Lovers and Liars: An addictive sexy beach read

by Nigel May

  ‘Right then, honey, I’m nearly out of cocktail so I need to fly, sugar. You give that man of yours a squeeze from me and tell him I shall be expecting a little something surgical before the fight if I don’t see him before. And if you eat any more of those cakes, Caitlyn Rich, I swear to God, he’ll be booking you in for a dose of lipo. Mind you, what’s the point of being with a cosmetic genius if you don’t use him to your own advantage? Stay sweet, honey, speak soon… Ciao for now, doll!’

  Sutton snapped her phone shut, the diamond casing refracting the sunlight as she did so, and looked up at a handsome man she recognised as Ryan, one of the hotel’s on-site managers, standing over her lounger.

  ‘Hi Ryan, whassup? You come to refresh my glass?’ She waggled it at him, the few remaining drops of coloured liquid bobbing about in the bottom.

  ‘I certainly can, Mrs Rivers, but I need to ask you to speak a little more quietly on your phone if you make another call. There have been complaints from a couple of the other poolside guests about your… er… volume.’

  Sutton stared across the deep blue pool at a tanned, heavily muscled man in his fifties and his mousy plain wife, whom she had spotted giving her looks that were not so much dirty as diseased while she had been speaking to Caitlyn on the phone. They were still staring at her as if she were a freak show attraction or something that had just beamed down from Pluto. She raised her glass in their direction and let out a saccharine smile worthy of a Miss World pageant.

  ‘And no guessing games as to who made those more than pathetic complaints, eh, Ryan? I assume it had to be Mister Steroid and Lady Blah Blah over there.’

  Ryan remained silent, professional to a fault.

  ‘No worries, Ryan. Just for you, see…’ Sutton held up her phone again and pressed the off button. Deliberately raising her voice so that the oddball couple gawking at her across the water could hear her quite clearly, she shouted, ‘There, my phone is off, I shan’t be speaking to my friends any more while I’m here! You got that?’

  The couple looked away, somewhat embarrassed by her actions and also by the fact that she had obviously quite correctly guessed who had made the complaint about her.

  ‘You see, I’m putting it away,’ hollered Sutton at the red-faced couple, opening up the Burberry bag she had with her and throwing the phone inside.

  She lowered her voice again to normal volume to speak to Ryan. ‘I’m sorry, Ryan, it won’t happen again. Now, how about this cocktail?’

  Ryan flashed a smile. She may have been a touch loud but Sutton Rivers was definitely one entertaining lady. ‘I’ll have it made for you now and get someone to bring it over.’

  ‘Just signal me and I’ll come over and collect it on my way to the spa,’ said Sutton. ‘I think the panoramic sauna is calling my name.’

  It was five minutes later that one of the pool bar staff signalled to Sutton that her drink was ready. She grabbed her bag and sauntered over to the bar, deliberately taking the long way round to pass the couple who had complained about her.

  As Sutton reached them she bent down and whispered in the ear of the woman, who was lying with her eyes closed, savouring the Bajan heat. The sound of Sutton’s hissed whisper caused her to jump.

  ‘Now listen here, you plain-bootied bitch, why don’t you borrow this freak’s steroids?’ said Sutton, pointing to the man who was lying beside her, oblivious to her arrival due to the fact he was wearing headphones and also had his eyes shut, ‘and inject them into your pussy?’

  As a look of half shock and half fright spread across the woman’s face, Sutton let rip once more. ‘Mind you, you don’t need a muscly twat, you’ve already got one laying alongside you, haven’t you?’ Sutton picked up a drink from the table next to the couple and poured it over the man as she headed off to the spa.

  As the angry muscleman removed his headphones and started to shout across at her, Sutton had the final word. ‘And don’t ever think you’re going to be staying in one of my hotels, okay? You two are banned!’

  Sometimes it felt incredible and ghetto-fabulous to be Sutton Rivers. Her grandma, Pasinetta, would be proud of her and Sutton was sure that her mother, Tilisha, would be nodding her approval from heaven too.

