I knew I was well and truly fucked as soon as I saw the news sites.

Fired, too.

There was a courteous message from the Mirabella HR department in my fake ‘Cade Miller’ email account notifying me of my termination, and Peyton had made it plenty clear that I wasn’t going to be working at the hotel anymore when I last spoke to her, anyway.

But now, the scandal had really come crashing down on me, and I'd been avoiding my parents as much as I possibly could as a result. I knew it was the excuse they needed to tell me they were right all along—I was incompetent, and I'd just wasted their time and money once again all so I could get my dick wet with an heiress. That was the way they’d see it, and I couldn’t be bothered listening to them giving me shit anymore. I already hated myself enough for all the crap that went down.

I had no idea who took those photos and leaked them to the media. I just didn't understand how they'd been able to catch us in the act that long ago, before Peyton and I were really even sneaking around and going on dates. It was almost as if someone had been planning this all along, but I had no idea who that person could be.

The shittiest part was, I had nobody to talk to about the whole mess.

Peyton must have blocked my number, because none of my calls or texts went through. Most of my old friends were too busy to listen to the whole story, and my new friends from the hotel staff wouldn't talk to me either. Bianca was firmly on Peyton's side, and I'd never been really close to Allegra. I even fired off a text to Andreas, but I hadn't gotten a reply yet.

Tristan had listened to me talk about it for long enough, but he really didn't know what to do about my problems. He'd never had a serious girlfriend, and I needed advice from someone who knew what they were talking about when it came to relationships.

I was sick and tired of worrying and hiding at home to avoid the press clamoring for my side of the story. I wasn’t going to talk to them, but I knew I still had to get out and redeem myself somehow. In Peyton’s eyes, of course. No one else’s.

In my mind, there was only one way of doing just that, and the answer had been sitting right in front of my face the whole time.

My parents still suspected that Peyton's mom and dad were part of some elaborate tax evasion scheme, and the business world rumors were growing thanks to them, but I was convinced that wasn't the case. And the last thing I needed was for another Mirabella scandal to come out and make Peyton feel even worse. No, I needed to nip it in the bud and make sure her family were washed of all suspicions. 

I still hadn’t returned my hotel staff keycard, so I figured I had one last shot at figuring all of it out.

This morning was it.

I sneaked into the Mirabella in a cap and sunglasses, quickly making my way past everyone in the lobby. I didn't want them to know I was here, but if anyone did happen to notice me, I'd say I was trying to make things right with the Cadwells. And I really was—just in a more complicated, confusing way than they would assume.

I made my way to the accountants' offices on the ground floor. A man happened to be walking down the hall at almost the exact same time as me; probably one of the accountants of the hotel. He gave me an inquisitive look as he passed. I sighed, looking at my watch and acting annoyed as if I was late to a meeting. That seemed to be enough to stop him from staring.

I kept striding down the hallway. I only needed one piece of information, and then I could get the hell out of there. I actually couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of this until now.

Stopping in front of an office, I glanced at the label on the door. A black plaque hung on it, engraved with a single name. It was the office where I’d found that one file which didn’t match any of the others, sitting next to a shredder. The plaque read 'Callum Houston'.

That told me all I needed to know.

Last time I was sneaking around in the accounting section of the hotel, I hadn’t bothered to look at the name plaques on the offices. But Callum Houston could very well be the accountant on the team who was stealing money. It made sense—the office belonged to him, and the incriminating files were right there. Perhaps he’d been in the middle of shredding them when he decided to go to the bathroom or something, and I just so happened to be sneaking around all those weeks ago at that exact time.

Something was still nagging me, though. It almost seemed too easy to pin it on him.

I made my way back to the lobby.

"Hey, Gloria," I said awkwardly as I approached the front reception desk. The women who worked here usually knew everything about everyone who worked at the hotel. It was kinda surprising that they hadn’t figured me and my secret out, to be honest.

Gloria huffed when she saw me, obviously not too happy about my arrival.

"I just have to ask you one question," I said, holding a palm up.

