G-Men: The Series (116 page)

“It’s not trash if it’s true darling. Are you telling me it’s false?”

“What I’m telling you, Mother, is that it’s my private business, not yours. I prefer not to discuss the particulars with you or anyone else. I’d appreciate some privacy on the matter.”

“Oh Easton,” she laughed, sardonically, “you must realise a man in your position has little privacy, especially when one has been played the fool like you were by that harlot. After all you did for her, launching her career, using your contacts to take her to the top, financing her training and marketing. Well, it’s just shameful the way she’s repaid you. Though I suppose she and Christopher Rolando will still live quite comfortably now that she’s the most in-demand model in Europe. It doesn’t matter how much wealth she acquires though, she’ll always be Euro-trash, darling. Oh, by the way, I heard she landed an exclusive shoot for Stella McCartney’s new line just yesterday. Shall I call Sir James Paul on your behalf?”

“No, Mother. You should simply stay out of it and mind your own fucking business.”

“Easton! How dare you speak to me with such disrespect! I’m your mother and I forbid you to treat me so shabbily after all I’ve done for you, after all of my sacrifices!”

“Sacrifices?” I’d shouted incredulously at her. “What fucking sacrifices have you ever made for anyone? You’ve shown me nothing but selfishness, ruthlessness, and dispassion my entire life. The only positive influences I’ve ever had were my grandparents and my father and you used me as a weapon against all of them whenever it suited your self-serving agenda.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me!” she screamed, her face turning red with fury.”I’m the one that tried to warn you about women and how they would use you for your title and wealth, ultimately controlling you until they move on to someone else! And I was right, wasn’t I? I’ve always tried to protect you, but you simply refuse to accept it. You’ve gotten what you deserved, Easton!”

“Protect me? Protect me? Mother every horrible thing that’s ever happened to me was a direct result of your ‘protection.’ What a laugh! You’re incapable of loving anyone other than yourself! I pity you, but not enough to want you in my home. Please leave.”

“Oh, I’m happy to leave your home, you ungrateful bastard! I’m glad Mummy and Pops are no longer alive to see what you’ve turned in to!”

“Whatever I am, Mother, is certainly of your making.”

“Hah, considering what I had to work with I’ll take that as a compliment,” she sneered. “I can’t take responsibility for those traits you inherited from your paternal side.”

“Oh, here we go again,” I snapped. “Time for you to take a pot-shot at my part-Yankee heritage again, eh?”

“Not at all darling,” she said, smiling. “What makes you think Trace Matthews even sired you? Think about that!”

Those were the last words I’d heard from her mouth over two years ago. They still echoed in my ears and turned my blood cold.

We arrived at ‘Rapture,’ finding that Colin and Ronnie had already landed a table in the crowded restaurant portion of it. I saw Ronnie standing up, waving us over excitedly. It appeared her dress was of the same general design as Darcy’s, only in red with sequins. Good God! I knew those two would hit it off straightaway. I guided Darcy over toward them, my hand resting on the small of her back. Did I mention it was also bare?

Introductions were made and, within five minutes, Ronnie and Darcy were chatting away, giggling and sharing personal information as if they were old school chums. I caught Colin’s look of love as he watched his fiancé show Darcy her engagement ring. I hoped he had better luck with his engagement than I’d experienced with mine. He’d spent a hell of a lot of money on that 3-carat ring.

We ordered fish and chips, sipping dark ale, for which Darcy seemed to be acquiring a taste. I wondered if she’d been honest with me about having something to eat earlier. The ale seemed to be providing her with a nice buzz.

“Colin,” Ronnie said loudly over the noise of the increasing crowd, “Darce and I are going to the little girl’s room. How about you and Easton finding a table for us in Club North before the bands start, love?”

“Certainly, sweets,” my pussy-whipped top aide replied. “Don’t get lost or I’ll worry.” He sent her off with a loving smile and a wink.

