well, tough,” Maddie said, already shifting into big-sister mode. She nudged Isabella’s foot with hers. “That guy is a piece of trash and I am going to f**k him up. I always knew he was a jerk. The way he ate corn? Suspicious. The way he talked about his mom? Red flag. The way he laughed at his own jokes? Criminal.”

Isabella cracked one eye open. “You literally told me last month that he had ‘husband energy’ and that you were ‘so excited for the wedding.’ You helped me pick out the damn napkins.”

“That was before!” Maddie waved her hand like she was swatting the memory away. “That was Before Drew. This is After Drew. Post-Drew Maddie has better judgment. That’s not the point. The point is, are you okay? Like, for real. Not ‘I’m fine’ okay. Actually okay.”

Her voice had gone quiet. No more yelling. No more jokes. Just Maddie, looking at her with actual concern.

Isabella opened her mouth to say "I’m fine". To do the whole tough-girl, unaffected thing. But the words caught. Her throat tightened. Her chest felt like someone had parked a car on it. And before she could stop it, her face crumpled.

She broke.

Two years. Two years of dinners, holidays, meeting his parents, picking out napkins for a wedding that was never going to happen. All of it, gone. Not because it faded, but because he was a liar.

The sob came out before she could choke it back. It was ugly. Loud. Undignified.

Maddie didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around Isabella and pulled her in, petting her hair like she used to when they were teenagers and one of them had a bad breakup.

“Shh, I know,” Maddie whispered against her hair. “He’s a rat. A slimy, cheating, corn-eating rat. You’re better off. You’re so much better off. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you point cutlery at them in public.”

They sat there for a while, trading insults between sniffles.

“His hairline is receding,” Isabella mumbled into Maddie’s shoulder, hiccuping.

“His personality is receding faster,” Maddie shot back without missing a beat.

That got a laugh out of Isabella, wet and shaky, but real.

Maddie pulled back, wiped her own eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, and grinned. “Okay. Emotional support phase two.” She reached behind the couch and dragged out a massive tote bag. It clinked. “I raided the gas station. We have chocolates, gummy worms, sour jellies, and whatever this is.” She held up a neon pink snack that had no business existing and read the label. “‘Tangy Blast Rings.’ Sounds illegal.”

Isabella stared at it, then at Maddie, and laughed for real this time. “You’re insane. Who even buys that?”

“You’re welcome,” Maddie said, tearing it open. “I also got chocolate because chocolate is legally required during heartbreak. It’s in the best friend handbook.”

They ended up sprawled on the couch, surrounded by candy wrappers, feet tangled, still sniffling, still muttering curses under their breath.

Between mouthfuls of chocolate, Maddie said, “So. I did some digging. While you were ignoring me and emotionally spiraling.”

Isabella groaned, flopping an arm over her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you made a burner account to cyberstalk Drew. Because I will join you and we will both get arrested.”

“No. Better. I found the blonde.”

Isabella paused, a gummy worm halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Susan Lanchester,” Maddie said, like she was announcing a contest winner. She pulled up another photo on her phone. Blonde. Polished. Expensive. “Daughter of Richard Lanchester. Owns Lanchester Group. Spoilt, rich heiress. Also owns that hideous yacht Drew was obsessed with.”

Isabella’s chewing slowed. She sat up a little straighter. “Drew was trying to close a deal with Lanchester Group. He talked about it nonstop for weeks. ‘If I can just get this meeting, babe, it’ll change everything.’”

“Exactly,” Maddie said, pointing a chocolate-covered finger at her. “This wasn’t love, Izzy. This was networking. He was climbing. And you were just the sturdy ladder he used to get up there. And then he kicked the ladder.”

Isabella set the gummy worm down on a napkin. Her jaw tightened. “I hate losing.”

“I know you do.”

“I hate being the person someone uses and then throws away. I hate being the ‘before’ in someone’s success story.”

Maddie nodded, serious now. She took Isabella’s hand. “So we make him pay. Not legally. I’m not suggesting prison. But emotionally. Professionally. You become the plot twist he didn’t see coming.”

