by S. M. Shade
Duplicity
Jilted: Book One
S.M. Shade
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Free S.M. Shade Books
Where to find S.M. Shade
Acknowledgments
More by S.M. Shade
Copyright © 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Jay Aheer
Interior Formatting by Abigail Davies at Pink Elephant Designs
Chapter One
Kinley
A dozen adults fidget like children, grinning up at me. Just how much of my warning speech carved through their excitement and into their brains isn’t clear, but they’d damned well better follow my instructions.
“Remember, the key word here is professional. If I get any reports of Mr. Singleton being disturbed for autographs or pictures, if anything goes missing from his room, if the tissue he wiped his nose with or the fork he used to eat his salad shows up on Ebay, you’ll no longer have a job here.”
“It’s going to be a long summer. I’m sure you’re all aware of Mr. Singleton’s past antics and behavior, so please don’t put yourself in a position to be dragged into that drama.”
“He can drag me into his room,” one of the housekeepers murmurs, and giggles spread across the room.
My frown quiets the laughter soon enough. “Which is why no one but Harriet, Clark, or myself will be providing any services to Mr. Singleton’s suite. If he calls for maid service, Harriet is the one you contact. If he orders from room service, or needs anything from a concierge, call Clark. If it’s something you aren’t sure about, you call me. My phone will always be on. No one else goes to his room. Is that understood?”
I’m met with reluctant nods and mumbled agreements. “For every week we make it through without an incident, there will be a bonus on your paycheck.” Yeah, now I have their attention. “So, don’t be the one who spoils it for the rest of the staff by trying to sneak a picture or pester him for an autograph.”
I know they think I’m being too harsh, and most aren’t comfortable taking orders from me in the first place. I’m twenty-three years old, only two years out of college, and I own the most successful resort in the state of Kentucky. Foxhaven Retreat has always been known for its peaceful setting, friendly staff, and top notch service. There’s no way I’m going to let that reputation falter. Young or not, my father trusted me with this place, though I doubt he expected me to inherit it so soon, due to the actions of a drunk driver.
We’ve had minor celebrities stay with us before, but no one near the caliber of Marcus Singleton. There isn’t a person in the country who doesn’t know his name, either from his band, Jilted, his modeling, or frequent run ins with the law. At only twenty-six, he’s lived a life most could only dream of, but he doesn’t seem to appreciate any of it.
“Okay, meeting dismissed. Clark and Harriet, please stay.”
The rest of the employees filter out of the room, and I close the door behind them.
“Four months,” I breathe. “Do you think we have a chance in hell of keeping everything under control here for that long?”
Clark and Harriet have both worked here since I was a kid. Clark was my father’s go to man when he needed someone he could count on, whether it was to procure some random item for a guest or discreetly remove a trouble maker. As an ex-military man turned security specialist, he’s seen and dealt with it all, so I’m confident he can handle whatever arises with our upcoming problem child.
“With bonuses at stake, the staff will fall in line,” Clark assures me.
“It won’t keep Singleton from getting snockered and puking off his balcony, though,” Harriet points out. At just past fifty years old, Harriet is a no nonsense, blunt woman who seems to fear nothing and has a habit of letting whatever she thinks spill out of her mouth. She’s amazing. “Or throwing his mattress in the pool, like he did last month in Australia.”
“Yeah, I’m aware. He’s supposed to be staying here for the relaxing atmosphere and to escape the partying life while he works on his next album. It’s just him, not the whole band, so we just have to hope he’s not too wild and deal with the issues as they come. This is worth more than the money he’s paying to stay with us. You both know as well as I do that this could lead to a lot more celebrity bookings. So, whatever requests he has that aren’t illegal, please do your best to fulfill them, or let me know if you can’t. If he gives you or our other guests any trouble, please bring it to my attention immediately.”
I turn to Clark. “Herb and Nigel are taking over your usual security duties. While he’s here, Marcus Singleton is your only job.”
“I understand.” Clark and Harriet smile at each other.
“What am I missing?”
“Nothing, dear. Your father would be very proud of you,” Harriet says.
“You sounded just like him,” Clark agrees.
Let’s hope I have half his strength and determination. Over the next four months, I have a feeling I’m going to need it.
Clark alerts me the second the limo arrives at our gate. Mr. Singleton’s label has arranged for security to guard the perimeter of the resort, and they’re working with our security officers to ensure only guests are allowed onto the property. It’s not really an issue right now since they’ve managed to keep it quiet that he’ll be staying with us, but that will only last so long. I’ve never been so glad that Dad had the foresight to fence off the entire property, right down to the sandy beach.
