Falling from Grace: A Billionaire Romantic Suspense series (The Filth Monger Series Book 1)

by Chant, Annabel

  A video-camera.

  Not just an ordinary one, either. This was specialist equipment. It must have cost some. A hell of a lot more than a secretary would want to spend, anyway. And it was set to record.

  I left it – didn’t even touch it – and sat there, my mind running over the implications. Damn fucking Alex. Who’d he hired to check her out, anyway? It couldn’t be one of the usuals. They didn’t make mistakes like this. Hell, security was everything. We all knew that. Without it, everything could come unravelled. Lives could be damaged – destroyed, even. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  I slipped out of bed, and padded over to the dresser. I took her bag and twisted the snap, softly, carefully. Inside were the usual things you’d expect to find in the bag of a woman who cared as much about her appearance as Charlotte did: keys, hairbrush, make-up – Clinique, Estée Lauder, nothing cheap – cash. No credit cards, oddly, but – right at the bottom – the real smoking gun.

  It was a slim metal box, rectangular, almost hidden in the folds of fabric at the bottom of the bag. I knew what it was on sight. I had a few of my own – white gold, mainly – that I’d been bought at one time or another by various well-meaning, but essentially unimaginative, relations. I didn’t use any of them.

  It was a business card case. I tried to open it, but it wouldn’t give. I prised at it with my fingernails…I had to get it open. It wouldn’t budge. It was clearly a cheap one, and the mechanism seemed to be fucked. I tried again. Still nothing – not even enough play to indicate I was doing it right.

  Finally, it snapped open, revealing a clutch of bright white cards, a red and blue logo emblazoned across them. I knew I had to get one. I tried to tease them out, but they were wedged in.

  Just then, I heard the shower stop, and the door of the shower enclosure swung open with a creak, spatters of water splashing onto the marble floor. I tried again to get a card out of the box, but there was no way. It needed a woman’s fingers. I tossed it back inside her bag, snapped the clasp together again, and positioned it carefully back where I’d found it, on the dresser.

  I moved back to the bed, grabbing the sheets and billowing them across it. I slipped back under them, and leaned across to take the camera from its hiding place. I turned it off, and tucked it into the hidden compartment in the unit next to my bed. I’d have to get her laptop bag in the morning. I knew exactly where it was, in the living room, next to the sofa. Anything she’d previously downloaded could be on there. I smoothed the pillows over again, and lay down.

  Just in time. She sauntered back in, towel drying her hair as she came. She stopped, when she saw me looking.

  ‘So, this is what you want?’ She turned to where her clothes lay, hanging across the back of a chair.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, watching as she started to get dressed.

  Fuck it. I couldn’t let it end like this. I knew this would be the last time I’d see her and, whatever she’d done, I felt sorry for her. She really was fucked up. Anyway, I needed time to think. ‘No. Come back to bed, Charlotte. Let me hold you.’

  One more time. I didn’t speak the words, but they lay heavy across my heart. The bitch was a journo. It was almost unbelievable. I hadn’t been able to get her business card out, but it didn’t matter. I knew the logo, better than I’d have liked. She worked for the City Herald, and I was her story.

  She dropped her clothes where she stood, and slipped back into bed beside me. I opened my arms to her, and she draped herself across me, her skin warm and still slightly damp from the shower. Her hair smelt of sage and mint; a manly scent, but she was all woman and, at this moment, as trusting as a child. Soon, she was asleep, I was sure of it. Her breathing came sweet and shallow, her slim, smooth shoulders rising and falling in rhythm with my chest.

  But could I really be sure? I wasn’t sure of anything now. I lay there awake all night, wondering how best to deal with her. None of the options seemed attractive.

  Four

  I’d finished chopping the fruit, and the news had finished with Grace Anderton and the inestimable shit that was Leo Sparkes. For the time being, at least. I scraped the fruit off the chopping board and into the juicer, still thinking about her. That face; an enchanting blur of tears and cosmetics, haunted me. Why were footballers such pricks? It seemed to be written into their contract. Which reminded me…

  I turned on the juicer. It was supposed to be quiet, but it was anything but, and I knew it. For the first time that day, I heard movement in the bedroom. A minute or so later, Charlotte was standing in the doorway. She’d thrown her clothes on – hadn’t even buttoned her shirt. She was wild-eyed with panic.

