Lovers and Liars: An addictive sexy beach read

by Nigel May

  She needed to go and see Sheridan to thank him for his gift. It was the least she could do. She knew where he’d be – in his office on the top floor of the hotel. He had been virtually living there recently, as the hotel was currently swimming in celebrity names and they all needed to be catered for, along with their entourages.

  American actresses currently lighting up London’s West End, stars of the latest Bond flick, and movers and shakers from one of the biggest operatic productions ever to grace London’s Royal Opera House were all staying at the hotel and whereas Sutton would normally take it upon herself to schmooze the clientele, since her body had ballooned her confidence in entertaining had shrunk to minuscule proportions. Which meant that Sheridan was pretty much flying solo when it came to making sure that his VIP guests were happy.

  Sutton took the lift to the top floor, trying not to stare at herself in the mirror, knowing she would not like what she saw there. As the doors opened with a familiar ping she made her way to Sheridan’s office, her breath slightly heavy as she struggled with the weight she was carrying.

  She knocked on the door, customary even for her, in case Sheridan was in the middle of a cash-fuelled conversation with his assistant Julian or members of the Velvet board. There was no answer. She knocked again and was once more greeted by silence. Undeterred, she tried the door and it opened.

  Sheridan’s office was big and comprised of three different rooms: the main office itself, where he reigned as king of his empire, taking calls and plotting his next step in hotel world domination; a small yet still sizeable board room where presentations and proposals could be made; and a third room, a comfortable area that housed sofas and a bar for more chilled meetings.

  It was from this third room that Sutton heard the noises. She knew exactly what they were. Grunts, groans, moans… all of them pleasurable, just not to her ears. She just wasn’t sure who was making them. Maybe Julian had brought somebody up to the office and was ‘entertaining’. But surely he’d have locked the door. An oversight perhaps? If he was indeed using the facilities to get his end away then she would be reporting it back to Sheridan straight away, right-hand man or not.

  Her curiosity piqued, she moved as steathily and silently across the office as she could and gingerly glanced into the room, out of sight to the two naked people inside.

  It was a pivotal moment in Sutton’s life. The moment that she saw her naked husband’s tight little ass moving up and down as he ploughed between the legs of the woman lying back on the sofa. She was one of the opera stars staying at the hotel. Sutton recognised her from the display poster of the production in the Velvet hotel lobby: Portia Safari. She was one of the leads and, according to reviews, a major diva in the making. Well, that bitch was making out with Sutton’s husband right now in front of her very own eyes.

  She should have waded into the room, pulled Ms Safari up by her mass of curls and slapped the skanky bitch into next week. She should have called her husband a cheating, lowdown, lousy bastard who couldn’t keep his dick in his Ralph Lauren trousers. That was what every heartbeat of her life growing up in Harlem was telling her to do. To take revenge, stomp her feet, mark her territory. Kick the singing slut all the way down the corridor to the elevator and eject her from the hotel.

  But something stopped her. As her mouth fell open, Sutton simply stared at them both for longer than was necessary. She stared at them, but she didn’t see them: what she saw were images of her own misshapen body. The times that she had pushed her husband away over the last few months when he had tried to make love to her. The times she had shouted him down. The times he had found her spread across the sofa with a bag of popcorn or a dish of cheese-covered fries on her lap. That couldn’t have been attractive.

  As Sutton Rivers walked back out of the office and silently closed the door behind her, she didn’t think about her husband’s infidelity or indeed the sanctity of her own marriage. A marriage and a lifestyle she knew that she would be a fool to throw away. No, she merely thought that she couldn’t blame him. As she moved back into the elevator and pressed the button to go back down to her own floor, she gazed at her reflection in the three mirrored walls in the lift; this time she took it all in. She didn’t like what she saw; she hadn’t for the longest time. And if she didn’t like it then how on earth could she expect her husband to? She didn’t blame him for looking elsewhere: she blamed herself.