"What makes you think I'm going to help you?" she asked, the annoyance plain in her voice. “Why are you even here?”

"Gloria, please," I said. "I'm just trying to make things right for all of us. I know I've messed up. Will you just answer a question for me? Please?"

"Fine," she said in a clipped tone. "One question. That's all you get."

"Thank you," I said. "I'm just wondering about a man that works here. Callum Houston? He’s an accountant."

She gave me a strange look, obviously surprised by my question. She probably thought it would have something to do with Peyton or all the gossip column rumors about us, but she didn't know how to connect the dots.

Finally, she shrugged. "Yes. I know of him. Young and stupid, just like half the staff here," she finally replied. She rolled her eyes a little as she spoke. "He’s worked here for about four years, I think. But I don't even know why he bothers."

"What do you mean?" I asked, furrowing my brows. Maybe I was on to something here.

"Haven't you seen his car?” she asked with a sniff. "He drives a damn Ferrari. I see him sometimes in the parking lot. Way I see it, doesn't seem like he even needs this job. Damn shame when my poor Carlito has been trying to get a job here for months. He’s an accountant too, you see."

"I see," I said, giving her a polite smile.

I really didn't have time to hear about Carlito, but I made a mental note to send Gloria some chocolates. Lord knows she deserved it after witnessing all of our antics over the last month or so. Poor woman. "Thanks, Gloria. I'll get out of your hair now,” I said.

Making my way back through the lobby, I wondered how it was possible that this Callum guy drove a Ferrari. Accountants didn't make that much money, right? At least not one that had only been working in the job for four years. And Gloria had also mentioned that he was young...

So how could a guy in that position afford to drive a car like that? And why wasn’t anyone else suspicious of this?

Things certainly weren't looking good for Callum, considering what I’d found in his office, and I intended on getting to the bottom of this mess as soon as possible. 

I needed to head back to the accounting offices.

If my suspicions were correct, this Callum dude was the one to blame. He must've been responsible for some departments of the hotel, which included the task of producing consolidated financial reports for them. He could possibly be skimming money off the top of those departments. Then he could make new reports to support this and shred the original papers (with the correct figures) to cover his tracks.

That morning when I found those documents, I could've caught him off guard, just like I thought earlier. Maybe he took a call or went to the bathroom, thinking it was too early in the day to get caught, seeing as no one else was around yet... and thus, the papers were right there for me to find. And seeing as I quickly made copies on the office’s photocopier, leaving the originals there, he would’ve never suspected that anyone else ever laid eyes on those files. He would’ve come back and finished shredding them, none the wiser. It was simply a matter of very, very lucky timing for me.

By the time I got back to the accounting floor, it was bustling with staff. 

I asked one of the women in the hallway about Callum, because I had no idea what he actually looked like, and she pointed me toward a short, stocky young blond man in the accountant break room. I was just about to leave to speak to him when she stopped me.

"Hey, aren't you the guy in the papers?" she asked, biting her bottom lip. "With the whole Peyton Cadwell thing?"

I froze for a second, convinced I was about to get my ass thrown out of here, but then she smiled widely and handed me her business card.

"Call me if you’re ever free. I get lonely," she said in a flirty voice, and waved before leaving.

Women.

I went into the break room, and Callum's eyes zeroed in on mine. Was I imagining it, or did he look guilty as fuck?

I made my way to the coffee machine that he was sitting next to, pushing some random buttons and pretending to wait for my drink.

"Hey, man," I said to Callum, tilting my head to the side. "I saw you earlier in the parking lot, right?"

"Maybe," he replied, staring at me over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Nice car you've got there." I grinned at him, taking my own Styrofoam cup from the machine. "I love Ferraris. Then again, who doesn’t, right?"

"Hm. Yeah," he said, looking at the floor.

God, the guy was hard to talk to.

I took a closer look at him and realized he probably wasn't just some jackass trying to fend off a conversation. He looked vaguely upset about something.

"Hey, you all right?" I asked, worried I’d already blown it.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, I’m fine," he said. He hesitated for a second, then looked back up at me. "It's actually not my car. It was my dad's."