A few minutes after I get the call, a sleek, black limo pulls up just outside the lobby doors. A man who’s around fifty years old, but looks closer to thirty, thanks to the marvel of plastic surgery, climbs out first and nods at me while he barks into his phone. “Yes…yes, they know the routine. Make sure he has sparkling water in his hotel and the green room or all hell will break loose. I’ve got to go. If there are any other fires, put them out yourself, that’s what I hired you for.”
Dropping the phone in his pocket, he approaches me. “Sorry, interns,” he scoffs. “Have to hold their damn hands half the time. I’m Sully Hadwell, Marcus’s representative. I assume you’re prepared for him?”
It would be a fair assumption and I really hope I’m not lying when I plaster on my customer service smile and shake his offered hand. “Yes sir, Mr. Hadwell. I’m Kinley Matthews, the owner of Foxhaven Retreat, and I personally checked his suite. All of his requests have been met, and I have a personal concierge who will be on call for him through the duration of his stay with us.”
“Great, great,” he mutters, taking his phone out again to check a message after it dings. He steps away to make a call, and my attention is drawn to the limo as the other door opens.
I know what Marcus Singleton looks like, you would have to be blind or have spent the last few years stranded on
an island not to recognize him, but I still do a double take. Not because he’s famous. I’m not the type to get star struck, and from what I’ve read and seen about this man, I already don’t like him. No, I’m not impressed by his fame or fortune.
My sudden fascination has an equally shallow cause.
The man is gorgeous.
Television cameras and tabloid pictures just can’t capture the type of beauty he possesses. I stand, fixed in place, my well-rehearsed welcome spiel forgotten, as he slings a guitar across his back, tucks a rolled-up notebook into the back pocket of his dark jeans and walks toward me.
His manager is still busy cursing someone out on his phone when Marcus plants himself in front of me and frowns. “Can we get inside? I have work to do.”
The rude words spilling from those perfectly shaped—if not a bit on the plump side—lips shock me back into reality, and I force my gaze to meet his. Christ, that’s not any better. Dark, intense eyes squint a bit in the harsh sunlight, and he sighs, opening his mouth to speak again.
“Mr. Singleton,” I say, beating him to it. “Welcome to Foxhaven Retreat. I’m Kinley Matthews, and—”
“Yeah, I heard you tell Sully. I’d like to go to my room.”
This is one area where my father was so much better than I am. He could stand calmly while a guest threw a tantrum, called him names and worse. Then when they were finished, he’d solve their problem, and in the end they looked the worse off for it. To him, it was all part of the job.
I’m not that even tempered.
I force a smile back onto my face and try not to grit my teeth. “Of course. Please, follow me.”
Two bellhops quickly unload his luggage and rush it inside while he and his manager follow me. “The bar is located on the north end,” I begin. “And the gym and pool are—”
“Yeah, I read the brochure. I don’t need a tour. Just skip the scenic route and give me my key.”
Yeah, that overwhelmed by too much sexiness feeling? It’s gone. A beautiful face and body are a waste on someone who can’t show even the smallest amount of decorum and manners.
It’s going to be a long four months.
We step into the elevator, and his manager hangs up the phone again. His lips turn up in an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to excuse my friend. It’s been a long trip.”
“I’m not your fucking friend, Sully.”
Sully just nods at me, and we make the rest of the ride up to the suite in silence. Nobody speaks as I slide the plastic key card into the slot in the door and swing it open to reveal our best and most expensive suite.
The sitting room has been furnished with comfort in mind and boasts a modern look with a plush gray sofa and matching armchairs. Pale blue walls surround the plush, white carpet that has been freshly shampooed. A large television hangs on the wall in front of the sofa, above an electric fireplace.
It’s a beautiful room and guests tend to ooh and ahh over it when they first enter. Mr. Singleton tosses his bag on the floor, leans his guitar against an armchair, and flops onto the couch, pulling out his phone.
A tap at the door draws everyone’s attention, and Clark and Harriet enter.
I nod at Clark, and he introduces himself, “Hello, Mr. Singleton, I’ll be your personal concierge while you’re staying with us. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.” He holds out a card with his number, and Mr. Singleton stares at it for a moment before taking it and tossing it on the coffee table. “I’m also the security officer assigned to protect you in case you run into any problems.”
Anger heats Clark’s face, but he does an admirable job of swallowing it down. Instead of commenting on the fact that the asshole didn’t even say hello, much less thank you, he nods and retreats to the doorway.
Harriet glances at me before she follows. “My name is Harriet, Mr. Singleton. I’m the head housekeeper who will be looking after your room. If you need anything from me, you can dial zero and ask for the housekeeping office or call my direct line.” She doesn’t bother handing him the card and drops it onto the coffee table instead.
When he fails to respond to her as well, she nods at me and mumbles, “I’ll be going back to work now.”