  I turned off the juicer. ‘Breakfast?’

  ‘I…I’m late for work.’

  ‘Really?’ I poured juice into two tall glasses. ‘I thought you lot kept your own hours.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes widened briefly, and she couldn’t hold my gaze. I could tell I’d unnerved her.

  ‘I mean, since you were working all night, I thought you’d be okay to lie in this morning.’

  She didn’t reply, just turned and ran back into the bedroom. I could hear her rummaging through the bed clothes. I followed her in. She was on her hands and knees, looking under the bed.

  ‘Now, really, Charlotte.’ I couldn’t help but be amused. ‘There’s no need to grovel. The session ended last night.’

  ‘Where is it, you bastard?’ She jumped to her feet, almost panting. I thought she was going to hyperventilate.

  ‘Where’s what?’

  ‘Don’t…’ she took a deep breath and looked like she was about to cry. ‘…do this.’

  ‘Do what?’ I shrugged. ‘I’m doing nothing.’

  ‘Don’t come all high and mighty with me.’ Her voice wobbled, and I was half tempted to go over to her, to comfort her, but she’d brought this on herself. ‘You got as much out of this as I did. Don’t pretend you didn’t.’

  ‘I got nothing out of this, Charlotte.’ I turned away from her. ‘Except peace of mind.’

  ‘You arrogant prick.’ She pushed her feet into her shoes. ‘Did I mean nothing to you?’

  ‘On the contrary, your safety meant everything to me.’ I stood at the door, and watched as she buttoned her shirt.

  ‘My safety?’

  ‘You were out of control, Charlotte.’ I didn’t want to remind her of how we’d found her. She’d come such a long way since then.

  ‘Out of…’ She gave that harsh laugh again, and walked into the living room. ‘Entrapment, dear.’

  I shook my head. I’d been had. We all had. It was hardly worth asking - I knew the answer - but I couldn’t help myself. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of who you are, of course,’ she said, simply. ‘It was a guaranteed story. I’d heard enough about you to know you fancy yourself as some kind of knight errant. The preux chevalier of spoilt little rich boys. I wanted to get behind the myth. Find the real story. And, boy, what a story it’s turned out to be. I went round every Dom in Dominion, trying to get on the inside, to get a story. I never thought I’d end up in the confidence of the Kingpin himself.’

  ‘Always the fondness for the melodramatic, Charlotte,’ I said, watching her hunt around the sofa for her laptop. She could look all she liked…it was in Max’s office, in his safe. ‘How did I not guess before you were a hack?’

  She looked up at me, suddenly. She looked taken aback for a moment, then she seemed to collect herself. ‘Well,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘I got a good story.’

  ‘You got nothing,’ I said. ‘You were never in my confidence. You’ll have to write lies, because I’ve told you fuck all.’

  She didn’t say anything, just looked down at her nails with a secretive smile. She seemed so sure of herself that I almost felt alarmed, but I had my ace card at hand. ‘Whatever you think you know, you signed a confidentiality clause. I witnessed it myself.’

  ‘That?’ She picked up her handbag, wielding it like a weapon. ‘Worthless. It’s
not even my real name.’

  I cursed inwardly. I should’ve kept that business card box. Maybe I should even have fucked her. She’d fucked me anyway, in her own way. ‘So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘Well, I’d almost convinced myself to drop the whole thing.’ For the first time, her resolve seemed to weaken and something approaching a sob escaped her lips. ‘That is, I thought…’ She looked up at me, her eyes softer, almost appealing. ‘But now…’

  ‘Now?’ I returned her gaze, but without softening mine, without conceding at all. I had to know the worst. What was she planning to do? I raised my eyebrows, waiting tensely for her to reply.

