by Tara Brown
And that was the dilemma.
If she was drugged, did I take her to the hospital, or would that make me look like the guy who’d drugged her? Bad-publicity week had hit my family. I was out of leeway and possible-scandal hall passes.
Also, would she prefer not to look like someone who took drugs? Would Frederick rather I cared for her myself or dropped her off at his place? Or would she be pissed I brought her home for her boss, who was like a dad to her, to see her in this state? And what if she’d taken the drugs herself? Then what?
I wished she were awake to answer these questions.
When my car arrived and Jenson, our driver, got the door, I lifted her dead weight carefully and held her in my arms for the entirety of the ride. I didn’t want her to feel like she was alone, and I needed to make sure she was still breathing. “She’s been drugged, I think,” I said to him when I saw him staring at me in the rearview mirror. “Not by me.”
I almost asked him what I should do. I’d never been around someone who’d had a drug slipped in her drink, if that was what had even happened. Who would have done such a thing?
That was a dumb question. I knew at least a handful of girls who’d said they’d been drugged at a bar. It happened. She just didn’t seem like the type who let someone buy her a drink.
I couldn’t go home tonight anyway. Not after my mom called and said Dad was livid. Grandpa Jack’s place was out of the question. He had a standing date of sexy Saturdays, and no one needed to see that. So I took her to the only place I knew we would be fine to ride this out, and where we could possibly get help if we needed it. “Take us to the Four Seasons, please.”
“Of course, sir.” Jenson gave me an uncomfortable stare.
From the car I dialed a number I’d never imagined I would need to.
“Four Seasons, Heinrich speaking.”
“Heinrich, this is Jordan Somersby. I have a situation.” I closed my eyes, knowing just the sort of pervert I looked like. “I have a friend who drank too much or took something at the bar, and I’m bringing her there to have a family doctor meet us and check her out. I’m asking you to keep this under the radar, if you know what I’m saying.”
“You’re bringing a dead-drunk girl here?” He sounded a little put off but careful, like he didn’t want to upset me.
“She’s Frederick La Croix’s favorite daughter. She’s taken something, I don’t know what. I can’t very well take her to the hospital and risk everyone calling her a junkie. So yes, I’m bringing her there and having a doctor meet us,” I snapped. “Can you imagine the scandal if I brought her to the hospital?”
“Of course not. You’re very welcome here, sir.” He sounded unconvinced, but he wasn’t going to argue. My family and the La Croixes were not to be trifled with.
I hung up and hoped that was enough to stay the horrid thoughts he was going to have.
My reputation was having a rough week.
I had been dating a show horse for my dad, but she’d dumped me for being a fake cheater. Last night’s public arguments with this girl had to have been seen by someone who recognized me, and now I was bringing her passed-out ass to a hotel.
No wonder Lacey thought so little of me and everyone else lumped me in with Stephen. I wasn’t doing myself any favors.
By the time we’d parked and I’d carried her out of the car, the look on Heinrich’s face, the very one he was struggling to hide, told me everything I needed to know. He definitely thought I was a pervert, hauling a dead-drunk would-be victim over my shoulder.
Fortunately the halls of the hotel were silent.
Heinrich carried Lacey’s purse and followed questioningly behind me as I carried her.
“I hope your friend feels better,” he managed to choke out as he closed the doors to the suite and left us alone.
“Me too,” I sighed as I laid her on the bed. I walked around to the other side and pulled back the covers. I dialed a number I hadn’t ever expected to need, waiting for a response.
“Hello?” the groggy person answered.
“Hey, Fitz. It’s Jordan Somersby. Can you come over? I have a serious situation. Bring everything.” I hated asking this at midnight, but I didn’t see any other choice. Lacey couldn’t go to the hospital, so I would bring the hospital to her.
“Yup. Where are you?” He didn’t even hesitate. I could hear him getting up out of bed. Being a family physician for the rich and famous had to be rough.
“Four Seasons. I’ll tell them to expect you at the front desk.”
“Roger that. See you in fifteen.” He hung up, and I dialed downstairs.
“A man named Doctor Fitzgerald Hawthorne is going to come to the front desk. Send him up straight away, please.” I hung up and stared at the sleeping beauty. She’d changed princesses on me.
She was Cinderella before, and now she was Snow White, needing to be awakened. Only it wasn’t a kiss that would wake her. It would be meds and fluids.
She was sweating profusely, so I removed her blouse and flung it on the floor. The tube dress was also soaked in perspiration, but it was obvious she had nothing else on underneath.
Ever the gentleman, I dragged off my sweater and T-shirt, pulling the tee over her head and arms as I slid the dress down her body, ensuring no part of her was revealed.
I nearly strained an eyeball to keep my gaze on her face as I lifted her again, noting my arms started to get tired. She didn’t weigh a lot, maybe 130 pounds, but she was heavy passed out. I laid her back down on the sheets, pulled off her shoes, and wiped her face and hair delicately. I cleaned the lip gloss and mascara and cold sweat off as best as I could. Then I tugged the covers up to her shoulders.
