CHAPTER TWO
Griffin
"I'm nearly in. If you'd stop calling me, I'd get in faster though," Dean, my computer guy, grumbled down the phone.
The man was a genius. A hacker. Dangerous. And on my payroll. He was also loyal, and that was the only bloody reason I let him snap at me. "I need the information on that laptop as soon as possible, Dean."
“I know. You’ve said that. A million times.” He hung up on me.
I cursed in annoyance and threw the phone on my desk. After a thorough search of finding absolutely nothing of any interest in Pete Svenson's office at the club, I'd almost given up unearthing his secrets when the fool made a move. The bloody moron actually thought he could get by the club's high security. He thought because he was the factotum he knew every inch of security we kept at the club (of which there was a hell of a lot considering we had a hazard bank under its roof), but I always kept something to myself. He'd tripped an extra measure trying to break into his own office.
He'd been escorted off the premises, and I went back to searching his office. He'd given me proof there was something in there. After hours of frantic searching, I tried to think of what Pete brought to the office. It occurred to me, and I couldn't believe it hadn't sooner, that the free-standing bookcase at the end of his office was his addition to the room. I began searching for something out of the ordinary on it. I removed book after book and when I pulled out the copy of Memoirs of Hadrian a drawer popped out of the middle shelf which happened to be the thickest in width. Staring at the notebook laptop that sat perfectly within the drawer I couldn't fucking believe what I was seeing. Without even opening the damn thing I knew this was proof that Svenson had been up to something nefarious in the club.
What that had to do with interfering in my relationship with Scarlett I had no idea. The constant ache in my chest flared to unbearable any time I thought of her, so I quickly pulled the laptop out and tried to get into it. Unfortunately, I couldn't crack the password, and when I'd given it to Dean, he said there was a sophisticated security program on it.
Which he was currently trying to hack.
My curiosity was fucking killing me.
My phone rang on the desk, vibrating and moving across the wood. Amelia's name flashed on the screen. I hesitated because I knew she was going to see Scarlett this morning to tell her about Bryce.
Right on schedule, the pain in my chest became excruciating.
Fuck.
I snatched the phone up. “I’m in the middle of something,” I said, deliberately curt.
“Yes, you certainly are.”
I tensed because it sounded like Amelia had been crying. “Amelia?”
She sniffled, but her tone was suddenly sharp. And cold. "I let Scarlett know about Bryce. She's not happy, but she said to tell your lawyer that Bryce can take the plea bargain."
My free hand fisted on my lap at the thought of that fucker getting away with attacking her. “Fine.”
“She told me about what her sister did to her.”
I glared unseeingly at the wall.
“Griffin?”
“I’m here.”
“She has nightmares. About being raped. I imagine those are only worsened by the fact that she wakes up from them alone.”
My throat closed with emotion I couldn’t handle.
“She asked me to stay away.”
I pushed through the pain, my words coming out hoarse from the struggle. “Perhaps for the best.”
Amelia hesitated a second. “You’ve changed her. You and that awful sister of hers. You’ve broken her. I hope you’re well satisfied with yourself.”
Rage churned in my gut. “Now you listen—”
“No, you listen. It’s bad enough you left her alone after that little asshole attacked her but to let yourself be photographed with someone else to make a point to Scarlett is just sick, Griffin. And I thought you were better than that.”
Confusion cut off my next cutting remark. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?”
“Would I be asking if I knew?”
"You're in Elite magazine. Scarlett saw. Whatever your intention was, Scarlett got the message… She's different, Griff," she suddenly whispered, "She's… not Scarlett anymore."
The idea that I’d crushed Scarlett’s spirit was more than I could handle. “I have to go.” I hung up and threw my phone so hard it skittered off the desk and ended up on the floor on the other side.
My chest felt tight.
I dropped my head in my hands trying to catch my breath. Cold sweat collected under my arms and I could feel it beading on my forehead.
Calm down. Fucking calm down.
The phone rang from the carpet interrupting whatever bloody awful thing was happening to me. I pulled on my tie, trying to get more air, as I got up and stared down at the phone.
Dean calling.
Yes.
Distraction.
I scrambled for the phone. “What?”
“Uh, I got in.”
“And?” I panted.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. What the fuck did you find?”
“No need to snap, dude. Anyway, I… uh… well… I um… I think you better see this shit for yourself.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
As I waited for Xavier to have my car brought around to the front of the club, I googled Elite, the online society magazine. "Jesus Christ," I muttered. The tightness in my chest returned when I saw the photo of me with Evangeline Pierce at Menton and the insinuation that I'd cheated on Scarlett. Did Scarlett believe that?
Fuck.
As I stared morosely at the article, an email pinged. Well timed, it was from Evangeline.
I'd met with her because she was on the waitlist for membership at the club and now that Bryce was no longer a member the spot was open. She was a rising star and would only cement the club's reputation for exclusivity to the rich and famous. I wanted her membership. She wanted to have dinner to discuss it, so we did.