  ‘Now I think the whole world needs to hear about you and your sleazy network. You… filth monger.’

  I actually laughed. It was half in surprise, but half because I couldn’t believe that was what she really thought. Did she understand so little – even after all this time?

  I put my arm across the doorway. ‘I’d take a long, hard look at yourself before you take your story anywhere outside these four walls.’ I looked at her, standing there so proud and defiant, and almost pitied her. ‘You haven’t a shred of evidence.’

  ‘Then I’ll find some,’ she said. ‘If it kills me.’

  She pushed past me, still brandishing her bag, as if she thought I’d try to restrain her. It just showed how little she knew me. I never restrained women…not without their explicit consent.

  ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ I murmured to myself, as she slammed the front door behind her.

  Five

  My sainted sister, Helen, had already told my mum when I got home. No mean feat, considering Mum lived in Nice, with her latest beau, and wasn’t exactly an early riser. She’d left a message on my answerphone.

  ‘Darling… oh, it’s too awful… Give him the benefit of the doubt, though, won’t you? You know what those girls are like.’ She paused, at this point, and yawned. ‘He’s a good looking lad – well, you know that - and he must be surrounded by temptation. I know what it’s like with Mike, God help me, and he’s in his fifties. Don’t throw your perfect life away over some little scrubber, darling. Love you, sweetheart. Call me.’

  Good to know she was on my side. My perfect life. Her voice was heavy, groggy with sleep, and I guessed she’d been out the night before. Mike, her latest, was a musician, and played guitar in a band in some of the bars in the old town. I wondered if I should just get a flight out there, get away from everything for the week, but the thought of spending so much time with the pair of them, especially feeling the way I did, made me feel worse. She’d be dragging me out to all Mike’s gigs and I couldn’t face the thought of it, being amongst all those tourists and travellers, living it up while I struggled to hold it together.

  Just then, my mobile rang. It was Helen herself.

  ‘Grace…Oh dear. I don’t know what to say…’

  I took a deep breath and waited. She’d know exactly what to say, and I knew it. She was twenty four – barely a year younger than me – and already married with two loud toddlers, and opinions to match.

  ‘I told you… I did… don’t get mixed up with a footballer. They’re bad news, the lot of them. Can’t keep their pieces in their pants for love nor money.’

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to. She carried on for a good five minutes, railing against the immorality of the world at large, and footballers in particular, until I put the phone down on the kitchen table and left her, talking to herself.

  I went and lay down on the bed, but I couldn’t settle. It was our bed, Leo’s and mine, and now there was no more us. I couldn’t believe he’d done it to me. My head was aching from the wine and all the crying I’d done in the staff restaurant. I knew Liv meant well, but I really didn’t think the drink had helped. It just made me feel even more maudlin and bereft.

  I thought back to what I’d read in the City Herald. Leo and some of the others – I couldn’t even remember who – had taken some girl back to their hotel room and taken turns on her. In fact, they hadn’t even taken turns. She’d taken them three at a time, several times over.

  ‘How can they possibly know that?’ I’d asked Liv. I hadn’t been able to take in what I was reading, and was still convinced, at that point, that it was all some kind of mistake.

  ‘You’re not going to want to hear this, hon,’ she said, reluctantly. ‘But it was a sting.’

  ‘A what?’ My mind was simply not computing. I couldn’t take it in.

  ‘A set-up, hon.’ Liv poured me another glass of wine, and I knocked half back in one go. ‘They got it on video. It’s doing the rounds online. Pixellated her face, of course. Not theirs, though.’ She winced visibly.

  It was then that the tears started, pricking at my eyes, then coursing, silently, down my cheeks. It was true, then. He couldn’t persuade me it was a stalker, or an ex out for revenge. None of the things he’d tried in the past. What a fool I’d been to trust him.

  Liv didn’t try to say anything – just passed me some tissues out of her Mary Poppins bag. It always seemed to contain whatever was needed. At that moment, I wished she’d pull out something to deaden the pain that was clawing at my heart. Something other than wine. Pills or something… preferably lots.

