Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  Her intelligent blue eyes studied me. “You’re on edge.”

  Jane’s eyes, rounded with shock, filled my vision.

  Those plump lips parted on a gasp.

  Then I heard her whisper, “I love you, Ash.”

  Fury flooded me.

  Trying to stem the tide of emotion, I waved at Dakota. “You got news?”

  Dakota had been hired by Irwin Alderidge, a powerful man I saved and befriended in prison. He knew Dakota because she ran the most elite brothel in Los Angeles. And she owed Irwin. I didn’t know why. It was none of my business. All I knew was that it must’ve been some debt for her to jeopardize her brothel’s reputation for me.

  If I were a better man, I wouldn’t have put her in that position, but all I cared about was that her debt meant a chance to give Skye the justice she deserved. Dakota agreed to infiltrate Foster Steadman’s wife’s social circle. It took her three months. None of the morons realized Dakota wasn’t the wife of a rich CEO. She was the rich CEO. If someone wanted to make money selling sex, there was no better or safer place to look than Dakota’s. She took care of her people. No one fucked with a Dakota employee.

  Getting close to Rita Steadman meant getting close to Foster. Dakota gained his trust enough to tell him about her brothel. He’d heard of it, of course. She’d opened the golden gates to him. VIP access. The bastard bit the bait and for the last six months, we’d been recording and filming him at the brothel. He liked the girls to play out a forced-seduction scenario. That was putting it politely.

  “We’re done,” Dakota said. Her tone was ice. Firm. “He hurt one of my girls, which means he’s banned. No exceptions. I also had Lucifer fuck him up enough to send a message. I don’t care who he is.”

  That explained the conversation between Asher and Jane in the car about Steadman’s black eye.

  As disappointed and concerned as I was, I wished I’d been there to see that. Lucifer was one of Dakota’s security guys—six foot seven and built like a Mack Truck.

  “You have enough to ruin him, Griffin.”

  Not flinching at the name everyone but Irwin and Lorna used now, I shrugged. Like this didn’t matter to me, when it mattered the most. “It isn’t enough.” What we had on Steadman could ruin his marriage and his social reputation, but how long would that last? He’d be back to making movies and money within weeks when some other scandal came along.

  No, I needed evidence that would put him in prison.

  “How bad was it?”

  “He … was trying to do something she didn’t want to do. Lucifer heard her screaming down the hall.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “We have it on tape. But, of course, my girl’s face will be blurred out when we give it to you.”

  Which meant it might be useless in court. If no one wanted to step up and press charges, all it might do was ruin his rep. For a while. I wasn’t going to manipulate anyone into testifying against the bastard, not after what he’d already put them through.

  “She okay?”

  Dakota’s face softened. “She’ll be fine.”

  What now? Where did I go from there? Rubbing the strain between my brows, I let out a slow exhalation. Frustration didn’t even cover how I felt.

  “I could stay,” Dakota offered in that soft, sexy voice. “Let you work out that pent-up anger you’re not hiding very well tonight.”

  I considered it. Looking at her, watching as she got up and walked toward me. Feeling the heat curl in my gut as she lowered to her haunches in that tight dress and smoothed a hand up my hard thigh.

  But instead of blue eyes, I saw hazel-green ones.

  Instead of sweetheart lips, I saw a full, lush mouth.

  Blond hair was replaced with hair the color of dark chocolate.

  My fingers itched to reach out and touch … but in my mind, I wouldn’t be touching Dakota. “Not tonight.”

  The madam saw too much. She pressed a hand to my chest. “I know there’s someone else in there. I’ve always known. That’s not what we are. It’s just sex, Griffin. Let me make you feel better.”

  Part of me wanted to say yes. To immerse myself in the fantasy. “No.” I grabbed her wrist and gently removed it from my thigh. “When we’ve fucked, I’ve always been fucking you. I wouldn’t be tonight. I may be a bastard, but I’m not asshole enough to fuck a woman while pretending she’s someone else.”