All I want is to get this over with, but I’m doing my best to remain professional. “The bedroom has a hot tub and—”
My explanation is cut off again as he says, “I’m sure I can find the bed. Just leave my key on the table and let the housekeeper know she can clean in the afternoons while I’m in the studio.”
Fine. I’m done.
“Very well. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us.”
Clark and I leave, and as I pull the door shut behind me, I hear Marcus mutter, “Not likely.”
His manager’s voice filters through the door, but I can’t tell what he’s saying.
What the hell is this guy’s problem? He wanted a quiet place to stay and avoid the paparazzi, and he has it. You’d think he was being locked in a cell, not a five star resort suite.
Clark glances at me on our way back down in the elevator. “That guy is going to be trouble.”
“Just keep him happy the best you can. A bad review from him could ruin any chances of hosting high profile celebrities in the future. That suite sits empty more often than not because of the price. It’d be nice to keep it occupied.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle him.” Clark grins down at me. “If anyone ends up grabbing him by the balls and teaching him some manners, it’ll be Harriet.”
He’s right about that. “Yeah, cleaning while he’s gone in the afternoons is a good idea,” I chuckle.
“I can’t believe you got to meet him,” Anavrin gushes. “Is he as gorgeous in person?”
Anavrin has been my best friend since we were kids, and I defended her on the playground against a bunch of middle school bitches bullying her because of her name. It’s not her fault her parents were grunge fanatics who thought calling their kid Nirvana backwards was a great idea.
“More,” I groan. “But he’s a total asshole.”
She grins. “Like, a bossy, alpha male type who ties women to his bed?”
“You have to stop reading those books. Assholes aren’t sexy. He’s been here a week and hasn’t said more than two words to anyone since he basically told us all to fuck off the day he arrived.”
We take a seat at the small, outdoor café with our lunches. “Bad boys turn me on. This is not a secret,” she replies.
“Oh Lord, not again,” Foster says, walking up behind her and planting his hands on her shoulders. “Say it with me, Ann, bad boys make bad husbands.”
Foster and I met freshman year of high school. I introduced him to Anavrin, and the three of us have been inseparable ever since.
Anavrin grins and looks up at him. “But they’re awesome in bed.”
“And you’re one to talk,” I scoff. “You have a different boyfriend every time I see you.”
Foster shrugs. “None of them are delinquents. And I’m trying to take your side here, Kin.” He takes a seat beside me. “So, who is the bad boy?”
“Marcus Singleton. Remember, he’s staying at Kinley’s resort? Ugh, he’s so gorgeous!” Anavrin gushes.
“Yeah, I take back my objection. I officially issue you an exception for that bad boy. Rock his world, Kinley.”
Ugh, these two drive me crazy sometimes.
“So, what’s the plan today?” I ask, to get them back on task.
“Nana needs her grass cut. It’s really overgrown, and you know she won’t ask anyone for help,” Anavrin says.
Foster runs a hand down his arm. “I could use some sun. It’s no use building up these guns if they’re all pasty.”
Anavrin rolls her eyes. “Sure, that’s why I asked you.”
“How is she doing?” I ask.
“Better. She’s found a new social group, a bunch of widows who get together to play Euchre. She seems happier.”
Anavrin’s grandfather passed away las
t year, leaving his wife of over fifty years alone for the first time. We pitch in to help out as much as possible since she refuses to move in with family. I can’t really blame her. She has a beautiful house just outside of town with a large yard and in ground pool.
Her husband’s fight against lung cancer drained their savings and also forced them to borrow against his life insurance, so she was left with very little other than the house and property, and lives mostly off her pension from thirty years as a school teacher. Which is dismally low.
“Good. I keep meaning to call her.” I should’ve called her. She’s always been very kind to me since I was a kid, but I’ve been grieving the death of my father, and the thought of talking about her loss as well was just too much.
Foster drains his glass. “Well, hurry up and eat so we can get started.”
“Sure, I’ll just choke this sandwich down real fast,” I reply.
Foster sits back and grins with me. “Now, we all know you have no trouble swallowing.”
Anavrin cracks up, and I give him the finger.
“Love you too, Kin,” he laughs.
It’s late afternoon when Foster pulls into the driveway at Anavrin’s grandmother’s place, and we all hop out of his truck. It takes us over four hours to get the whole place cut, edged, and cleaned up. Anavrin sweeps the last of the grass from the walkway, and Foster has just headed inside to use the bathroom when Nana waves me over.
For such a small woman, she has a presence that makes the biggest man sit up and pay attention, probably from all those years of keeping children in line at school.
“Get your butt over here, girl, and give me a hug before you go sneaking off,” she says.