THE DEAL (Manhattan Nights #3)

Prologue FIVE YEARS AGOMARILYN “And did you tell him his roommate’s sister is calling?” I hear the sound of her inhale. My throat tightens, and before I can utter another word, the female Terminator comes back on the line, even more annoyed than she was seconds before. I practically listen to her eyes roll to the back of her head. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from screaming. It barely works. “Jesse,” she stresses in a southern accent thick as syrup, “is a little busy right now.” “I—” I hesitate, and I know the answer to my first question is “no.” I hate throwing my name around. Hate it. But on an occasion like this, where the very air around me is humming with my desperation and the white airport tile beneath my feet is blinding, I have no choice. I play the one card that’s left to me. The one card I have. I inhale, breathing that filtered air again into my nose. I let it out just as quickly with a huff. “Tell him it’s Marilyn Daniels calling.” The fluff-piece pauses a beat. “Fine. I’ll ask him.” I exhale and the phone rings, the wait feeling longer than ever. I shift in my combat boots, my fingers shaking with every second that passes. Finally, Jesse picks up. “Somerset here.” “Jesse,” I breathe out. “Who’s this?” I swallow, nearly forgetting. “It’s Marilyn… I need a favor.” “Marilyn?” I can hear the sliver of anger in his voice. “What the—Marilyn, I’m sure your brother’s told you that this number is for emergencies.” I inhale, breathing out slowly. “This is an emergency.” “Chipping a nail before a movie premiere doesn’t count.” Heat creeps up my neck, making my entire face burn. I close my eyes, wishing I was talking to anyone but him. I lick my lips. “That was one time. And if I had someone else to call, that’s what I’d be doing. But I—” I don’t want to say it. I clear my throat. “I need you.” “To what?” “Help me get out of here. I’m stuck.” “Where?” “In an airport bathroom.” I hear a ruffle in the background, the distinctive shuffle of sheets distracting me as Jesse murmurs my name, his voice thick with sleep…or something else. There’s a pause on the phone, an exchange in voices, and a different kind of heat hits my cheeks as the tiny timbre of the woman’s voice makes it to the phone. I push forward anyway. “I’m in Manhattan.” His breathing quickens. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Hollywood for your new premiere?” I sigh. “I know you’re old… But do you even pay attention to social media at all?” “If I say yes, will you leave my old ass alone?” I scoff, a simultaneous laugh and cry melding on my tongue. I swallow thickly, my heartbeat working its way up my throat. I take another deep breath. “I just need to know that you’re not going to tell Heath. I crossed a line… And I was f*****g wrong. And you have every right to hate me.” The sleepy-sounding attorney sniffs on the phone, his silky voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “Hating is a little strong, don’t you think, Marilyn?” My breath catches, my eyes burning as one tear falls. I let it. “Not for someone who f****d up as badly as I did.”