Busted Play: The Series (Players, Books 1-6)

by Stella Marie Alden

  He slows to a jog and frowns. “What’s she say?”

  “I don’t think she knows how often they happen. Most of the time she doesn’t wake up and I haven’t wanted to tell her. She’s still nursing and doesn’t get much sleep. And… I don’t know. Maybe this is post partem?”

  “Is she seeing a therapist?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sooo… What can I do to help?” We hit the end of our path and he jogs in place for a second before turning around.

  I don’t know how to start this topic so I just come right out and say it. “How the hell do you guys find time for sex?”

  Stunned for a moment, he stops his run and hoots out loud. “Man, for a fucking billionaire, you are clueless.”

  “I’m serious. Thank God you gave us your place last night or my balls might’ve dropped off.”

  He laughs so hard his eyes actually water. “You do know there’s things called nannies, right?”

  I think I might punch him. “I’ve had four. The last three told Izzy I was hitting on them.”

  “You didn’t, did you?” When his eyes darken, I imagine him on a football field and cringe.

  “Hell no. I only want to fuck my goddamn wife.” I say it so loud several young joggers nearby snicker and an older woman with a stroller gives me a dirty look.

  CJ slaps me on the back and sets a faster pace. “Listen. Mel explained the situation and already broached the subject with Isabella. I got a friend with a place in the Bahamas. It’s on a private island. Fucking incredible. Beach, coconuts, the works. You take her there. The baby will get tired out what with playing in the water and all. You two will have time to relax. Take Slate. Have him be your nanny for a few days.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. It worked for me and Mel. Something about a warm beach… Did I tell you we’re expecting number two?”

  “Congratulations.” I punch him in the arm and as we run, wonder if I would ever want another. Right now, all I want is more sex and a good night’s sleep.

  I thank him and head back to the office, beaches and margaritas in mind. It’s true, recently I’ve spent long hours at work. Having a kid, I want to do more, be more. The only way I know how is to buy companies and make deals. Maybe, once this one finishes, I’ll leave more of the grunt work to my employees.

  While I ponder the possibilities, I text Isabella.

  Me: Hey luv.

  Izzy: Hi <3

  Me: Thinking about fucking u on a warm beach

  Izzy: Mmmm

  Me: Want to?

  Izzy: Serious?

  Me: Yeah

  Izzy: What about Skye?

  Me: Going to ask Slate to be our nanny for a few days.

  Izzy: OMG

  Me: :-}

  Izzy: When u want 2 go?

  Me: Tonight?

  Izzy: WHEEEE! I need a bathing suit.

  Me: No suit. Private beach.

  Izzy: You are so bad.

  Me: Lov U

  Izzy: <3 <3 <3

  Hmm. Three hearts. That’s good.

  More content than I’ve been in months, I arrive back at the office and into the conference room where there’s fifteen partners and three monitors with talking heads from around the world. The Saudis seem real eager to invest which I wasn’t expecting. Apparently, the new king wants to divest the country’s portfolio out of oil and into hi-tech which is what I know best.

  The last meeting of the day takes much longer than expected and when I check, it’s almost ten PM but at least the deal went through. Now, it’s mostly up to lawyers and I can take a step back.

  After everyone piles out of the conference room, the caterer cleans up the mess of half-eaten sandwiches, cookies, salad, and empty coffee cups.

  “Thanks, John.” I smile at the dark man who’s fed me through my many successes of the last year.

  He’s been with me since I first came to New York and took over my dad’s company. Deftly, he wraps up the leftovers which I know will be headed for the soup kitchen downtown. That’s why I order so much.

  “Hey Mr. Patten. Rough day?”

  “Long day. Thanks for coming by so late.” I stretch, my body stiff from hours of sitting.

  “No problem-o. Whenever you need me, I’m your man.”

  While he finishes up, I step into my office surprised to find a strange woman emptying my garbage.

  “Miss?” When she doesn’t seem to hear, I take a few steps toward her.

  Without warning, she turns, unzips her dress, stark naked underneath. Then, she kicks my feet out from under me and straddles me.