  As Sutton walked across the runway at Toronto Airport towards her waiting, chauffeur-driven car, the night air chilling her skin slightly, she thought back to how much she had felt crushed by Sheridan over the years. He’d had his time, now it was hers.

  ‘Velvet Toronto, please,’ she said as she eased herself into the leather comfort of the back seat. Though the driver knew exactly where he was taking her – he was on the Velvet payroll.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Rivers,’ came the voice from underneath the peaked cap in the driver’s seat, and they drove off into the night.

  39

  Sheridan Rivers’s journey to Toronto was only prolonging the inevitable. He knew exactly what he needed to do, even if the clumping of misery and disappointment in his heart told him otherwise. The paperwork in his hand spelt it out loud and clear. No one double-crossed him, not even those who shared the same gene pool. The betrayal was so much more fierce and brutal when it came from an apple that had fallen from the family tree. Well, rotten apples were of no use to him and the family tree was definitely in need of a little pruning.

  He cast his eye over the words written there for what seemed like the millionth time. They were all blurring into one by now. He knew what he needed it to say and he’d instructed one of his team accordingly. He looked down at it for a final time, not really caring to focus, and with a swift slash of his pen signed his name across the bottom of the final sheet. Sheridan was tired. He’d not been sleeping and the twenty-four hours that had just passed ranked as one of the hardest days in his life so far.

  He could still feel his skin prick with anger and his nostrils flare with disbelief every time he thought about Nikki’s betrayal. His prowess as a businessman was razor-sharp. He had 360-degree vision when it came to spotting a pitfall on the horizon, and would then make sure that he avoided it at whatever cost, but this had blindsided him.

  He folded the papers and placed them back inside the envelope on the desk in front of him. Then he checked his watch: he still had an hour until his private jet landed. He stared out the window into the night sky and all he saw was dark. The same darkness that was colouring his soul: black, endless and beyond his control. Melancholy continued to grip him. It was an emotion he was not used to and one he wasn’t sure how to handle.

  Holding the envelope aloft he signalled to the person sitting on the other side of the plane to him and then shut his eyes. Maybe a few moments of repose was what he needed. He knew that it wouldn’t happen but he needed to have all his strength and wits about him if he were to remain calm about what lay ahead of him in Toronto.

  Kassidy Orpin stood up from her seat and walked across to her boss. It had only been a matter of hours ago that she had received Sheridan’s phone call telling her that she needed to accompany him to Canada. She had been on her way back from seeing Heather in St Lucia and the sadness that she had been feeling about her life had definitely rubbed off on Kassidy. Sheridan’s orders that the rest of her weekend off was cancelled, that she needed to join him immediately to fly to Toronto and that there was important paperwork to sort out were the last thing she needed.

  All she had wanted to do was head back to her Barbados apartment and deal with nothing more strenuous than seeing who had been kicked into touch on some mind-numbing TV talent show or read some vacuous website telling her about the latest OMG moment from Kylie Jenner, but no, Sheridan’s conversation had made it clear that she needed to step back into her professional mode as soon as she could. This was not the time for switching her brain off and indulging in trite celebrity gossip. And when Sheridan explained
to her what needed to be done, she could understand why. She knew him well enough, after her years working alongside him, to know that Sheridan Rivers was hurting: Nikki’s betrayal had hit him hard.

  Sheridan might have been twister-strong in the boardroom but betrayal by those close to him would always be his Achilles heel. That was something that he couldn’t deal with.

  As Kassidy took the paperwork from him and walked back to her seat to cast an eye over it, making sure that everything was in order, she felt a mist of panic run through her. When it came to betrayal by those closest to him, Sheridan was ruthless; he always had been. It was his only option.

  Kassidy finished scanning the paperwork and looked over at Sheridan. He was asleep, or at least he appeared to be. But he was not at peace, that was clear.

