Promiscuous (7 page)

I knew every little detail that had ever been written about her, things in her history that even she didn’t realize. I felt as if I’d known her all my life.

Even with the little connection we had, I felt bad about what I was doing. We were forming a friendship, one based on lies. This girl had been through so much hurt, and here I was adding to that.

There had been nothing in my contract about befriending her. That was all on me. Watch and report was what I’d been told. That was what I was being paid to do.

“What the fuck are you doing, Hale?” I muttered, flicking a rouge rubber band off the desk. I watched as it flew across the room, landing just short of the door.

No matter how much I told myself that everything was fine, I knew somehow I was going to fuck this up. I always did. It was like my trademark. I had more secrets buried under my layers than the fucking Playboy Mansion. Nothing was what it seemed when it came to me, and things always seemed to backfire at the worst times.

My whole life depended on this going to plan. If I fucked this up, I could kiss the club goodbye, and probably several of my fingers. Carlos didn’t mess around.

I could do this. I could keep my distance and not do anything stupid. I laughed loudly, knowing already that there was no way in hell I was going to sit back and do nothing. I had to figure this girl out.

Cursing, I reached for a glass and sloshed it half full of whisky, single malt and aged—only the best for me. Everything about me oozed money, but I knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving. There had been a time when I’d been that person; a man who had everything he could ever want for. That felt like a lifetime ago. I sighed as I drank the entire contents of the glass in one mouthful.

A few years ago, I had been that guy. The one everyone wanted to be. The guy with more than a few hundred dollars in his bank account—but all that had changed. And that was the thing I had to remember: things could change so quickly, with no warning. One minute you’re happy and carefree, and the next your whole world is falling apart around you.

A soft rap on the door got my attention. I looked up and saw Scarlett standing there, a mug in her hand.

“I thought you could use a coffee.”

“Thanks,” I sighed. She walked in, placing the mug in front of me, then stood awkwardly by the desk. “You can sit down.” I chuckled. She flushed, and practically fell into the large leather recliner. I had to stop myself from laughing. Scarlett oozed confidence, especially at the club, but when we were alone at home, all that changed. She became a different person.

“Are you scared of me, Scarlett?” I asked, amused.

Her eyes widened as her pretty little mouth fell open. “No,” she replied indignantly. “It’s just . . . well, I never know what mood I’m going to catch you in. Y-you’ve changed since . . . well, since it happened.” She quickly glanced away as my face darkened.

Ah, yes, the incident. At least, that was what the police called it. I knew better, though. I knew that had it not been for my actions. Louisa would still be here. Now only God knew where she was.

It had been three years, six months, and four days since that day—the day I changed into the man sitting here, drowning his sorrows in a bottle of scotch worth more than he had in his bank account.

Beautiful and young, Scarlett had been my assistant for the last three years. She was my right-hand girl who handled most of the frontline promotion for the club. I much preferred to run things from behind the scenes.

Scarlett possessed many of the traits I looked for in a partner: she had a willingness to learn, and an eagerness about her that excited me. She was like a lost little puppy, desperate for praise from her master. Whatever I asked, she’d do it—even seducing drunken pop stars.

Between the odd hours of the club and my need for companionship, it seemed logical for Scarlett to live with me. She doubled as my housemaid, preparing meals and doing light cleaning in exchange for lodging. It had suited her at the time, freshly evicted and looking for somewhere to live. Slowly, we had become used to our arrangement.

I won’t lie and say I hadn’t thought about fucking Scarlett, because I had. Many times. But I had never stepped over that line. If there was one rule I followed religiously, it was keeping my work and private lives separate—not always easy, especially in my case. Watching her the other night in the club had been for purely professional reasons. Well, maybe not entirely professional, but it hadn’t been Scarlett I’d been paying attention to.

I don’t know if that made it better or worse.

