“Second floor, on the left.”
“Thanks.” I looked over at Otto. “I won’t be long.”
It was insane to think he’d just be here. But maybe he’d left a hint? Like times he visited or where he was going after here. Something. Nemo was clever; he’d leave clues behind, just like he did in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. I raced up the stairs, gasping at the beautiful painted ceiling. There was a woman here, browsing the shelves, as well as another couple. But no single men, no one who looked like they were waiting for someone. I let out a breath, and walked toward bookshelves that held the letter V. This place was breathtaking; I was half tempted to climb into one of the armchairs and never leave.
Suddenly, my heart stopped as I felt someone pause behind me. “No luck?”
I let out a choked sound as I looked over my shoulder at Otto. “No. I didn’t think he’d just be here waiting, you know? I hoped… but that's pretty stupid.” I skimmed along the book spines until I found what I wanted. “Help me check these?”
Otto nodded, squatting down and grabbing out a small handful of Verne novels. “What am I looking for?”
I shrugged. How the hell would I know? “Notes, maybe? Something between the pages?”
He didn’t ask any more questions, just taking one of the novels and flipping it upside down, giving it a little shake. He thumbed through the pages, but nothing. Then he moved onto the next. I did the same, but still nothing.
When he tipped up a copy of one of the novels with the original French title Le tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours, my heart pounded when a small sheet of paper slipped out.
Find me at the Iron Nautilus.
I held the crumpled piece of paper and stared. What did that mean? I stood up, continuing to study the paper like it might reveal something more. Otto was still holding the book, though he’d tucked it under his arm so he could pull out his phone.
He frowned. “According to Google, the Iron Nautilus is a bookstore in London. Do you want to go?”
I chewed my lip. I’d known this was coming, knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. Taking a deep breath, I nodded.
He smiled and shrugged. “At least I can give the travel agent some specifics now.” He rested his free hand on my spine. “Come on, I’ll buy you this and we can head back to tell the guys the good news.”
Chapter 11
Sampson
When Otto returned with Aviva, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were too bright. She looked wild, and now I kind of saw the appeal. Not in the fiery way she stared at Hendrick, like she was picturing ways to dismember him, or in the doe-eyed way she gazed at Otto. No, that crazed wildness where she looked like she’d run too hard, or been chased by the Wild Hunt—that version of Good Girl made my blood run hot through my veins.
She chewed her lip, and it was something I wouldn’t mind doing too. I remembered the taste of her lips, but the sensation was starting to fade. I wouldn’t mind refreshing my memory.
“Your room is ready.” Reception had actually called up a while ago, but I’d liked watching her tell me about what she found. Hendrick still wasn’t back, and Otto thought something might’ve happened while he was with his dad.
When Otto had left with the girl earlier, I’d spent fifteen minutes researching how much it would cost to kill off a senator. The answer was too much, even for me.
She grabbed her jacket and purse. “Thank you.” I held out the keycard to her room, letting her step forward to grab it. When she stepped closer, I grabbed her fingers and pulled her closer. She let out an adorable squeak, but I didn’t kiss her. I was so close that I could feel the puff of her breath on my face as she froze up before me. I grinned down at her wide-eyed surprise, then stepped back.
“They’ll have put your bags in your room. You should change into something warmer—and nicer—for dinner. We aren’t in Florida anymore.”
I was satisfied with her wince. I knew I was being a fucking asshole, but I liked to see those emotions on her face. Liked to snap her out of that crusty, sarcastic exterior that she seemed to propagate around Hendrick.
She turned on her heel and fled from my suite, and I watched her go with hungry eyes. I’d respect her rules, but I knew I’d have her on her knees, staring up at me with those pretty blue eyes soon enough.
When Otto let out an exasperated sigh, I turned in his direction and raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Am I going to have to watch you guys twenty-four seven to make sure you aren’t dicks to her? Newsflash, Sam, she was in the institution because she tried to kill herself. Hendrick told me. She only just got out, so if you could not push her over the edge, that would be great.”
