Hard to Handle by Raven Scott Page B

explained why Clement had hired them only to investigate Holt and kept the scope so tight. He was worried about getting Mikayla involved, particularly if no one else knew she was his daughter writing for the Journal under an alias.
    Sam didn’t remember the drive from Alexandria to Baltimore that night. He arrived at her building just after five o’clock, but sat in his car for over an hour reading the many stories on the Web written about the beautiful and generous Mikayla Stone-Clement.
    Even as he found himself knocking at her door, Sam didn’t know why he was there. What did he intend to accomplish by confronting Mikayla with the truth? Did he hope that it was all a big, crazy misunderstanding? That his Kaylee didn’t already belong to someone else—a good man whom he considered a friend? That there was some explanation that would make the whole thing less horrific? When he looked up at her standing in front of him, wearing a sexy dark blue dress and looking even prettier than before, he felt such hot rage that he was afraid to move.
    â€œSam?” she asked, stepping back. “What’s wrong?”
    Then he knew for certain. It was all true. Sam strode past her, into the apartment, careful to ensure they did not touch. He heard the heavy door close, then the soft clicking of her heels behind him as she followed his path into the living room.
    â€œSam?” she repeated. There was now a hint of real concern in her voice.
    â€œWhat are you playing at here, Mikayla?” he finally asked, his back still to her.
    There was a long pause. He clenched his teeth hard at the sound of her low gasp of surprise.
    â€œWait—” She stopped and only silence followed. Sam dropped his head and planted his hands on his hips, waiting for the lies, denials, pleas. Nothing came. Finally, after a few long minutes, he turned to face her. Kaylee was turned away from him with her arms wrapped around her waist, staring off into space with wide, unblinking eyes.
    â€œYou know who I am,” she stated rather than asked.
    â€œMikayla Stone-Clement. Daughter of George Clement, CEO of Clement Media,” Sam spat. “Engaged to Evan DaCosta, vice president of European operations at DaCosta Solutions.”
    â€œHow did you find out?”
    â€œDoes it matter? How long did you plan to hide your identity?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
    Sam swallowed the torrent of filthy words that were coating his tongue.
    â€œYou’re sorry?” he finally muttered.
    She looked at him, but he refused to acknowledge the sadness and remorse in her eyes.
    â€œYou’re sorry!” he yelled so harshly that she flinched. But she continued to look at him squarely, almost defiantly.
    â€œYes, I am,” she repeated, clearly trying to stay calm. “I didn’t plan this. It just happened. We connected, and I—”
    â€œWe connected. So you thought nothing of lying about who you are and cheating on your fiancé?” snarled Sam.
    She swallowed. “It wasn’t nothing. Obviously, I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
    Sam felt sick all over again. “You cold, selfish bitch.”
    She slapped him, hard. It took Sam a few seconds for it to register. This tiny five-foot, four-inch woman had just had the audacity to hit him when she was the lying cheat.
    â€œYou don’t know me,” she shot back. “I’ve known you for five minutes, so you have no right to judge me. Yes, I screwed up. I made a mistake! And I’m going to have to answer for that, but you have no right to call me names!”
    â€œI have every right,” Sam yelled back.
    â€œWhy? Because we slept together? Look at you. I’m sure this is a regular Tuesday for you,” spat Kaylee. “So don’t accept my apology, I don’t care. Just get the hell out of my apartment.”
    Sam was speechless, and the