Isabella smirked, a little manic. A little feral. “I already slashed his tires. And I keyed his car windows. With a rock and bright red lipstick. It said ‘cheater’ on the hood. Very artistic.”

Maddie’s eyes went wide, then she burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. “You did not. You absolute menace. You did not.”

“I did,” Isabella said, grinning through her tears. “It was very therapeutic. 10/10 would recommend. The rock had a good weight to it.”

They both dissolved into that unhinged, cackling kind of laughter that only comes after crying too much.

Eventually, the laughter faded, the tears came back, and they fell asleep tangled on the couch, surrounded by junk food and bad decisions.

---

Isabella woke up to sunlight and regret. Her alarm had been screaming for 20 minutes from somewhere under a pile of wrappers.

“s**t, s**t, s**t,” she muttered, peeling herself off the couch. Her head pounded. Her mouth tasted like sugar and betrayal. Her eyes were swollen slits.

Maddie was already in the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing one of Isabella’s oversized shirts. She was holding out a spoon like a weapon.

“Frozen,” she said, deadpan. “Rub it under your eyes. It helps. Science. Also, gossip magazines from 2012.”

Isabella took it and obeyed. The cold was brutal, but within a minute the puffiness went down enough that she didn’t look like she’d been in a boxing match.

She paired it with oversized dark sunglasses, red lipstick, and the most expensive outfit in her closet. Black blazer, silk blouse, heels that made her 5’8. If her colleagues were going to gossip, she refused to look like the victim.

She drove to work in her flashy car, windows down, music up, chin up.

The newsroom was a disaster the second she walked in. Whispers. Stares. Phones angled just slightly too much in her direction. Someone coughed “fork.”

She ignored all of it. Head high. Sunglasses on.

Until Vanessa appeared.

Vanessa, her work rival, her nemesis, the human embodiment of a pressed blazer. She materialized by Isabella’s desk with a smirk that could cut glass and a coffee she definitely didn’t make herself.

“Well, well,” Vanessa said, loud enough for half the floor to hear. She sipped her coffee like she was on a talk show. “Saw your little performance at the restaurant. Very… emotional. Is that the new journalistic approach? Ambush with cutlery? Should I add it to the employee handbook?”

Isabella didn’t even look up from her laptop. Her fingers kept typing. “Jealousy suits you, Vanessa. It brings out your eyes. But I’m flattered you had time to watch. Must be nice having so little actual work to do that you can binge my trauma for fun.”

Vanessa’s smirk faltered. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” Isabella said, finally looking up and pushing her sunglasses down just enough to make eye contact, “thank you for the views. Tell your burner account I appreciate the engagement. The algorithm loves you.”

Vanessa opened her mouth, closed it, and walked away looking like she’d swallowed a lemon and was mad about the acidity.

The team was called into the boardroom ten minutes later. Their boss, Dana, was already at the head of the table, flipping through notes and drinking black coffee.

They ran through the usual updates. Deadlines. Stories. Ratings. Quarterly goals. Then Dana looked up over her glasses.

“Isabella. The interview with that A-list actor. Where are we?”

Isabella exhaled. “He pulled out. Personal issues. He won’t be available for the foreseeable future. His publicist was very apologetic. Very vague.”

Vanessa snorted. “Shocking. Maybe if you’d threatened him with a fork too.”

Isabella pretended she didn’t hear her. She just took a sip of water.

Dana nodded, then turned to Vanessa. “And the Lucas Romano interview?”

Vanessa straightened, suddenly professional. “We’re still working on it. He’s declined every media request for the last six years. Since he took over the company. He’s… difficult. Reclusive. Doesn’t do press.”

Isabella leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Difficult, or just tired of dealing with people who don’t know how to sell a story? Maybe he’s bored of being pitched the same boring finance angle.”

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “Business isn’t exactly your field, Isabella. You’re entertainment. You cover actors and singers, not billionaires.”