  “What the?”

  A shutter snaps from somewhere behind me.

  Man, I am too old for this shit. I toss the woman aside, stand, and try to run for whoever took the picture but she clings to my leg and slows me down.

  I drag her and me to the door but the photographer or paparazzi or whoever is long gone.

  “Dammit, let go of me.” I unclamp her hands, grab her by the arms, and set her on my chair.

  Where the hell is my security? Heads will roll as soon as I find out how this breach happened.

  Quickly, I call Slate, who left to get the limo so I could go home. “Someone’s coming out of the building. Hold him, ah… or her.”

  “Wait? Who? Slow down, Gray.”

  I probably sound like a lunatic. “Someone took a shot of me.”

  “Damn. Are you okay? Should I call nine-one-one?”

  I curse myself for not making more sense when I need to be clear-headed. “Not that kind of shot. A picture shot.”

  “Camera or cell phone?”

  “Dammit. I have no fucking idea. My back was to him… or her. Check with the front desk. Someone had to have signed in.” I glare at the woman who sits in my lounge chair. Will she confess?

  John comes in to my office, completely out of breath. “Sorry, I lost him.”

  He stares at the woman, brows crunched, face in a sneer. “I told you to stay in the conference room. Jeesu, why are you naked?”

  “She’s with you?” I’m so disappointed in my young caterer, my stomach turns.

  Then, I throw the dress at the smug, naked woman, and grimace at the wet marks on my leather. After this, I’ll probably toss my favorite chair to the curb.

  While I lean my butt against the desk, the caterer steps more fully into my office. “I am so sorry, Mr. Patten. I was shorthanded and she gave me a sob story about needing a job so I figured she could help me clean tonight.”

  I shake my head. He should know better. “Did she show you any paperwork?”

  “Ah, no. I was just going to pay her off the books. She’s got a kid who needs surgery.”

  “Seriously, John? That’s the oldest line in the book.”

  “Damn. I’m really sorry, Mr. Patten. It won’t happen again.” His eyes plead but it’s too late.

  This could’ve been way more serious. She could’ve had a gun, could’ve stolen my PC, shot an Arab prince, any number of things. What I don’t get is why my building security was so lax.

  Slate comes through my office door as the elevator door dings and closes in the hall. “The downstairs guard is missing.”

  I’m so pissed, it takes me a moment to speak. “A woman got into my office with some accomplice and snapped a picture. How the hell did it happen? No one goes home until we find out.”

  My phone rings and it’s my sobbing wife. “It’s all over Facebook.”

  “Babe, let me explain… I was set up.” Even I don’t believe this shit-show and the more I explain, the worse it sounds.

  “Grayson. You have some of the tightest security in the city. I’m having a hard time understanding how someone got through it.”

  Holy fuck, now I get how she must’ve felt when I accused her of PTSD. This has Xavier written all over it.

  “I promise, I’ll get to the bottom of it. I won’t be home until I do.”

  At that, she starts to cry again and hangs up. It takes me a few m
oments to figure out why. She must think I’m spending the night with that other woman.

  When I look up, Slate grills the strange woman along with my former caterer. The woman refuses to talk but over threats of losing all his clients, John confesses. “I got a call. All I had to do was hire this woman and my kid’s college tuition would be paid in full.”

  “So, you sold me out?”

  He nods, unable to meet my gaze.

  “Was the night guard in on this, too?”

  “Don’t know. I guess so. He didn’t ask any questions.”

  I smell Xavier Cross but say nothing as I glare at Slate. He’s not only my bodyguard, he’s my fucking security expert and supposed to make sure shit like this doesn’t happen.

  His dark eyes narrow and his jaw ticks as he glances down to think for a second, then meets my gaze straight on. “I’ll find my replacement. After he’s trained, you’ll have my resignation.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. First, I’m counting on you. Figure this out. Cost is not a problem.”

  He nods. “You want me to call the police? Press charges?”

  I think about the headlines, how much the Saudis like their privacy, and shake my head, no. “Just get these two the fuck out of my sight.”

