Duplicity (Jilted Book 1)

by S. M. Shade

  “Like I’d have to pay for it with this ass.”

  That’s pretty much how the rest of the night plays out. It’s the most fun I’ve had since I got here. We nearly finish the whiskey Vince brought, and he’s way past drunk, so he crashes on the sofa, and I stagger to my bed.

  A pounding makes me sit up, and I blink at the sunlight pouring into the room. I can’t tell where the pounding is coming from, my head or the door, until the door flies open and Kinley charges inside.

  Vince groans from his place on the couch and pulls a pillow over his face.

  Dragging my hands through my hair, I glare in the direction of all the noise. “What the fuck?”

  A newspaper thwacks across my head and falls in my lap. “Buying my resort?” Kinley shouts. “That’s what you told the media?”

  My eyes struggle to focus on the words swimming around the page. I may still be a tiny bit drunk. The headline comes into focus, and I curse. Fucking Sully.

  “My resort is not for sale! And if it was, the last person I’d sell it to is you!”

  Swinging my legs out of bed, I lean forward and cradle my thumping head. “Relax, I’ll take care of it.”

  “This is what I get for doing you a favor? No good deed goes unpunished,” she grumbles. “Now I have a hotel full of staff who are worried about their jobs and think I have some secret deal going to sell you the resort! And I don’t know what you said or did to Zya Day, but they’re insisting I comp their stay because I allowed you to be rude to them.”

  It’s too fucking early, and I’m too hungover to deal with this right now. Zya Day, that’s who the teen girl was. She’s the newest trashy reality star to hit the scene.

  All of that flits by until I focus on the most important part of her rant. “Good deed?” I snap. She went to dinner with me out of pity? Is this what rock bottom feels like because it seems pretty low. “You think you did me a favor?”

  Her eyes blaze, and she crosses her arms. “You were alone on your birthday. I was trying to be nice.”

  “Well, try harder because it obviously doesn’t come natural to you.”

  Her jaw tightens, and her words are spoken through gritted teeth. “I am trying to accommodate your stay here and make things as pleasant as possible for you. But you cannot bother my other guests. Or make up stories about me.”

  Anger bubbles up inside me. “Message received.” There’s no point in trying to defend myself or explain what happened with Zya. Kinley has clearly made her mind up about who I am. Years of tabloid headlines have done more than I can undo, and really, why bother? Why should I care what she thinks?

  Vince sits up, his hair molded to his head on one side and standing wild on the other. A roach from the joint he must’ve smoked just before he passed out clings to his bare chest. At the sight of Kinley, a smile leaps to his face.

  “Let me apologize for my friend. He gets a little carried away sometimes, but I can assure you I’m a perfect gentleman. And you are beautiful.”

  Kinley rolls her eyes. “Are you seriously trying to hit on me right now?”

  Yeah, he is, and I don’t fucking like it.

  “Leave her alone, Vince.” I regard the glare that’s bouncing between me and my friend. “Anything else?”

  She takes a deep breath as if she’s trying to keep herself calm. “No, you’ve done plenty.”

  With that, she stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Vince’s rattling laugh bounces around the room. “Damn, maybe I should get a room here. She’s sexy as fuck, especially when she’s fired up.”

  My teeth clamp into my cheek to keep me from saying something I’ll regret. Instead, I lie. “She’s got a long term boyfriend.”

  “Too bad. She obviously can’t stand you, so you know she has good taste.” He dodges the empty soda can I throw at him. “What’s up with the talk about buying the resort?”

  Dragging my ass out of bed, I grab some clean clothes, and head toward the shower. “I’m sure it was Sully. The paps caught us trying to have dinner and that’s his genius way of covering it up.” There’s no point in arguing about it now. What’s been done is done and if we change the story, the public will be even more sure I’m disguising some sleazy love affair. Especially since the public thinks I’m in a relationship with Alicia, who is fortunately in Europe for the next few months. One less thing to deal with.

  “Get dressed, dude. The housekeeper will be here soon, and I need to get to the studio.”

  He grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head. “Housekeeper huh? What’s she look like?”

