IT WAS after eleven when I found myself stepping from the elevator and into the darkness of my penthouse. It was quiet–too quiet. Finley had driven Blue over to Duke this morning and was told to fetch her back at the end of the day, just as he had yesterday. I hadn’t heard from him, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Finley didn’t often speak unless he needed to be heard.
I removed my suit jacket and placed it over the back of the sofa as I walked through the room, taking in my surroundings for any signs of life as I neared the kitchen. My feet came to a halt as I reached the entryway that separated the kitchen from the hallway. My fingers dug into my palms as I stared at the floor, itching to step back and pour myself a drink before taking a late shower. But before I could succumb to the craving, my attention was stolen. It was minimal, but the faint sound of someone crying echoed down the hall. I frowned, my chin raising and my line of sight falling on Blue’s bedroom door. My bedroom door.
The crying, I realised, was coming from Blue. Hesitantly, I strode quietly across the floor until I reached the door that separated us. I wrapped my fist around the handle, seconds away from letting myself in before thinking better of it. Loosening my grip, I slid my knuckles against the hardwood and instead, very gently, double-tapped.
“Blue?”
The crying lessened, and a muffled “What?” came from the other side.
I scrubbed my free hand over my forehead. “Can I come in?”
“It’s your room,” she said. “You can do whatever you want.”
Not the entire truth, but I bit my tongue, knowing she was upset, and whatever I was about to step into could only be made worse by saying the wrong thing.
I opened the door and stepped into the bedroom, barely closing it behind me. The first thing I noticed was the white glow illuminating her, courtesy of the tall pink lamp nestled in the corner of the room. My eyes lingered, knowing it wasn’t there before. But then I turned to Blue, and suddenly, the lamp became irrelevant. Freshly showered and sitting up in bed, she wiped at her cheeks. In an otherwise black room, the white quilt pooled over her thighs, leaving her visible in a satin cami from the waist up. Tears were falling from under her dark lashes, creating wet lines down her makeup-less face.
My hands slid into the pockets of my slacks. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” she said, avoiding eye contact with me whilst continuously wiping at her face.
I stared at her with a mixture of amusement and concern. “You’re crying.”
“I’m not crying anymore,” she clarified, finally meeting my eyes.
A smirk threatened the corners of my mouth, but I turned my attention away from her and took a few steps towards the window. It was dark out–late–yet London traffic was still relatively busy below us. I remained quiet. If I didn’t push, maybe by her terms, she’d let me in.
“What’s the latest on Hudson?”
Puzzlement covered my face as I turned to look at her over my shoulder. “Hudson?”
She pursed her lips. “He made headlines today. Did you know that?”
“I know that, but how do you know that?” I turned to face her, studying her for answers. She wasn’t the type of girl to purchase a newspaper. Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar was likely more her style.
She looked down at her hands, clutching the blanket over her legs and then back to me. “My tutor, Mr Smith.”
“Mr Smith,” I repeated. “He’s a fan, huh? Have you been using that name of yours in vain? Letting people know who your daddy is to climb Duke’s social ladder and get the status of teacher’s pet?”
She rolled her eyes, which had me walking closer to the bed in annoyance. One minute she was crying, and the next, getting under my skin. In the moment, I didn’t care that James founded The Lagoon and was the majority owner. It was me who had managed it for the last however many fucking years. It was me who got it to where it was today. And it was me who had to deal with both Hudson and the aftermath of the press. I didn’t need her stirring the pot and creating more gossip for sources to sell to third parties.
I quickly realised it was a mistake letting her in on Wez’s mental health problems yesterday. It was the same thing Sophia used to do. I’d tell her something in confidence, and the next thing I knew, I’d be receiving texts from news outlets because a “source” had shared something they shouldn’t have. Sophia had always denied selling the information, but she had enough fame-hungry friends to do the honours on her behalf. You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson, spouting my mouth to untrusting women. Apparently not.
That’s not to say it was true every time. There were plenty of people in the world wanting to see something fall in hopes they could resurrect something better.
“What?” I questioned. “Am I wrong?”
I wanted to be. I wanted to be so fucking wrong.
“You are,” she said, looking up at me from under her eyelashes. Though her eyes were still wet and glossy, there was a determination that wanted to be seen. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
And fuck, maybe to be known.
