Must have something to do with his German club team...and it couldn’t be good.
***
As she pulled into her driveway, Jessica smacked the steering wheel for the fiftieth time on the way home. Why’d she tell him? She’d exposed her shortcomings in the worst possible light. If he didn’t conclude she was a total loser, he’d figure she used the sad story to gain his sympathy and forgiveness. His parting words about responsibility must’ve been a shot at her irresponsibility.
She slammed the car door, and then drew back as she spotted a figure huddled on her front porch in the dimming light.
“Hello?”
The figure unfolded itself, and Gemma, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and worn jeans, teetered on the bottom step of the porch. The clothes alone would’ve alarmed Jessica as Gemma paid particular attention to her style and wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere in that t-shirt, but her pallor and red, puffy eyes caused even more concern.
“Gemma, what’s wrong? Are you alone?”
“I need help, Jessica.”
“Is it Simon?” The blood roared in Jessica’s ears as she gripped the strap of her purse.
“Simon?” Gemma blinked. “No, it’s me. I’m in trouble.” The relief rushed in so quickly, her head pounded in pain. She massaged her temple with her fingertips as she sucked in a breath. Judging from Gemma’s appearance, this looked like man trouble, although why Gemma would put any faith in Jessica’s pathetic knowledge of the male species, she hadn’t a clue.
“Come on in.” She put her arm around Gemma’s trembling shoulder, guiding her up the steps. She glanced at the empty street in front of her house as she nudged her door open with her hip. “How’d you get here?”
“I took a bus, or rather two buses, and then walked from the bus stop.”
“That bus stop has to be at least five blocks away.” She placed her hand on Gemma’s back and propelled her inside. “You Bosfords use the strangest forms of transportation.”
Gemma’s lips quivered and then turned south and a big, fat tear rolled down her cheek.
“Sit down. I’ll make some tea.” Jessica kept up a stream of light banter while she made the tea, but Gemma barely responded.
She carried two cups and saucers out to the living room and placed Gemma’s on the coffee table in front of her. “I added some milk, just the way you like it. Now tell me what’s wrong? Has Ivo been ignoring you?”
“I wish that’s all it was.” Gemma launched into her story about an evening out with Megan, which apparently wasn’t their first outing together, and running into FredX and Scar from Exrement. “I don’t remember anything after that, and then I woke up in a room at the Hollywood Ambassador Hotel by myself.”
“Did you have a lot to drink?” Jessica placed her tea cup down carefully, her stomach bunching into knots.
“No, I really didn’t, Jessica. Just a few mixed drinks, not enough to pass out.”
“And you know how many drinks it takes for you to pass out?”
A pink blush fanned across Gemma’s cheeks. “It takes more than a few.”
“Did you call Megan to find out what happened?”
“She’s not home, or at least she won’t return my calls.”
“How did you happen to meet Megan?”
“I-I met her at that club you told me about. You know, the Black and Blue Room? She gave me her card. She told me you worked together at CSM. She told me you two are friends.”
“I know Megan.” Jessica didn’t want to unleash the silent alarm bells ringing in her head and spook Gemma any more. “Tell me everything you remember about the hotel room.”
Gemma described the rumpled bed, her nakedness, and the used toiletries. “I think I might’ve had sex with someone, but I don’t remember.”
That’s exactly what Jessica thought, but she wouldn’t call it sex.
“Let’s go.” Jessica sprang up from the sofa and swept the cups from the coffee table. “Wash your face and brush your hair. We’re going to do a little investigating at the Hollywood Ambassador.”
***
Forty-five minutes later, Jessica squealed to a stop at the valet parking stand in front of the Hollywood Ambassador Hotel. She plucked a ticket from the fingers of a red-jacketed valet parking attendant and charged through the revolving doors, Gemma trotting behind her to keep up with her longer strides.
“Don’t tell them anything, Jessica.” Gemma tugged at her sleeve.