After pulling on my thin sweater again, I started texting Monty, deleting and rewriting my text multiple times until I decided to leave it. Having people believe we hooked up was probably better than everyone worrying and rushing over here. I wanted to give her a chance to explain what the hell happened and if she wanted anyone to know about the situation.
I sauntered into the bathroom and rinsed a facecloth to wipe her down again.
My reflection almost made me laugh.
Thin sweater with no T-shirt underneath, and her lip gloss on my neck from where I’d been carrying her. Her sweat or drool on my pants from her head lying on my leg, along with the makeup from her hairline.
Excellent first night of freedom.
It might have gone down as my worst night ever.
My father hated me.
My mother was disappointed.
Grandpa Jack was also disappointed and worried about the billion-dollar deal.
My brother was in a club unsupervised.
And here I was, taking care of a girl who hated me.
A girl I wasn’t sure how I felt about.
A girl who may or may not have taken drugs. Not really my type.
I wanted to dislike her, but every ounce of my being was lost in her. Even unconscious druggie her.
Deciding this was not the time to analyze how she got in this position, I took my post for the night and sat in the armchair to watch her sleep, focusing on the way the sheet that was draped over her body lifted and lowered as I waited for Fitz.
He was just slightly over twenty minutes to get there and still in his pajamas, which I admired. Not only did he not give a damn about what he was wearing, but he clearly intended to go back to bed after this ordeal, a delight I wouldn’t be enjoying anytime soon. Not so long as Lacey was still Snow White in her comatose state.
“Fitz.” I spoke softly as he entered. Heinrich couldn’t seem to shake his dubious stare and closed the door, no doubt seeing Lacey’s dress on the floor.
“She’s either done drugs or been drugged. I got to the club just as it was hitting her. Took her down fast. The only thing she said was ‘He put something in my drink,’ and then she was out like a light. I carried her out and brought her here, and she’s been like this for a bit.”
“Jesus. Who is she?”<
br />
“Marcia La Croix’s best friend, Lacey Winters. Frederick thinks of her as a daughter. His favorite daughter.”
“Then I guess we better make sure she gets the best treatment possible.” He gave me a weird look, clearly wary of the whole situation. Fitz was a resident at NewYork-Presbyterian. He was one of Stephen’s friends from high school. Sometimes, if Stephen drank too much, he got an instant feel-good IV from Fitz.
Which was what Fitz was currently hooking up to Lacey.
“If it’s GHB, which I will sample her blood and check for, it needs to run its course. The IV fluids will help. Did you see what she drank?”
“No, I showed up, and she started to go downhill immediately. I don’t know who drugged her or if she took it on her own. We were in Brooklyn at a club, and it was packed.” I didn’t say that if I’d known who did this to her, they would have already been dead. Drugging girls was disgusting, but I didn’t know the truth of it all. Not yet. I would find out, though.
“She might have taken it on her own. It’s a nice high if you don’t take too much, or so I’ve heard.” He said it so nonchalantly.
“She doesn’t seem the sort to take drugs.” I said it like I knew that. But how could I? Maybe she did. I almost chuckled when I mentally shook my head. She was much too uptight to be a rec drug user.
“This is not what I thought I was coming over for. I thought it was a quick rehydrate-Stephen mission.” He yawned and stretched. “You’re lucky I’m on two days off.”
“I owe you big-time.”
“Yes, yes you do.” He said it in a low tone, checking her vitals and watching the IV.
After a moment, he took a sample of her blood. “If she isn’t awake in two hours, she goes to the hospital.” He glanced back at me.
“Hospital?”
“Yeah. You should have probably taken her there in the first place.” He capped the blood sample off and placed it in his bag. “Bringing her here was nuts.”
“I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, personally I wouldn’t want the publicity of a drug issue if she took this on her own. I figured Frederick wouldn’t either. He wouldn’t want the scandal.”
We stared, uncomfortable and unsure of what would come next.
But nothing came next.
She slept for two hours.
Fitz napped while I stared, watching the rate at which the blankets lifted and lowered until finally she stirred.
She moaned a little and rolled on her back, and then, like a dead person rising from her coffin, she gasped and shot up, eyes wide and mouth open.
I jumped up, scaring her and Fitz.
“What the fuck?” She looked around the room, sweat dripping down her face. “What happened? Where’re my clothes?”
“I don’t know—I mean I don’t know what happened to you.” I was scared to get too close, and yet I wanted to hug her and maybe cry with relief a little bit.
“Where am I?” She shivered and clutched the blanket.
“The Four Seasons.”
“What’d you do to me?” She glared at me, but her lower lip trembled.
“What? Nothing.” What the fuck?
“Who’s he?” She nodded at Fitz, who was gasping for breath as well and likely also getting his bearings.
“A doctor.” I sat on the end of the bed near her feet and fought the urge to clutch my rapidly beating heart.
“I’m Fitz. You either took drugs yourself or were drugged at a bar. Jordan saved you. Brought you here, and I cared for you. That’s all we know.” His droll way of speaking didn’t soothe her.
“Why didn’t you take me to a hospital?” Her tone was accusing.
