CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Owen
“Can you hand me that binder, please?”
I gulped down the mouthful of tea and reached for a black portfolio on the coffee table. Tabby held out her hand expectantly, her eyes pinned to her laptop screen.
“Thanks,” she said idly as I turned it over to her. “And the purple folder?”
I snatched the indicated folder as well, slipping it into her hand on top of the binder.
“And a pen,” she added.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, is the striped accordion file over there?” When I didn’t answer or give her the item, she glanced up to find me grinning at her. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
I laughed. “Always,” I said, kissing the fingers she’d wrapped around the binder and folder before fetching the aforementioned pen and accordion file. She smiled, and I delighted in the way her face glowed in the midst of our good-natured exchange.
My impromptu trip to Chicago had lasted nearly a week. The suitcase of belongings I’d brought with me had taken up residence in a corner of Tabby’s apartment beside her bureau, and the clothes I’d bought throughout my time there had been given an entire drawer — a wonderful compliment, considering she had very limited storage space as it was. Without the necessity of phone calls or Skype chats, we’d adopted a new bedtime routine that consistently ended with her body molded to mine and the best sleep of my life. All the years I’d spent convincing myself monogamy was boring and commitment unnatural were basically wasted as I woke up each morning feeling better than the last. I couldn’t imagine a day without Tabby anymore.
If anyone I knew back in New Orleans saw me now, I would’ve been pummeled with questions and assaulted by judgments. My circle of friends and associates operated under the assumption that I, like others of equal financial and social standing, refused to live less than a five-star lifestyle at any given time. I was expected to dine at the finest restaurants, wear suits that cost the equivalent of college tuition, and demand the best seat on any plane I took. Being wealthy offered a host of freedoms unavailable to the less fortunate, but it also came with a host of unspoken rules. To stay in a studio apartment and live out of a suitcase and a drawer would have been completely unacceptable for any reason other than a charitable cause, and even that was bordering the line of decency.
Something those people in my upper-class circle didn’t know, however, was that I was infinitely more comfortable in Tabby’s one-room rental than I was in my enormous estate. I was raised in humble surroundings, and I found quaint lifestyles much more inclusive than grandeur. While I couldn’t say I didn’t like a lot of the perks wealth brought me, much of what I possessed was for the sake of appearances. Being in Chicago with Tabby allowed me to set aside that part of my life and just be myself.
And be myself, I did.
The night of my arrival had been a night sent straight from the heavens. I finally knew the definition of beauty… Tabby’s face as she dove into subspace and lost herself at my hand. And I knew what a joy it was to bring her back and see the light resurface in her eyes as I cuddled her against my chest and told her without words what she meant to me. We’d had several more nights like that one since, along with nights more akin to those we’d shared prior to my revealing the depths of my kinky nature. I still had a raging erection in her presence more often than not even though I was well beyond sexually fulfilled, but my constant state of arousal no longer felt like a burden or an annoyance. In fact, it was more like experiencing endless light foreplay — exciting, riddled with anticipation, and delicious to feel.
Tabby smiled all the time, the glow brightening in her cheeks. I’d met her friend Heather, and the two of us had gotten along well, causing Tabby to practically float on air. But who wouldn’t like her best friend, who was about as outgoing a person as they made them and very opinionated, but with the kindest of hearts behind it. When we met up with the vocal best friend for drinks a couple days later, Heather and I had ended up in a good-natured but intense argument about the meaning behind a rather vague text she’d received from her latest man-friend. Again, Tabby had seemed over the moon. I eventually discovered I was the first boyfriend Heather actually liked, and Tabby had such a special place in her heart for her friend that to see me treating Heather well was as touching to her as when I treated her well.
Christmas was only a week away, and I was helping Tabby decorate a small tree in the corner of her apartment when my phone rang. “Sorry, just a sec,” I apologized, snatching the device from my pocket. Howie’s name was lit on the screen.
“This is bad, Owen,” he said as soon as I answered. “You need to get down here.”
“What happened?” I asked, wrinkling my brow. I couldn’t imagine what catastrophe could’ve happened in Howie’s world to make him sound so panicked.
“There’s a story out about The Club. It’s all over the tabloids.”
I had to have misheard him. It was impossible, completely impossible, for the tabloids to have so much as a blurb about The Club. Even putting the NDAs aside, everyone associated with The Club had too much to lose if its secrets got out. I tried to focus on my breathing, because, even though I could feel my lungs expanding and contracting in my chest, I couldn’t get any oxygen.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “What kind of a story?”
He cleared his throat, then recited, “’Hooking for the Homeless: New Orleans’ Elite Covers Prostitution Ring with Charity.’ It’s out, Owen. All of it. Names and everything.”
My mouth was as dry as the Sahara as I rasped, “How?”
“The article cites an anonymous source, but…” I heard him swallow hard, “a lot of the members are assuming it was Tabby.”
My eyebrows shot up so fast my forehead hurt. “That’s ridiculous!” I barked.
“She’s the only person who’s been there in a long, long time that has never participated in an auction,” he explained. He almost sounded apologetic, but I could also hear a note of accusation embedded within his words. “She’s the only one who wouldn’t have anything to lose by going to the press.”
“She signed the confidentiality agreement,” I hissed, gripping my phone so tightly I was in danger of crushing it into pieces.
“You know as well as I do the papers and magazines and broadcast interviewers will pay her a hell of a lot more than a lawsuit would cost her,” Howie pointed out. “Like I said, she doesn’t have other cards on the table. She doesn’t have to worry about losing a career or a reputation for her inclusion in The Club like the rest of us.”
I’d spent a lot of years with Howie. We’d grown up together, and we’d been through a lot together. For the first time, I wanted to rip his throat out. I knew in the recesses of my mind he was only reacting to the reasonable explanation, but I hated him for doubting my judgment and questioning Tabby’s character. Even the insinuation she would sell us all out for a payoff was offensive, and one I knew to be completely untrue. Hell, I’d offered to employ her with a major boost in pay, and she’d turned me down. Tabby was many things, but money hungry simply wasn’t one of them, and I was irate she would even be accused of being such.
“She didn’t do it,” I snapped. “I need to look into this. I’ll call you later.”
I ended the call. My back was to Tabby, but I could feel her eyes boring into my head. Her curiosity and concern radiated across the room to where I stood. Just as I’d steeled myself enough to turn around and tell her what I’d learned, however, my phone chimed again, this time with an incoming text.
It was a picture of the headline Howie had read me, and it was from Pippa.