I stared at the hot liquid in my cup for a few seconds as I thought about what this meant. Callum wasn't rich—the car was apparently his father's. So it looked like people (such as Gloria) had the wrong impression about this guy. Including me. I could very well be barking up the wrong tree.

Then again, he could just be a good actor. Or good at hiding most of his other assets. I could imagine that someone guilty of embezzling money probably wouldn’t flash it around too much, making it obvious that they were suddenly wealthy. They’d probably keep it well-hidden in offshore accounts so that no one would ever suspect a thing. But they might get one nice thing for themselves and claim it was a gift or inheritance, which was believable enough.

"Oh, yeah?" I finally said. "Well, he has good taste."

"Had. He passed away a couple of years ago," he muttered. "Left me the car and not much else. I guess it's a conversation starter, at least.”

I was surprised to see genuine sadness in his eyes as he spoke.

"I'm sorry," I said. He just gave me a simple nod.

"I know what it's like to lose someone," I added, not sure what else to say to break the awkward silence. Callum raised his eyebrows. I was surprised myself, because apart from my grandpa when I was four, I hadn't lost anyone... except for Peyton. And even though it hopefully wasn't permanent, it still fucking hurt.

"It's rough," Callum replied with a small nod. "Hey, do you work here?"

"Just here for an internship. Only been here a few days,” I lied smoothly. He seemed to believe me.

"Come on," he said, getting up. "I'll show you to the main conference room, if you’ve forgotten your way around. That’s where the interns usually meet up in the mornings."

Fuck.

I decided to play it cool and gave him a bright smile as I followed him out of the break room. I needed to use this to my advantage, and I saw my chance as we walked past his office. Callum was chatting about his father’s love of cars, and I replied politely, waiting for a lull in the conversation. And it came at the perfect time.

"Hey, isn’t this your office?" I asked, pointing to the door with his name on the plaque. Then I realized I wasn’t supposed to know his name. We hadn’t actually been introduced. Shit. “I…uh… I thought I saw you coming out of there the other day,” I added.

He bought it. "No, must’ve been someone else you saw," he said. Then he rolled his eyes. "It’s ridiculous how they haven’t changed the plaque yet. I was moved to a different office about a year and a half ago.” Then he sighed. “Still not over it,” he added in a mutter.

"How come?" I asked with raised eyebrows.

He turned his back to the door and motioned to the one next to it.

"This girl I like works there," he said awkwardly.

I peeked into the room. The girl who'd handed me her card stood in the office, talking on the phone. I grinned at Callum and handed him the business card she'd given me, her private number handwritten on the back.

"You should call her." I winked at him. "I hear she gets lonely."

He stared at me, and then laughed and shook his head.

"So who uses this office then?" I asked conversationally, trying to shift his attention back. "Like you said, they never took your plaque off the door."

"No. Idiots… it still confuses people who come here looking for me.”

“I can imagine.”

“But yeah… I guess it doesn't really belong to anyone right now." He shrugged. "Sometimes the temps or interns use it, because it still has all the stuff in it. Computer, photocopier, and so on."

Fuck. Nowhere near closer to my answer.

"So why haven't you made a move on that girl?" I asked.

"Cecilia?" He sighed. "I guess I just didn't want to be one of those annoying guys who hits on her at work, you know? I’ve made that mistake before. Got drunk at a staff Christmas party once. Tried to hit on everyone. Went down like a lead balloon.”

"Right."

"But you know Rob Silver?" he said in a hushed, conspiratorial voice. "He's been using this office constantly to try and get her to go out with him. It's so pathetic. He’s more than twenty years older than her. Can’t the dude find someone his own age? She’s obviously not interested.”

Bin-fucking-go!

"He's the head of accounting, isn’t he?" I asked, remembering that from something I'd overheard in the hotel.

"Yeah." Callum nodded. "Head of sleaze, I call him. But don’t you dare tell anyone I said that."

