Mr Garcia

“What is it?” Spencer whispers.

“You can’t tell anyone,” I whisper back. “Swear on your life.”

“What?”

“Helena has video footage of me in the Escape room with April.”

Their eyes widen.

“She wants ten million or she’s going to the press.”

“What?” Spencer shrieks.

“Keep your voice down.” I look around.

“What the fuck?” Masters whispers. “How did she get it?”

“Their systems got hacked. Can you imagine the fucking headline? The Prime Minister and the prostitute who is now his wife.”

Julian’s and Spencer’s eyes widen in horror. If my files have been hacked, hell, we’re all fucked.

“Christ almighty, what are you going to do?” Julian asks.

“I say we kill this bitch.” Spencer punches his fist. “For real this time.”

“Will you be fucking serious for one minute?” I hiss.

“Who says I’m not?” He huffs.

“I think I’m going to pay the money.”

“What?”

“Have you got a better idea?” I whisper. “I won’t have April dragged through the mud.”

“Fucking hell,” Julian mutters.

“How does she sleep at night?” Spencer whispers. “God damn it, she’s a real fucking mole. I mean, I always knew it, but this is some next level crazy shit.”

“Drinks are up,” the waiter calls.

“Not a word to the girls,” I whisper.

“Yep,” they both reply, and we walk back to the table.

I sit down and place April’s drink in front of her.

She looks over at me lovingly. “Thank you.”

I smile and take her hand in mine. I kiss her fingertips and glance over at the boys. Their traumatized faces say so much.

I’m fucked.

I watch her chest rise and fall as she sleeps like the angel she is.

April’s blonde hair is splayed across her pillow. Her big, pouty lips are slightly parted.

There's a peace that she brings.

I’ve never loved anyone as much as I do her. I didn’t even know that it was possible.

I keep going over and over the ramifications of not paying this money.

I imagine the media circus that will surround us, the judgement on my beautiful wife, watching her deal with the criticism, and her heartache.

The end of her career. The end of mine.

Our families and future children knowing how we met… that’s if we even make it through this to have children.

She will blame me, and how could she not? I blame me for having an ex like Helena.

I can’t do it.

I won’t risk April at any cost. I would give my soul to the Devil if it meant that she remains untainted.

I know this is wrong, but I don’t care. I’m giving Helena the money.

I’ll deal with her later. She will pay for this.

But right now, I need time.

April

I wake when I hear the shower turn on. It’s early morning, and I smile as I stretch.

Life is good.

Sebastian’s phone beeps with a text on the side table. I reach over and pick it up.

Your withdrawal is ready, Mr. Garcia.

We look forward to welcoming you at 1.00pm.

Bank of Britain.

I frown. Huh?

What does that mean?

I hear a fuss out in the hallway, and a vase smashes. I get up in a rush. Bentley has brought his lead up to try and make us go for a walk. It got caught on the side table and has knocked the vase over.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I ask.

He looks up at me innocently, and I smile. I can’t be angry with such a cute face. “Come on. Let’s get the dustpan.” I make my way downstairs and grab the dustpan.

This is the last thing I feel like doing. Good morning to me.

11:50 a.m.

Jeremy walks into my office and closes the door behind him.

I glance up. “Hey.”

He looks like he’s just swallowed a fly. “If I knew something… something bad… would you want to know?”

I frown. “Like what?”

“Okay.” He winces. “So, does that mean yes?”

“Yes.”

“You know how I think Bart is seeing someone else?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t judge me, but I didn’t see him again last night, and I was going crazy all night. This morning I illegally logged into his email for evidence.”

“Jeremy,” I whisper. “You can’t do that.”

“Sebastian is being blackmailed by his ex-wife,” he blurts out in a rush. “Bart’s been negotiating a deal with her.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“She has footage of you two in a strip club. Sebastian has to pay her ten million pounds today at 1:30 p.m. in a hotel room or she is going to the press.”

“What?” I explode.

“Shh.” He looks around guiltily. “I’ll lose my job if Bart finds out that I told you.”

I think for a moment. That text this morning from the bank…

I forgot all about it.

What the hell?

“That stupid fuck,” I whisper.

“Who, his wife?”

“Sebastian.” I get out of my seat. “Sit down,” I demand.

“What?”

“You log into that email right now. I want to see exactly what the fuck is going on.”

1:40 p.m., and I’m standing in the shadows of the broom closet on Level 3 in the London Hilton. I had to book a damn room on this floor to get up here, but I don’t care.