  Everyone clears out and I call Cherry. “Hey love, I got a situation.”

  “I’ll say you have. You’ve already got two-hundred-thousand hits on Twitter.”

  “Thank God I had my clothes on.”

  She clears her throat. “Uh, boss? Maybe you need to check this out.”

  I click on the link she sends and moan. How the hell did someone know I have a tat on my upper thigh? The picture that goes viral is not my body, but it’s a damn good likeness. Even I’m surprised by the accuracy. Surely, Izzy will understand.

  “Trace this shit. I want to know who posted it and their great grandmother’s middle name. Understand? Wake up whoever you need to and get it done. I am so fucking sick of this shit.”

  “No problem. Call you back in a few.” She hangs up and I pace.

  Which is more important? Do I find who is messing with me or to go home to Isabella? I’m quite sure who the culprit is. There’s only one man who’d go to such lengths to bring me down.

  I remember my college roommate. He had a chip on his shoulder even then but was generally a good guy, or so I thought. I was the one who recommended him to my father. It wasn’t until I caught him embezzling millions he went off the deep end.

  Slate shows up in about thirty minutes and rubs a palm over his dark stubble. “Listen, Gray. I can’t believe this happened. I got a whole team of guys watching and listening. I didn’t see this one coming.”

  My office swivel chair leans back and I rub my tired eyes as I try to force them open. When that doesn’t work, I stick a pod in the machine, make coffee and turn to my man. “When the nannies didn’t work, Xavier needed to up his game. We need to turn this around. Get him to come to us.”

  I call Isabella back, thankful she doesn’t send me to voice mail.

  Chapter 6

  Isabella

  “Grayson?” I pick up the phone while I study the naked picture, now viral on Facebook.

  In it, my husband lies flat on his back with a naked woman over him, all the important places blurry so as not to get censored.

  Dammit, this time Xavier has gone too far. Either that, or my husband really is cheating on me which I refuse to believe.

  “Izzy, hun? You there?” My husband sounds worried.

  Good because I am so pissed I can barely spit. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Shit. Listen, I can explain. It’s not what you think. I was set up.”

  “I know. This has got to be Xavier. We need to contact the police, the district attorney, and the FBI.” With the phone on speaker, I throw warm clothes into a suitcase. I’ll just buy anything I forgot once I get home to Minnesota.

  “Honey, there’s no proof. We can’t just assume it’s him. He’s been out of our lives for what, a year now?”

  There’s some logic to what Gray says but we both know Xavier will go to any length to get to us. I have no idea how he got this close but we’re all in danger.

  “Where was Slate? Your building security? How the hell did someone take that picture?” This is all rhetorical because I already know how.

  Xavier is a fucking genius with shit like this. Last time he bugged our home, our office, and inserted a GPS tracker under my skin. If anything, the madman has been off his game.

  My husband sighs deeply. “Please, hun, don’t worry. I’m looking into it. I’ll be home soon.”

  Is he friggin’ serious? “Okay, I won’t. Love you.”

  “Love you too, babe.”

  I finish my packing, open my computer and book the next flight to Minnesota where fifteen shotgun-carrying uncles will protect me. Like last time, Grayson will follow, and we can plan our next move.

  It feels good to finally take action as I wait out front of the mausoleum for my Uber. Of course, Skye’s awake but rubs her eyes, about to crash. When she does, it won’t be pretty and I pray people on the plane have headphones.

  If only I had the pink helmet but it’s still in the limo.

  When a dark van arrives, I slide open the door, surprised to see another baby sound asleep in the back. After I put Skye into the car seat, the driver turns, and motions me into the front.

  Her dark ponytail swishes when she tosses her head in the direction of my mansion. “Nice house.”

  “If you like that kind of thing…”

  I must sound bitchy because she raises her brows and makes a face as she backs out of my long driveway. “JFK?”

  “Yes, please.”

