On the Avenue by Antonio Pagliarulo Read Free Book Online Page B

brains. They had locked eyes across the crowded ballroom, and next thing he knew they had struck up a flirtatious conversation. But even as the air between them had heated up, she hadn't thrown herself at him carelessly. She hadsized him up, stared him down, and reeled him in.
She
had made
him
feel thankful for the gift of her kiss, and it usually didn't work that way. Usually, girls fawned and swooned and clawed their way into Jeremy's jeans. Getting laid had never been a challenge for him. But tonight, under Park's spell, he had felt completely dominated. And he'd enjoyed every second of it.
    He exhaled a heavy breath, determined to quell the fire burning in his boxers. What he needed was a cold shower. He settled for a splash of water across his face, then reached for the travel case sitting on the far end of the sink. From it he drew a long silver and blue tube of ZIRH moisturizer. He squeezed a small amount into the palm of his left hand and slathered the cream over his cheeks, forehead, and chin. The red hives started to disappear almost immediately. A good complexion was paramount when going before the cameras, and Jeremy had few doubts that in the morning he would have to make some sort of statement to the press. Thank God for men's cosmetics.
    Stepping out of the bathroom, he felt the full force of the martini hitting his blood. He was ever so slightly—and ever so sweetly—light-headed. He settled himself on the plush couch in the center of the suite and stared down at his hands. They were still trembling. A moment later his eyes drifted tothe large mahogany and glass coffee table not two feet away. The remote control stared back at him.
    No,
he thought,
don't turn on the TV. Bad idea. Zahara Bell's murder couldn't have made it onto the news so quickly.
    He hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him. Slowly, nervously, he stretched out an arm and jabbed a finger at the Power button. The plasma television mounted above the fireplace came to life with a flash. The channel was tuned to MTV: Jessica gyrating to her latest hit. Deciding he didn't need to be aroused further, Jeremy grabbed the remote and began cruising through the channels. One, two, three, four … no mention of the story on any of the local stations. Good. The more time he had to figure things out, the better. He would spend the night plotting his way out of this one if he had to. He would even—
    The remote landed on ABC, and Jeremy gasped. He was staring at a live aerial shot of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Crowds were gathered at the bottom of the steep steps, and dozens of police cruisers sat motionless along the west side of Fifth Avenue.
    “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Not already.”
    He raised the volume on the flat-screen, and Diane Sawyer's unmistakable voice filled the room.
    “… following a developing story,” she said as the aerial shot zoomed in closer. “Several sources havetold ABC News that internationally renowned fashion editor Zahara Bell was found dead inside the Met just over an hour ago. Bell was apparently a guest at a charitable gala at the Met tonight …”
    Jeremy shot to his feet, panic seizing him. “Diane, sweetie, don't do this to me!” he shouted.
    “… and we are now being told,” Diane continued, “that police are treating this as a
homicide
. You are seeing on your screens now a live shot of the Met, teeming with activity. Tonight's star-studded gala was apparently being sponsored by Hamilton Holdings, Incorporated, and we are being told that the Hamilton triplets—Madison, Park, and Lexington—were in attendance. A number of other celebrities were also in attendance: Gwen Stefani, Lindsay Lohan, and Jeremy Bleu among them. Sources are telling ABC News that all the guests are still inside the museum as police secure the crime scene and begin their investigation into the murder of Zahara Bell.…”
    “No!” Jeremy screamed. “No! No!
Fucking no!
” He slammed his hand against the remote. The