Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation)

by Beck, Samanthe

  “No.” His voice was soft, but with underlying steel, like freshly poured concrete over rebar. “We secure all our electronics. We have to. We handle peoples’ confidential health information and we fully comply with the privacy regulations applicable to that data. Add to that, my staff’s ethics are beyond question. Regardless of the conclusions you’ve drawn about my business, I run a professional operation. Granted, nothing’s impenetrable, but in this case, I guarantee nobody hacked your photos from McLean Fitness files, and no member of my team was involved in leaking them.”

  She shoved her other shoe on, and then braced her hands on her hips. “How can you be so sure?”

  He pulled his phone out of the backpack, and then stepped up until they stood toe-to-toe. “Because the photos never went farther than right here.” He held up his phone and tapped the screen. “I took the shots, I sent them to you, and then I deleted them. Nothing goes to a cloud. Nothing goes to a storage app. And nobody has access to my texts except me. So you see Quinn, if you’re saying the pictures came from my end, what you’re really saying is the pictures came from me.”

  A fist of dread gripped her lungs, and made it hard for her to pull in air. She stepped back. “I don’t have time to discuss this right now.”

  He stepped forward. “Do you really think I’d sell you out? Why would I do that?”

  A fragment of their conversation from that morning floated through her mind.

  I love a grand gesture as much as the next girl, but this has real consequences for you. For your business. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

  It will work out. I have a contingency plan.

  “You had a contingency plan,” she whispered. “Those sites pay good money for really embarrassing celebrity dirt.

  His eyes narrowed. “Holy shit, woman. In case you missed it, I just spent five weeks of my life helping you keep this role.”

  “And then forfeited payment, which put a dent in the books of the important, life-altering business you run.” The fist around her chest tightened. “Meanwhile, my career is nothing but a stupid ego jerk-off anyway. I’ll get another role, right?”

  Dead silence met her question.

  “Right. Enough said. Get out of my way, Luke. I have to go.” Tears threatened. Where the fuck were her sunglasses?

  He crossed his arms, but stood directly in front of her, hemming her in between his body and the bikes. “You’re not going anywhere like this. Calm down and tell me what Eddie said.”

  Ice could burn, she discovered. It could burn white hot. “Calm down? Sure. Let’s be calm. Were you calm when you sold me out to some bottom-feeding gossip site? Or did you laugh at what a sad case I was?” She let the sneer stretch her lip. “You bastard. I’ll bet you laughed.”

  More silence met her accusation. The sun picked up the gold in his eyes, and turned it molten. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know for sure is that you owe me an apology.”

  “Sorry, my mistake. You’re not a bastard. I take that back. You’re a lying bastard.” The insult left a bitter taste on her tongue. She swallowed the venom, and tipped her head back because it was the closest she could come to looking down at him.

  He stepped closer and took hold of her chin. “I have never lied to you, Quinn. That’s one of the rules, remember?”

  His level, unblinking stare almost convinced her. Almost. But by his own admission, there were only two people in the world with access to the photos, and she hadn’t sold herself out. “We don’t have any rules, remember? You canceled our contract.”

  “Be careful what kind of accusations you fling at me.”

  Careful wasn’t her strong suit. She jerked her chin out of his grasp. “Say you didn’t do it. Let’s hear it. I dare you.”

  “If you honestly think I would do that to you, Trouble, there’s no point in me wasting my breath. We have nothing left to discuss.”

  Oh no, he was not going to turn her into the villain. She turned away and spotted her sunglasses in the sand. “You don’t give a crap who plays Lena Xavier.” She bent to retrieve them. “You consider the whole industry pointless and shallow.” Straightening, she slid the glasses over her eyes. “A bunch of bullshit you want no part of.”

  His expression shuttered, and he took a deliberate step back. Some of her anger fizzled in the face of his withdrawal, and panic ran cold fingers over her skin. Mission accomplished, Quinn. You’ve pissed him off.

  “I consider this, right here, a perfect example of the type of bullshit I want no part of.”

  She turned away and strode to her bike. “Good news, Luke. Me and my bullshit are out of here.”

  …

  Luke followed Quinn back to the resort to make sure she didn’t end up on the side of the road, and then went back to his room, cracked open a water from the mini-bar while hoping Quinn remembered to hydrate after her ride, and called Eddie. Lisa picked up and put him through.

  His friend came on the line with a “Hey, man. Looks like your final week in Paradise will be a vacation.”

  Yeah, right. He had a business to get back to, and no interest in staying in Paradise Bay without Quinn. He skipped the preliminaries and went straight to the question at hand. “How’d the pictures end up public?”

  “I don’t know. I’m working on that, but it’s going to take some time. Before I get the FBI involved to determine who skimmed whose phone, any chance someone on your team sprung a leak?”

  Luke walked out onto his balcony, and sipped the beer. “None. I trust my team, but that’s irrelevant because I never saved the pictures. The only thing I did was text them to Quinn.”

  “Maybe someone got them off your phone, directly?”

  “No way. Like all my devices, my phone is password protected, and I keep it with me most of the time. Even if someone from housekeeping spent five unattended minutes with it, my phone locks when it’s not in use, and nobody has the password except me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Somebody got to them from her end.”