  She slipped the envelope into her Phillip Lim workbag, glad that Sheridan hadn’t asked her where she’d been when he phoned her. Her visit to Heather had been something she needed to do but it still left her with the strong taste of her own betrayal firmly on her lips. Finding that out would be the last thing Sheridan needed right now.

  Kassidy stared out into the night. The sky looked menacing. Was a storm brewing? She contemplated what lay ahead and knew that indeed there was.

  40

  Checking his account he could see that no money had been deposited into it. The bitch had told him it would be so where was it? Was Nikki fucking with him? If so, he would have to make her pay, in more ways than one.

  It had been hours since he’d spoken to her. She had been rushed on the phone, saying she was on a plane. Where was it she said she was going? Toronto? Well, that was mistake number one, wasn’t it? If you’re not going to play ball and cough up the cash when required then the last thing you should do is tell your blackmailer exactly where you’re off to. Not that she’d have been able to keep it a secret anyway. Pap pics of a deluxe event, with her wearing a Rodeo Drive designer creation, breasts spilling out, would doubtless be hitting the Net if she was there for any kind of official Velvet business. But she’d told him anyway and whatever she was doing in Toronto, she certainly didn’t seem to be putting his latest cash injection at the top of her to-do list. And that would have to be rectified and punished straight away.

  Being a small-time crook didn’t suit him – it never had. Throughout his life trouble had followed him and sometimes he had only escaped situations by the skin of his teeth. He had survived more by luck than any kind of master criminality.

  Picking up his phone, he thought about ringing, but decided not to. Instead he scrolled through his photo albums until he reached videos. He attached the video he was looking for to a message and added a line of text.

  I’m coming to Toronto. I want the money in cash. You stay there until I arrive. I’ll find you. If you don’t, then you know where this goes.

  After pressing send, he stood up, knocking the bin under his desk as he did so, burger wrappers, empty beer bottles and cigarette papers spilling across the floor. He glanced at them. There was something very low rent about his trash and once more it struck him that perhaps he should try and leave his life of small-time crime behind him. Try something a bit fancier. Just as illegal of course, but maybe robbery with a trendier zip code. Might as well stick to what you’re good at. And the money from Nikki Rivers could help with that. But why should he have to wait for it?

  He was totting up two things as he shut the door of his seedy apartment behind him: how long it would take him to drive from New York to Toronto and just how much money from Nikki could finally make enough of a difference for him to really move up in the world. It had to be at least seven figures, surely, if he wanted to play with the big boys.

  He hadn’t even reached the bottom of the stairs by the time Nikki heard her phone beep and found his message. She was still lying in bed with Blair. Seeing the video spun her mind into a downward spiral of despair. Watching footage of herself driving over the man in the Harlem backstreet simply echoed was what already imprinted on her mind: it was an image she doubted she would ever be able to erase.

  Blair was alongside her. She showed the full video to him – she wanted to. He knew everything in his mind so he might as well see it with his own eyes too. His mouth fell open as he watched, the dull final thud of the young man’s body as it passed under the tyres of Nikki’s Lexus shocking him.

  ‘Christ, he didn’t stand a chance!’

  ‘I’m never going to escape this,’ sobbed Nikki. ‘Never! He’s always going to want money.’

  Blair pulled her close and wrapped her in his arms.

  ‘Then we meet him. He says he’s coming here, so we’ll make him a final offer he can’t refuse, a one-off payment that will make him disappear for good. You’re with me now, we can sort this.’

  Blair was certain about the first part of his sentence, but the second filled him with the hugest of doubts. How could they sort it? He had no idea. But for Nikki’s sake, he knew he would have to try.

  41

  ‘So you managed to deal with that snooping wanker of a journalist and not let him crucify me in his magazine?’ asked Hatton Eden from the back seat of the Mercedes speeding him and Fidge Carter to LA Airport. ‘I’m sorry about that but you know how touchy I become about people talking about my parents.’