Maybe it was worth reminding myself she wasn’t typically anything like Sophia. I had no reason not to trust her to fuck me over. Still, I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t care how pretty she was. Or that we shared something minuscule I couldn’t comprehend yet.
I studied her for a moment, and uncertain, I tipped my chin to the bed. “May I sit?”
There was a brief quiet moment, her lips threatening a small smile. Something so simple, so natural, had me questioning what it could mean. I couldn’t read her, and it seemed I kept getting her wrong, no matter how right I thought I was.
I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Be my guest.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
My hands slid from my pockets as I took another step closer and sat myself down beside her. I kicked off my shoes, allowing them to fall to the floor with a soft thud. Then I shuffled myself up the bed, my back angled against the headboard. Raising my arms, I positioned my hands to double as a pillow behind my head. Three nights on the sofa, and the comfort of Blue’s bed, my bed, felt like pure fucking bliss. I needed to get her set up in her own room, pronto.
“Comfy?” she asked, amusement in her tone. Her features had softened, and now a smile really was gracing her face.
I frowned, but there was likely a sparkle of something in my eye because my gaze was drawn to her mouth. Rolling my lips, I wondered what they’d feel like on hers. Pouty and pink, and oh so soft. Her tongue peeked out, and then she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. My eyes raised, catching hers, as we sat there in a silence that began to feel so incredibly suffocating. I thought, for one second, I might have stopped breathing. And if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was looking back at me the same way I was her, with nothing but pure unfiltered lust and a promise of a good time.
My head spun, yet my cock perked up with interest. Seventeen, my mind protested. Yet legal in more ways than one.
What was wrong with me? How had I allowed this girl into my penthouse and my head so freely? And what the fuck did it mean? This was a business deal, yet the things I was thinking would have James burying me in a shallow grave and Sophia standing over it screaming, “I fucking knew it!”
“No,” I said.
Her smile fell. “No… you’re not comfy?”
I cleared my throat, somehow hoping that it could clear the weird tension brewing between us. Or in me.
“Where’d you get the lamp?” I asked, changing the direction of our conversation while staring at it over her shoulder. Anything to will away the sudden urge to touch her. That wasn’t me. And for fuck’s sake, I was still married. Even if that marriage never really meant shit.
“I noticed a furniture boutique on the way home from Duke and asked Finley if we could stop for a little retail therapy.”
My eyes found hers again, and that sadness that was there when I first stepped into the room was brewing in them once again. “Retail therapy?”
She nodded.
“What happened today that had you crying and seeking retail therapy?”
“Do you remember what we spoke about in the car when we first landed? About people having a perception of me before getting to know me?”
“Vaguely,” I muttered. And also, yes, because I was incredibly guilty of it. But she didn’t need to know that.
“Well,” she said. “Mr Smith did exactly that–”
I smothered a chuckle with my palm over my jaw before she’d even finished her sentence. She clamped her mouth closed and then threw her arm over her face with a groan. It amused me–her thinking she was an exception to others’ judgements. I’d put money on her being guilty of judging others herself.
Removing a hand from behind my head with quick reflexes, I caught her wrist in my grip to pull her arm back down. “Less of that,” I mumbled. She didn’t try to remove it. In fact, she raised an eyebrow at me while staring at me through those glossy eyes. They were so full of depth, I imagined it would be effortless for the right person to drown in them.
“Are you upset that he judged you?” I asked. “Or was it because he misjudged you?”
Her eyebrows sank together. “Is there a difference?”
I loosened my grip on her wrist and allowed myself to sink back to my side of the bed.
“You have a lot to learn if you want to make something of yourself, kid. The world is full of bastard opinions and people who think they have everything figured out. Judging is our own bullshit personal hierarchy.” I tucked my elbow behind my head and nestled back into a slouch. “What was it he said?”
She huffed out a heavy breath and slumped back against the headboard beside me. I tried not to notice that her head was almost resting on my shoulder, but I couldn’t deny how connected I felt when I was near her for reasons I couldn’t explain.
“He didn’t like how uninterested I was in his lecture. He said Duke does a background check on every student. He brought up my father. He showed me today’s paper–the image of Hudson–and then he had the nerve to ask me if I wanted to make headlines or if I wanted to write them! He said there’d be more students respectful of my place. That I should consider changing my degree to something less strenuous. He basically called me an airhead.”