  “I don’t think so. We take measures. I’ve seen too many celebrities hacked to allow my clients to walk around with their asses hanging out, electronically speaking. She says she didn’t share them with anyone.”

  “She saved them. I told her to, because I wanted her to look at them regularly. Somebody has access to her saved files. A PR person? Whoever updates her social media?”

  “No. There’s a protocol for that. She would have had to transfer the photos to her publicist. She didn’t.”

  “Somebody’s got access,” he insisted.

  “Apparently,” Eddie said. “Look, don’t sweat this. It’s being handled. My guess is the leak won’t be difficult to track down. These web outlets aren’t like the Washington Post. They’re not especially protective of their sources. I’ll have a name within a couple days.”

  “She thinks I did it.”

  “What?”

  He took another sip of water to wash the bitterness out of his mouth. “You heard me.”

  “Christ, I hate it when my friends start sleeping together. My life is already complicated enough.” He expelled a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Don’t bother. I think we covered the relevant facts before she left. I just want to know who’s responsible, and make certain she knows.”

  “Suuuuure that’s all you want.” He imbued all kinds of skepticism into the reply. “But before you shove that stick any farther up your ass, keep in mind that she’s rattled. Private, unauthorized photos of her are splashed everywhere. Internet trolls are having a field day, and more seriously, the Dirty Games producers want to drop her. All she can see right now is that somebody betrayed her, and put something important to her at risk as a result. Maybe cut her some slack and give her a day or two to recover from the shit-storm? Quinn’s one of the most loyal people I know, but she isn’t used to someone having her back.”

  “You
have her back,” he added.

  “I don’t count. I’m paid to have her back. And I’ve known her for a long time. She doesn’t have to hide anything from me, because I already know her situation, vis-à-vis Callum.”

  Her situation. He rolled his shoulders, which did nothing to dislodge the heavy, hollow ache in his chest. “Any word from the brother?”

  “Nope. I’m working on that, too.”

  “He lived with her for how long? Couple months?”

  “About five months, I think.”

  “He bails on rehab, drops out of sight, and less than twenty-four hours later somebody sells private photos of Quinn to a sleazy media outlet. Am I the only one who finds the timing interesting?”

  “You’re not. But I’m hoping it’s just a coincidence because otherwise, it’s going to break her heart.”

  Yeah, he knew how that felt. It fucking sucked.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “That was fun,” Eddie muttered as the elevators doors closed.

  Because they had the mirrored and marble vestibule to themselves, Quinn slumped against him and let out the breath she felt as if she’d been holding for the better part of the last twenty-four hours. “Fifteen minutes.” She glanced at her watch to confirm that’s really all it had been. “Hard to believe the fate of my career came down to a fifteen minute meeting with a room full of suits.”

  “One you nailed.” In the reflection of the doors, she watched his face split into a grin while he loosened his tie. “The executive producer relaxed as soon as you walked into the room. When you took off your jacket, the director’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.”

  She mustered up a weak smile. “That was kind of the point of the outfit.” After adjusting the skinny strap of the low-cut, curve-hugging white dress she’d chosen for the meeting, she shrugged on the matching, fitted jacket. There’d been no point in playing coy. Hell, she would have worn the leather cat suit—or nothing at all—if that’s what it had taken to secure the role.

  “Well, it worked. But you also blew them away with your level of preparation. You delivered a strategic reminder that while they might be able to get another actress who looks the part, nobody else would know the role as well as you. Mentioning how excited you were to work with the director didn’t hurt, either.”

  A discreet ping announced their impending arrival at the first floor. A second later, the elevator landed like a cloud and the doors opened with a muted whisper. Eddie stepped aside to let her precede him into the soaring glass box of a lobby.

  “If it weren’t for the fast talking you did yesterday, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to show them.” She stopped and turned to him. “Thanks for working so hard to rescue this deal. I owe you.”

  He buffed his nails on the lapel of his designer suit. “It would have been their loss.”

  “Damn right,” she agreed, because people expected confidence from her, “but thanks anyway.”

  Beyond the walls of windows, afternoon sunlight simmered off the Burbank sidewalks. She led them toward the exit while he added, “Are you sure you’re cool with doing the interview with All Access tomorrow? It would be good to get you in front of cameras sooner rather than later, to counteract the leaked photos. But I can push it back a couple days if you want a little more time before you step into that whirlwind. Once the first interview airs, everybody else is going to line up to talk you.”

  “Tomorrow’s fine. I’m ready to get to work.” She slipped dark sunglasses on as she walked through the door he held for her.

  “Are you?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” On the sidewalk, she paused and let the Southern California sun warm her. She was freezing. The cold that had settled into her bones yesterday evening had turned arctic as she’d sat in the back of an air-conditioned town car on the way to the airport. It had stayed for the flight, through fitful attempts to sleep, and during today’s meeting. Part of her was thankful. When the chill finally lifted, this numb sensation insulating her might leave with it. Then she’d really have to feel. And while she might have welcomed the heat of anger, or even gnawing worry, she feared what lurked beneath the protective layer of ice was a crushing pain of loss.

