Page 144 of Manhattan State of Mind

Now his gaze meets mine, empty and cold. He looks like he’s been hitting the powder harder than Scarface.

I choke out his name, a plea, a final effort to reach him in his narcotic haze. “JP,” I whisper, hoarse. “Get up.”

He stirs, stumbles up from the couch, and staggers toward me with a disturbing cockiness.

My gaze desperately searches his features for any remnants of the man who once made me feel special.

But there’s nothing.

I’m just plain Lucy, boring Lucy, not sparkly or exciting enough to hold JP’s interest.

Without saying a word, he grazes a finger slowly down my cheek, smiles, then saunters off toward the bathroom.

My heart shatters into a million pieces. The sob I’ve been choking on finally escapes, a feral cry marking my defeat.

I’m done. Enough of this crap. I pivot and stride out, angrily wiping the tears off my face. But I won’t shed any more over that bastard again. I’m worth more, even if he can’t see it. More than this circus, more than him. I have to be.

The party can rage on without me, and JP Wolfe can go to hell.

FORTY-ONE

Present day

JP

Amanda, my assistant, couldn’t bluff her way out of a paper bag, let alone a poker game. I once tried teaching her the art of the game, but poker’s not all about the nuts and bolts. It’s a performance, a dance where you shroud your raw emotions beneath a poker face of stone-cold stoicism.

One look at Amanda’s face now, and I can tell—the floodgates are open. The secret I’ve hidden away like a monster in the closet has been let loose.

“Mr. Wolfe,” she stammers, her voice barely audible, hovering in the doorway like she’s on the brink of a precipice. “The internet… you need to see it.”

“The internet? You’re going to have to be more specific,” Killian jests. His smirk widens, only for it to fade when he catches my gaze.

Connor throws a glance my way.

“You’re trending,” Amanda says as she stares at me, horrified.

Exhaling deeply, I turn on the boardroom screen and web-search my own name. I’m trending nationwide, above geopolitical conflict, economic collapse, and some celebrity scandal.

Billionaire Playboy’s Wild Drug-Fueled Parties Exposed!screams the headlines.

As expected, the provocative tabloid-style headlines shout from the top, with the more measured pieces hidden away below, unnoticed and unread.

“Click on it,” Killian barks.

I comply, watching my life unravel in millions of pixels across the country. A deadly silence fills the room, only broken by the distant echoes of laughter on the screen.

The video that I’ve been so desperately trying to hide has been viewed over a million times, according to the number in the corner of the screen. The lawyers had said it was dealt with.

But it’s not the judgment of the world that worries me. It’s the judgment of four people—Mags, my two nephews, and Lucy.

“Goddammit, JP!” Killian explodes, his face crimson. “Our license is on the line here! I thought you said it was handled.”

Connor, usually the wisecracking guy, is speechless. Amanda stands frozen at the door. The poor girl looks like she’s been sentenced to death.

A tsunami of dread crashes over me, a cold reminder of the magnitude of my screw-up. The casino industry, a fortress of iron-clad rules and regulations, doesn’t take kindly to renegades. Killian’s right—this scandal could cost us our license.

I’m hit by a wave of self-loathing as I gaze at the screen. I’ve been the worst kind of jerk. Not only have I gambled with my business and fortune, but also the Quinns’ future. Now everything we worked for could come crashing down because of my stupidity.