“Like you woke up naked in one of their rooms? Don’t worry. My middle name is discreet.”
Gemma’s wide eyes indicated she didn’t quite buy that.
Jessica strode to the reception desk. “I need to speak to the manager, please.”
“What is this regarding?” The clerk raised his brows and pursed his lips.
Jessica wedged her palms on the counter and hunched forward. “It’s a private matter.” He picked up the phone and spoke into it softly, turning a shoulder on Jessica and Gemma. “He’ll be right with you.”
Several minutes later, a small man with dark hair, graying at the temples, and a gray goatee approached them. “Can I help you ladies?”
“I need to know who rented a room here last night, room 968 to be exact.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t give out that information. We respect our guests’ privacy.” The manager clasped his hands in front of him like a priest at the altar.
“You listen to me very carefully.” She leaned in, planting her face inches from his. “Somebody brought this young woman, who’s underage by the way, to your hotel last night under false pretences, and I want his name.”
“B-but I can’t give you his name.”
“Would you rather give it to Sharon Redding?” The manager’s face blanched at the mention of one of L.A.’s highest profile women’s rights attorneys. “Because she’s a personal friend, and I think she’d find it very interesting that your hotel caters to men who lure underage girls to your rooms. We can settle this matter privately or very, very publicly.”
“You did not get this information from me.” He held up his hands before logging onto a computer.
“Of course not.”
“Room 968?” He clicked the mouse several times, and then whispered across the counter, “Frederick Cutler.” Jessica released a breath. “Thank you.” Gemma, who’d watched the entire exchange with wide eyes, grabbed Jessica’s arm. “Is Frederick Cutler FredX?”
“Yep. He took you here after the club. My guess is that he slipped some GHB in your drink. Remember, I warned you about that the first night we went out?”
“I didn’t take a drink from a stranger, Jessica.” Tears welled in Gemma’s eyes. “I’d met FredX before, and Megan gave me the drinks. Why would they do something like that?”
“I don’t know.” Megan had some plan, probably designed to put more money in her bank account, but why go after Gemma? She pulled Gemma toward the love seats in the lobby. “You have to go the police and report this.”
“No.” Gemma covered her face with her hands. “I don’t have any proof. He could say I came here with him willingly.
I don’t even know if we had sex.”
“Whether you did or not, he can’t run around drugging people.”
“M-maybe Jimmy can ask FredX what happened.” Gemma peeked out from between her fingers.”
“Jimmy? You mean my ex?”
“Megan told me they’re friends.”
“She did?” Jessica narrowed her eyes and drummed her fingers on the glass table next to the loveseat. She could see it all—Megan claiming to be her friend, Fred claiming to be Jimmy’s friend—all to suck in Gemma, make her feel comfortable. She just couldn’t figure out the motive.
“I wouldn’t say Jimmy and Fred are friends. They had a falling out over some song lyrics. Fred tried to steal them from Jimmy, and I can see his criminal career just got worse.”
“And Megan?” Gemma dropped her hands and bunched the hem of her t-shirt in her fists. “Is she really
your friend?”
Jessica covered Gemma’s fists with her own hands.
“No. She double-crossed me to score some points with Evan.”
“She used me too, didn’t she?” Gemma’s jaw formed a hard line, and she tightened her fists. “For some reason she pretended to be my friend and then threw me to the wolves.”
“Looks like it, but we’re going to get to the bottom of this. Are you sure you don’t want to report this to the police?
You might still have the drug in your system. There may be witnesses. He may have done this before...”
“No!”
“I think you’re making a mistake, Gemma. Maybe Simon can convince you.”
Gemma shrieked and gripped Jessica’s arms, digging her nails into her flesh. “You’re not telling Simon about this.”
“But he’s your brother. He’s responsible for you.”
“Exactly. He’ll freak out, blame me, and send me home.”
“Maybe that’s where you belong.”