  “Around fifty years old with the attitude of a pit bull.”

  Laughing, he pulls on his shoes. “See you at the studio.”

  Chapter Three

  Kinley

  Today has been a raging dumpster fire and it’s only ten a.m. After I was plastered across the tabloids a few days ago, I set up a Google alert with my name, so I’d at least know what was being said.

  For the first couple of days, I was an ugly, gold digging home wrecker out to ruin Marcus Singleton’s relationship with the supermodel Alicia Leath. I don’t follow entertainment shows or blogs, so I had no idea who she was, much less that they were together, not that it matters. I tried to have dinner with Holt, not get him naked.

  It didn’t take me long to regret my decision when I showed up to bring him the food we had to leave behind, and saw he’d already summoned two nearly naked women to his room. I could’ve saved my compassion for someone more deserving. He wasn’t lonely. He was horny. And not above cheating on his girlfriend while she’s out of the country.

  Fine. Whatever. It’s none of my business. My focus is on running Foxhaven. My plan hasn’t changed. Keep Mr. Singleton happy and try to build the reputation of my resort to bring in more affluent guests.

  That was my thought until I woke up to multiple Google alerts this morning.

  My stomach dropped the second I read the headline.

  Singleton in talks to buy Foxhaven Retreat, not cheating on Leath.

  My already thin patience dropped to nothing, and I invaded his room, ranted at him like a crazy person, then stormed out. Yeah, that’s really professional. It didn’t help that I’d already been called down to speak to another guest who had been rudely shoved aside by him. A kid, no less.

  Now, I’m sitting in my office, counting down the minutes to a staff meeting I know isn’t going to go well. I’ve tried to reassure anyone who has asked that the resort is not being sold, but once rumors like that get going, they spread like a forest fire, and my word isn’t enough to put it out.

  I knew having Singleton here would be challenging. His past behavior at other hotels made that clear. But I thought I’d be dealing with property damage, maybe a drunken tirade or two, not have my face and name dragged through the gutter and my employees threatened with a fake sale of the property.

  It doesn’t matter. It is what it is now, and I have to figure out what to do. I can hear my father’s voice in my head saying, “You can’t control the behavior of others, only your own.” What I need to do is clear. First, reassure my employees that their jobs are safe and nothing will be changing, then apologize to that asshole for barging into his room. I also have to try to sound sincere. That part will be harder.

  The clock hand swings to the ten, and I gather up my paperwork, lock my office door, and head to the multipurpose room.

  The door is ajar, and I hear the rumble of voices inside. Pausing for a moment, I listen.

  “The newspaper said she was selling! They couldn’t print it if it weren’t true!”

  “That same newspaper said they found a Bat Boy living in Southern California.” Harriet’s dry reply makes me smile. “This place is Kinley’s life. She’d never sell.”

  More voices chime in.

  “Maybe she just didn’t want us to know until it was final. So we wouldn’t quit before they could let us go.”

  “You don’t know she wouldn’t se
ll. Maybe Marcus Singleton made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”

  So much faith in me. Sighing, I walk through the door and plaster on a smile. Silence settles over the room as I walk to the front and put my files on the table. “Good morning. Since I’m sure you all know the main reason I called this meeting, I’ll get right to the point. There is no deal to sell the resort to Singleton or anyone else. It is not available for sale and never will be as long as I’m alive.” I look at the room of eyes all pointed at me. “Any questions?”

  “Why was it in the newspaper?”

  The chair screeches against the floor when I pull it out, making me wince as I take a seat. “It’s no secret the tabloids ran pictures of me and Mr. Singleton at a restaurant. Of course, they went with the juiciest story they could and made it look we were there together on a date. I asked him to please get the story corrected, and this is what his public relations people fed the papers to get them to stop following me. I didn’t know that was the story they were going with and I never would’ve approved it if I were given a choice.”