  Dakota processed this, her lips pressed together. Finally, she nodded and stood. I stared at her, wondering if I should be a selfish dick. Take her offer. Burn off this writhing energy that was making my blood too hot.

  She was older than me. Who knew by how much? Could be ten or twenty years. Her face was ageless, either due to good genes or an amazing plastic surgeon. It didn’t matter. Her experience drew me to her. Good sex with no strings attached.

  Yet, when she reached out, caressed my cheek in soft affection and said, “I worry about you, Griffin Stone,” I knew I’d made the right decision. She was a good woman. Few people might think that, doing what she did, but I saw her heart. And I thought it was a good one. Much better than mine.

  “Send me what you have.”

  She nodded and stepped back. “I’ll send over the last tape once we’ve manipulated it. Along with the others.”

  Always taking care of her people.

  “Are you going to drop them?” she asked. “I just want to know what I’m facing here.”

  “I won’t fuck you over. I’m sending them to Rita Steadman and if that last tape doesn’t make her want to leave the prick, I’ll blackmail her. I’ll tell her those tapes will go public. But I won’t do it.”

  At least … I didn’t think I would.

  I didn’t want to screw over Dakota, but I wasn’t sure what I was capable of anymore.

  Dakota seemed assured, though, and left me to it.

  When the front door closed behind her, I slumped against the armchair. I should think of my next move with Steadman. If I couldn’t get anything out of him through Dakota’s, then I needed another way in. I’d start with his personal life.

  Wife, gone. And hopefully she’d take half of everything he had in the divorce.

  What next, though?

  Jane’s voice whispered in my mind. “I love you, Ash.”

  I couldn’t get her out of my head.

  I needed her out of my head so I could concentrate.

  Instead, I heard her whisper again. “I love you so much, Jamie. Keep going. I want this.”

  I groaned and closed my eyes. If I let myself, I could drown in the memories.

  Chapter 18

  JANE

  * * *

  It was so hot, the asphalt within the studio lot had a haze over it. The air outside was dry and thick, causing sweat to bead across my skin. Despite the heat, I hurried across the lot with a fresh cup of hot coffee in my hand. Coffee was a necessity of life, after all.

  Behind me was a massive hangar on a studio lot within the grounds of one of the six majors: Chimera Studios. Inside that hangar were several soundstages, with multiple sets I’d helped design for Patel’s musical.

  Butterflies flapped around like crazy in my belly as I hurried toward my car. I’d been at the lot since 5:00 a.m., making sure the sets were ready for the first day of filming the next day. Patel arrived not too long after, which surprised me considering he was probably hungover. It was just a pop-in visit to see how things were going.

  Now that he was gone, I had an hour for lunch, and I was taking it before someone stopped me—

  “Margot!” a voice called across the lot.

  Damn.

  I turned toward the hangar. Luke, Patel’s PA, stood in the doorway waving me over. Grumbling under my breath, I hurried back across the lot and stepped inside. Sliding my sunglasses up into my hair, I smirked at the way Luke bounced on his feet as if readying to take off on his next mission. I swear to God, he made me feel old; the kid had so much energy.

  “Sandy wants you.”

 
Sandy was the production designer, Vale was the construction coordinator and Joe was the the head of the art department. Sandy and I worked closely together and delegated work to Vale and Joe.

  Pushing aside my irritation, I nodded. “Where is he?”

  “Second soundstage.”

  The first stage we passed was one of several sets for a prison interior. The fake prison felt pretty real as I walked past the visitors’ room. It would. I’d helped design it based on my time spent in the visitation room at the state prison. It hadn’t been easy working on that set. In fact, I’d fought back a lot of painful memories.

  “Margot!” Sandy called from the second stage. It was bigger and hosted several prison cells. The production designer stood next to my assistant, Lea. “We’ve got this old poster of Kate Upton in Berrio’s cell, but Leo says it should be in Pax’s.”

  “It’s Pax’s!” I called back. “It was in Pax’s this morning. What is it doing in Berrio’s?” What the hell?

