“Know the place?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “It’s pretty fancy, over in Old City.”
“Meet me there at eleven. Wear something nice.”
I opened my mouth, surprised, but he was already looking away. Slowly I turned and walked away as another set of undergrads came over, obviously making lewd sexual jokes that he easily batted back at them.
I walked away, back through the crowds, but I felt a million miles away.
What the hell had just happened?
I looked in my book and, sure enough, the name of the restaurant and the time were both still written there, plain as day.
Nash Bell wanted to meet me at eleven at the type of place I’d never be able to get inside of, let alone afford. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to interview him or if I was meeting him for something else.
As I walked back out into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but think about his reputation. Nash Bell wasn’t exactly known as a wholesome guy in the media. There were rumors of drinking, partying, whoring, and drug use, all the sort of things I tried to avoid. He apparently went through women like sticks of gum, chewing them up and spitting them back out. He left wakes of destruction behind him, all because he could.
And I was supposed to meet him alone for a drink?
I made my way back toward my apartment, still in shock over the whole episode. It almost felt like a strange, bad dream.
Why the heck would Nash Bell want to meet with some undergraduate girl in her senior year? It couldn’t be because he was interested in trying to seduce me or something like that. The man could get any woman he wanted; I doubted he would bother with someone like me.
And it couldn’t be for the tiny bit of exposure I could give him. I had fully expected him to say no, to maybe give me a quick quote before kicking me out. Instead, he was offering me some serious one-on-one face time.
It was the sort of access some journalists would dream about. Nash Bell was the hot thing, and if I got an exclusive interview with him, I could seriously get my name out there.
I made my way up to my tiny third-floor apartment, unlocking the door and pushing my way inside. Once there, I instantly started Googling him, searching for every little bit of dirt I possible could.
And as I did it, I found myself formulating a list of questions. I didn’t even realize I was doing it, but for some reason some part of my brain must have assumed I was going to go through with the meeting.
A few hours passed that way, and what I learned about Nash Bell didn’t really help.
Nash was known as one of the best successful SEAL commanders in Afghanistan history. What exactly that meant was in his book, and apparently a lot more had happened that was highly classified. He’d done three tours of the desert, spent countless hours out in the field, and had a huge number of confirmed kills.
And he was barely a few years older than me, which was surprising. The man had a grizzled, veteran look about him, but he was only twenty-eight.
After he got back from his last tour, he went on a leave of absence for an unspecified amount of time and for an unknown reason. Around that time, he came out with his book, and the rest was history.
People loved his story. It was full of action, violence, and excitement. He was a small-town boy from the Midwest that went on to do incredible things with the military, a true American hero. He had saved his company numerous times, put his own life in danger for his comrades, and more; he was everything we were told military men were supposed to be.
And yet he was a drunk and a womanizer. He liked expensive cars, expensive dinners, and expensive parties. The man was a living hurricane, blowing through town after town. There were rumors that his publisher wasn’t happy with his behavior, but there was no sign he was going to slow down.
By the time I came up to breathe, it was already ten o’clock and I had a decision to make.
I could take what seemed like an impossibly lucky opportunity, suck it up, and go meet the man, or I could chalk this one up to a strange celebrity’s practical joke and decide to ignore it.
But I had already made up my mind hours ago. Really, I had made up my mind the second he’d invited me. When he’d looked at me with that intense stare, I had known I was going to do what he said.
Stomach flipping from nerves, I stood up and began to root through my closet for something appropriate to wear.
Something dressy and classy, but not too inviting for him.
This was strictly business, after all.
I had to keep telling myself that. With Nash Bell, everything had to be strictly business.
He was just too dangerous to get involved with.
2
Nash
Two Weeks Earlier
I woke up, hangover pulsing through my skull.
Another fucking hangover. I could barely even remember the night before. I had a vague idea of some fucking club, loud music, plenty of sluts throwing themselves at me.