  I look around the room at faces I’ve known for years, some since childhood. “This place means everything to me. It’s the legacy left to me by my father, and I’m doing my best to see it prosper and grow. I never want you to feel like your jobs aren’t secure here because they absolutely are. I failed to get ahead of this and keep it from causing you such worry and anxiety. I tried to anticipate the challenges we’d face having not just an A-list celeb, but the A-list celeb as a long term guest, and I just didn’t see this coming. I apologize for that, and hopefully, this will be the only glitch in an otherwise smooth spring and summer season.”

  The room is quiet, but I see a lot of relieved expressions and smiles. Finally. Brandy, one of the night clerks, speaks up. “I wouldn’t count on that. Zya Day and her family are here for two weeks. They make those swamp guys on TV who wrestle the alligators seem sophisticated.”

  The room roars with laughter, dissolving any remaining tension.

  “Zya has already called me up to her room twice,” one of the housekeepers complains. “Once because she couldn’t find the TV remote that was under a pillow on the sofa, and once to kill a tiny spider in the bathtub.”

  There’s a titter of laughter again, and I shake my head.

  “I know it’s not easy. And I promised you all an incentive if we can get through the weeks without incidents. I’m proud to announce that not one staff member bothered Mr. Singleton for an autograph or picture, and I noted many of you going out of your way to make his stay more pleasant.”

  “Not as much as you did,” a voice teases from the back of the room.

  “Very funny. It was just a dinner so he didn’t have to eat alone on his birthday.”

  Harriet chuckles and asks, “Did he show you his birthday suit, though?”

  Everyone laughs again, and I shake my head, laughing along with them. “I still have your bonus check here, woman,” I tease. “As I was saying, you all did a wonderful job this week, so I have a bonus check for each of you. Keep up the good work, see that our guests’ needs are met—the regular guests along with the high-profile ones—and you’ll see a bonus check every week.”

  They leave much happier than they came, checks in hand, and I breathe a sigh of relief, but I’m dreading my next task. I still have to apologize to Mr. Singleton.

  Be professional. Don’t let him rile you up with his charming smile and infuriating personality. My little self-pep talk builds my confidence a bit while I take the elevator back up to Singleton’s room. Instead of busting in again, I knock on the door and wait until he swings it open.

  Gah, why does the universe hate me? My goal is to remain professional here and that’s going to be damned hard to do while he’s standing there with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. His damp hair is wild, and a few drops still wet his chest, clinging to the scattering of curly hairs.

  “Do you need something, or did you just come for the show?” he asks, running a hand down his chest.

  Shit. I’m standing here staring at him like an idiot. Swallowing, I try to remember the little rehearsed speech I composed in my head.

  “I-I came up to apologize for my earlier behavior. I shouldn’t have entered your room without your permission and—”

  “Threw a newspaper at my head?” He turns and walks over to the couch, where clothes are laid out.

  I did do that.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry,” I follow him and stop just inside the door. “It was totally unprofessional and—”

  He drops his towel. Like I’m not even standing there. All my words dry up, and my traitor eyes drop to his firm, round ass.

  “Okay, then. I’ll come back.” It takes me a second to realize the words were spoken from behind me, and I turn to see Harriet standing just outside the door. She fights back a smile, shakes her head and scurries away.

  “No!” I finally find my voice. “I mean, this isn’t, we weren’t.” Damn it! Why can’t I talk when I’m flustered? It doesn’t matter. The sound of the elevator doors closing tells me she’s gone.

  Holt is unperturbed, amused even, as he pulls on a pair of jeans, then slides his arms into a shirt. “You were saying?”

  What was I saying? Oh, professional, right. Taking a deep breath, I continue. “I apologize for my actions earlier.” I can feel myself shift into my customer service voice, or what I’ve always thought of as robot mode. “We just want to assure you that you are a valued guest here and—”

  “We?” He grins, buttoning his shirt. “Do you have a mouse in your pocket?”

  My lips press together, and I struggle to control my frustration. “We as in we at Foxhaven Retreat, value you as a guest and—”

  “Cut the pre-recorded shit, Kinley. It’s fine. Everything is cool. I have to get to work.” He shoves a few bills into an envelope we provide to tip the housekeepers and tosses it on the dresser.