  Nikki Rivers tried for the fifth time to speak to her mother. But yet again Sutton’s phone clicked directly to answering machine. She wanted to leave a message but couldn’t. How do you tell your mum that Daddy’s dear daughter has been siphoning money away from the family funds to stop the world finding out she’s a murderer? Nikki clicked the phone off and cursed under her breath. She should have called Sutton last night when she’d left The Cliff, but to be honest she had been pretty drunk and deemed it better to sleep on her thoughts than try and battle them out with her mother there and then. Sutton may have been the good cop to Sheridan’s bad one but even she was going to be hard pushed to agree with her daughter’s actions. Nikki had left it until this morning but every time she had attempted to make contact the phone had either been engaged or, as she guessed was now the case, switched off.

  She glanced at her watch. It was mid-morning. Julian and her father would doubtless be in deep conversation by now and that could only mean that she was almost certainly in deep shit.

  28

  Sheridan Rivers had always admired his firstborn. Nikki was strong-willed, a firecracker when it came to airing and sharing her opinions, and a woman with a definite head for business – even if she couldn’t see just how valuable a job being the face of Velvet hotels really was. It was her appearance and demeanour that shaped how people, especially the hip and happening young people of Hollywood, saw the Velvet chain. Not for one second would starlets like actress Evie Merchant and respected gossip hounds like Nush Silvers ever be seen dead inside the walls of a corporate hotel like Velvet if it wasn’t for the fact that Nikki Rivers had the inspirational looks, popular pulling power and celebrity kudos to bring in the hottest names for the most happening of nights. Being seen to party at any of the Velvet hotels around the world meant that you could pretty much guarantee column inches on every blog, website and TV show from The Huffington Post and Popbitch through to E! Online and Today.

  Sheridan had spotted his daughter’s ability to achieve at an early age. Nikki must have been about six years old and had decided to set up a stall selling homemade lemonade at the bottom of the drive of the Rivers family home in London as she wanted money to buy a dress from a department store. She could have asked her mother and father for money, but she had kept her lips sealed when she had seen the dress while shopping with Sutton and Sheridan. She had noted the price and no sooner had she arrived back home after the trip than she set up the stall using a table and a gingham cloth, sneakily made a trip to the nearest grocery store, and then made a banner announcing ‘homemade lemonade’ in an array of brightly coloured letters. When her stall was ready she then knocked on every door in the street telling the neighbours what she was intending to sell. The neighbourhood where the Rivers family lived was cash-rich and Nikki had no doubt that the parents of her friends would flock to see what ‘cute little Nikki Rivers’ was selling. She sold the cups of homemade lemonade at a pound each. No less than an hour later and by the time both Sheridan and Sutton had realised that she wasn’t playing in her room as she had told them she was, Nikki had over £60 in her pocket. Her outgoings? Five no-frills bottles of lemonade that had cost her no more than a few pence each. She had even cheekily had one of the staff of the grocery store carry the bottles the five-minute walk to her house.

  Nikki had decanted the bottles into a bucket, added water to make the lemonade go even further and was pocketing a small fortune before her first customer started burping. Needless to say, the next day she had the dress she wanted, bought from her own money, and was happily parading up and down the driveway of her home wearing it for all to see. Her first business venture had been a success and when she told Sheridan how she had achieved it the hotel tycoon was beyond proud.

  There had been ma
ny occasions like that over the years and Sheridan had always thought that Nikki would be the obvious choice to take over the running of the Velvet empire come the day when he decided to step back and retire. But after what Julian had told him no less than an hour ago he wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to be proud of or indeed trust his eldest daughter again.

  Sheridan put his head in his hands, the veins on his temple throbbing as he thought about what Julian had said to him during their meeting in one of the conference rooms at Sandy Lane.

  ‘So you’re happy for me to deal with the annex on the hotel in Toronto then?’ asked Julian, bringing their discussions about the next stage of the Canadian Velvet hotel to a close.

