Duplicity (Jilted Book 1)

by S. M. Shade

  She hands me a glass of iced tea and pats the porch swing for me to sit next to her. “Now, tell me how you’re doing.”

  “Pretty good. The resort is prospering. So far, I’m holding it all together.”

  “I only met your daddy a couple of times, but once was enough to see how proud of you he was. I’m sure he still is.”

  A knot forms in my throat. Damn it. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to call you.”

  She pats my leg. “Honey, I understand. Grief is brutal, and largely a solitary endeavor no matter how much your family or friends want to help.” She shakes her head. “Losing both parents so young, it’s a shame.”

  Mom died when I was a baby, so I didn’t go through the grief I have with Dad. At least, not that I remember.

  Anavrin and Foster join us, and we spend a few minutes chatting and laughing before hugging Nana and heading to Foster’s truck.

  “Ugh, I smell like a lawnmower, but I don’t care. I need a drink before I head home. You guys in?” Anavrin asks.

  “Pass,” Foster says. “But I’ll drop you off if you want to take a taxi home.”

  After my little conversation with Nana, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  It’s past midnight when I return, but I’m not ready to go inside. It’s such a beautiful night. The humidity is usually torture this time of year, but we’re getting a small respite and I don’t want to take the cool night air for granted, so I follow the paved path around to the gazebo. There are a few gazebos scattered across the property, but this has always been my favorite. It’s nearly hidden in the tree line, but one side faces the lake, giving me a fantastic view of the water shimmering with starlight.

  It’s so hidden in shadows, that I don’t realize there’s a form slumped on one of the benches until I almost trip over a sneaker. My eyes adjust a little more to the dark, and I realize there’s a guitar leaning against the bench.

  A sudden flame appears from a lighter, illuminating Marcus’s face, and he chuckles when I jump.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t think anyone would be out here so late.”

  “It’s barely midnight,” he scoffs. “That shouldn’t be late at your age.” Sweet scented smoke tickles my nose, and I take a step back. Weed is legal here so I don’t have a problem with it, but I don’t want a contact high.

  I swear, every word out of this guy’s mouth rubs me like sandpaper.

  “You don’t know my age,” I snap.

  “I know plenty.” A beam of moonlight escapes the thin cloud cover and shows me his grinning face. “Twenty-three, business school graduate, never married, no kids. Inherited your father’s resort.” His lip tucks in at the corner. “Living the dream, aren’t you?” He picks up a bottle of bourbon sitting on the bench beside him and takes a drink.

  The way he belittles my accomplishments makes my life sound tiny and insignificant. “I’d prefer to spend my nights in my hotel, rather than a different one every night, in unfamiliar cities.”

  “Touché,” he replies, wiggling the half empty bottle at me. “Drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  I turn to leave before I say something I’ll regret. I have a bit of a buzz from the two drinks I had with Anavrin, and it’s infuriating to have to be nice to such an asshole just for the sake of business.

  “Stay,” he barks.

  Anger heats my face. “I’m afraid my obedience training wasn’t successful. I don’t follow commands.”

  Rough laughter pours into the night. “Clearly. I was trying to ask you to stay and have a drink with me.” His tone is different, lighter, if not a bit melancholy. In the time he’s been here, no one has visited him other than his manager, who is obviously just stopping in to keep him in line. He’s probably bored, or even lonely.

  After a little hesitation, I take a seat on the bench across from him. “I don’t want a drink.”

  “More for me,” he says with a shrug, tilting the bottle again.

  “Aren’t you here to dry out?” The question leaps out before I can think about it.

  He gives me a sour look. “Cut me a break. It’s past midnight, which means it’s my birthday.”

  His revelation surprises me. “Oh-I didn’t know. Happy Birthday. Do you have plans to celebrate?”

  A grin crawls across his face. “Why. Are you offering?”

  Whoa. Where did that come from?