I kept it all business-like, and she flirted a bit.
As long as I got her membership fee, I didn't give a fuck.
But Scarlett would give a fuck.
I rubbed at the dull throb in my temples and clicked on Evangeline’s email.
From: Evangeline Pierce
To: Griffin Mandeville
Subject: Elite
Griffin, I'm not sure if you're aware of the article on Elite website, but I wanted to assure you I had nothing to do with it. In fact, my people are asking Elite for a retraction. The last thing I need is a reputation as a homewrecker, especially an unfounded one. I hope your wife isn't too upset by the insinuation. The retraction will be posted online tomorrow, but they may call you today for a quote. I assume all they'll get is silence, but I thought I'd give you a head's up. I'm still excited about my membership and hope this doesn't affect it.
I look forward to seeing you around the club.
Evangeline x
I frowned at the sign-off and decided to email my response after I'd visited with Dean.
Minutes later I found myself in my Aston Martin, but instead of heading straight for Dean I found myself compelled to take an alternative route. One that took me right down East 2nd Street. It was moronic. It was masochistic. Yet I couldn’t seem to goddamn help myself.
I slowed down as I passed the blue townhouse I knew Scarlett was living in. Bending my head, I gazed out the passenger window up at the top floor, wishing for a second I could get a glimpse of her. Just a look.
A flicker of movement caught my attention, and I looked at the bay window. An elderly woman peered out at me.
“Fuck,” I muttered and pulled away quickly.
The last thing I wanted was Scarlett thinking I was stalking her for Christ sake. It was best for her that she thought I’d moved on.
“She has nightmares. About being raped. I imagine those are only worsened by the fact that she wakes up from them alone.”
I flinched, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. I hated the idea that she felt alone. I hated it so fucking much I wanted to whirl around and launch myself inside that house, find her and never let her go again.
But in the end, that was what was best for me and not what was best for Scarlett.
As if I conjured her I suddenly caught sight of copper-red hair.
I slowed.
It was her.
It was Scarlett.
The cliché seemed so true of a sudden as I watched my wife stroll out of a convenience store with a plastic shopping bag in hand. The sight of her really was like water to a thirsty man.
That constant gnawing ache in my chest widened until it was a gaping black fucking hole of longing as my wife passed by without looking up. Her cheekbones were more prominent, and her coat was belted extra tightly because it hung loosely on her frame.
She’d lost weight.
I had to stop myself from launching out of the car to give her an earful for not taking care of herself.
But I wouldn’t.
Because if I did I’d take her face in my hands and I’d kiss her until we both could breathe again.
A horn sounded behind me, and I cursed, glancing in the rear mirror. I'd created a traffic jam. I looked over my shoulder, but the noise hadn't startled Scarlett. She just continued moving, head down, face blank.
I could feel her emptiness from here.
My chest tightened again, my throat closing with emotion, and I let out a garbled huff as I put my foot to the accelerator and peeled out of there.
This obsession with Scarlett had to end.
Now.
◆◆◆
“What the hell am I looking at?” My gut churned.
Could I really have been this blind?
Dean winced in sympathy. “Looks like he’s pretty obsessed with you, dude.”
I looked from him to the laptop again and slumped back in the worn armchair in Dean’s apartment. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I took a minute, trying to make sense of everything Dean had found on Pete’s laptop.
I couldn't decide what was more worrying: the blackmail folder containing information on several of the Patrician's members or the folder on me. There were notes on my life, on the women I'd dated, the business deals I'd made. Thankfully there was nothing on the inheritance issue with my father, so he had no idea I'd married Scarlett to get my mother's estate. More concerning, however, were the photographs. Thousands of pictures taken over the years. Most were just of me. But there were a few of me with women. The most recent of which was a photo of Scarlett kissing my neck outside the door to my club office. I stared at it in anguish, momentarily forgetting the bastard had been spying on me. My eyes were closed, one hand bunched in Scarlett’s thick, soft hair while the other was sliding under her skirt.
I could almost feel her hair and skin beneath my hands. Smell her perfume. Taste her mouth.
“This guy is a stalker.”
I broke from memories of my wife and anguish turned to acid. Pete Svenson was clearly unwell. I didn't know if his obsession with me was sexual, infatuation, or if he just wanted my life. What I did know was that whatever it was had become harmful. Not to mention I now had to find out if the club member's he'd blackmailed had been blackmailed to join the club. I'd have to sift through the folder, but if any of the evidence pertained to serious crimes, I'd need to turn it over to the authorities. Anything else would be burned, and the members would be assured that the blackmail was over.
The bastard had put my club in jeopardy.
My hands fisted as I scrolled through the photos and saw one of me kissing Scarlett in the library. He'd spied on my wife and me. He'd blackmailed Bryce to the point of such desperation McKellan had attempted to rape Scarlett.
Pete had disappeared. There was no trace of him. But my PI was on it, and soon, the police would be too. I was handing over all this shit to them so they could deal with the little prick. I was going to ruin him for fucking with me and what was mine.