  “All right. If you need anything, Clark is on duty to assist you.” Two steps are all I manage before he calls out.

  “Kinley.”

  My heart thumps in my chest, and I plaster a fake smile on my face as I turn to ask, “Yes, Mr. Singleton?”

  His long strides bring us face to face. “It’s been a rough couple of days. How about we start over?” He thrusts his hand out, and his lips tilt up in a boyish grin. “I’m Holt. It’s nice to meet you.”

  A giggle spills out of me. A giggle, for crying out loud. My hand slides into his, and I can feel the calluses on his fingertips from playing the guitar. “Kinley. And likewise.” Before I leave, I have to ask. “How do you get the name Holt from Marcus?”

  “Middle name,” he murmurs with a shrug. “One of the few things Google hasn’t found out. So, keep a secret, yeah?”

  “Sure.” Things have been smoothed over, so I need to get out of here. “Have a good day, Holt.”

  “Same to you.”

  As soon as the elevator doors close behind me, I breathe a sigh of relief and sag against the wall. Why does talking to that man exhaust me? And why do I enjoy it so damn much when he frustrates the life out of me?

  My phone beeps with a notification, reminding me I have a meeting with my accountant in less than an hour. That gives me just enough time to eat before I have to leave. As soon as I step out of the elevator, I’m waved over to the front desk by Tessa, the new clerk I hired last month.

  “Mr. Legren says he reserved a suite last week, but I don’t have him down. All our rooms are booked. He’s very adamant he gets a suite, but there are none available.”

  “That’s because our suites are always booked three months in advance, sometimes more.” Except for the two Presidential suites that we struggle to fill.

  She glances at the frowning man standing against the wall with his arms crossed. “He’s lying?”

  My gaze travels down to his suitcase. Beside it sits a very fancy camera. I don’t know much about cameras, but I know you don’t use one like that to
take pictures of the kids at the lake. Not to mention, he’s alone, and he’s lying about a reservation. It happens occasionally. Foxhaven is a very popular resort and we’re usually booked up at least a season in advance. We keep a few rooms free in case of an accidental double booking, but that’s not the case here. He’s a reporter trying to get a room, either to photograph Zya Day or Marcus.

  “I’ll handle him. Call Herb. He may need to be escorted off the premises.”

  Her eyes widen, and she nods, grabbing the phone.

  “Mr. Legren,” I greet, approaching him. “What seems to be the issue?”

  The smirk on his face makes it clear he thinks he’s talking to some young girl he can bully. He uncrosses his arms because apparently, he needs his hands to talk. They fly around like bats while he rants, “I reserved a suite for this week and your incompetent clerk can’t seem to find my reservation. For a resort that’s considered five star, you really have shitty customer service. I’ve been coming here for years and this is how I’m treated? It’s shameful. I insist on a suite, and a free dinner to compensate for my trouble.”

  The fake smile never leaves my face, and I keep my eyes on his throughout his tirade. When he stops, I ask, “May I see your receipt or your confirmation number?”

  “Who the hell keeps a booking receipt? Of course I don’t have it!” His raised voice draws a few glances from the guests in the lobby.

  “When did you make your reservation?”

  He pauses for a moment before replying, “Last Tuesday!”

  “And you made this reservation online or over the phone?”

  “Over the phone! What does that matter?”

  One of the security officers, Herb, steps into sight, and I hold a finger up to let him know I don’t quite need him yet. It’s been a difficult day and it isn’t even noon. I’m getting ready to release a little pent up frustration.

  “It matters for a couple of reasons. One, we don’t take reservations over the phone. Two, our suites are booked months in advance. Three, I grew up at Foxhaven, so if you had been coming here for years, I would know you. I don’t know you but let me tell you what I do know. You’re a lying, low life excuse for a human being who invades the privacy of people to make a buck and you’re not welcome at my resort or on my property. Your picture will be posted so security will know not to let you in, and I may just circulate it around to the other hotels in the area. You know, give them a little heads up so they can keep out the scum as well. Now, if you don’t recall where the exit is, my security would be happy to escort you out.”