  “I meant plans with your friends. Not a boring business school graduate who runs a resort.”

  “I never said you were boring.” He flicks his lighter again. “And no, I have no plans. So, what are we doing?”

  It’s sad, really, that someone who is loved by thousands of fans doesn’t seemed to be liked by anyone, enough that he spends his birthday alone, with no one even acknowledging it.

  I’m probably going to regret this.

  “Can you leave without getting mobbed? There’s a great Mexican restaurant a town over. They’ll even sing to you for your birthday.”

  The first genuine smile I’ve seen from him sends my heart into a tap dancing routine. Fuck, he’s beautiful.

  “I’m sure I can sneak out.”

  I need to get out of here. Professional. I’m supposed to act professional. “Eight o’clock, then, Mr. Singleton?”

  “Holt,” he corrects. “My friends call me Holt.”

  “Holt,” I repeat, glancing back over my shoulder as I step out of the gazebo. “But I wouldn’t call us friends.”

  His laughter makes me fight a smile. “I’ll grow on you.”

  Why did I get myself into this? I yank off the fourth outfit I’ve tried on with a groan. It’s just dinner at a casual Mexican restaurant. It doesn’t matter what I wear. Yeah, right, just dinner with one of the most famous musicians in the world, who just so happens to look like a model. Shit, he has modeled before too. I’m going to look like a potato next to him no matter what I wear.

  My phone beeps with a message from the front desk that our car has arrived. Our car. I’ve never been chauffeured around in my life. I’m so far out of my comfort zone here. Though I’m the one who asked Holt out to dinner for his birthday and chose the restaurant, he insisted on arranging transportation for safety’s sake. We need his security team nearby just in case he gets spotted.

  Panicked, I throw on a pair of jeans I know make my ass look good and my favorite red blouse. Screw it. I’m going to dress the way I would if I were going to dinner with Anavrin. It’s not a date, after all.

  Clark grins at me from the front desk when I get downstairs, and I stop to talk to him. “I’ll only be a couple of hours. If there are any problems—”

  He holds his hands up. “We’ve got it under control. You have a good time.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “This is not a good time. I’m keeping our guest happy.”

  The expression on his face earns him a quick middle finger, and his laughter follows me to the door.

  A shiny black car waits out front, and Holt leans against it, a smirk planted on his face.

  I almost stumble at the sight of him. His dark jeans and fitted tee shirt do nothing to hide the lean muscled body beneath. His arms are crossed, causing his biceps to bulge, and I watch as his lips spread into a smile. Probably because I’m standing here ogling him like a teenage fangirl.

  “Happy birthday,” I tell him, finally finding my words.

  “Thanks.” His gaze washes over me from head to toe, and I curse the butterflies that take flight in my stomach.

  This is not a date, Kinley. He’s a famous rock star and you’re a nobody. Plus, he’s a dick and you don’t like him. Don’t get distracted by all the sexy.

  “Ready?” he asks, opening the car door.

  Nodding, I get in and slide over. He takes a seat way closer to me than necessary in the roomy vehicle and nods to the driver, who has already been told the address of the restaurant. While it’s nice not to have to worry about driving, finding a parking spot, and st
uff like that, I’d hate to have to plan everything ahead like this. I can’t imagine not being able to just meet your friends for dinner.

  “So, how old are you today?” I ask, trying to calm my nerves with small talk.

  “You mean you haven’t googled me and memorized my life story? I’m a little hurt.”

  His lips tilt up at the edges as I roll my eyes at him. “Wasn’t that interested.”

  “Psh, all my fans google me. It’s okay, you can admit it.”

  The teasing tone of his voice makes it hard not to smile. “I’m not a fan. So, you can just go google yourself.”

  His eyebrows jump up, and he lowers his voice. “I’m not a fan of self googling. I’d much rather google you.”

  Ignoring the dirty turn this has taken, I shift in my seat and reply, “I’m boring. The only thing you’ll see are college graduation pictures and a tiny write up in the town newspaper when I took over the resort.”