My brows furrowed as a realization struck me like a thunderbolt. Tristan told me that it wasn’t easy for accountants to skim money off the top of businesses they worked for, regardless of how easy movies and TV shows made it look. But if someone was going to do it, who would find it easiest to pull off?

The fucking head of accounting, that’s who.

I laughed and clapped Callum on the back. "Thanks, man."

"Huh?" He gave me a confused look as I made my way to the hallway which led out of the accounting offices. "What about your internship?"

“Doesn’t matter. And hey," I called back at him. “Ask her out."

Callum laughed and shook his head. "You know, maybe I will," he said with a grin.

I gave him a wave, and then I turned around and strode down the hallway. There was only one more person I needed to find now.

But he wasn’t going to be easy to talk to.

* * *

I was nervous as fuck.

I’d had to sit in the hall and wait three long hours for Vincent Cadwell to return to the hotel from wherever he’d been half the day (thank god for smart phone games, or I would’ve died of boredom). When I got up and approached him, I was surprised he didn’t immediately call security and have me thrown out, but here we were.

Now, I was sitting across from him in his opulent office, and his eyes were heavy on mine. I’d just told him everything I thought I knew about what was going on in the accounting department of his hotel, and he hadn’t said a word. He’d simply glared at me the entire time.

And he had every right to.

"So, yes, that's about it," I finished, my throat feeling dry as hell. "Oh, one more thing."

"And what might that be?" he asked coolly.

"The guy who kinda helped me figure it out works in the accounting department," I said. "Callum Houston. Really nice guy, if you're ever looking to promote anyone."

Vincent stared at me intently for several seconds. His face was still clouded, and I was convinced he was going to shoot me like a villain in a Bond movie. 

And then suddenly, he laughed. What the hell?

“You’re really something, you know that?” he said, still chuckling and shaking his head. “Jesus…”

Okay, he was definitely going to shoot me.

He leaned forward, a frown quickly returning to his face. “You of all people, coming to my office after what you did and how you treated my daughter," he went on. "And telling me that one of my closest friends and colleagues is somehow embezzling money from right under our noses…”

I looked down, certain he was about to tell me to go fuck myself with a pair of scissors.

He nodded slowly instead. “It’s a brave thing to do,” he said. “Takes real balls, I’ll tell you that.”

I looked up again. I had no idea what to say. “Uh…”

“I’ve been worried about the hotel finances for a while. Francine seems to think it’s just the normal ebb and flow of business, but we haven’t reached projected revenues in over a year now. The quarterlies always fall short. Not so short that it causes anyone else concern, but still… short. It’s made me nervous.”

“I see.”

He sighed. “So despite who you are, Kaden, and what you’ve done… I’ll look into this right away. If you’re right, he will of course be dealt with."

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear that,” I said, feeling my heartbeat slowly returning to normal. "Thanks for hearing me out instead of throwing me out. And again, I’m so sorry, Vincent... about everything."

"It’s Mr. Cadwell to you," he replied, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Mr. Cadwell," I said. "Sorry, yes, of course."

"Anyway, I appreciate you telling me,” he said. Then his face turned stony. “What I don't appreciate is you messing with my daughter and the reputation of my hotel.”

I lowered my gaze again. “Sorry.”

He shook his head slowly. “Francine always thought you looked familiar. She kept talking about it weeks ago, about how there was a bellboy who she swore she’d seen before. I thought she just had a silly little crush, to be honest.” He sniffed. “I had no idea she was right, and that we had in fact seen you before with your parents at some sort of business event. When you were much younger, of course. It was no wonder we didn’t recognize you immediately.”

I sighed. "Look, Mr. Cadwell, I never meant to hurt your family," I said. "Never.”

“But you did come to work here under a fake name to spy for those idiotic parents of yours, no?” he asked. “And I can presume you didn’t tell Peyton? I know what these articles are saying about her, but I know she didn’t get you the job and put you up to all of this. I haven’t actually spoken to her about it yet, because she’s gone away for a couple of days to sulk, but I just can’t believe she would do that. I can’t say I’m at all pleased with her for hooking up with a staff member and getting caught by the media, but aside from that, I know she didn’t know who you really were.”