  “Someone’s been messing around with the set! They’ve moved things. I don’t have time for this shit. Can you come over here and sort this out?”

  “It’s my lunch break. Lea knows what she’s doing.” I was all about giving my trust to the assistants in the art department, since that’s where I’d started.

  Sandy, not so much. “I want it done right.”

  Seeing Lea’s wince, I narrowed my eyes on Sandy. “And Lea will do it right.”

  She brightened and gave me a grateful smile.

  “But—”

  “Not ‘but,’ Sandy. I have an amazing assistant who can fix this very minor issue. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been here since five and I need sustenance. Lea, take care of this?”

  “You got it, boss. I’ll talk to the set dec. She should have the polaroids we took for continuity.”

  I winked at her, ignored Sandy’s scowl, and turned on my heel to leave.

  I wasn’t the type to yell. I didn’t boss people around; I delegated and asked politely. The only time I was less than polite was when someone gave me shit, but even then, I never yelled. I was always calm. In a room filled with lots of people, I was reserved. A little shy, even. Somehow, people always mistook these personality traits for timidity, perhaps even spinelessness.

  I enjoyed proving them wrong.

  The relief of getting in my car was great. I wasn’t lying when I said I needed sustenance. But I also just needed a breather. Sleep failed me last night after I’d hallucinated Jamie.

  Not hallucinated.

  There was definitely a guy standing in that doorway last night. It just hadn’t been Jamie.

  Jamie was long gone from my life, and after what happened to him here, I doubt he’d ever return to LA.

  Driving out of Studio City, I headed east through Toluca Lake, following the freeway toward Glendale. I lived in Silver Lake now, but memories were pulling me home.

  When would Glendale stop being home?

  When would someplace else finally feel like home?

  Would it ever?

  I shrugged off my melancholy and concentrated on finding a parking spot several blocks from the Brand.

  Brand Boulevard was so familiar to me, but I hadn’t visited in at least two years. My favorite panini place was still there, so I stopped in to grab a bite to eat, to fill the empty, nauseating hole in my gut. While I people watched, I was too aware of the time. It was fifteen-minute drive to the lot and I only had half an hour left on my break. I considered where to go before heading back.

  It hit me as soon as I stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  Years ago, Jamie and I would come here and hang out at Brand Bookshop. It closed about a year after he went to prison, not long after Lorna passed along his letter. The one that shattered me.

  However, Asher had mentioned there was a big-chain bookstore in Americana, the mall. So that’s where I headed. I took the long way around, following the path along the edge of the large musical, dancing fountain. I winced at the sight of the large, gold-plated sculpture of a mostly-naked man. It was a recasting of the famous D-Day sculpture, “The Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Waves,” by Donald Harcourt. There were water jets circling the sculpture and now and then they’d come to life around it.

  One of my favorite photos was of me and Jamie standing in front of that sculpture, the jets of water rising behind us. Skye had taken it not long after we’d started dating. Jamie had his arm around me. While I beamed at the camera, still giddy with disbelief that Jamie was mine, he stared down at me with a look of adoration.

  I’d teased him about it, but I secretly loved his expression.

  The photo was still tucked away inside a shoebox in my closet.

  Picking up my pace, I strode around the fountain and headed toward the bookstore. The store was air-conditioned, and that was always welcome on a day like today. I breezed past the coffee shop on the first level and took in the space. It was huge, three levels, with escalators. I searched for signs for the mystery section and made my way toward it. However, as I casually strolled, scanning all the aisle signs, a table in the center of the first floor caught my eye.

  A sign on the table read SIGNED COPIES.

  And sitting on a section of it were two upright books facing outward.

  Brent 29.

  Signed.

  And there were only two copies left.

  I hurried over to the table and snatched up the crisp hardback edition. The booklover in me felt a heady rush of happiness welcome on a day I felt melancholy.

  “You know, we only put these out this morning and they’re already nearly gone,” the cashier said as she rang up the signed edition. “We thought putting them out on a Sunday might give people a chance to get one, but word of mouth seems to have spread.”

