Bad Grace: A Billionaire Romance Romantic Suspense (The Filth Monger Book 2) Page 2

  She hung there on her side, her eyes half-closed, rotating slowly, an intricate web of knots and ropes keeping her still and safe. Her hair was woven into the web, pulling her head backwards towards the cluster of knots at her back and extending her slender neck into a graceful curve. It was truly beautiful, and just as dangerous in the hands of anyone but an expert like Takao-san. There weren’t many Masters I’d have allowed to do this without my personal attendance, but he was the finest Kinbakushi this side of the Atlantic. For me to question his methods would have been laughable, not to mention insulting.

  Alex was standing at the bar, watching the display from a distance. He put his glass down as I reached him. ‘You’ve missed most of it, Sir,’ he said, indicating the dance floor. ‘I was going to shut up shop when they finish. There’s been no play tonight, as such.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Do that. I just needed to ask you, in person, if you’ve heard anything from Rick since he did his disappearing act. I know you two were close.’

  ‘No, Sir.’ Alex’s mouth went into a hard line. ‘I’d like to catch up with him, though. He’s let me down, too. I vouched for him.’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ I said, with a shrug. ‘It’s not your fault. None of us saw it coming. I doubt he did himself.’

  ‘Why are you asking me now, Sir?’ Alex looked as if he was expecting bad news, and I had plenty to give him. When I told him about the million pounds he uttered a short, sharp laugh. ‘The girl’s hardly worth that, Sir.’

  ‘It’s not just about the girl, Alex, for fuck’s sake.’ I ran my hand through the front of my hair in frustration. ‘It’s the family. It’s a matter of trust…loyalty. It has to be sorted.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do, Sir?’

  Alex leaned in towards me, listening intently as I detailed my intentions for the following evening.

  Four

  Her

  It wasn’t until the next morning that I remembered about the message he’d written on the business card. I woke late, and Liv had long gone. I felt guilty. It was all right for me to be up late, but she had work, and Max would tear her off a strip if she was anything but focused. After last night, I had a hard time believing she’d be able to keep her eyes open. And Leo had caused some sort of damage in the living room, not to mention the tension he’d created between Liv and me.

  God, why did he have to be such a nightmare when he’d been drinking? I knew it was partly my fault. He always got frustrated if I didn’t speak to him but, after everything that’d happened, I hadn’t been able to face it, and he made no allowance for that. He just didn’t get it.

  I sat up and swang my legs over the side of the bed, sighing. Footballers…they were all the same. They just didn’t get that other people had feelings, besides them. I’d heard so many of the other WAGs say the same that I was under no illusion that my problems were anything special.

  I pushed myself up off the bed, noticing that my arm hurt. My shoulder ached and, as I turned my head to look towards it, I noticed a cluster of bruises across the top of my arm. Finger marks. I ran my hands across my thighs. They were sore as well. I had no doubt I’d find similar evidence of his brutality, seared across them, when I took off my bottoms.

  Why did he have to be such an asshole? He could be so sweet, when he was sober. It was why I’d found it so hard to pull away from him. We had such a history; together since we were eighteen and Leo had been nothing but a hopeful youth team player. We’d been so close back then, before the pressure of joining the footballing elite had turned him into a self-obsessed drinker, battling the bottle.

  He hated himself for it, I knew, and it was this frustration that he turned so often onto me. And it was because I understood, that I’d continually made allowances for him, telling myself it would get better and that he wasn’t a bad guy really. I’d turned a blind eye to so many things, believing we were as strong as he’d always insisted, but I’d been wrong. He was a bad guy. I knew that now, and I was an idiot.

  Even so, I couldn’t help worrying about him. How’d he got home last night? I hoped he hadn’t missed training. He was clearly in enough trouble already, and it might be the end of his career if he went skidding off the rails now. For a moment, I felt so guilty that I considered calling him, just to check he was okay.

