I’m still eating his eggs when my phone starts dying.
Not ringing. Dying. Vibrating so continuously across the counter that it moves three inches toward the edge like it’s trying to escape. I pick it up. Seventeen missed calls. Forty-two messages. My publicist. Derek. Two buyers. A journalist I gave a quote to last season. My seamstress Priya, who never calls before noon.
I open Derek’s message first because Derek doesn’t panic. Derek is the steadiest person I know. If Derek is texting me at 6:30 AM, something is on fire.
*Emily. Don’t look at the Bianca Torres blog. Call me first.*
Which means I immediately look at the Bianca Torres blog.
The headline is a fist to the throat.
**EXCLUSIVE: Alpha Blackwood Spending Nights at Secret Baby Mama’s Apartment — Sources Say Romance Is Back O