 “Do you still think about her?” Scarlett asked, her voice soft. Her question hit me like a brick over the head. Right away, I knew she was talking about Louisa.

“Of course I do,” I replied gruffly, angry at the ridiculousness of her question. “But what happened, happened. I can’t change that. God knows I paid for it. So I move on, and never make the same mistake again.”

Sensing that our conversation was over, Scarlett mumbled an excuse and left the room. I sighed, and tossed my empty glass at the wall, wincing as it shattered into tiny pieces. I had no idea where Louisa was, or if she was even alive. She had made no attempt to contact me, which pissed me off as much as it concerned me. She’d been seven months pregnant with our child. Didn’t I at least have the right to know about him? I could accept that I’d done wrong by her, but nobody deserved to be shut out from their child’s life.

***

Pushing my way out from my desk, I stood up. I was unsteady on my feet, and my stomach was woozy from the combination of lack of food, and an overdose of alcohol. I stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me.

“Scarlett!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the quiet house. My quiet house.

Restored to its original beauty, this was the very house I was born in, that I’d inherited once my parents had passed. My brother had no interest in keeping the place, so I’d bought his share.

I gazed over the antique staircase that wound up to the second floor. This place had class, something so many properties lacked these days. With its polished redwood floors and beautifully high ceilings, you couldn’t help but marvel at the design and the intricate details of the hand-carved cornices and delicate architrave.

I glanced down the hall as Scarlett came running, her bare feet softly thumping against the floor. Her long blonde hair was twisted into a bun, and she wore a short floral sundress that highlighted her long, slim legs.

“Yes?” she said, her breathing labored. My neck stiffened, the burst of color in her cheeks stirring something inside of me. Arousal. I pushed it away and kept my expression emotionless.

“I’ll be out for the next few hours. Please redirect any calls to my cell.” She nodded, and retreated back into the kitchen. I watched her go, my eyes lingering on her ass. “Oh, and Scarlett?” She turned, waiting for me to speak. “I dropped a glass in my study. That will need cleaning up.”

***

I headed outside, pulling on my jacket as I walked to the car. It was a clear, sunny day, but the morning frost was just present enough to put a chill in the air. I opened the door of my Porsche 911 and slid into the driver's seat, the smell of leather and grease engulfing me. God, I loved that smell. I had a passion for cars, and this baby had been my dream for many years—since I was a child. The Porsche had been the only positive thing I had taken out of my relationship with my father. That sounded harsh, but it was the truth.

Nothing had ever been good enough for him or my mother, right up until their death in a car accident six years ago. After years of fighting for their love and approval, it became easier to be the rebel of the family. I lived to break the rules. I was forever pushing boundaries, and the result was that they eventually gave up on me, saying I was a lost cause. Their love and attention was focused on my younger brother, William.

At thirty, he was two years my junior, and different from me in every way. His perfect grades, and long list of extracurricular activates had paid off with a full scholarship to Boston Med. William had been the poster child for everything my parents held dear.

I hadn’t seen or spoken to my brother since their funerals, and that suited me fine.

Life in the Hale household hadn’t exactly been easy for me.

***

I turned the key and the engine revved to life. With a spin of the back wheels, I took off down the street, leaving a trail of smoke behind me. As I tore through the back streets, with little regard for the speed limit, my mind drifted to Beth. Every time she entered my head, my heart began to pound and a layer of perspiration coated my skin. It was like thinking about her gave me a reaction.

Maybe I was allergic to cute little blonde pop stars.

What was this woman doing to me? It'd been a long time since I'd been so invested in another person's well-being. In fact, I couldn't even tell you what this was. Well, I could, but that was something I avoided thinking about whenever possible.

Fucking insane, that's what this was. If you forgot the fact that I was twelve years older than she was, and that she was pretty screwed up at the moment, then sure, maybe this could go somewhere.

