Free I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found (Contemporary Romance) by Melanie Marchande Page B

course.
    Underneath was the text - not long enough to qualify as an article, really, as I'd suspected. But they still managed to spin it into something. I couldn't bring myself to read the whole thing from top to bottom, but the words that jumped out at me were bad enough:
    …disheveled and disgruntled, refusing to wake Mr. Thorne for a comment on the current events. She slammed the door in our reporter's face…
    "Oh my God, are they serious?" I shook my head at the screen, turning away when I couldn't stand to read anymore.
    "I wondered the same thing," said Daniel, flatly. "Did you really slam the door in her face?"
    "She wouldn't leave," I said, frowning. "Are you really going to blame this on me?"
    "You have to treat these people with kid gloves," said Daniel, in a tone that suggested I was just a bit stupid for not already knowing this. "They can destroy you. It doesn't matter if they're rude to you, you can't be rude to them."
    "Sure I can! People do it all the time," I insisted.
    "Yes, but you're not Russell Crowe. And neither am I, for that matter." He slammed the laptop shut and got to his feet. "In the future, just let me deal with the journalists, all right?"
    "She came to the front fucking door!" I found myself shouting. "Of the place where I live! I'm supposed to just what, ignore that? Or wake you up, when you're finally sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks and weeks? I just thought you should get a good night's sleep for once!"
    "Once again, just let me handle it. Whatever 'it' is. Don't try to figure it out yourself, don't question whether or not it demands my attention. Just assume that it does."
    "Yeah, okay, sure. I'll make sure to do that." I turned and stormed out of the room, retreating to my studio and slamming the door. I didn't know what the hell he expected me to do. I had no idea how to handle any of this, and it was all being dumped in my lap at once, and quite frankly, I still thought I'd handled the situation with that journalist pretty well.
    I wasn't about to start playing nice with these people - for what? So they could just turn around and write more lies to suit whatever they wanted their headline to be? I couldn’t believe that Daniel still thought there was a way to reason with them - after everything they’d said about him, how could he?
    I found myself alone again that night, cracking open a bottle of wine and sitting a silent kitchen with my thoughts. Not the most ideal situation, but Lindsey had found a way to work in an important business meeting into her trip, and Daniel was meeting with his broker again to go over what the technical team had found.  
    I couldn’t stop thinking about the magazine article. The more I drank, the more I stewed. Right about the time I realized I ought to stop, I decided to open another bottle instead and rummaged a pen and paper out of one of the drawers.
    Handle them with kid gloves. Fuck that. I was going to offer them a piece of my mind instead. Specifically, Tim Calamazzo, the writer credited for "Daniel in the Lion’s Den."
    My lip curled into an involuntary snarl just thinking about it.

    Dear Mr. Calamazzo,

    It’s quite likely that you don’t know me. Or perhaps you do. Either way, I doubt you gave me any sort of consideration when you wrote your "article" entitled "Daniel in the Lion’s Den," featured in the most recent edition of the magazine. I have to give credit where credit is due - your article was compelling enough to suck me in, initially, which is more than it ought to have done. You can give yourself a pat on the back for that one.
    The headline caught my eye first. I’m sure you were quite pleased with yourself when you came up with it, although it does imply a certain level of sympathy that neither you, nor most of your colleagues in the press, seem to feel for the article’s subject. After all, in the Biblical story, we’re not meant to identify with the lions. Perhaps you intended it to be ironic?  
    After a