I tilted my head at him. He was one of the few people in the world who didn’t flinch away from my gaze. “Do you like her?”
He shrugged, looking back at his phone. “She’s nice. She doesn’t deserve whatever dastardly shit you and Hendrick will come up with to torment her.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not going to torment her. And you didn’t answer my question.”
Now it was his turn to look incredulous. “Remember that girl, Tiffany? Stephanie? Something like that—the one in our freshman year of college that you flirted with, until she was sure she was in love with you, and then you crushed her? She dropped out. Just because you were bored.”
I shrugged. “And because she had a bet going that she could get me to propose by the end of college. She saw me as a meal ticket, so I treated her like garbage.”
“Be serious, Sampson. Half the girls you meet have dreams of becoming your wife, though I don’t really understand why they'd spend more than ten minutes in your presence.”
“The zeros in my bank account help to smooth over my personality faults,” I teased, giving him a crooked smirk. “Message Hendrick and tell him to meet us at Saks. Good Girl needs some clothes if we’re going to London and god knows where else.”
Otto was pulling out his phone and messaging the group chat even as he said, “She can’t afford Saks. Maybe we should take her to a mall somewhere.”
I waved a hand. “Cheap crap. Besides, this is for me. It will entertain me to dress her up how I like.”
“Then get a Barbie doll, you psycho.” There was no heat in his words though. I think he wanted to give the girl her Pretty Woman moment, despite what she’d said. He stuffed his phone in his pocket. “I’ll go and grab her. Better she knows what she's in for now, while she’s still on US soil and not trapped in Europe with you fuckers.”
Such a goddamn white knight, that one.
I read the email from my assistant, who had a cruisy as fuck job since I didn’t really want or need an assistant, except for moments like these. When I needed someone to throw around the weight of my name and didn’t want to do it myself. He’d gotten Aviva’s travel documents Express Expedited, which I’m fairly sure was code for he’d paid off someone every step of the way. It was fine, I wasn’t worried. Looks like he’d earned his wage this week.
I called down to Reception to make sure that they knew to expect a parcel for me, and that they’d keep it somewhere safe until I collected it. Finally, I grabbed my wallet and jacket, and stepped out into the hall. There were only four suites on this floor, and from what I knew, the only other long-term tenants were the Chinese Embassy—who kept theirs for visiting diplomats—and an aging rockstar who’d been divorced three times and still had loads of money. Airtight prenups were the key to a good marriage. The other suite was still occasionally rented out to music stars and European royals, but not often. No, I appreciated the peace of living in the St. Regis. All the services of home, without having to worry who changed my sheets.
I took the stairs down three flights to the floor where Aviva was staying. I should’ve had her put in the spare suite on my floor, but I imagined that if she knew I’d sunk five k on a room for her for the night, it’d make her face scrunch up in horror. I wouldn’t tell her that this one wasn’t much less, though to Hendrick and I, it was pennie
s.
As I knocked on the door, I could hear the slow rumble of Otto’s voice with the softer, higher cadence of Aviva’s. They’d probably make a good couple. Otto needed to be a savior, and Aviva desperately needed rescuing.
But I was a selfish fuck. I didn’t mind sharing, but I wanted some too.
Otto pulled open the door and stepped into the hall, and a frowning Aviva stepped out after him. She scowled at me, so I guess Otto hadn’t done a great job at selling the whole ‘let’s go shopping’ idea. Maybe I liked Good Girl for that too. Most girls would let out an ear-piercing squeal at the idea that I was going to buy them a whole new wardrobe, so Aviva’s recalcitrance was what made it so much fun. She opened her mouth, her cheeks flushing pink, and I knew she was about to argue.
“Let’s go.” I spun and strode down the plush carpeted hall, grinning at her angry huff. I could hear her stomping short strides behind me, and I tried to school my features back into nonchalance. “Is Hendrick coming?”
Otto nodded. “He said he needs to pick up a few things too.” I frowned for real this time. What went on with Hendrick and his father that he’d bailed without his shit?