Oh wait, that's right—I forgot to consider that I'd been spying on her for the last month. Because that was bound to go down well. I could just see myself working that into the conversation. Then maybe we could sit around and chuckle about the rest of the skeletons in my closet, because if she weren’t scared off already, she sure as fuck would be after that.

Laughing bitterly, I swerved around the corner a little too aggressively. The car spun out of control, almost barreling into a tree. I screeched to a stop, breathing heavily.

“
Fuck
.” Maybe I needed to get laid. And most definitely not with Beth.

That’s probably all this is: my hormones going crazy because a sexy young woman was paying attention to me
.

I could
almost
convince myself that was true, if it weren’t for the fact that pretty women threw themselves at me all the time. I had no trouble turning any of them down, so why did I find it so hard with Beth?

***

I sat in my car for a minute outside the club. I was trying so hard to rationalize what I was doing with Beth. Or what I
wanted
to do with her. I had to watch, report and keep her safe.

That was what I was being paid to do.

I wasn’t being paid to flirt with her, or fuck her, or to do anything else, other than keep her out of trouble. I was supposed to keep my distance, and not stir up suspicion.

She’d been out of control in the club that night. I knew the only way to get her home safely was to let her think that she was in control. The whole stunt between her and Scarlett had been my idea. It was either she went home with me, or potentially end up dead in the trunk of some psycho’s car. A bit dramatic maybe, but that’s where she was headed.

How could this possibly end well for me? No matter where this went, if she ever found out the truth, I’d be dead.

Getting out of the car, I slammed the door shut and walked over to the back entrance. From the outside, the place looked like any of the other industrial factories that lined this part of town. Rule one of operating this kind of club: respect the patrons. They wanted to know they could come here and not end up on the front page of
Celebrity Times
. I kept my clientele small, and so far I’d managed to avoid any major confidentiality breaches.

Unlocking the door, I walked inside and disabled the alarm. Inside, everything was pure luxury. The main bar area was fitted with state-of-the-art modern furnishings, plush sofas and Italian marble surfaces. We were fully booked each and every night. This wasn’t the type of establishment you could just turn up at and expect entry. Bookings were made months in advance, with only a handful of patrons extended the privilege of regular entry. Those were our VIP clients, and more often than not, silent investors.

My entire savings had gone into this place, and a nice little wad of money I didn’t have. Getting involved with Carlos Petrotrov might not have been the safest move, but it had been the only one I had available. I’d needed the cash so they’d supplied it when the banks wouldn’t touch me. Apparently, a juvenile record will upset a lot of things in life. But, I had the cash, and the means to repay the loan. How could things go wrong?

The answer was
very fucking easily
.

My office was located down the back, away from the main bar. I flicked on the lights in the office and grabbed the folder of unpaid invoices I’d come down for. It had been days since I’d made an appearance here, and I knew I’d need to put one in soon. Many of the members came here expecting to see me. Not only that, but I enjoyed it—not as the owner, but as a participant.

I also liked the staff to know I was around, and that I had control of things. Because a place like this could so easily spiral out of hand. I had a good team, but that didn’t mean mistakes couldn’t be made—or that they hadn’t been made before.

My mind briefly wandered back to Louisa. Sweet Louisa.
Fuck!
They say everything happens for a reason, but I lost faith in a lot of things that day. Louisa had been special, and then she was gone.

There had been something about her that had drawn me in from the first day we met. It wasn’t love at first sight—because who really believes in that shit?—but she had definitely stopped me in my tracks, with her long dark hair and sad blue eyes. I reached up and wiped the film of sweat that had formed on my brow, and unclenched my fists.

If there was one thing I’d learned the hard way, it was always maintain the illusion of power, even if inside you feel as helpless as shit.

Chapter Eight

Beth

Putting the incident with Roman out of my mind was actually much harder than I’d thought it would be. After an afternoon of going to the gym, I was waiting for a doctor’s appointment when I finally broke down and texted him. I wasn’t used to guys backing off from me the way he had.