All You Desire (23 page)

“I've heard about what some of the less fortunate members are forced to do to keep their accounts in good standing.”

“Oh God. You heard about all that nasty stuff? That was back when Padma Singh ran the show,” Alex said. “She was a
terrible
president.”

“Such a troll,” Calum agreed. “But you gotta admit—”

“Admit what?” Alex asked.

“That it was a lot more interesting back then. It was like the Roaring Twenties or the Weimar Republic. You knew something terrible was going to happen, but it was a whole lotta fun waiting for the ship to go down.”

“Your memory is crap,” Alex said. “You're just pining for the days when you were Adam's number-one boy.” For once, Calum didn't have a quip ready. But only Haven seemed to notice the stunned look on his face. How had he fallen from Adam's good graces?

“Did you know Padma too?” Haven asked Owen, hoping to shift the conversation.

“No, I never had the pleasure. I just joined last year,” Owen said.

“
Owen's
part of the new regime,” Calum explained. He'd recovered quickly. “He's one of the people who are cleaning our little dump up.”

“I do what I can,” Owen said, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“Yes, and you do it so
well
,” Calum said, licking his lips.

“Okay, Calum,” Alex said with a roll of her eyes. “Owen may let you kiss his ass, but that's the most you can hope for. Let's talk about something else. I haven't seen you for ages. I assume there's a young stud somewhere who's a little worse for wear?”

“You're an evil little strumpet with a diseased mind,” Calum said. “For your information, I've been honing my
art
. There's a juicy role I'm hoping to land any day now.”

“And you haven't told your very best friend?” Alex asked, batting her eyelashes.

“Why? So you can leak it to
Us
magazine? No thank you, Miss Harbridge. You can find out along with the rest of the world. Now.” He grabbed Haven's hand and leaned in close. “Tell me every single thing there is to know about the fabulous Haven Moore.”

 

IT WAS THREE o'clock by the time all the dishes were cleared away, the bill paid, and the handsome waiter generously tipped. Haven could barely believe she'd stayed for so long. And though she didn't want to admit it, she'd almost enjoyed herself. Listening to Alex and Calum bicker like foul-mouthed siblings had taken her mind off her troubles. But it was Owen Bell who'd impressed her most. He hadn't uttered more than two dozen sentences, but his each and every word had left a mark. She knew now that Iain had been right. Not everyone in the Society had started life as a terrible person. She didn't hold out much hope for Alex—and none for Calum—but Haven prayed there was still a way to save Owen's soul.

“There she is!” a man shouted as the group left the restaurant. Haven blinked, blinded by the flash of cameras.

“Alex!” yelled a man with a five o'clock shadow and a beer belly. “Give me a smile, beautiful!”

“You're looking good, Alex,” another man shouted. “D'you lose a couple of pounds or sumthin'?”

“Someone tipped off the paparazzi,” Alex muttered, managing to sound annoyed even as she blew a kiss at the camera. “It wasn't you again, was it?” she asked Calum.

“Oh, please,” he responded. “It's been ages since I had to resort to such tactics.”

Together the foursome pushed their way toward the street. As Calum hailed a cab, one of the men grabbed Haven's arm.

“Hey! Who are you?” he demanded. “She look familiar?” he asked the colleague standing beside him.

“Yeah, now that you mention it, she does a bit,” the other man concurred.

“What's your name, sweetheart? You famous?”

“Let her go,” someone growled. Haven saw Owen barreling toward the paparazzo. He was half a head taller and twenty years younger than the out-of-shape man with the camera.

“Okay, buddy!” Haven's arm was released, and the paparazzo backed up with his hands held in the air. “No harm done, right?”

“You get a picture of that girl?” Haven heard as she ducked into the taxi.