We walked down Fifth, and Aviva gawped like she’d never stepped foot in a city before. I tried to see this place as she did, the old beside the new, the shine of the city next to the homeless who hadn’t been moved on yet. NYC had always had its own kind of magic appeal. It wasn’t the glitzy kind like the West Coast. NYC had history in its very foundations—from the tallest building to the sewer rats—and it infected any person who stepped into it with the same magic.
But like anything new and magical, the shine eventually wore off, and you realized there was a nervous old white dude behind the curtain pulling the strings the whole time.
We dodged around the tourists taking pictures of Saks, and I ushered Otto and the girl through the front doors. Hendrick was waiting for us just inside the door, though I had no idea how he’d gotten here so fast. He was staring at his phone with a frown on his face, his foot tapping wildly. There was a small bandage on the side of his head that wasn’t quite covered by the longer ends of his hair. I stared at that bandage, rage flowing through my veins.
Maybe I needed to re-evaluate if I really could afford to kill a senator. My stocks in a certain streaming service had gone up this last year, giving me a bit more liquid capital. Pretty sure I could get my accountant to cover it somewhere in my finances.
He looked up when Otto cleared his throat. We were both staring at the same thing, but Aviva seemed oblivious as she just stared open-mouthed around the department store. Hendrick cut us both a sharp look, and I didn’t need to be his best friend to understand his expression was telling us no questions. He may as well have been shouting it.
He placed himself on the other side of Aviva, so she couldn’t see the bandage if she turned to look at him. “Are we going shopping, Viva? I’m in desperate need.”
I didn’t know if they gave the employees here flashcards of prominent New York families, or if we were just in the tabloids a lot, but a personal shopper appeared in front of us almost immediately.
“Mr. Rubio, Mr. Kenley. Welcome to Saks Fifth Avenue. How may we help you today?” She was blonde, coiffed to perfection, and her uniform tailored skillfully. Hendrick dragged Aviva forward, and I watched the personal shopper’s eyes quickly take in her outfit, the customer service smile never dropping from her face. In that one quick expression, she’d made several snap judgements about Aviva, who she was to us, and where in the social ladder she belonged.
“She needs a wardrobe suitable for Europe.”
The employee nodded. “What season?”
I grumbled low in my throat, drawing the woman’s eyes. “Right now. Here’s what I want...”
By the time I was done with my list, Aviva looked pale. The personal shopper directed us to the VIP dressing rooms, then scurried away with a small, busy army of other employees.
“Let’s see how bad we can make you, Good Girl,” I growled, and watched a shiver run over her skin. Mmm, yes. This was fun.
Chapter 12
Aviva
Well, I couldn’t say the girl in the dressing room mirror was beige anymore. Sampson had dressed me up somewhere between hooker and badass bitch. He was insane of course, and seriously fucking annoying. I could hear him out there approving and rejecting outfits.
As aggravating as it was though, he had good taste. I looked beautiful. The cuts flattered my figure, the material well made and not ostentatious.
The price tags nearly gave me an aneurysm.
“Hendrick, I can’t afford this shit,” I hissed as I flicked back the curtain. But Hendrick apparently didn’t believe in change rooms. Instead, he was standing in his boxer shorts right outside my change room, completely unfazed by the fact that his whole body was on display and the personal shoppers were eating him up with their eyes. Hell, he probably loved it.
I dragged my eyes from the V of his hips back to his damn smirking face, clearing my throat. “I draw the line. I can’t take this.”
Hendrick just grinned at me. “I refuse to take you to Europe looking like a fucking hobo, so suck it up, Viva.”
“Go fuck yourself, Hendrick.” I flicked the curtain back across.
“Rather fuck you, Viva,” he said too loudly from the other side, and my face flushed. I was so glad he couldn’t see it.
I managed to keep my voice even as I said, “I’m beginning to think you’d fuck anything with two legs.” His laughter was like velvet brushing softly over your skin. It made my flesh feel too tight, and I pretended it was with repulsion but everyone in this room knew it was arousal.