My eyes closed with a sigh, and I wondered if I looked as tired as I felt. I wouldn’t allow this minor inconvenience to stand in the way of me and my end goal. I felt for Blue, how perhaps she was being judged by her father’s reputation in society. But fuck that, it was merely the club at the top of mine. Which was why I said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort it.”
Although my eyes were closed, I could feel her looking at me when she asked her next question. “You’ll sort it? How?”
“With money,” I answered dryly. “How the fuck else?”
Almost everyone, and everything, could be brought for the right price. Her father taught me that.
MY EYES FOUGHT TO OPEN, constricting with a stream of light forcing its way through the luxury curtained voiles. It took a minute to comprehend, but no longer than two, to realise I’d fallen asleep beside Blue.
With my arm under her neck, I’d threaded my fingers through her hair and, at some point, pulled her head to lay in the crevice of my neck.
I lifted my chin from the bed and towards the lamp in the corner of the room, careful not to wake her. The light had been switched off, which only confirmed she hadn’t tried to wake me and that I must have been out for the whole night and not for a few hours, as I’d initially hoped.
The last thing I remembered was telling her I’d sort out the situation with her tutor–the next… nowt.
The predicament I was in was made worse when I realised that Blue had forgone her blanket during the night and had one leg hooked over my own. I held back a curse as she shuffled sleepily against me. Any closer, her bare thigh would be nestled over my cock. Which seemed to be hard and excited at the probability of being so close to a nice warm cunt. The first in a long fucking time.
Wanting to untangle my fingers from her hair, I eased back my hand and stretched my arm above her head, slowly manoeuvring my way out from under her. Despite my body aching to stay, I felt a sense of clarity as I left the bed. She stirred but, to my delight, didn’t wake. Absently, I reached down to collect my shoes from the floor, like some backward walk of shame. Even then, I admired the dusting of freckles on her cheeks and her dark feathered lashes. I found myself wishing I could run a finger down the length of her nose, grip her jaw between my fingers and stroke my thumb over her luscious lips without it being…wrong. They were so damn kissable, I wondered if anyone had ever had the privilege. Whether she’d ever had a kiss to light her up inside–if she’d had a good enough kiss to make her pussy wet and eager for cock.
Jesus.
I shook my head at my absurdity. Now wasn’t the right time to be thinking those things. Never was the time to be admiring the sleeping brat.
Her lips.
Or her pussy.
Without waking her, I made my way from the room. And then, on route to my morning shower, I decided I’d leave the penthouse without acknowledging how I’d fallen asleep beside her or how fucking good it felt to wake well rested with her body nestled against mine.
However, by the tightness in my trousers, I imagined my cock wouldn’t be able to forget it as easily.
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, I’d completely skipped on my morning workout and instead was pulling to a stop outside Duke.
Without Blue.
She could hitch her usual ride with Finley. And given that there was still at least an hour to go until her classes started, I had plenty of time to find this Mr Smith and demand he treat her with a little more respect than he had the past two days.
I’d say I was minding my own business when a trio of attractive blonde females strolled past me with hearts in their eyes, but I couldn’t help but notice them. I merely returned the hearts with a smirk as I refastened the cuff links on my suit, and just as quickly as they checked me out, they were scattering towards the building to get in from the threatened rain.
Making my way through the tall doors of the old building, I immediately noticed a pointed arrow with the word ‘office’ and headed straight to it. I didn’t bother knocking, immediately trying the handle. However, it was locked. Sighing, I pulled up the sleeve of my jacket and checked the time on my watch.
“The office doesn’t open for another twenty minutes,” a female voice spoke from behind me. “Mrs Berry needs at least three cups of coffee before she decides to start her day like the rest of us mere mortals.”
“I don’t have twenty minutes,” I said as I turned to face the voice in question.
It was one of the females from outside, all big brassy blonde hair and blue eyes. Who, not so many moments ago, had given me heart eyes. Pretty would be a word used to describe her. She looked at me from top to toe with interest. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Are you a student?” She looked young-ish. Younger than me. Maybe five years older than Blue. Though she wasn’t wearing a school skirt like the one Blue had, but dark fitted trousers with kitten heels.