  I stood up and pulled off my PJ bottoms. Sure enough, there were purplish bruises smeared across the insides of my thighs. No. No phone calls. No contact. Period. I had to stay strong. But, God, it had been a night and a half.

  That, on the heels of everything that had preceded it, made me shake my head and sit down again. The group of guys…the incident in the foyer…the walk along the embankment…it all came flooding back. And my ridiculous belief that he’d liked me. That guy – that Filth Monger. I groaned aloud. I must’ve been perfect fodder for him. No wonder he’d been so interested in me. Whatever he’d expected to get, he’d been disappointed. He’d kissed me, but he’d got no further than that. Just dropped me home and given me that damned card. I covered my face with my hands, as I recalled reading it.

  That was when it hit me. He’d written a message on it. I remembered it clearly now. He’d reached towards me to get the card, then again to get a pen from the glove box. No wonder Leo had freaked. It probably had looked like he was kissing me and, just because I’d left him – just because he’d screwed another woman – didn’t mean he’d play fair and accept it was over. Leo didn’t play fair. He was a footballer, for Christ’s sake.

  I stepped back into my PJs and rushed downstairs. As I entered the living room, I paused and looked around me. Liv had straightened up the coffee table, and it seemed to be okay. The real damage was to the fireplace. A huge crack ran through the tiles on one side of the surround, and I could only stare at it for a moment or two, in horror. It was a beautiful surround. Art Deco and original, I was pretty sure. I was going to have to sort it, and soon.

  God, she must be regretting ever inviting me to stay. I shook my head and sighed again. Everything was such a crock of shit, and it was mainly my fault. If he hadn’t seen me being dropped off by another man, he might have been more reasonable, and Liv’s fireplace might still be in one piece. I needed to get my act together, before anything worse happened. Mr Arrogant was right. The way I was behaving, I was going to end up damaged, if not dead.

  The thought of him reminded me of what I was doing in the living room, and I looked over, tentatively, at the wastepaper basket. The card was still there on the top, the black letters indistinguishable, but still very much evident. I shuddered as I recalled, yet again, the words written on it. I hardly wanted to look, to see what he’d written; yet, at the same time, I was compelled to read it.

  I reached down and picked it up, almost dropping it, my fingers trembled so much. I turned it over. The writing on the back was in black ink. The first thing that struck me was the vibrancy of it; firm and decisive, the letters clear and strong, leaning forward at an angle that suggested force and determination. It might just have been where he was rushing, but I knew it wasn’t. The handwriting suited him, entirely. The second thing that struck me was what he’d written. It took me a moment or two for it to sink in, for the message behind it to hit me. Of all the things I’d expected to read, this hadn’t even figured. I flushed anew, feeling at the same time softened, and angry.

  24/7 counselling, it read. No appointment necessary – tell them I sent you. If it makes no difference, call me.

  There was a number hastily scrawled underneath. I just stared at it blankly.

  ‘Oh, great,’ I said aloud, as the implication of it hit home. ‘He thinks I’m crazy.’

  I went to throw it back in the bin, before changing my mind and closing my hand around it. At least it wasn’t a proposition, although, even as I thought it, I knew I’d been hoping, somewhere deep inside myself, it would be.

  He was right, of course. I was…not mad, exactly, but not entirely sane either. Maybe I ought to take him up on the
offer. At least he seemed to care, and he clearly wasn’t interested in me romantically. I was surprised how much the realisation stung me, even though I’d known it was pretty unlikely, considering how I’d behaved in the F Bar.

  I opened my hand again and looked at the card one more time. 24/7 counselling. God, he was by far the most beautiful, intriguing man I’d ever met, and he thought I had a screw loose. It was the perfect beginning to the day. Could it get any better than this?

  Five

  Him

  I checked my phone as soon as I got up, just in case she’d rung. I knew she wouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself. She hadn’t seemed particularly overawed by my charms the previous night, even though I’d tried my damnedest to get through to her. I discounted the kiss by the car. She’d shut down on me so abruptly afterwards, it was clear it had meant nothing to her.