  “You’ve taken a couple tough hits in rapid succession. I’m not questioning your professionalism, but I want to be sure you’re okay.”

  “Always.” She offered up what felt like a brittle version of the patented Quinn Sheridan smile and brushed nonexistent lint from his shoulder. “Eddie, I’m always okay.”

  As good an exit line as any. She stepped back, and fought to keep the smile in place. “Later.”

  He caught her arm, tucked it under his, and steered her across the pavement. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Uh…okay.” Her high heels and their height difference required her to take a couple quick steps to match his pace. “Something else on your mind?”

  “Yep.” He slowed as they approached her SUV. Their reflection appeared in the tinted windshield. “Have you talked to Luke?”

  His name had the power to make her miss a step. “No.” She looked down and dug through her purse for her key. “I don’t plan to. He earned a permanent place on my shit list by selling me out.”

  “He didn’t.”

  That snapped her attention back to Eddie. “You know who did?”

  “Not yet. But I know it wasn’t Luke. There has to be some other explanation.”

  She found her key and hit the button to unlock the door. “I get that he’s your friend and all, but you should know he never denied it.”

  “He doesn’t have to. I know he didn’t do it. The man is made of ethics. He’s also extremely careful. I trust him, and you can, too.”

  The certainty in his face only made her want to burst into tears. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but I’m not the kind of girl who inspires a hell of a lot of caring from anyone.”

  “That’s not true. You’ve got a family fairly inept at demonstrating it, but you can’t take their shortcomings and project them onto the rest of the world. You’re not being fair to yourself, or Luke.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She started to shake as the truth of those words sank in—little shivers that, ironically, signaled the melting away of her icy fortitude. Before she fell apart in a studio parking lot, she wrenched open the car door and climbed behind the wheel.

  “Quinn—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she repeated, cutting him off. “If I’m right, Luke fucked me. If you’re right…” She broke off to absorb the stunningly sharp stab of pain. “If you’re right, I fucked myself, because he’ll never speak to me again.”

  …

  Good news never came at two in the morning. Quinn had known as much before she’d picked up the phone, but walking into a police station an hour later only confirmed it. She posted bail on Callum’s behalf, and then waited another hour, all the while thanking God she was sitting in a police station instead of a hospital or a morgue. Eventually an officer brought her brother out, looking pale and hollow eyed under the harsh fluorescent lights.

  They both held it together until they were ensconced in the privacy of her SUV. As soon as he shut his door, she turned to him, and even though she’d spent the wait time coaching herself to stay calm, the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on for too long simply bottomed out. She smacked his shoulder, and yelled, “So help me God, Callum…”

  “I know. Jesus. Ow! Quinn, I’m sorry. I screwed up. I am so…fucking…sorry.” Then he buried his face in his hands—hands so grimy, even the gloomy interior of the car couldn’t hide the dirt—and for one hysterical second, she wondered just how they fingerprinted people nowadays. Then he broke down in silent, body-wracking sobs.

  She’d wanted to see remorse from him. Wanted actual tears, and uncontrolled sobs as evidence he knew what he’d put her through with his choices—what he’d put the whole family through. But now that he was sitting in her passenger seat all wrung out and shattere
d, she couldn’t help gathering him up. He was her brother. Her twin. They’d never existed independent of each other. Their mom had a grainy gray-and-white ultrasound image of them snuggled up together in the womb and whatever link had been forged way back then still tethered them, despite the way their paths had diverged. She never planned to cut that tie.

  “It’s okay.” She tightened her arms around him, and pulled him close, startled at how much it felt like hugging a bag of bones, despite the oversize black hoodie he wore. He buried his face against her shoulder, and cried out a torrent of guilt, fear, embarrassment, self-pity, and maybe…hopefully, some relief. Hot, wet tears soaked through the gray cardigan she’d thrown over her T-shirt and cut-offs. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered again, and kissed the top of his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Uh-uh.” He drew away, but didn’t look at her. “It’s not okay, and we shouldn’t go anywhere yet. You don’t know. I did something bad, Quinnie.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes, focused them on some point beyond the windshield. “A real doucher move.”

  Mostly to assure him nothing would shock her, she said, “Did you lie? Did you steal? Callum Sheridan, did you sell your body for drugs?”

  “No.” His denial was quiet. Ominous. His eyes darted to hers, and then away. “I sold yours.”

  Now it was her turn to draw back. “You did…what?”

  “When I left Foundations, I hooked up with Damon and Bhodi. Remember them?”

  Vaguely. Bhodi was another actor who’d aged out of the spotlight in his teens. Damon, as far as she could tell, was a periodic drug dealer and full-time fuckup. She nodded.

  “We partied for a while, but then we needed money to keep the party going. I might have been throwing your name around to look like hot shit—I probably was. Anyway, Damon ran into this friend who had a friend who works for some Gawker-type site, and she had big brown eyes and a baggie of coke, and kept talking about how maybe we could work something out if I could give her an inside track, and I kind of…” He looked away again and squinted out the windshield into the darkness.