“No.” She laughed. “I’m the librarian.”
I studied her for a moment. What were the chances she could point me in the direction of Mr Smith?
“I’m here to talk to Mr Smith.”
“There are a few Mr Smi—”
“Media and Journalism.”
“Ah.” Her eyes breezed down the length of my Armani suit for the second time. “Are you here to discuss a conference?”
What’s another lie? “I am.”
“Well, my name is Kirsty–”
I interrupted her. “I’m not here for introductions. I’m just here to speak with Mr Smith. Can you point me in the right direction or not?” I glanced another look at my watch, realising I’d wasted another two minutes of valuable time. Time that could be spent at the club, organising the final preparation for fight night. Not cleaning up silly little situations so Blue would feel more comfortable here.
She pursed her lips, then nodded. “Follow me.”
I matched her slow strides down the corridor and through two sets of automatic doors before we took a sharp left.
“I’ve just realised who you are,” she expressed. “You’re the face of that club, right? Blue… something.”
“Lagoon.”
“Yes! That’s the one. It’s not really my scene.”
“No?” I tried to sound surprised, but she was a librarian. Of course, it wasn’t her scene. Only certain types of people entered The Lagoon, and she didn’t strike me as any of them.
“Mm.” She glanced a condescending look at me. “I mean to say that I heard it can get pretty wild there at times. What with the fighters and the club being so close together. All that confined energy. The paper said you’d been raided not so long ago for drugs? Actually, just yesterday in the canteen, I read that one of your top fighters sustained an injury, which could be extremely damaging for his career and your business. The paper made it seem like that was drug-related too.”
I’d never known someone to go from heart eyes, to not interested, to nosey as fuck so quickly. Not that I cared for the attention of a woman who had no idea what she was talking about. It wasn’t often someone recognised me. My face hadn’t been in the paper since our last event. But that’s not what bothered me. I was hoping the old news of our drug raid was just that. Old. And clearly, this Mr Smith hadn’t just shown Blue the article about Hudson but assumedly had been passing it around to his colleagues. It was expected–people purchasing newspapers and magazines. But I’m sure, by what Blue had told me of this man, he only had unkind things to say. As did many people who didn’t understand the sport or the scene. But given that Blue was his student, it was unprofessional. And to be frank, it pissed me right the fuck off.
Many small-minded people assumed the club was a story away from being finished. And there was always someone trying to sell fake news.
Our fighters may have come from tough backgrounds, with enough baggage to fill every bin in a ten-mile radius, but that meant nothing. Not in the grand scheme of things. The Lagoon’s nightclub wasn’t just any club. It was high end. Luxurious yet daring. And of fucking course, drugs slipped through my doors undetected, but what establishment could ever say they were one hundred percent drug-free? As long as my name wasn’t associated with the hobby and that Blue Lagoon’s fighters were keeping clean, I didn’t give a fuck who snorted coke off whoever’s fucking cock.
Or tits.
Or took a bump in whichever fucking toilet.
There was a reason I paid my staff so well and a reason my cleaners got a tidy bonus every year.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t believe everything you read. Or share gossip without knowing the facts.”
Embarrassed she’d offended me, she placed a hand on my arm as we walked. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant.”
“Please be quiet,” I said, removing her arm.
The rest of the walk I spent composing an email to James while brassy big hair led us through the maze of Victorian walls. A few lies scattered here and there in my reply to drive home the fact his daughter had settled in so well. That she and Sophia had bonded over a movie night. Lies, lies and shit, more lies.
I didn’t have it in me to tell the truth to James or feign politeness to the woman beside me, when the sole reason I was here was to put an end to Mr Smith’s judgement of Blue. Perhaps the next email I sent would tell more of the truth. Or not. I hadn’t given it much consideration at this point.
Brassy big hair slowed her steps, and I slid my phone into my trouser pocket when we finally stopped walking.
“His office is through there,” she said, signalling towards a door a mere few feet away from us.
“Thanks.” I tipped my chin. “I’ll find my own way out.”
She bit back a tight smile, understanding that I wasn’t interested in idle chit chat. Or anything else she had to say. Or offer.
I entered the room to find Mr Smith sitting at his mid-century desk. I didn’t expect him to look like a cartoon character with his butt-chin and glasses bunched on the end of his nose, so it was only natural I was holding back a chuckle when he turned his head towards my intrusion.