“You definitely have two legs. Two very nice ones, as we all saw when you were in that little black Chanel number.”
That dress had been gorgeous, but had way too many zeros at the end of the price tag for my mental health. I’d made Sampson tell the shop girls no more high end labels, and they’d all looked at me like I’d grown another head. Maybe they’d given me electroshock therapy back in that damn wellness center and this was all just a coma dream.
So no more Chanel or Versace or Louis Vuitton. They’d agreed, but Sampson had then told them to remove the tags of anything they brought in, so now I was standing in jeans that could cost a hundred bucks or six hundred, and I would never know.
The guys had insisted I needed a clubbing dress and a formal gown—I didn’t know what the fuck for, but even Otto had agreed. I’d already accepted three pairs of jeans, two pairs of tailored shorts, an entire array of pretty dresses and a puffer jacket that cost more than my car just by itself. Plus half a dozen tops, from sheer blouses to casual yet pricey t-shirts.
A hand reached through the curtain, and I was beginning to recognize the expensive manicure of the original personal shopper we’d met. “The gentlemen informed me that you might be going to the opera or out for dinner, and needed a dress to fit these occasions.” She thrust a dress at me. “This will be perfect. While it isn’t an evening gown, it is well made and will suit most occasions with the right accessories. I shall pick appropriate pieces.” She wasn’t asking. She was telling me.
I gritted my teeth and shucked on the dress. I had to admit, it was beautiful. Short enough to hit me midthigh, it draped around my body in a way that gave me more curves than I naturally had. It was simple, understated and… Holy shit, two and a half thousand dollars?
I must have screeched, because Sampson was suddenly there, whipping open the curtain. His eyes dipped to the dress, spending a long time on my legs, and then back to my face. “Want me to zip it?”
I shook my head furiously. “Not this dress.”
“Don’t you like it?”
I shook my head again. “It's beautiful, but it's too much.”
He had the fucking audacity to roll his eyes. “This is the dress then.” Then he shut the curtain. Fucking asshole.
I put my own clothes back on—comfortably from Target—and slid int
o my Converse. They kept bringing me street shoes, and I’d rejected them all. I was a Converse or die kinda girl.
Stepping out from behind the curtain, I frowned at the guys all sitting there on the plush couch. “I’m done. I won’t be an embarrassment anymore.”
Otto looked concerned, but Hendrick laughed. “Not sure that will be possible, Aviva. You radiate basic bitch.” I gave him the finger, and he just laughed harder. “It’s okay, we got you a selection of yoga pants and oversized sweatshirts too. You’ll still be comfortable, but now they’re designer, and it's an ‘aesthetic.’” He did little finger quotations around the word aesthetic like he thought it was crap, yet they were the ones who’d dragged me here to play dress-ups.
Sampson handed the assistant his credit card. “Ring it up and have it sent to the St. Regis. Also, she needs a suitcase and a travel wallet. Plus anything else you think she’ll need, I don’t care.”
The woman scurried off, her comrades grabbing the hanging rack and wheeling it out. There must have been ten thousand dollars worth of clothes on that rack.
All the fire left me as they rolled away and the door shut behind them. “It's too much,” I whispered. “You can’t buy me.”
Sampson swaggered over, his mouth a cocky smirk. “I’m not buying you, Good Girl. I’m making you a fantasy.” He leaned forward, getting in my personal space again, and fuck, he smelled so damn good it was distracting. “Don’t you want to be a fantasy?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
He pulled back and smiled. A real one, not that cocky half-grin. “Yeah, you do. You aren’t beige anymore. No, Good Girl. You’re going to be so much more.” He spun away from me, and I sucked in oxygen like I’d been immersed underwater. “Let’s head back and get room service. I’m fucking starving.”
Hendrick made some manly grunt of agreement and came over, slinging his arm across my shoulders. “Aren’t we having fun already?”
Inside the Maelstrom Page 7