  His dark eyes latch onto mine. “I have a feeling there’s much more to you than that.”

  “Nothing that a search engine would tell you.”

  We pull up at the restaurant as he says, “Then you’ll tell me.”

  “Said like a man who is used to getting what he wants,” I reply, getting out of the car.

  His arm brushes mine as we walk inside, and he shakes his head and mutters, “You have no idea.”

  I ask for us to be seated in a small side dining room, and we choose a corner table where Holt can put his back to the room and hopefully avoid being recognized.

  It doesn’t work.

  We’ve only managed to order our food and munch on a few of the free tortilla chips when a woman approaches with her cloth napkin and a marker. “Oh my god! I love you so much! I lost my virginity to one of your songs. Will you please sign this for me?”

  A forced smile jumps to his face, and he takes the marker, scribbles on the napkin, and hands it back to her. She thanks him and retreats to her table where she starts to take pictures of him.

  “Subtle,” I murmur, and he nods at me, his lips pressed together.

  “Try to ignore them.” He slaps his hands together, and grins at me. “Now, you were getting ready to tell me all about yourself.”

  “Was I? I don’t remember that.”

  “It’s true. You can trust me. I have an awesome memory.” I’m captured by his killer smile again. For someone who is known as a complete asshole, he sure can be charming.

  “Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. You get three questions that I’ll answer with complete honesty.”

  He opens his mouth, and I hold up my index finger. “But, I get the same.”

  A flash of something crosses his face. Regret? Fear? I’m not sure. When he hesitates, I add, “If you don’t want to—”

  “I’m in. But I get the first question.”

  A waitress brings our food, and he waits until she retreats before continuing.

  “Is running a hotel your dream job?”

  That’s the last thing I expected him to ask, and I pause for a second before replying. “Running a hotel? No. Owning the resort my father built from nothing and made wildly successful? Yes. I’ve always wanted to take over the family business. Foxhaven is my home and I love it.”

  He doesn’t get a chance to reply because a group of three people walk up, and one of the girls squeals loud enough to make me wince. “Oh god! It is you! I love you! Oh my god, you are so gorgeous! Is this your girlfriend? Can I get a picture with you?”

  All three are freaking out and talking so loudly he doesn’t get an opportunity to answer them. Instead, he throws me an apologetic glance. Their behavior is calling more attention to us and now others are starting to exclaim and take pictures.

  “Damn it.” He gets to his feet and grabs my hand. “Come on, we have to get out of here. This shit devolves fast.”

  I’m not sure what he means until we get to the front door and a mob of people has formed outside. The restaurant manager and hostess are trying to keep them outside, but it won’t last long.

  Holt’s phone pings with a message and after glancing at it, he grabs a waitress’s arm. “Show me the back way out.”

  Nodding, she leads us through the dining room and into a kitchen where a wave of heat smacks me in the face. We weave between employees and barely dodge a waiter with a massive tray of food before finally throwing open the back door.

  The black town car is parked so close, we can’t even open the car door completely, but we manage to squeeze inside. “Lock all the doors,” Holt orders, and the driver obeys. I feel a little safer once I hear the locks click into place.

  I can’t believe the size of the crowd that the driver slowly makes his way through. We weren’t here twenty minutes. How the hell did everyone find out?

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested this,” I tell him.

  “I should’ve known better,” he mumbles.

  “Should we drive around and make sure they can’t follow us back? So word doesn’t get out where you’re staying?”

  “Too late. People have pictures. It’ll be on entertainment news by tonight.” Sulking, he slides down in the seat. “You should set all your social media to private.”

  What?

  “No one is going to be interested in me!”

  The only answer I get is a shake of his head.

  Chapter Two

  Singleton

  My phone rings as soon as I step inside the doors of Foxhaven, and I don’t even look at it before answering. I know who it is. Fucking Sully.