“I was unaware I had any meetings this morning,” he grunted.
“You don’t. I’m not staying long. I’m here on behalf of Blue Sterling.”
His eyes narrowed as he stood from his chair. “And you are?”
“A man willing to write you a decent-sized cheque if you get off her back and not single her out in a class full of students because her last name happens to be one you dislike,” I said without a breath. “Her association with The Lagoon is second-hand and has fuck all to do with her degree.” I tried not to raise my voice, but just knowing I was a few feet away from the prick who made her cry was invoking something territorial in me.
“She’s been here two days, and I’m yet to see her show any interest in anything I have to say, Mr…?”
“Walker.” I ground my teeth together as I did a quick scope of the room.
Recognition seemed to flicker over his face. He knew who I was, just like the librarian had. He was someone who didn’t like what The Lagoon represented. He probably considered himself above it like half of London.
“She’s just not an intellectual girl. If she put effort into raising her hand and answering questions like the other students here, I may think differently. She spends most of her time on her phone or staring off into the void. Now, this would be something I’d perhaps expect further through the term, but on day two?” He shook his head. “I won’t tolerate it. She should have never been accepted into my class.”
“How much?” I asked. “Name your price.”
“Excuse me?”
I unfastened my suit jacket and took a thick wad of cash from my inner pocket, watching as his gaze fell to the fastened paper bills in my hand. “How much is it going to cost me for you to treat her as I hope you respectfully treat all your other students?”
Four thousand pounds sat in my palm, and yet he waved his hand in the air as if to shoo it away.
“I don’t want your money, Mr Walker.”
Lying greedy cunt. He wanted more of my money.
“Everyone wants my money. There’s a lot more of this.” I expressed by flicking through the cash in my hand. “Consider this a down payment. I can write you a cheque through a third party if you’d prefer. Nobody would know.”
“No, thank you. Now, if you’ll see yourself out. I have students’ work to review. Students who want to be here,” he went on to say.
I was half tempted to pocket my cash and punch the smug look clean off his face, but with what I had at stake, I chose not to be such an irrational fucking bastard. Instead, I lifted my chin, more than adamant about getting my point across to the receding bald prick. “Blue wants to be here.”
He scowled, placing a finger on the centre of his glasses as he pushed them up his long nose. “She’ll have to convince me.”
Frowning, I ground out, “How. Much?”
The tone of his skin was already pinker than most, but it was apparent he was becoming flustered. “I—I—this is absurd.” He shook his head from side to side, that smugness he wore like a second skin seeming to disappear by the second. “I could lose my job.”
“I’m not asking you to fake her grades, Mr Smith. I’m offering you money, and in return, all I’m asking is that you show her some respect. Unless…?”
“Unless?”
“I pay you enough to retire, and someone else takes your place.” Looked like I was willing to do whatever it took. It was like my mind had been replaced by another. As if I was living outside my body, and my mouth was moving without being granted permission to fucking speak.
He continued to shake his head. “Mr Walker. You may consider yourself better than me because I am a teacher, and you are an entrepreneur, but I will not be bribed. With the utmost respect, if you offer me payment again, I will contact both the school board and the local authority and have them investigate.”
My jaw ticked, but I gave no fuck for threats. Striding forward, I made my way to Mr Smith’s desk and placed the wad of cash over yesterday’s paper. Hudson’s sad face looked back at me. Whatever he was hurt about, I felt for the poor lad.
Leaving my money on the desk, I took time to refasten my jacket before I turned and breezed back to Mr Smith. With a foot between us and his self-assured attitude that wreaked of stale sweat, I couldn’t help but disclose my examination of him.
“Perhaps you’re above accepting bribes, but I’ve seen more bully in you in the last five minutes than I’ve seen in Barnes since he stepped through my doors and asked if someone could teach him how to fight.”
With that, I left him with his mouth agape and steam shooting from his ears.
Okay, no steam.
Still, I’d never seen such a cartoon character of a man. I was disappointed when the steam didn’t happen.
When I slid into my G-Wagon another ten minutes later, I threw my head back against the leather of my seat with a heavy exhale. I couldn’t help but crave a drink, but still, I fought against it.