  Was it my fault? I’d had that fantasy again. I’d flirted with Mr Arrogant in Max’s office. I was hardly whiter than white. Had I brought it upon myself? In some ways, it would’ve made it easier to deal with, but I couldn’t really believe it. This had been Leo, on his own, carving out our path to destruction while I was stuck at home, feeling rough. If only he’d come home on the Sunday, straight after the match, it would never have happened. God, who was I kidding? It was probably the whole reason he’d stayed.

  I paced around the flat for an hour or more. I think I was trying to get away from the pain, stupid as it sounds. In the end, I perched on the edge of an armchair, and simply sat there, shaking. My chest felt swollen inside, as if the anguish had expanded it, filling it to bursting. I couldn’t stop trembling. My whole body shook, and I sobbed until I was too exhausted to sob any more, and simply sat there, shaking, and sniffing, and staring at nothing, with tears still flooding my face and neck.

  When he finally came in, later that evening, I didn’t even hear him.

  Six

  That night, I undertook one of our paid contracts myself. I didn’t like doing them at the best of times and that night, after the whole Charlottegate fiasco, it was the last thing I needed. Alex had sworn he’d used the same guys as usual, and they still maintained her story checked out at the time.

  The whole business had put me on the back foot. I’d never been caught out like this. I’d tried to help her, and she’d laughed in my face. Alex had been right all along. She was pure poison. Arsenic with an angel’s face. I’d have to deal with her, but I had to find her first, and that wasn’t going to be straightforward. I’d had men contact the Herald and…surprise, surprise…there was no such journalist working for them. They’d got hold of employee photos, too, and we’d gone through them together. Still nothing.

  In the end, I’d gone round to her flat – or the address she’d given me, at least – and it was empty. It was a seedy little hovel in the East End, and it’d been empty for over a year – at least, according to the girl in the flat below. That’d been an experience in itself.

  She was a mouthy little thing, full of giggles and inexplicable smiles, and had been really pleased to see me at first, as if she knew me. I guess she’d realised her mistake, because when I’d asked about the flat above, she’d got sniffy and more or less slammed the door in my face. I sighed. The whole search so far had been an exercise in frustration, and now I was going to have to start all over again.

  With all this running through my mind, the last thing I needed was to be the referee in some kind of depraved sex match, but I’d been personally requested. As a daughter of the Home Office, they expected me to oversee proceedings in person.

  That just
made it worse. That it was her own father who’d arranged the whole rendez-vous practically made me retch, but his interest in it was a distant one, designed purely to protect interests of his own. Or, in other words, his career.

  My own people – not the ones Alex had hired to dig into Charlotte’s affairs – backed up the story I’d got first-hand. Felicity Mary Flint was twenty one, freshly kicked out of some second-rate university, and ‘hit with the ugly stick’, as one of them had so tactfully put it. She didn’t have a lot going for her, it seemed. The name alone was practically a punishment, and it looked like she was out for vengeance.

  Long story short, she’d found sex, if she hadn’t found a lover, online. Talking dirty at night, she’d been seduced into the idea of being gangbanged – preferably somewhere public. She’d loved the idea… Daddy hadn’t. Well, the government didn’t keep intelligence like that to themselves. I don’t suppose it was exactly music to his ears, but he’d been faced with the situation and, like anything else in politics, he’d had to deal with it. She’d obviously had no idea her online shenanigans were being scrutinised in such sordid detail, or maybe she’d have backed off…

  …Or so I thought, when I was first made aware of events, but I was wrong. It made Daddy sit up and take notice for once. Up to this point, she’d been packed off to boarding school, then university, and hadn’t really registered on his radar. For the first time, she’d had a glimpse of two things she’d never experienced - power and recognition. He could no longer ignore her. If her antics became public knowledge, he’d be ruined and she knew it… Probably took pleasure in it, and I can’t say I blamed her. I felt her pain enough to want to take it from her. It was one of the reasons I’d agreed to take her on. Not to save him the humiliation, but her.