by Alice Ward
I clicked into my account and sent the offending mail zooming through cyberspace. Dinging on his end of the line told me he’d received them. I didn’t speak as he presumably opened them up and looked at the pictures, but my stomach was rolling back and forth with nerves. His reaction carried a lot of weight, and I was waiting on tenterhooks to hear it.
“Would you think less of me if I hired a hitman?”
I laughed. I didn’t mean to, but it burst out of me. Once it did, I couldn’t stop. I hadn’t laughed in so long, and I’d been suffering endorphin withdrawal. I laughed until I couldn’t breathe, and then I surrendered to the silent, shoulder-shaking giggles.
“No,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face. “I’ve been contemplating it myself.”
“You need to know these are from a long time ago,” he told me. He was stern, but I could hear his smile. “Seriously, sweetheart, we’re talking years here. She’s doing everything she can to take me down, and that includes ostracizing you.”
I choked on the final giggles before composing myself enough to return to the somber topic at hand. “Isn’t there an easy solution to that, though? Just tell The Club she was the rat. Getting you back is definitely a motive, and these emails kind of prove she’s looking for some sort of vengeance, don’t they?”
“The Club is too focused on you to believe Pippa would jeopardize the whole organization for the sake of hurting me,” he explained. “They’ll just think I’m trying to get you off the hook.”
“But I shouldn’t even be on the hook,” I argued.
“I know that. You know that. Howie even knows that.” I could picture him shrugging in helpless frustration. “Unfortunately, these are men who are looking at their entire post-college lives going up in smoke if this situation doesn’t get resolved swiftly and sufficiently, and they need a scapegoat.”
Like a light switch flipping on, I was struck with an idea. “Is The Club shutting down until all this blows over?”
“No. Shutting down is like admitting wrong doing. The show, as they say, will go on, with some tweaks.”
“What tweaks?” I asked, curious now.
“No sex following the auction. The men and women will go on public dates just as any normal charity event auction would.”
I was practically rubbing my hands together. My idea could actually work. “Would participating in an auction prove my innocence?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and I grinned to myself. I was partially kidding. I didn’t have a desire to be bedded by anyone at The Club besides Owen. On the other hand, if it cleared my name and got Owen out of the line of fire for supposedly bringing a mole into their secret walls, there might be some benefits.
When he did respond, I could hear the beast lingering in the background. “If I ever see you on that stage, I will make certain you don’t stand for a week,” he growled.
My pussy twitched, but the urgency in his voice acted more as an urging to go through with the idea than reject it. Aside from proving my innocence, it also would provide me the opportunity to see Pippa face-to-face and put my wonderings about what happened the night she visited Owen to bed once and for all. I knew doing the auction meant there was a very good chance I would be won by someone other than my dark-haired prince, but the scale was tipping heavily on one side and it wasn’t the one that left me with more sleepless nights and horrible, vivid images in my mind. Besides, from what Owen said, I wouldn’t have to sleep with the man who bought me. Unless the man forced it after our date. The thought made me shiver.
I took a deep breath, steeling my resolve. “How soon can you get me to New Orleans?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Owen
Against my better judgment, I arranged for Tabby to fly down to New Orleans the following day. I waited for her at the airport in the back of my limo just like I had the last time she’d visited, but the nerves swirling around in my stomach were of a different breed. I wasn’t excited. That wasn’t to say I didn’t want to see her because I certainly did, more than I’d ever wanted to see anyone in my life, but the nature of the visit was one I dreaded. She had insisted on coming down, however, either on my dime or hers, and I definitely wasn’t going to allow her to pay for her own flight so I’d conceded and bought the ticket.
I wasn’t done with the argument, though. We still had seven full hours before we had to be at The Blackjack Club, and I intended to spend them using everything in my book of tricks to talk her out of the nonsensical idea of her standing up there to be bid upon by any number of interested men.
My first and largest concern was for her safety. The members were rabid, and a large percentage of them truly believed her to be the culprit behind the explosive reveal of our society. Just bringing her there at all was risky, but permitting her to get up before them and offer herself up was unimaginable. They would eat her alive — in all respects of the phrase, and I wasn’t fond of any interpretation.
“I need your help,” she said without preface the moment she strode out of the airport and approached my car, a thick sweater wrapped around her thin frame. As usual, Stephan took her bags and settled them neatly in the trunk while I helped her into the vehicle.
“With what?” I asked, hoping against hope for some mysterious reason she needed assistance gracefully ducking out of her plan.
She shuffled herself around the curved seat to make room for me and straightened her skirt over her knees. “I borrowed a bunch of dresses from Heather, and I need you to help me pick out the best one to wear tonight.”
My jaw clenched, and I clambered in after her with renewed determination. “You didn’t have to borrow anything from Heather. I would’ve bought you something.”
“Not like these, you wouldn’t have,” she contradicted, eyes glittering. She snagged her phone from the interior pocket in her purse and directed herself into the gallery of photos. I was greeted by the sight of Tabby’s luscious figure snugly confined inside a tight sapphire dress with so many cut-outs around the waist it looked more like a matching two-piece outfit than one single garment. “Thoughts?”