Christ, Colin. Get it together, man.

Colin and I snaked our way through the restaurant and into the large interior hall that led to one of the four separate clubs inside. You guessed it: Club North, Club South, Club East and Club West. According to Colin, Club North was hosting British Boy Bands tonight and Ronnie thought Darcy would enjoy the venue. He started to get his wallet out to pay the cover charge.

“Let me get this, Colin,” I said.

“No argument here, mate,” he said, putting his wallet back in his jacket. The cover charge was steep. Colin was paid well, but I knew the fancy wedding he and Ronnie were financing was already costing more than £40,000 and that didn’t include the cruise he wanted to take that he thought I didn’t know about.

Colin described Ronnie and Darcy to the fellow at the window so that he would allow them in whenever they finished up doing what girls do in the powder room. Each of the clubs had its own marquee and ticket window like an old theatre. Inside, there was a huge centre stage for the band, and a dance floor that surrounded it. The tables were outside of the dance floor and were in tiers so that even on the top tier, the band was still visible and the acoustics superb.

“How’s this?” Colin asked, going midway down the sloped auditorium.

“Fine by me.”

We sat down and immediately a waitress in a leopard bikini that included a long tail came up to take our drink orders. I ordered bourbon, Colin his usual Scotch, ale for Ronnie and I took the liberty of ordering a Royal Fuck for Darcy, remembering that had been her cocktail of choice at Trace’s wedding reception.

“So,” Colin said once the waitress had left, “you didn’t give me a lot of detail on how you felt the presentation went Friday.”

“She did well,” I replied, shrugging. “Actually, she did really well. I was quite impressed. You’ve done a good job with her, Colin.”

“Then what was all the shit you were giving her Thursday night, might I ask?”

“Just me being me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t buy it this time.”

“Why’s that?”

“Dude—you’re still having every move she makes tracked, calling Ryan Dobbs constantly for updates; I mean, get real.”

I had to laugh at him. “You’ve spent too much time in that States, Colin. Christ, you sound like you’re a native.”

“Fuck you, too.” His laugh quickly joined mine.

I didn’t say anything more, but I knew Colin and he wouldn’t let it drop.

“So, how have things been with her being at the manor with you?”

“She’s not been a problem until today. She’s been a bit cheeky for reasons I can’t figure.”

“Maybe she doesn’t care for the host,” he suggested.

“Yeah? Fuck you too, mate.”

Our drinks arrived and we took a moment to take a sip. Then it dawned on me.

“Oh shit.”

“What?” he asked.

“I know what’s got her knickers in a twist.”

“Are you going to clue me in, bro?”

Jesus Christ, he needs to stay in London for a while.

“I was on the phone this morning with Devon Roberts in Leeds. Did you know they missed the cut-off date on that Turkish bid proposal? That’s potentially £9 million in revenue lost.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I heard from Clive yesterday evening.”

“Well, at any rate, I was a bit harsh with Devon. I mean, the bloody woman’s still using all that ‘I just had a baby and got back to work’ rubbish with me. Why would she go on maternity leave and not have a plan and schedule in place with her staff to make sure this didn’t slip through the cracks? I’m flying there Monday, and I forewarned her that I’d be cleaning house. I might’ve led her to believe she needed to get her priorities in sync as well.”

“You’re taking a shot against motherhood, Easton. You aren’t actually going to sack Devon are you?”

“Colin, I consider myself to be a fair and impartial person. If a man had let this project crash and burn, what would my reaction have been?”

“Termination,” he said, taking a long swig of his Scotch.

“There’s your answer then. I pride myself on being an equal opportunity Nazi,” I replied, shrugging.

“So, how does that tie in with Darcy?”

“I think she was in the hall and overhead the conversation. She’s been distant and rather cold towards me ever since.”

“Well, come on, what do you expect?”

“I expect, as a future manager, she’ll know there are consequences to pay when avoidable and costly mistakes are made. It may not be pleasant, but that’s the reality of it, after all.”