  “What,” I bark, putting the phone to my ear.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Heading up to my room like a good little prisoner, warden.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes. We need to get some shit straight.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  I disconnect the call and look into big innocent eyes. “Are you okay?” Kinley asks.

  No, I’m an asshole who should never have taken you up on your offer. “Fine,” I snap. Her brows draw inward, causing a little line down the center of her forehead. She’s even cute when she’s pissed.

  Without another word to her or anyone, I stalk to the stairs and take them two at a time, leaving her staring after me. It’s everything I can do not to kick open my door, but I resist.

  I hate this.

  I hate all of this.

  The words beat in my head as I grab a bottle of bourbon and pour a glass.

  I need a way to work off this frustration. I need the gym, but Sully is on his way and I’m going to have to deal with his shit first.

  The alcohol has barely touched my bloodstream when Sully barges through the door.

  “Please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

  Ignoring my sarcasm, he paces the room. “One week. You made it one week before screwing this up.”

  “I had dinner on my birthday, Sully. I didn’t wave my pecker at a camera.”

  “I’d rather you done that! No, you get pictures taken with the little mousy hotel owner. Do I need to remind you who you are? You are Marcus Singleton. Fucking act like it!”

  Anger washes over me. “Don’t talk about Kinley like that.”

  Shock renders him mute for a moment. He blinks and stares at me, his frown dissolving into a bitter smile. “A crush, great,” he mumbles. “Do I need to move you to another hotel? Tell me now because this took a great deal of trouble to set up.”

  Swallowing my anger, I flop onto the couch and down my drink. “I’m not going to another hotel. I’m here for the duration. Like we agreed.”

  He glares down at me, which he’s only able to do because I’m sitting. I’ve got nearly a foot in height on the guy and I could break him in half if I chose to. At the moment, it’s tempting.

  “Do you want to help your brother? Because this isn’t helping!”

  “Are you shitting me right now? All of this is for him!” Though I know he probably doesn’t appreciate a thing. “I
spend all day at the studio, then all night in this damned room! What else do you want from me?”

  Sully pauses for a moment and takes a breath. His voice lowers to a placating tone that makes me want to squeeze him until his squirrelly little head pops off. “You’re bored, I get it. And lonely. We can solve that.”

  He picks up his phone and sends a quick text.

  “I don’t need you to solve that. I want to visit my brother.”

  His head jerks up. “You know that isn’t possible.”

  He steps back as I jump to my feet. “Make it possible! You’re the miracle worker that arranges all this shit. I’m sure a visit to the rehab clinic isn’t out of your power.”

  He runs a hand over his half bald head. “Be reasonable. We don’t need the paparazzi to see you going into a rehab facility. Especially now that I already have one mess to clean up.”

  I refill my tumbler with bourbon and lean against the doorway. “Make it happen, Sully. You want me to play the game, act like a good little rock star. Arrange a visit with my brother.”

  “Fuck,” he exclaims, pacing the room. After a few moments, he relents. “Fine, it’s located in a section of a hospital. Maybe I can arrange it like you’re visiting a children’s ward or something. You’ll have to give me some time.”

  Sighing, I throw back my drink. “Well, I have a shit ton of that.”

  A knock at the door brings a smile to his face as he murmurs, “That was fast.”

  Clark leads in two women who have groupie written all over them. “Oh my god! He’s really here! We’re really doing this!” one of them squeals. It pierces my head like a railroad spike.

  Clark hovers near the door. “Anything else you need?”

  “Not at the moment, thanks,” Sully answers, though the question was directed at me. “Come in ladies. The bar is right over there. Make yourself a drink. I just need another moment with Marcus and he’ll be all yours.”

  The hell I will. This is his solution? Recruit some groupies for me to fuck? Christ, they barely look old enough to drink. As if he can see my thoughts, Sully calls to Clark as he’s leaving. “Both over twenty-one, right?”