I nodded. “Yes. It was my parents. And yes, I lied. Peyton didn’t know who I was until recently.”

His eyes widened a little. He was clearly surprised at my unreserved honesty. “Right. And during your spying here, you found something, of course. As we just discussed.”

I nodded again. “Yes. But I was sure it had nothing to do with you or your wife. I did my best to convince my parents of that. And I certainly didn't leak those photos of your daughter and me."

Vincent didn’t reply for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, he sighed. "Somehow, I'm inclined to believe you, which might be incredibly stupid," he said. "But I'll take your word for it. Now, are we done here?"

He made a move to stand up, and I swallowed heavily. "Just one more thing, Mr. Cadwell," I said.

He sat back down. "Yes?" he said, his eyebrows lifting once again.

"It's about Peyton," I said. "I know I lied to her. I know I hurt her. I know I’m a Pierce, and our families don’t exactly get along. But I intend on making things right between us, Mr. Cadwell."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't see how that will be possible," he replied, his tone clipped and cool again. "I know my daughter, and she doesn't forgive very easily. Neither do I, for that matter."

"I'll do my best to convince her how sorry I am," I said. "And you and the rest of your family, too. No matter what it takes. I promise.”

He sighed and stood up again. Then he took some papers off the desk and shuffled them in his hands. I got up too, simultaneously feeling a little petrified and a little brave.

Finally, Vincent spoke up again, extending a hand to me as he did so. "Best of luck to you, Kaden," he said, giving me a crushingly-firm handshake. "You'll need it."

* * *

I left Vincent Cadwell’s office feeling much better about myself.

What I'd discovered wasn't going to magically fix everything I’d done and take back all the lies I told, but it sure as hell was going to help make me look like a better man in Peyton's eyes. Her parents, too. I'd fucked up, but I was more than ready to make amends and show her I was a decent guy.

Maybe that would be enough to get a second chance.

As I made my way downstairs, I saw Andreas standing off in the corner, looking at his phone. He didn't notice me, and a pang of guilt went through me as I remembered that text he'd ignored. I'd really gotten on everyone's bad side, including him, and it sucked. I actually really liked the dude. We always got along well, from the very start.

I decided to go over and say hi; try to make amends.

He was so engrossed with his phone that he didn’t see or hear me approach, and when I tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped and dropped the phone. “Jesus, man!” he said.

"Fuck, sorry," I replied, scrambling to pick it up for him. So much for my plan of making it up to everyone involved in this royal mess...

As I picked up his phone, I glanced at the screen, seeing his camera reel open on it. He had a shit-ton of photos on there, and the ones he’d been looking at were of Peyton in the club at the staff party the other night.

"Here you go," I said, handing him the phone back. I arched a brow. "You better not let Peyton see those. You know how she hates people taking candid pics of her. Reminds her of the stupid paparazzi guys who follow her around.”

“Yeah. Right,” he muttered. He grabbed the phone out of my hand, refusing to meet my eyes. I really hated myself then, hated that I'd fucked up every relationship I'd made at the Mirabella.

I suddenly noticed that Andreas was really pale, almost twitchy with nervousness.

This wasn’t about me and my betrayal. There was something else going on with him. Maybe he was worried about what I just said about the pictures on his phone? After all, he’d always been obsessed with the idea of being friends with Peyton, and he certainly didn’t want to get on her bad side.

"Hey, it's okay. They’re just photos. She probably wouldn’t mind that much," I said with a grin, clapping him on the back. "I was just saying.”

“I just… I…uh…” He was stuttering so much I thought he was about to have a panic attack or something.

I furrowed my brows. “What’s wrong? I mean, come on, man. I’m not the jealous type. I’m not gonna beat you up for having photos of her. I know you’re friends with her, and we were all at that party,” I said with a wry grin. Then I sighed. “Besides, it’s not like I’m with her anymore, anyway.”

“Oh. Right.” Andreas looked like he was calming down a little now, but then something occurred to me.