  After about a mile of silence, we pass the house of my nearest neighbor and I try to explain my attitude. “Sorry, the house is a sore subject. I’ve christened it the mausoleum because I’m so damn lonely in it. My husband works long hours in Manhattan and I miss him.”

  My driver’s about my age. She’s dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and has a big open smile, not at all like the people around here. “What about getting out and meeting people? Churches? Clubs?

  “You ever watch Housewives of New Jersey?”

  “No, but I saw the Atlanta one, once.” She chuckles. “Not my thing.”

  “They film it nearby.” I point out a twenty-bedroom, rectangular building and take on the voice of a tour-guide. “Ladies and gentlemen, in that McMansion, a Saudi prince lives with two wives and a mistress. And if you’ll quickly look to the right… a wife is cheating with at least two men, while her husband is out of town.”

  We drive by another home with over two million in curb appeal. “That one belongs to a sixty-year-old divorcee with a live-in boy toy.”

  The driver smiles, takes her eyes off the road for a second, and glances over. “So, what’s your story?”

  “I’m done with this.” The weird thing is, by saying it out loud, I better understand why I want out but I’ve already said too much. What if she works for Xavier?

  On Route Seventeen, colorful neon signs advertise everything under the sun, from oversized men’s clothing to Maseratis.

  She passes a long line of trucks in the middle lane, then takes her eyes off the road for a second to ask, “What about the baby’s father?”

  Before I can come up with an appropriate response, she prattles on. “Never mind. I understand. Mine left me penniless. He’s a lawyer. Damn good one, too. I got shit. Fucking men. But I’m going to school online. Not going to let him beat me down, you know?”

  With just an occasional uh-huh from me, I get her whole life’s story and soon enough, we arrive at JFK.

  “Best of luck.” I kiss her on the cheek, hop out of the Uber, and grab Skye.

  Because of first class, I’m ushered straight through security, and heave a deep sigh of relief outside my gate. I pace in front of the plastic chairs and jiggle Skye. When she fiercely fights those drooping eyelids, I have to smile. Gray doe
s the exact same thing.

  Grayson.

  Soon to be my ex-husband if he’s as pissed as I think he’ll be.

  But dammit. He needs to take my worries seriously. Xavier is getting closer. I can feel it. Maybe once I get some sleep, when I have some family to watch the baby, I can focus and prove to him our nemesis is back.

  While I wait, I pick up my cell phone and… oh shit. I should’ve deleted that image. And now, like a train wreck about to happen, I can’t tear my eyes away. The woman on top of my husband is thin and beautiful. Blond, like me, but a lot prettier. She’s got these huge eyes, red lips and so put together, I feel like that country song, I Got a Girl Crush. In it, the singer wants to be the woman who her man has fallen in love with.

  If Xavier wants to make me feel like shit, he’s doing a great job.

  Still, you’d have to be an idiot to believe the shot was real. Grayson’s eyes are wide, his mouth tight, and with fists clenched at his side, he’s ready to kill. I just wish he’d wake up and smell the coffee.

  When Skye begins to fuss, I discretely hide myself under a blanket and nurse in a corner. I’m so tense it takes a while for the milk to flow. A somewhat annoyed Skye scrunches her brows, sucks harder, and shoots me this look that seems to say, what the fuck, mommy?

  Our plane is delayed because of storms so I walk her up and down the aisle until we’re both exhausted. Finally, an airline employee announces they’ll start boarding families with small children first.

  I grab my carry-on and head us to the gate.

  “Isabella? Thank God. Stop!” Gray shouts from behind me and I ignore the oh-so-familiar tone and quickly pass my ticket over the scanner.

  “Excuse me, miss, is that man calling you?” The attendant points but I refuse to turn. Instead, I rush through the tunnel to the plane.

  Thank God, I made it and sit.

  Suddenly, there’s a big commotion and a steward comes up to me with two big guys in tow. “I’m sorry but you’re going to have to come with me.”

  “But…”

  “Ma’am? This will only take a second to clear up.” The first man has a grim, flat face that won’t take no for an answer so me and Skye are ushered off the plane and into a small room near the gates.