Throwing my keys on the kitchen counter, I grabbed a can of soda and went straight into my study, kicking the door shut with my foot. I shrugged my jacket off and hung it on the back of the door, and then I sank into my chair. Sighing, I reached up and curled my fingers around my tie, yanking it loose and throwing it onto the desk.
Fuck. I ran my hands through my short hair, lacing my fingers together behind my head. I closed my eyes and tried to remember how important this job was to me. How important it was for me to get paid. And then I thought about her.
Beth.
I knew more about Beth than she probably knew about herself—a side effect of my job. I knew she’d started her singing career when she was fifteen. I knew she had no family, that her mother had died when she was twelve, and that her father had left when she was two. I knew she had been cared for, for most of her life by her sister—if you could call it caring. She had been through so much shit, I got angry just thinking about it.
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.