He was being way too weird about this. It was one thing to take a few photos at a party and have a quick glance through them later on, but he’d practically had a heart attack when he realized that I’d seen what he was looking at. That wasn’t normal. And I hadn’t seen anyone else who was at the party in those photos.

It was all Peyton.

I looked into his eyes, and somehow, I just knew what was really going on. It was suddenly so obvious to me.

“You take a lot of photos of Peyton?” I asked, trying to sound casual. There was still a chance that I was wrong.

But Andreas lowered his gaze, and I knew I was right.

“Holy shit. It was you, wasn’t it, man?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You took those other photos of us together. The ones the gossip sites have right now.”

It made sense. Those photos were taken in the employee wardrobe, which Andreas had access to. And he was there that day when the leaked photos were taken. He could’ve followed Peyton and me in there; could’ve seen us together.

"I…." He gulped heavily, and that was enough to confirm my suspicion.

I grabbed him by his shirt and slammed his back into the wall. He breathed heavily, coughing and sputtering as I forced him up against the wall.

"What the fuck were you thinking, man?" I growled. "How could you do this?"

He was looking redder by the second, and I loosened my grip a little so I didn’t straight up kill him. I couldn't believe it. I knew Andreas was obsessed with Peyton, but I didn’t know he was a fucking stalker. I thought he just wanted to be her friend because he idolized her so much.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Sorry isn't good enough!" I said, slamming him against the wall again. "Why the fuck would you do this, Andreas? How could you do this to Peyton? And how could you let the media get ahold of those photos you took? You’ve seen what those articles are saying about her! And me, too, but fuck….”

He didn't say a word.

"You better fucking tell me what’s going on," I said in a warning tone.

I noticed people staring at us, so I pulled him into a hallway where we could be alone. It was only a matter of minutes before I got myself permanently kicked out of the Mirabella, but I needed to get to the bottom of this fucking mess.

"I’m sorry," he finally repeated, his eyes widening with fear when he saw my hands curling into fists.

"For what?" I snapped. "Just say it. You’re stalking her, right?”

He took a heavy, shaky breath, and I made myself loosen my grip again even though I wanted to strangle the guy.

"I’m not a stalker. I was… I was hired," he said reluctantly.

My eyebrows shot up. “Hired?”

"Yeah. To spy on Peyton."

"What the fuck?" I said. "Hired by who?"

"I don't know!" he replied. "I don't know, man, I just got the money for the pictures I took.”

I let go of him, feeling so disgusted by his mere existence that I didn’t want to touch him for a second longer.

"So did you fucking leak those photos?" I asked. He must've known I'd knock his teeth out if he answered in the affirmative, because his whole body shook along with his head. "You better tell me the truth, you slimy little jerk, because I'm going to find out one way or another, and if I catch you in a lie..."

I didn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t need to.

"No," Andreas said, vehemently shaking his head. "Of course I didn't leak them. I just emailed them to the person who hired me. I never knew this would happen."

"Bullshit,” I said. "You must have known they’d use this against us!"

"I'm sorry," he repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time, looking down.

I was about to press him for more information, like the email address he’d sent the photos to (if that was even true), but my phone vibrated with a text in my pocket, and I pulled it out to check it just in case. I was so fucking sick of everything, but at the same time, I was worried something else would happen to mess up my life even further.

My eyes locked in on the screen, and I read the text with wide eyes. Please come help. I don't feel good. I’m at Rosewood Boulevard. Club Zero. 

The message was from Peyton. She must have unblocked my number to send it.

My blood froze in my veins as I stared at those words. Seconds ticked by slower than ever, and I felt panic and bile rising in my throat. Something was very, very wrong if Peyton was texting me like this. She was so mad at me the last time we'd spoken, and I knew she wouldn't just text me out of the blue unless it was an emergency that she thought only I could help with.

"I have to go," I said, looking up only to find Andreas long gone. He must have sneaked away when I looked down at my phone. Fucking rat.

My mouth was a thin line as I made my way out of the Mirabella. I was going to have to deal with him later.

Right now, I had to help Peyton.