I frowned so deeply it actually hurt. “Did I mention you’re not going to be standing for a week after this?” I quizzed. “Because, if that doesn’t change your mind about going through with this, I can promise you I’ll make it a month if you wear that.”
“Excuse me, but I’m not asking for permission,” she said with defiance. “I’m just looking for your opinion.”
I met her eyes, letting her see how serious I was. “My opinion is in favor of making you scream until you completely lose consciousness.”
She frowned. “Fine.” Sliding her finger across the screen, she turned the phone toward me to show me the next picture. This dress was more conservative, though barely so, with a skirt that ended where her butt began and so many red sequins it might as well have been paired with the ruby slippers Dorothy wore in The Wizard of Oz. “How about this one?”
“Better,” I said begrudgingly. “Any more?”
The third picture revealed a piece that couldn’t have been considered anything other than lingerie, and the fourth was the flouncy style of a Japanese schoolgirl with a neckline cut so low her nipples would’ve been in constant danger of slipping out. I sighed and looked at her imploringly, hoping boyishness would appeal to her sympathies.
“Won’t you just let me take you shopping?” I pleaded. If she agreed, I could figure out a way to drag the shopping trip out long enough to potentially miss the window for her to enter herself into the auction.
“Owen,” she scolded.
I groaned. “The red one.”
She sat back on the seat and stuck her phone back into her purse. I was wildly hungry for her and wanted to take her right there, to claim her as mine before she became up for grabs, but the way her legs were crossed and her arms clamped rather tightly to her sides made me think she was less than eager to fornicate in the backseat of my limo.
Was she still suspicious th
at I’d taken Pippa up on her offer?
“I missed you,” I murmured. I was testing her response, but I also meant it.
“I missed you too,” she said back, offering me a small smile. So, she wasn’t mad at me, but there was definite reservation emanating from her. I dismissed any notions of hiking her skirt up and shoving my mouth between her legs in favor of gentle affection, and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull it back. I lifted it to my lips and placed a very soft kiss on the top knuckle of her forefinger, watching her reaction carefully. She smiled again. I kissed the second finger, then the third. The corners of her mouth twitched, and I wondered if she was inclined to make that soft laugh I loved so much. If she was, I wanted to hear it at least once before we got to my house and I pummeled her with more arguments against going to The Club tonight. I nibbled her pinky playfully. The sweet, sweet sound of a delicate laugh whispered from her lips, and I was satisfied.
Content to finish the remainder of the drive home holding her hand and breathing in her scent, I went over the various talking points I’d compiled in my head. Once we were up in my bedroom, I started reeling them off.
“These men are powerful people, Tabby,” I informed her somberly. “They have big connections far and wide, and they could seriously hurt you. In a myriad of ways.”
“Such as?” She was distracted with the task of pulling the dresses out of her suitcase and laying them out on my bed to consider them side by side. Evidently, my choice in the limo was a mere nudge in one direction rather than the final word.
I glared at the offensive blue dress. “For starters, they can make sure you never land another gig or have your reputation crushed on social media. You’ll have to figure out a different career path, and even that might be difficult.”
“And, of course, there’s the whole mob hit thing to worry about,” she quipped airily.
My gaze hardened as I turned it to her. “That’s not funny. Or unrealistic.”
She shrugged and shook out the red dress, then stood back to study it. “That won’t be a problem when they realize I’m not the one who talked to the press,” she dismissed. “What else you got?”
“Because that’s not enough?”
Her eyes couldn’t have rolled farther back into her head.
“Well, on the same token,” I continued pointedly, “everyone there tonight is probably going to suspect you’re wired and trying to gather evidence to prove your alleged claims.”
“I already thought of that, which is what these are for,” she announced, brandishing a hand across the smattering of outfits.
“Yeah, and that brings me to my next point.” She raised a questioning brow at me, and I lowered my voice a note. “I don’t want another man to have you.”
For the first time since she’d first brought up the idea in the first place, Tabby actually paused to think about what I was saying. She eyed me contemplatively for a long breath. Then, she promised, “I belong to you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Tabby
Walking into the swanky reception room this time was unlike the last two completely. I came in the same door with my arm in Owen’s, wove through the same crowd to the same bar, and waited while Owen ordered us a couple of drinks like usual, but the entire atmosphere was different. Rather than the relaxed, slightly buzzing climate of socialization and secrecy, The Club was laden with a tension so thick I was basically wading through Jell-O. Eyes turned to me with recognition instead of Owen, and the stares were much less of a lecherous nature and much more of an aggressive one. While I hadn’t necessarily thought Owen was exaggerating when he’d told me repeatedly that the members were prepared to come at me with torches and pitchforks, I felt it viscerally now and almost wished I’d heeded his warnings.
“Come on,” Owen muttered after handing me a much-needed cocktail and grudgingly signing me up — along with himself as a bidder — for the auction. He took me by the elbow and steered me into the nightclub-style room, which I hadn’t been in before. It was empty tonight, but the music was still thumping and the lights still swiveling around in an unattended dance party.