  ‘Absolutely. You can head up there as soon as we finish here. I’m going to be here for the weekend with Sutton for this hotel event so for once I can take a back seat and enjoy myself while you sort business. Plus, between you and me, there’s a gorgeous little tourist from Mexico who I bumped into earlier in reception that I have my eye on so I’m in no hurry to go anywhere. Right tasty piece, she’s here with her husband for the golf, I think, but the looks she was giving me were definitely saying that she could be my nineteenth hole on that course if I decide to play a round or two. No, you head off to Toronto, take one of the jets and have some fun. I trust you like a brother so I know you’ll do the right thing. Now, is that everything? I need to head back to Sutton. I’d better butter her up today if I’m intending to “play golf” tomorrow!’ Sheridan let out a belly laugh at the thought of what might be to come at teeing-off time.

  Julian picked his moment. ‘Actually it’s not. I have some rather shocking news for you.’

  Sheridan, for once, had already switched off his business brain. ‘Can’t it wait?’

  ‘No, it can’t.’ There was a severity in Julian’s voice that made him take note.

  ‘Shit, man, what is it?’

  Sheridan could felt the blood drain from his cheeks and any sense of normality flow from his brain as he listened to what Julian had to tell him about Nikki. How he had suddenly discovered while going through the books that money had cleverly been disappearing over the last few months and how he had traced it back to her. Sheridan’s beloved daughter had been siphoning off the Velvet funds and using them for her own gain.

  At first, he wouldn’t believe it, not prepared to admit that his own flesh and blood had betrayed him and stolen from underneath his very nose. ‘That’s not my Nikki, you must have made a mistake,’ he insisted.

  Julian offered to show him the books back at Velvet if he wished to see them, but Sheridan knew Julian well enough to know that if he said something was going on with the finances then he would have already checked, double-checked and triple-checked every last cent. It was the reaction that Julian had hoped for. He’d cooked the books to cover up his complicity with Nikki just in case Sheridan did ever decide to check, but he could easily pull something together to show discrepancies if need be. He knew that Sheridan would believe him without question – he always had.

  And Sheridan knew that Julian was telling the truth. And that meant that his eldest daughter was as far from being honest as could be.

  But why would Nikki be stealing money? She was the daughter of one of the richest businessmen around. Was it some kind of thrill? A rebellion against her rich background and the need to prove that she was a badass and not just the apple of her father’s eye? Sheridan didn’t understand. He’d read all of the celebrity rags over the years and their tales of well-to-do girls going wild just to stick two fingers up at their parents but not Nikki, not his Nikki. To him it made no sense at all.

  He needed to confront her.

  ‘Where is she now? Is she still in Barbados?’ he asked.

  ‘As far as I know, yes. Do you want me to track her down for you? I haven’t seen her for days,’ lied Julian.

  ‘No, I need to do this myself. Can you let Sutton know that I’m going back to Velvet? Tell her something important came up and that I need to sort it out urgently.’

  ‘You’re doing this alone?’ asked Julian. ‘You don’t want me to tell Sutton what I’ve discovered?’ He had to stop himself from grinning at how easy his betrayal of Nikki was for him to deal with. Any worries about what she could potentially disclose to her father disappeared as Julian realised how easily Sheridan had believed his every word, the trusting seal of friendship a seemingly stronger one than that of family.

  Julian thought he might have struggled in his betrayal of Nikki due to his adoration of her, but the connection between them had obviously snapped as he’d left The Cliff the night before. It was him or Nikki who needed to take the rap and it was looking like Sheridan was more than ready to believe that she was fully to blame.

  ‘What will you do?’ asked Julian.

  ‘Hit her where it hurts. She wants money, I’ll make sure that’s the one thing she can’t have. Now, I trust you can keep Sutton entertained for the rest of the weekend while I confront Nikki. This is one thing that her soft-as-shit mother doesn’t need to know as yet. I need to sort it before she even gets wind that something is wrong.’

  ‘You know you can trust me, boss,’ smirked Julian as Sheridan left the room, his head hanging low. ‘You can trust me with anything.’

  Sheridan waited until he was back in his hotel room before he lifted his head back up, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror. He could feel his insides boiling with anger. Without thinking he picked up a vase full of orchids on the dresser in front of him and threw it at the mirror. It smashed into a mass of broken shards. Just as his heart had done when Julian had told him about Nikki.