“Yep. I know I've seen that hair somewhere before.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The walls, carpet, and ceiling of the corridor that led to Haven's room at the Gramercy Gardens Hotel were all the same shade of burgundy. There was never any noise and barely any light. Traveling the fifty-five paces to her door was like coursing through the veins of an enormous beast. Whenever Haven had passed other guests in the hall, they always seemed to be moving as quickly as she. It wasn't a place one wanted to linger. Yet Haven stopped halfway to her room the moment she remembered the call. Cursing her absentmindedness, she dug through her handbag. Her fingers brushed against a ring at the bottom before they located the phone. She switched on the device, and a message light began to blink.

“Haven. It's me.” Beau. Haven couldn't breathe. She dropped to her knees as the walls seemed to pulsate. “I hope that text didn't scare you too bad. Listen, I know I'm not supposed to call, but I just wanted you to know I'm here. Be brave and I'll see you real soon. Okay? Love ya.”

She instantly dialed the number from which the call had come. She lost count of the number of rings.

“Yeah?” The voice was gruff.

She cleared her throat. “I'm trying to reach Beau Decker.”

“Don't know him. You got the right station?”

“Station? I don't understand. Where am I calling?”

“It's a gas station. This is a pay phone.”

“A gas station? Where?”

“Eighth Avenue and Central Park North,” the man huffed. “Look, lady, I gotta get back to work. I only answered 'cause the ringing was driving me nuts. There's nobody named Beau here. Don't call back.”

He hung up.

“Shit!” Haven shrieked, staring down at the phone. Her hands were shaking, but she managed to call Iain. No answer, no voice mail. Why had he insisted on pursuing his own plan? Why wasn't he there when she needed him most? “Shit.” This time a whimper. She dialed a third number. There was only one person left to call.

“Ouroboros Society.”

“I need to speak with Adam Rosier.”

“Certainly, Miss Moore. One moment, please.”

“Haven?”

The sound of his calm, concerned voice brought tears to her eyes. “Adam. Something's happened. He called! Beau called! And I missed him!”

Five minutes later, Haven was still slumped in a stupor on the hallway floor when Adam rushed to her rescue. She had been trawling her memories again, trying to recall a single time that Beau Decker had ever let her down. But he'd always seemed to know if Haven needed help. When two freshmen had tried to curry favor with Haven's high school enemies by running off with her clothes as she showered after gym, Beau had appeared in the locker room with a lab coat he'd pilfered from their chemistry class. He had cinched the smock's waist with his very own belt, creating a little white dress that almost looked chic. Then there was the day Bradley Sutton had cornered Haven in an empty classroom and attempted to kiss her. Beau had blackened both of the boy's eyes and promised much worse if the offense were ever repeated. Those and the other scenes Haven remembered could have filled a dozen films. And yet when Beau had reached out to
her
for help, Haven had missed the call. She'd been out hobnobbing with silly celebrities when she should have been searching for her best friend.

Gordon Williams and his men arrived at the hotel just moments after Adam. Haven was still too frazzled to speak. Thankfully, Adam did most of the talking while Haven sat in a corner of her room and replayed Beau's message fifty times, trying to decipher its meaning. When her head started pounding, Haven closed her eyes and felt the fatigue wash over her. Shortly after eight o'clock, the cops finally left. Haven was already dozing on the couch when Adam bid her good night. The last thing she remembered was his promise to phone the second he heard any news. In her drowsy state, Haven had almost asked him to stay.

 

IN HER DREAM, Haven was back in Snope City. She knew the day. She recognized the clothes she was wearing, the lunch on the cafeteria tray in front of her. It was a day that could still send a shiver of shame though Haven's soul.

She was alone. Beau had been out of school for two weeks, and for seven hours each day, Haven was silent. No one spoke to her, and she spoke to no one. If Beau didn't come back soon, she worried she might lose her voice all together. But she couldn't complain. She had to wait. Beau couldn't be rushed. Haven knew what it felt like to lose a parent, but her father had died suddenly. He hadn't suffered the way Beau's mother had.

She heard the trays slam down on the table behind her. She listened to three boys gossip the way she'd imagined only girls could. It was like she wasn't even there.
Maybe,
she thought,
I'm not.

“I didn't see Decker this morning. I guess he's gonna miss another practice,” Dewey Jones noted.