  Fidge, also seated on the back seat, buried in a magazine, looked up and turned to face Hatton. He reached across to squeeze his hand and then spoke.

  ‘It’s not his magazine, Hatton, but it does happen to be one of the biggest publications on earth and I really could do without you kicking off every time a journalist, especially one from a prestigious magazine like that, starts asking questions about things you don’t like. You’re one of the biggest stars on the planet and people will want to know everything about you. Adele has one of the best voices in the world and people still want to ask about her child. Jennifer Lawrence wins awards by the lorryload and people still want to talk about those leaked nude photos. It’s just how celebrity is. You have to learn how to deal with it. And blowing up in some journalist’s face is not the way to do it, even if he was a total prick talking about your parents and snooping around your old school back in Bulgaria.’

  Hatton could tell that Fidge’s tone was more than a little scolding and knew that maybe he had some grovelling to do – not that he would have any qualms about decking the likes of Shaun O’Keefe again or any journalist for that matter who dared to talk about his parents. Family pride ran deep and so did the wounds of what he’d witnessed on the night his parents died.

  ‘So, it’s sorted?’ There was a sheepish tone to Hatton’s voice that could only come when he was talking to Fidge, the one man who could actually make him question himself.

  ‘Yes, it’s sorted. Having you on the cover is such a coup for the magazine that they’re happy to print what you like. I threatened to go to another publication unless they made sure all mentions of life back in Bulgaria were taken out and a gagging order was slapped on Mr O’Keefe to not talk to anyone about his investigative work in Bulgaria.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Not that he found out anything anyway, there was nothing to find out. People know about your parents dying but there’s no story beyond that.’

  ‘No, but I don’t like the names of my mother and father being brought into anything. Their memory is a beautiful one, not to be spoilt.’

  ‘It’s not like you have anything to hide, Hatton, apart from us of course.’ Fidge winked at him and gave his hand a squeeze again. Hatton pulled his hand away from Fidge’s and cast a glance at the driver taking the two men to the airport to catch their flight to Barbados.

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t do this,’ said Hatton, placing his hand back on his lap and pointing with the other to the man in the front seat. ‘Just in case…’

  Fidge smiled, aware that Hatton was paranoid about his sexuality being revealed to the public, but also aware that the glass panel that divided the two sportsmen and the driver of the car was
both tinted dark enough not to see through and soundproofed too, unless the driver requested to speak to them via a button on his dashboard.

  ‘You can hold my hand all you like in here. Hell, we could make out like porn stars! He’s not going to see or hear anything even if you’re screaming my name at the top of your lungs.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ hesitated Hatton, moving his hand back across to Fidge’s.

  ‘Of course I’m bloody sure. I book the cars, don’t I? It’s one of the things I insist on.’

  Fidge took Hatton’s hand in his again and leant across to kiss him fully on the lips. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Hatton responded to the kiss, letting his teeth crush urgently against his partner’s. He felt a stirring from between his legs, blood automatically pumping to his cock at the touch of his lover.

  ‘You know I just worry, that’s all. There is enough hatred in this world against all sorts of things and I don’t want things to be ruined just because we’re gay. There is prejudice everywhere, even from those fighting within my very sport, I have heard them. Talking about faggots and calling gay people evil names. It makes me furious that they can be so bigoted but what can I do?’

  ‘You can ignore it. And what I feel for you is nobody’s business. I love you and in a perfect world I’d like to shout it from the rooftops of every place from New York to New Zealand but I can’t. There is too much to lose with your image right now. There are gay men hiding out in all areas of the sporting industry, I’m sure. And how many rumours have you heard about action-hero Hollywood A-listers preferring a tight male bubble butt and a chest rug in their lovers rather than a bush and boobs? Do you ever think an openly gay actor will be accepted as James Bond or as the next Indiana Jones? It’s unlikely, even if it means missing out on the best actor for the role just because of his sexuality.’