  29

  The wind machine in the photographer’s studio felt cooling against Hatton Eden’s skin. It also helped keep the Bulgarian flag he was holding in his left hand unfurled and moving with the right amount of fluidity and speed for the Celebrity Heat photographer standing six feet in front of him, clicking away with her camera.

  ‘This is such a strong image, Hatton. I think this could work as the opening spread of the feature. You in your boxing gear, your winning belt around your waist, posing as the ultimate warrior, The Main Man, proud of your nation and ready to go into battle in Barbados. The magazine should hit newsstands about a month before the actual fight itself. Your body looks insanely, off-the-hook good!’

  ‘Well, you can thank my training programme for that,’ smiled Fidge Carter, seated behind the photographer in the studio in West Hollywood, Los Angeles. He and Hatton had flown to the States especially for the shoot.

  ‘Works you hard then, does he, Hatton?’ grinned the photographer.

  ‘More than you know,’ replied Hatton, flashing a knowing smile and a raised eyebrow at his lover as he spoke.

  ‘Well, whatever he’s doing, it works, because the definition on your torso right now is incredible. I don’t think I’ve seen such an overtly sexy cover and feature since we had Gaga wearing next to nothing and Cristiano Ronaldo in the tightest of pants. And those two issues sold like crazy. Sex sells and you’re packing it in large amounts, my friend!’

  Hatton liked what he heard and took a deep breath, forcing his abs to pop with a little more definition and his chest to inflate even fuller. He opened his eyes as wide as he could and stared directly into the barrel of the camera. The intensity was immense and obviously struck the desired bullseye as the photographer whistled between her teeth in appreciation and muttered, ‘Fuck me, that is hot!’, the ambiguity in her voice leaving Fidge, who also felt a stirring in his loins looking at Hatton in action, to wonder if what she had said was a statement or indeed an order. He smiled at the knowledge that it would be he who would be hands on with Hatton’s hulking frame at their hotel later that night.

  The rest of the shoot passed with ease, with Hatton skilfully working his angles to make the most of his physique. Two hours after the first frame had been snapped, the photographer declared ‘That’s a wrap!’ and let both Hatton and Fidge look at the hundreds o
f photos she had taken. She had picked a variety of shots, all showing Hatton’s power to the extreme. The cover would be a shot of a naked Hatton with the Bulgarian flag wrapped around his waist. Inside the shots would be the flag, gripped tightly in his hand, blowing in the wind; Hatton with his arms stretched out Messiah-like, his tattoos displayed to perfection; and various poses of Hatton bringing his fists towards the camera in a display of pride and strength – an invitation for his opponent to step up to the challenge. It was fashion, force and fucking hot all rolled into one. Both Hatton and Fidge had to admit that it was one of the sexiest shoots that the champion had ever undertaken. The message was clear – no one would mess with Hatton Eden, least of all his opponent in Barbados, Orlando Vince.

  Hatton and Fidge made their way back to their LA hotel. They had an hour before they were due to meet the journalist being sent to interview the boxer for the magazine. Hatton stared out the window of the limousine at the sights around him. He had never known what to make of Los Angeles and still couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. It was light years away from the life that he had led back in Bulgaria before Fidge had discovered him and he could see both its La La Land excitement and also its drawbacks.

  Los Angeles was a happy, sunny, laid-back, chilled-out place where it was never allowed to rain and people seemed happy to spend their time hanging out at the beach. It was the opposite of his days in Balgarevo in his home country. Back there it was stark, a heaviness of climate hung in the air and it was a place that he associated with so much heartache. A place that he had left yet still felt a great sense of pride for in his heart; it was a serious place. But then, as far as Hatton could see, underneath the glossy façade of Tinseltown and the Hollywood sheen of Beverly Hills, so too was Los Angeles. It was a place of dog-eat-dog competition, where the best in any chosen field rose to the surface, always at the expense of others. Maybe he was the perfect fit for LA. Didn’t he, as a world-class boxer, choose to come out on top by beating the crap out of those who chose to stand in his way? In the boxing ring he did it with the physicality of his fists, in LA it was done with the psychology of casting couches and nepotism. There were losers everywhere. Did Hatton’s success make him a role model or someone who had merely steamrollered his way to the top with brute force?