“A couple more and Coach'll have to name a new quarterback,” said Justin Snead.

“Goddamm. That'd just about kill Decker's daddy.”

“Yeah, well, he already killed his mamma,” Bradley Sutton said. “She got sick right after she found out he was a faggot. My uncle says she must've died of a broken heart.”

The rage was unlike any Haven had ever experienced. She wanted to turn around and hurl their table against a wall. Rip out Bradley's throat with her own teeth. Kick Dewey Jones until he was just a lifeless mound of flesh. She should have defended Beau, whatever the cost. But she didn't. She picked up her tray and walked away, angry tears blurring her vision. It was a decision she'd regret for the rest of her life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Oh my God, is this
you
?” squealed the young woman being measured for a gown. She was an up-and-coming starlet whose face was plastered on movie posters all over town, but Haven couldn't recall her name. She'd shown up at Haven's hotel room door at the crack of dawn with a text message from Alex Harbridge on her phone and a checkbook in her hand. Haven had dragged herself out of bed, thrown on a bathrobe, and grabbed her measuring tape. The events of the previous day still cluttered her head. Beau's bizarre call, Adam's kindness. Haven couldn't stop digging through details in search of some truth. A single fact she could rely on. But nothing made sense anymore.

As a kid, she'd discovered that her mind was clearest whenever she held a needle between her fingers. Haven had welcomed her new client, hoping that a little hard work might help her put her thoughts back in order. But the girl refused to stop babbling. In the time it took to take her measurements, Haven had heard about the starlet's hair extensions, workout routine, and all the famous actors she was dying to bed.

“Is what me?”

The girl bent down and shoved her phone under Haven's nose. “
This!”

On the screen were two pictures that had been posted on a gossip site. The first showed Haven, Alex, and Calum exiting the restaurant the day before. The second photo was almost two years old, and it was the only picture ever taken of Haven and Iain together in Rome. She remembered the moment well. They had been standing on the Ponte Sant'Angelo. Iain was begging her to stay in Italy with him. If only she had given him what he'd wanted back then. Haven let the thought go before it could break her heart.

MORROW HEIR SPOTTED IN NEW YORK, read the post's headline.

“Yeah, that's me,” Haven said, returning to her work. There was no point in denying it.

“
You're
the girl who inherited all of Iain Morrow's money?” the starlet asked, nearly swooning at the thought. “You must be rolling in cash! Why do you still bother making dresses?”

“I actually like doing this,” Haven snipped. “I'm an artist, not a seamstress.”

“Yeah, but you could just come up with the ideas and pay someone else—”

“Wait!” Haven said, holding a finger up to her lips.

Once the girl stopped yapping, Haven could hear someone knocking on the door of her room. She tiptoed across the carpet and pressed her eye to the peephole. A young man in a crisp white shirt and unfashionable glasses was staring straight at her, as if he had x-ray vision.

“Yes?” she inquired through the door.

“Hello, Miss Moore. I'm from the Ouroboros Society. Adam was wondering if you might have a moment. He said to tell you there's been some news.”

Haven shoved on her sneakers. Any news had to be about Beau.

“Wait—you're leaving?” the starlet whined. “What about my dress?”

“I have all your measurements,” Haven told her. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” the girl repeated in astonishment. “So soon?”

“Yep.”

“Wait!” The girl shouted as Haven sprinted out the door and down the hall. “Aren't you going to put some clothes on?”

 

PEDESTRIANS BUNDLED UP in their warm winter coats turned to stare as Haven ran around the park in a terry-cloth robe emblazoned with the logo of the Gramercy Gardens Hotel. She paid no more attention to the people on the sidewalks than she did to the wind that was doing its best to shove her all the way back to the hotel.

It was a quarter to nine. The Ouroboros Society wasn't open for business. Two fathers waited across the street, impatiently checking their watches while their nine-year-old children tried to shimmy over the gate that surrounded Gramercy Park. Haven bounded up the mansion's stairs, and the door opened to admit her.