Twisted Hate (Twisted 3)

JULES

My breakfast rosein my throat, and I had to make a conscious effort to force it back down when I hung up Josh’s call.

I felt faker than a Mona Lisa print hanging in the lobby of a seedy motel.

You hire someone to break into my place, Red? Because if you’d really wanted to get rid of the art, you could’ve just asked. I would’ve thrown it away for you.

I wiped a clammy palm against my thigh.

Stella had already left for work, so it was just me and my screaming conscience.

You’re a liar and a terrible person. Josh was right about you all along, the insidious voice in my head taunted. You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Shut up.”

This is why everyone always leaves you. Why no one loves you. You don’t deserve—

“Shut. Up.”

I paced the living room, trying to drown out the insecurities rearing their ugly heads.

I wasn’t a bad person. Sometimes, I made bad decisions, but that didn’t make me a bad person. Right?

Sweat stuck my shirt to my skin.

“It’s fine. I have a plan. I’m going to return everything to him, and I’ll get rid of Max.” Saying the words out loud eased some of my nausea.

I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing if I wanted to carry out the rest of my plan, so I allowed myself five more seconds of self-loathing before I straightened my shoulders, exited my apartment, and took the elevator up one floor.

It was time for phase two.

As long as Max had the tape, he had leverage over me. I wasn’t naive enough to trust he’d go away no matter how much I “repaid” him. The only way to get rid of him for good was to get rid of the tape. I didn’t know if it was possible to destroy every copy of a digital file for good, but I was desperate enough to try.

The only reason I hadn’t tried before was because I had no clue how to go about doing it, and I didn’t want to risk failing and pissing him off.

But the other night, as I lay awake staring at the ceiling of my fancy new apartment, I realized there was one person who might have the computer skills to pull off my plan: Christian Harper, AKA my landlord, AKA Rhys’s old boss.

I remembered Bridget saying he’d tracked down the person who leaked photos of her and Rhys to the press last year. That wasn’t quite the same as deleting a video that could have dozens of copies floating around in cyberspace, but it was worth a shot.

The elevator doors pinged open.

I walked down the hall to Christian’s fortress-like front door and rang the bell, praying like hell he was home. I’d only seen him twice since Stella and I signed the lease—once at Bridget’s wedding, which he’d attended thanks to his connection with Rhys, and once in passing in the lobby.

I dropped by Pam’s office yesterday and harangued her until she confirmed he was in town. She’d made some snarky remark along the lines of how “Mr. Harper isn’t interested in the likes of you,” but I didn’t care if she thought I wanted to seduce Christian. She was irrelevant.

I rang the doorbell again. Max left this weekend. If Christian wasn’t here, I was screwed.

I had a plan, but that didn’t mean it was a good plan. It relied heavily on good luck, and I could only hope the gods took pity on me and threw a bone my way.

I even borrowed one of Stella’s manifestation crystals, just in case it helped.

I stared at the closed door. Come on, come on...

Just as I was about to accept defeat, it opened, revealing glittering amber eyes and sculpted cheekbones.

It was only eight in the morning, but Christian was already dressed in an exquisitely tailored suit. Between that, his perfectly styled dark hair, and his clean-shaven face, he looked like he’d already been at work for hours and closed several multimillion-dollar deals in that time.

“Ms. Ambrose.” His smooth, decadent voice filled the air with its richness. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”  He flicked his gaze over my shoulder like he expected to see someone behind me.

When he didn’t, a shadow of what looked like disappointment crossed his face before it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Good morning. I’d like to ask a favor.” I got straight to the point. Every second counted, and Christian Harper didn’t seem like the type of man who enjoyed beating around the bush, anyway.

“A favor.” Amusement shimmered in his eyes like whiskey shot through with firelight.

“Yes.” I lifted my chin, trying to contain my nerves. I realized the irony of asking for a favor when a favor was what landed me in my current predicament, but the universe had always had a crappy sense of humor. “You helped Bridget and Rhys with their…problem last year, and I would be grateful if you could assist me as well. It’s a, um, digital problem, and you’re supposed to be the best of the best when it comes to those things.”

A little flattery never hurt, right?

“I was returning a favor for Rhys, not granting one.” Christian seemed unmoved by my compliment. “The question now, of course, is why I would assist you.” His smile, though polite, only sharpened the razor edge of his question.

I faltered. “Because…you’re a nice person?”

He had reduced my monthly rent to a fraction of its price with no strings attached. At least, none that we could see.

Maybe I should’ve fleshed out my plan more.

Christian’s smile faded. “Your biggest mistake, Ms. Ambrose, would be assuming I’m a nice person,” he said softly.

A shiver of unease slithered down my spine. Still, I forged ahead. I had no choice. “You don’t need to be a nice person to help me. I’ll owe you one.”

It was a reckless promise, considering I knew next to nothing about him. I could end up as beholden to him as I was to Max. But he was friends with Rhys, and Rhys was a stand-up guy, so that had to count for something. Right?

“Rhys was my top employee, a former Navy SEAL, and the future Prince Consort of Eldorra,” Christian said. “What can you offer me?”

“Professional legal advice?”

“I have a team of lawyers on retainer.”