  Judging by her reaction to the texts and phone calls she’d received on the way back to Chiswick, she still had feelings for Sparkes. What those feelings were, though, was more of a mystery. She’d been on edge but, whether it was because she was afraid of ruining her chances of getting back together with him or whether she was just plain afraid of him, I couldn’t tell. In some ways, I hoped it was the former. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being afraid of him, and all that it implied. At the same time, I fervently hoped that she wasn’t entertaining the idea of getting back with him. She deserved more than that.

  It seemed unlikely, anyway. My gut instinct was that she’d been more frightened than worried, if I was honest with myself. If that were the case, I’d have to keep an even closer eye on her. I’d made her a promise, whether she’d taken it in or not, and I wasn’t one to renege on my word. It was time to do a little digging regarding Leo Sparkes.

  First though, I had other business to attend to. The guys watching the hooker in the flat below the one Charlotte had given us as her address had been watching her round the clock. She hadn’t gone beyond her local row of shops, but there was something in their report that didn’t sit right with me, and it was time I investigated for myself. So, Thursday morning saw me sitting in a borrowed car – I didn’t want her to spot me, and she already had my licence plate – in a parking space a reasonable distance from her flat.

  I’d been sitting there for a good couple of hours already, and the experience was beginning to pall. Matt’s car radio was fucked, and there was only so many times I could listen to the same Rock Anthems album, before getting heartily sick of Whitesnake, Motorhead, and the other so-called Legends of Rock. I was just rummaging through the glove box, to see what else I could find, when I happened to look up and see her passing right by the car.

  I immediately snapped my head back down, hoping she hadn’t seen me. If she had, she gave no indication, and I threw up a silent prayer of thanks to the god of faulty electronics. I let her carry on up the road a little way, before opening my door and getting out. Then, I crossed the street and strode quickly up it towards my target. I had to get there before she did, so I moved quickly, weaving in and out of the shoppers, apologising and keeping my head down.

  I made it there just before she did and stood back slightly, my face turned away, to give her time to do what I was hoping she was going to do.

  She did it.

  As I stood there, I watched out the corner of my eye, as she took a large envelope out of her bag. As she lifted it up to put it into the post box, I moved in front of it and took it from her.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her hand still open before her. ‘Not you again. Give me that now, you fucker.’

  ‘One of these days,’ I said, tucking it inside my jacket. ‘You’ll learn to love me.’

  She gave a snort of derision. ‘Give it to me, or I’ll scream.’

  ‘If you take my advice,’ I said. ‘And you will, you’ll go home and forget this ever happened.’

  She opened her mouth to say something else, but I cut her off. ‘Go home, Jane. Forget Charlotte.’

  She flinched at my use of her name.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, but she sounded less sure of herself.

  ‘You can.’ I couldn’t help a sigh. ‘She’s in deeper than you know. I’m trying to help her, for fuck’s sake.’

  That seemed to mollify her. She looked slightly relieved and almost smiled, but not quite. Instead, she shrugged. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Just make sure you do.’

  I nodded, reassuringly.

  In point of fact, I wasn’t in the least sure I could do anything to help Charlotte, but it was true that I’d try, if she gave me the chance. If Rick got to her first, it might already be too late.

  Six

  Him

  It was at that moment that Giles’s words came back to me. He’d said someone at one of the papers had inadvertently given out her address. I wondered just what Rick would do if he did get hold of her. The way he was acting, anything was possible.

  I waited until she’d crossed the road and was heading back towards her flat, then I went back to the car. Once inside, I pulled the package from inside my jacket and read the address, written in shaky capitals across the front. I let out a long, low whistle. An expensive address, indeed. Our Charlotte was doing quite nicely for herself, thank you very much. Rick had been right when he’d labelled her a call-girl. It wasn’t the kind of postcode inhabited by your average pro. But then, Charlotte had never been that. She was class all the way, hence the reason we’d been so thoroughly duped.