  “It’s because he won’t do a tour,” her colleague butted in. “No one knows what the guy looks like. A hermit or something. Signed copies will fly out the door when they come in.”

  “Who says he’s a guy?” the other girl argued, handing over my copy and receipt.

  I thanked her and left them bickering over the sexual identity of Griffin Stone.

  Personally, I believed he was a guy. Maybe because his writing reminded me so much of Jamie’s.

  Once outside the store, I pressed back against the shop window and cracked open the hardback. There on the title page was the same autograph I’d seen in Patel’s copy. Except my copy had a handwritten quote from the author too.

  My favorite quote from the book.

  I smiled to myself, delighted.

  Suddenly, a shadow cast over the page, and I realized someone had come to a stop beside me.

  Invading my personal space.

  Frowning, I glanced up.

  Then my stomach dropped, as though I’d just plunged down the Big Dipper on a roller coaster. Staring down at me, ocean eyes flat beneath his moody brow, was Jamie McKenna.

  I had seen him last night.

  My pulse rushed in my ears, and my whole body shook. “Jamie?”

  His expressionless gaze flicked down to the book I now clutched to my chest, as if it were a life float. “It surprises me—”

  I gasped at the sound of his deep, rumbling, familiar voice, with the East Coast accent he’d never fully rid himself of.

  “—that a woman like you would enjoy a novel that traverses the dark forest of abiding love.”

  His words barely penetrated. I couldn’t stop staring at him.

  I wanted to reach out and touch him.

  It had been so long since I’d done that.

  In that moment, I forgot our last meeting. I forgot how he’d made me bleed inside. I reached for him. “Jamie—”

  He flinched, the blank expression gone in a blaze of fury. He glowered in disbelief, and my hand dropped limply at my side.

  In that moment, he reminded me of a wounded animal.

  How could that be?

  He wasn’t the one whose heart had been broken.

  “Wh
at are you doing here?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

  Yet he heard me. His lips pinched together, and my eyes dropped to them. Longing coursed through me in an agonizing wave, and I hated myself for it. Dragging my gaze back up to his eyes, I saw something calculating in them.

  “What are you doing here?” I was louder now. Attempting to sound in control.

  Jamie smirked, as though he knew better.

  He probably did.

  The bastard.

  “It’s not safe for you to be here, Jamie.” I might despise him for hurting me, but I still … Jesus Christ, I still needed to protect him.

  His eyes flashed dangerously as he bent his head toward mine. My breath caught and held as his scent flooded me. Jamie smelled different, I realized. When we were younger, he always smelled citrusy. Now, there was a hint of that, but something darker, earthier … almost like lime drenched in leather and tobacco. “Is that a threat?” he purred.

  My lashes fluttered and I took a wary step back.

  Was this happening? Was he really here?

  “It wasn’t a threat.”

  “No?” His cheek brushed mine, and I shivered involuntarily as he pressed his lips to my ear. “Well, this is.”

  I tried to pull away, but he gripped my biceps tight, holding me in place so he could whisper, “‘A love that consumes, consumes everything unto utter desolation.’”

  It was my favorite quote from Brent 29.

  “When I’m done with you, there won’t be anything left.” He pulled back and gave me a benign smile that was an unsettling contrast to his threat. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  Then he was gone.

  And I felt like I might be sick.

  “A love that consumes, consumes everything unto utter desolation.”

  Oh my God.

  Pushing away from the store window, I looked left and right to see if I could find him. Jamie had disappeared in the crowds. But my suspicion grew, and I needed to know if I was right.

  My lunch break was almost over, but I didn’t care. Instead, I took the Glendale freeway to my rental in Silver Lake. Sliding into my allocated parking spot, I clutched my signed book to my chest and charged toward the main door, hitting the entry code. My feet pounded upstairs to the second floor, where I fumbled with my key as I hurried into my one-bedroom apartment. Marching into my bedroom/art studio, I thrust open the closet door at the rear of the room and dug through my art supplies until I found the shoebox I stored my keepsakes in.