Isabella smiled, slow and sweet. Too sweet. “I’ve secured interviews with three A-list artists who don’t talk to press, two reclusive directors, and one pop star who hates everyone and once threw a phone at me. I think I can handle one businessman.”

She turned to Dana. “Give me the shot. I’ll get the interview.”

Vanessa immediately protested, her voice rising. “Dana, you can’t be serious. She has no experience in business journalism. She’ll make us look like a joke. We’ll never get access again.”

“I am serious,” Dana said, cutting her off with a firm hand. She looked at Isabella for a long beat. “You get Lucas Romano, and the promotion is yours. No questions asked, but if you fail, I can't assure you anything. Deal?”

Isabella’s smirk could’ve powered the building. She glanced at Vanessa. “Thanks for the motivation. I work best under pressure.”

After the meeting, Dana’s assistant handed her a portfolio. Thick. Embossed. “Background on Lucas Romano. Good luck. You’ll need it.”

Isabella flipped it open on her way back to her desk, walking slowly.

And froze mid-step.

Staring back at her was Luka’s pretty face. Sharp jawline. Piercing blue eyes. That infuriating, calm expression he’d had when he handed her his shoes in the parking lot.

Luka was Lucas Romano.

She closed the portfolio slowly. Her heart was doing something weird. Half panic, half adrenaline, half something else she didn’t want to name yet.

At lunch, she met Maddie at their usual spot. A dingy diner in Manhattan with the best fries in New York.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Isabella said, sliding into the booth and dropping the portfolio on the table with a thud.

Maddie took one look at her face. “What? Did Vanessa trip? Did Dana fire you? Did you trip?”

“Worse. Better. I don’t know.” Isabella exhaled. “Okay, you know the restaurant part. The fork. Drew. The video. But after that…” She told her everything else. The breakdown in the parking lot. The stranger. The shoes. The tire. The burgers. The interview. The assignment. The bet with Dana. Luka.

Maddie’s jaw dropped halfway through. By the time Isabella finished, she picked up the portfolio, flipped it open, and stared. Then she slammed it shut so hard the table rattled.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Maddie hissed, half-laughing, half-offended. “You left out the part where a hot stranger rescued you? Fixed your tire, gave you his shoes, took you for burgers at 11pm? And you forgot to mention he might be a billionaire? Isabella, you bagged a hotter, richer guy on the same night you got cheated on and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I was emotionally compromised and sleep-deprived,” Isabella muttered, stealing a fry. “I went home, crashed, and woke up with swollen eyes. I wasn’t exactly planning a press release about ‘Parking Lot Guy.’ And I didn’t know he was a billionaire. He just looked... unbelievably hot and weirdly kind.”

“Apparently,” Maddie said, flipping the portfolio open again and gawking at Luka’s photo. “His family is top three. And he took the company to number one in six years. Single-handedly. The man is rich as hell.”

They both sat there, processing the absurdity in silence for a moment.

Maddie recovered first. She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Okay. New plan. We get you that interview. No matter what. And if he falls for you in the process? Even better. You won’t be Drew’s ex. You’ll be the woman who had a meltdown, met Lucas Romano in a parking lot, and then got assigned to interview him. The headline writes itself.”

Isabella nodded, already feeling the competitive spark ignite behind her eyes. “Exactly. I’m not going to be the losing one. I’m not going to be the footnote.”

They spent the rest of lunch brainstorming. Bad ideas. Worse ideas. Ideas that would probably get Isabella banned from the building, or arrested.

“We’ll play to your strengths,” Maddie said, stealing another fry. “You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re chaos. You disarm people by accident. You had a stranger fix your tire and feed you at 11pm. How hard can it be to get him to talk?”

Isabella grinned, leaning back. “Right? Piece of cake. I’ll just… be charming. Ask him about his company. Maybe thank him again for the shoes. How hard can it be?”

Maddie raised her soda cup. “To chaos.”

Isabella clinked it. “To not losing.”

Neither of them realized how wrong they were.

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