“He’ll blame himself too.” Gemma shot her a glance through lowered lashes. “He’ll think he failed me, and he’ll have to admit to our dad that he made a mistake allowing me to stay. Simon doesn’t need to deal with this right now.” Jessica extricated herself from Gemma’s claws and rubbed her arms where Gemma had left crescent indentations. She had a point. Simon had enough on his plate, and she’d put half of it there.
Chapter Seventeen
“I didn’t do it!” Simon slammed his fist on Evan’s desk.
“I didn’t throw any bloody games.”
One of the UEFA officials shuffled through his files and pulled out a piece of paper. “We’re already investigating three other players from Mannschaft Munich, and your name came up.”
“If they brought my name up, they’re liars.” Simon gripped the arms of the leather chair to keep from punching someone in the face.
“Nobody named you specifically, but you have a pattern of suspicious behavior.”
“Bollocks. My life’s an open book, played out in the bleedin’ tabloids every day.”
The other man coughed. “Simon, experts and football aficionados alike considered you the best football player in the world. Mannschaft Munich offered you the biggest contract ever for a footballer, until the contract you signed with the Waves. Then when you got to Munich...nothing. You started in the first few games, and then never made the starting line-up for the remaining two years you played for that team. That doesn’t make sense.”
Simon ground his teeth together, but his mind scrambled back to that first year with Munich. Coach Heinrich did start him those first few months, but soon began criticizing his play, his passes, his leadership.
Coach dropped hints about Simon’s lifestyle and age, and instead of proving him wrong, Simon gave up and gave himself over to his celebrity status. It just seemed easier at the time.
Now his acquiescence to the good life and easy money had just bounced back and hit him in the balls.
“Age takes its toll.” Simon lifted a shoulder and then rolled it back. “That and a different style of play. I had a hard time adapting to their game.”
The two men stuffed files back into their briefcases and stood up. “We wanted to give you a heads-up, Simon.
We’re going ahead with the investigation, starting with your finances, but we discussed a few deals with Evan. This can end right here.”
When the door slammed behind them, Simon slumped in his chair. “What the hell is going on Evan?”
“You heard the men. It started with allegations from a couple of refs. They pointed the finger at Mannschaft Munich, Bonn, and Frankfurt.” Evan inspected his buffed fingernails. “One player from the Frankfurt team already admitted wrong-doing, and they’re letting him off easy for his cooperation.”
“I don’t know how my name got dragged into this.” He jumped up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and paced in front of Evan’s desk. “Bloody hell, a bloke has a few less than stellar years and he’s branded a cheat.”
“They’re going to dig into your finances.”
“Let ‘em. I have nothing to hide except a sloppy accounting system.” He stopped pacing. “What kind of deals did he mean anyway?”
Evan tipped his chair back, crossing his arms behind his head. “If you come clean about throwing matches and start naming names, they’ll let you off easy. They’ll assess you a small fine and ban you from soccer for life.” Simon threw his head back and laughed. “You’re taking the piss, right?”
“No.” Evan kicked his feet up on his desk and tapped his loafers together. “Think about it, Boss. The scandal will put you over the top. It’ll be a great launching off point for your reality TV show—sort of a fish out of water theme.”
“We’re back to that, are we?”
“You said it yourself. You want to make the easy money. Admit your culpability in the match fixing scam, and you can still make millions without ever having to kick another soccer ball.”
“There’s only one problem with your plan, Evan. I didn’t throw any games.”
“That may not matter.” Evan leaned forward and flipped open his humidor. “Think it over. This might be your best career move ever. Relax and take the easy road. You don’t have anything to prove anymore.”
Simon clawed through his hair with his hands. Evan had no idea. He had so much left to prove, along with the first glimmer of hope in a long time that he could make it back to his glory days on the pitch.
If he resigned from soccer and slipped out of his contract with the Waves, what would that do to Jessica?