  I started the engine and headed to Belgravia. I was almost amused. Her real address was barely a stone’s throw from the Fforbes hotel and the F Bar itself. I’d been more or less chasing my own tail ever since I’d started looking for her, and she’d been within spitting distance the whole time.

  As I turned into Eaton Square, I ducked my head to look up at the houses. Tall, solemn terraces with white, Georgian facades lined the road, their columns standing to attention as I drove slowly past. I’d had half a mind to move here myself once, I remembered wryly. I’d had some mad idea that Aimee and I would settle down here…as if either of us would’ve settled down anywhere, back then. I put the thought from my mind and focused instead on finding the house I wanted.

  When I spotted it, I parked outside, which was a miracle in itself. Maybe it was a sign things were going to go smoothly for once. Or not. I took a deep breath, and walked between the columns of the porch and pressed the buzzer of flat number two.

  There was no reply. I hadn’t expected there to be, to be honest. It would have been too simple, and nothing was simple at the moment.

  I waited a few minutes, before pressing it again. This time, a voice answered the buzzer. It was a woman. Her voice was thick, as if she’d just woken up, but she was still making a credible attempt at sounding well-spoken. It was Charlotte.

  ‘Who is it, please?’ she said. ‘I’ve no appointments this morning.’

  ‘Open the door,’ I said. ‘I don’t need an appointment.’

  The intercom switched off abruptly.

  I waited, but no one came to the door, so I rang the buzzer again.

  ‘Open up, Charlotte,’ I said. ‘Or Christine, or whatever the fuck your name is. We need to talk.’

  There was no response again for a moment or two, but then I heard footsteps behind the front door and, after a moment or two, it creaked open slightly.

  Charlotte peered at me from within the hallway. I could see only half her face, but the part I could told me she was nervous. Her caramel eyes were wide and fierce, and she was biting her lip. ‘What do you want?’ she said, grudgingly.

  ‘We need to talk, Char…Christine.’ I held out the envelope. ‘And I’ve brought your post.’

  ‘Jane!’ She put her hand around the door to take it. ‘She told you where to…?’ Her voice was incredulous.

  ‘She told me nothing,’ I said. ‘Except that you’re some kind of plaster saint.’

  ‘She was homeless when I met her.’ She shrugged. ‘I let her use the downstairs flat. The hous
e belonged to my parents.’

  ‘Quite the heroine,’ I said. ‘I must say, it surprises me.’

  ‘The perfect match for a knight errant,’ she said, opening the door slightly wider. She was wearing a fluffy white dressing gown, the soft, butterscotch skin of her cleavage more than apparent within it. She was pushing it forward deliberately, I was sure, and I looked away, back to her eyes. She was regarding me with an almost hungry look. I stepped back slightly, taken by surprise. This wasn’t how I’d envisaged events panning out, not by a country mile.

  She moved forward, letting the door fall open, and put her hands to my collar. ‘We had something good, you know,’ she said. ‘I felt it.’

  I didn’t know what to make of it. Was she for real? Had she really not understood anything about our relationship? Or was she playing games? It seemed the more likely scenario.

  ‘Now Charl…Christine…’ I began, but she put her finger to my lips.

  ‘Charlotte,’ she said. ‘It’s who I am nowadays, and you know you want me. Why don’t you come upstairs?’

  ‘So you can video me?’ I raised my eyebrows and damned near smirked. So that was what she was after – another chance to get some evidence for her big story. In a way, it was a relief. The haul I’d taken at my flat must have been everything she had, and that could only be a good thing. But, on the other hand, her gall at pressing me again, at trying once more to coax me into her honey trap, was frankly insulting.

  I turned to go.

  ‘Wait!’ she said. ‘You’ve got it wrong. I can’t sell that fucking story, not for anything. Whatever you and your old boys’ network have done, it’s final. They’ve closed me down. I’ve lost all my contacts at the papers. I’ve nothing now except…’ She indicated down at herself…at her body.