“I suppose she’ll get over it in a few days,” he replied.

“I think I know what I need to do,” I said, shaking my head.

“Apologize to her for what she overheard and tell her how insensitive you were under the circumstances?”

“No. I’m taking her with me to Leeds. She’s here to learn, right?”

Colin nodded, a frown now appearing as he waited for me to continue.

“She’ll now get first-hand experience in how non-performing executives are terminated.”

^{chapter 29}

Damn! Fuck! Shit! I rolled over on the bed, hoping that it was actually the bed I was supposed to be in; my head was throbbing unmercifully, my throat dry, parched and sore. I flung my arm out to get some indication of how close I was to the edge of the bed and made contact with hard, muscled, flesh.

“Bloody hell!” I heard Easton growl. “What the fuck now? Are you going to heave again?”

Oh God! It’s coming back to me!

“Easton?” I heard my weak, pathetic voice whine. “I think I may be dying,” I rasped.

“Not soon enough love,” he snapped, moving to get out of the bed.

Holy shit! Even the slightest of movements was causing me pain somewhere.

“Did you get me drunk last night?” I asked.

“Suge, you managed that all by yourself with no help from anyone,” he replied curtly. “In fact, I did my best to cut you off, but it seems you had other means of getting what you wanted.”

I managed to lift my eyelids the tiniest bit. He was standing there, shirtless, wearing a pair of gray, drawstring pajama bottoms that hung low on his narrow hips. His hands were resting on his hips and a look of pure disgust was on his face. As sick as I was, and trust me, I’d never been this hung over in my life—I still recognized how smokin’ hot he looked, even when he was pissed at me.

“What do you mean by that?” I croaked.

“Your dance partner, remember?”

I slowly shook my head. “Not yet,” I replied.

“I’m looking forward to when it all comes back to you. You made quite an impression on the horny lad. So much so that I had to intervene to protect your honour.”

“Jesus Christ, Easton! Are we fucking back in the middle ages?”

“If we were, I assure you, I wouldn’t have left him breathing.”

He left the room, leaving me there to contemplate my total misery and try to recollect what the hell had happened. I remember drinking my first Royal Fuck, and then another, getting a bit buzzed. Then Easton said I couldn’t have anything more to drink, so Ronnie and I went to the dance floor. Colin and Easton were being stick-in-the-muds so it was just me and Ronnie dancing with everyone else on the packed dance floor. I remember now! A gorgeous raven-haired guy came up and joined us on the dance floor. He introduced himself as Damian. Within a couple of minutes, Colin was there, dragging Ronnie back to the table, so it was just me and the dude dancing. It got fuzzy again after that. It hurt to even try to remember at the moment. As hard as I tried, I simply did not remember drinking anything after that second Royal Fuck.

I lay in bed enduring the misery. Every second seeming like an hour, my stomach still lurching, even though I suspected it was empty. There was no way I could’ve gotten that hammered with just one ale and a couple of Royal Fucks. It was simply not possible.

Wait a minute! Wait one fucking minute!
Water!
The guy—Damian—offered me some water after we danced. I was sweaty and told him I needed to get some ice water. He said they had some at the table where his friends were sitting on the same level as the dance floor. I so didn’t feel like trudging up the steps to where our table was located. Anyway, I recalled the dirty looks Easton had been shooting the whole time I’d been dancing with Damian. Everyone at the table had straws, drinking straight from the pitcher. Perhaps this was some British custom. Damian handed me a straw.

“Drink up, poppet,” he’d said with a smile. I did and was shocked at the bitter taste.

“Oh God, that’s putrid,” I’d gasped.

“That’s London water for you,” was his response. I drank a few more gulps because thirst was thirst and I needed to stay hydrated. I remembered we’d returned to the dance floor, and then not too much after that. I considered the possibility I’d been roofied.