She owned the team now—controlling interest. It might ruin her own chances to prove she could handle the job her father forced on her.
Could he admit to something he didn’t do to avoid the challenge facing him? He blew out a breath.
“I don’t know, Evan. It doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Think it over and get back to me. In the meantime, this story’s going to break.”
“Then I better do some damage control.” Simon grabbed his jacket from the chair and pushed out of Evan’s office.
Evan rolled the cigar between his palms, inhaling the rich aroma. This couldn’t have played out better if Joe Eszterhas had scripted it. The UEFA had Simon on the ropes, and he’d have to make a choice soon–fight the charges in a long battle that might result in his suspension from the Waves anyway, or come over to the dark side.
And just in case Simon made the wrong decision, Evan had a little insurance to make sure he changed his mind.
He punched the buttons on his phone for Megan’s extension.
“Megan, did you get the goods?”
“I thought you’d never ask. I’ve been here for two hours.”
“I had an important meeting. Do you have it?”
“Not with me, but it’s in a safe place. Do you want me to come and tell you all about it?”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
***
Jessica spent the morning on the phone trying to reach Megan, Fred, and Scar, aka Jack Fisher, with no luck. That alone screamed guilt since Fred would normally do just about anything to talk to the ex-Mrs. Jimmy Doe.
After Jessica tucked Gemma into the hotel restaurant for a good meal, further sleuthing at the Ambassador, along with a few crisp bills, revealed that four people poured into that hotel room, all under the influence. Or at least pretending to be, so one stumbling young woman among them wouldn’t stand out.
What did they do in there, have an orgy? If those men had sex with Gemma after slipping her GHB, that meant date rape.
Jessica carried a sandwich and a can of diet soda to her patio and straddled a chaise lounge. She wished Gemma would just report this thing to the police, but she refused. Gemma remembered a case like this at home, and her father’s pronouncement that the woman was a tart and deserved what she got.
Jessica bit into her sandwich and gnashed her teeth.
Mr. Bosford
had sure done a number on his kids.
Reporting the incident to the police also meant alerting Simon, and Gemma wanted to keep him in the dark.
Jessica sighed around a sip of soda. She didn’t want to keep this from Simon. She didn’t want to keep anything from Simon anymore.
Her doorbell rang, and she jumped up from the chaise lounge. She swung open the door to find Simon on her porch, decked out in a designer suit with shirt cuffs, weighted with heavy gold cufflinks, hanging past the sleeves of his jacket.
Heat soaked her face all the way to the tips of her ears.
He just presented her the opportunity to come clean, to rat out Gemma. She shoved her clammy hands in the back pockets of her denim capris.
“Hi, Simon. You look very spiffy.”
“I just came from a meeting. We have to talk.” She stepped back, and he brushed past her, the scent of his musky cologne leaving a trail she willingly followed.
“Jessica, I have some bad news.” He stopped in the middle of her living room, looking like a flashy male peacock amid her rustic furniture.
She swallowed hard. Did he find out about Gemma already? Did he realize she knew all along?
“W-what is it?”
“I’m going to be investigated.” He squared his shoulders, his gaze pinned to a point somewhere above her head. “The UEFA is investigating match fixing among the German club teams, and my name came up.”
“Bollocks!”
His gaze dropped to her face, a smile twisting his lips.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“You wouldn’t throw any matches.” Her arms flailed at her sides as she spun around the room. “That’s ridiculous.
Who brought your name up? We’ll sue him for slander. You know my ex-fiancé, David? He’s not much in a barroom fight, but he’s a kick-ass attorney.”
“Whoa. Slow down. You’re right. I didn’t throw any matches. Their investigation won’t find anything.” She peered into his face. He didn’t look so spiffy after all. Tension marked his lean face and a furrow of worry creased his brow.
“Have you had lunch?” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t have much, a turkey sandwich, some fruit.” “Yeah, that sounds great.”
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