Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 192

Abby

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” I say, offering ‘Alex’ a tense smile as I walk up to her and Anton. “I just need to speak with Anton for a moment.”

“Um, sure,” Alex says, scribbling something else on her notepad. “Take your time.”

Throwing her another grin, I snatch Anton by the arm and signal for Karl to follow. I lead them to a secluded corner of the kitchen, away from the prying ears of the mysterious ‘journalist’. My heart pounds in my chest.

“Is everything okay, Abby?” Anton asks, looking a little pale. “I hope I did not say the wrong things—”

“No, Anton, you were great,” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder at Alex, who is staring at the dishwasher and scribbling furiously on her notepad. “It’s the ‘journalist’. She’s a fake.”

“A fake?” Anton asks.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through it rapidly. “Hang on. Let me check something real quick.” He takes the slip of paper from my hand where he had scribbled Alex’s number earlier. His eyes dart between his phone screen and the paper for a few moments, his face slowly losing even more of its color.

“Oh, god. This isn’t good.”

“What? What’s not good?” Anton’s eyes are practically saucers now.

Karl looks mortified. “The number I gave you, Abby, isn’t the real Alex’s number. It’s a fake.”

“What? How can that be?” I can feel the tension knotting up in my stomach, making me feel almost sick.

“I’m so stupid. I must have clicked the wrong link,” Karl confesses, showing us his phone screen where a website that looks eerily similar to a locally renowned journalism site is displayed. “I found the number here. It looks like the real site, doesn’t it?”

Anton chimes in, “So we are stuck between a rock and a hard place? Is that it?”

“Not necessarily,” I say, my mind starting to churn with an idea, a dangerous glint of something like hope flickering in my eyes. “I think I have an idea. Come on, let’s call the staff for an emergency meeting.”

I motion to Daisy, Chloe, Karl, John, Ethan, and Anton to follow me to a secluded corner of the bustling restaurant, far enough away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. The tension is thick, no doubt because everyone has picked up on Alex’s strange ‘journalism’ habits.

“Okay, listen up,” I start, my voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’ve got a situation. That journalist, ‘Alex’? She’s not legit.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘not legit’?”

“I mean that she’s a fake,” I say, stealing a glance at Karl who nods apologetically. “Karl got duped by a sketchy website. She’s not from where she says she’s from; she’s actually from a tabloid that specializes in trash.”