“I don’t get it,” I told him once we were out of earshot of the other members. “Why are all these men here? I’d think they’d want to lay low and avoid The Club at all costs since it went public.”
He smirked very slightly and shook his head. “Avoiding The Club suggests there’s something to hide, and there isn’t,” he explained. “That’s why there’s still going to be an auction tonight. If we put a halt on everything, it looks like we’ve been caught doing something bad. If we continue normally, it looks like we don’t care about the article because we’re not doing anything wrong.”
“So, isn’t hiding out in here sending the wrong impression then?” I pointed out. “Shouldn’t we be out there mingling? Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The frown creasing his face was marred with dark amusement, and I could see my logic turning him on. Without a word, he flattened his hand against the small of my back and steered me into the reception room again.
Seeing the dark looks on the many faces made me want to climb up onto one of the blackjack tables and shout to the crowd I hadn’t done it, I hadn’t outed them to the press, but I knew such an impulsively grand gesture like that was fruitless. The only shot I had to clear my name, and Owen’s, was going through with the auction, though I was feeling significantly less confident about it now that I was able to witness the various stages of disgust, fury, and utter hatred around me. The plan still wasn’t set in stone, either, because the entire thing would fall apart if my prime suspect didn’t make an appearance.
I didn’t see Pippa anywhere.
There was a great possibility she wasn’t going to show. After all, different people came to The Club on different nights and she might have just decided to forego this particular one. Plus, as she’d been the one to set the secrets on fire, she probably had no intention of sauntering into the middle of the hornets’ nest for fear a tidbit of truth would leak out and she’d be thrown in front of a firing squad. To be honest, if it had been me to do the tell-all, I wouldn’t have come within a mile’s radius of this place.
“Can you text Pippa?” I whispered to Owen. “Find out if she’s coming tonight?”
He stared at me incredulously. “You want me to speak to her voluntarily?”
“Well, it’s not like you’re doing it to hookup,” I snapped, irritated with myself for making the suggestion in the first place.
“Yeah, I don’t think I need to text her.” He pointed across the room with the hand holding his glass. “She’s right there.”
I followed his indication and realized he was right. She was standing in a cluster of men, lashes fluttering and mouth open in a painfully fake laugh. She repeatedly pressed her fingers against the forearm of the youngest in the group, a guy who couldn’t have been older than me, and made a point to swing her hips each time she turned to address another. Looking at her, I felt a deep, penetrating loathing. The pictures she’d sent of her and Owen together played a slideshow in my head, and my nails dug into my palms.
“Let’s go,” I snarled viciously.
As I started beelining for Pippa, Owen reached out and snatched me back by the waist, hooking me with his entire arm. Liquid sloshed over the edge of my glass from the jolt. “Have you gone insane?” he hissed into my ear. “You can’t just storm over there and blow this up.”
He was right, but I didn’t want to admit it. “Everyone needs to know the truth. They need to know she’s the one who outed them, not me.”
“Yes, they do,” he agreed. His voice was velvet steel, his grip on me unyielding. “And your causing a scene in a room full of people who are ready to tar and feather you isn’t the way to get the truth out. They’re going to think you’re trying to shift blame. You need to remember your credibility is zilch here. Evidence or an admission is the only thing capable of changing these people’s minds.”
; “I know,” I grumbled, surrendering to his restraint.
His arm loosened around my midsection. “You’re going to have to do the auction.” I could hear the effort it took for him to say that. “And you need to get Pippa to say she orchestrated the outing in front of a witness.”
“Should I march on Canada and take over too?” I asked sarcastically.
“It’s not impossible.” He turned me around to face him with a faraway look in his eyes. “A long shot, but not impossible. Maybe get her talking in the back before the auction starts while some of the other women are around. I’m sure she’ll be happy to strip you down with some verbal degradation.”
“Yeah, I’m sure of that, too, but I doubt she’s enough of an imbecile to do it loudly enough for anyone to overhear.”
Owen snickered wryly. “Anything’s possible with this woman when it comes to egotism.”
I looked around the room, hoping to see a large neon sign pointing to anything that could help me nail Pippa for her crime. Over the invisible speakers, the smooth voice of the auctioneer said, “Good evening, gentlemen. The auction will begin in fifteen minutes. Ladies should report to the gathering room in five minutes, so please finish your drinks and conversations, girls.”
A lightbulb went on in my head. Literally. I actually saw a lightbulb illuminate in my mind’s eye. Grabbing Owen by the back of his head and yanking him down, I muttered, “I have an idea. Can you get ahold of a microphone? Not a regular microphone. I’ll need one of those tiny pin-on ones the auctioneer uses.”
He pulled back and stared down at me thoughtfully. Comprehension dawned on his face. He kissed my forehead and disappeared into the ballroom without a word.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Owen
Not a soul was in the ballroom, not even Amanda, but that worked in my favor. I crossed to the side of the stage where Amanda’s podium permanently stood. It was currently doused in darkness, which was a benefit to my stealth but a hindrance in my search for such a tiny device as the microphone Tabby needed. I fondled the shelves, running my hand over pens and pads of paper and other miscellaneous items I couldn’t identify by touch alone. I contemplated pulling my phone out to light up the area, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.