“I wasn’t sure Mr. La Croix wanted that kind of scandal. In case you took the drugs yourself.”
“Jesus.” She looked at the IV, the bed, and me and Fitz. “Who drugged me?”
“We were hoping you could tell us that, actually,” Fitz muttered, checking her vitals.
“Oh my God.” She started to cry, covering her face.
“What?” I slid up the bed, pulling her into my arms. “What do you remember?”
“Miguel,” she sobbed, shaking.
“Who’s he?” I stroked her head and let her cry on me.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said, still shaking.
Fitz muttered as he took her arm and pulled the IV out gently. “Looks like you’ll live. I’ll give you a call when the blood sample is processed.” He grabbed everything that belonged to him and walked to the door. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll text tomorrow.”
“Lacey.” I continued to stroke her head. “Who’s Miguel?” I asked again after a moment, plotting the eight hundred ways I would make this guy die before I even knew his face.
“I don’t know, I can’t be sure. I don’t remember anything.” She sniffled, not making much sense.
“You’re safe now, and I promise you, nothing happened to you. I watched the drug hit you. You were glaring at me—you know, that normal hateful face you put on every time I’m around—and then you just went downhill. I carried you out of the bar right away. No one else knows what happened, and this can stay between you and me. I took care of you,” I reassured her. I’d known girls who’d had something similar happen to them, and the biggest worry they’d had was what went down in the hours they lost.
I couldn’t imagine how that felt.
I’d never lost time before.
But I did know that seeing Lacey this way was a flashing neon sign of how I felt for her. The anxiety and stress and worry and care were all symptoms of my feelings. She might have been the ice queen, but she was slowly melting my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Six
NOT ENOUGH SOAP IN THE WORLD
Lacey
His arms around me didn’t bother me; I’d pulled him to me in the first place. And in the moment, I couldn’t think of a single person I would rather have hold me. Something about him screamed safety. I didn’t know what it was, but he made me feel like I would be fine, and everything would get taken care of, and nothing was a worry. I realized that in spite of his epic failure of a performance through the Test Dummy, I trusted him.
The night was a blur.
I hoped I got the recording of Miguel. That would tell me what the hell happened.
Jordan slept soundly, holding me tighter than anyone ever had. I turned, staring at him, still wearing a sweater and his boxers and sleeping over the covers with no blankets.
He might have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t a scumbag. He wouldn’t drug a girl or leave her in a sticky situation. Even me, the girl who had berated him savagely in front of other people. The girl who had ruined his fake relationship. I wondered whether, if he knew that, he would still have taken care of me.
Slipping from the bed, I grabbed my purse and dress from the floor and tiptoed into the bathroom. I closed the door and pulled the pin off my dress, attaching it with the cord to my cell phone, ignoring the million texts from Marcia. It was five a.m.; she wouldn’t want to be disturbed now.
I loaded the video into the phone and pressed “Play,” lowering the volume so I could just hear it.
The image shook, like I was fidgeting with the camera as Miguel sauntered up to me.
“That was a hot set,” I said. My voice sounded funny on the recording. The music in the background was loud, but I could still hear us. Barely.
“What are you drinking?” he asked.
“Shots.”
“What kind of shot do you want?”
“Tequila.”
“Two shots of Patrón,” he shouted as he leaned over the bar.
My stomach hurt as I watched the part where he pulled a small bottle from his sleeve; it was tiny, like an eye drops bottle. As he reached forward to grab the shots, he squeezed liquid into one of the drinks. He handed me that one as the bottle slipped back up into his sleeve. He was like a magician with that skill.
“To new friends.” He lifted the glass; the loo
k in his eyes was evil, pure evil.
I shuddered as I contemplated how many girls he’d done that to.
Him and his friends.
Jesus.
I stared at my phone, a bit lost on what to do. Did I call the police?
Did I send it to Kami?
What the hell was my plan?
My hands were shaking and my entire body ached, but I believed at the very least Kami needed to see what the hell was going on behind her back. What kind of person she was dating.
Not in a million years would I have imagined he would be like that. He didn’t even need to be. He was young, gorgeous, rich, connected, a DJ, and dating one of the most beautiful girls on the East Coast, who was even richer and more connected.
But for him, rape was clearly not about getting laid.
I contemplated how wrong that could have gone.
How bad it might have been.
Where it would have led if not for the guy in the other room.
He, Jordan fucking Somersby, had saved me.
He’d paid attention, and he’d rushed me from the club to a hotel, where he’d had a doctor care for me. He’d spared my reputation and my virtue, so he’d saved me in more ways than one.
I didn’t know how to process that. He saved my life the same day I ruined his fake relationship, and possibly his relationship with his asshat father.
Neither thing he would likely thank me for.
That was no good.
How could I continue to be cruel to him or treat him badly?
I couldn’t, not without telling him I was the Test Dummy and I knew what he’d done. Which I couldn’t do either.
It was a conundrum.
Deciding to be nice to him and give him the one thing I’d never imagined I would, a second chance, I stripped off the T-shirt I was wearing, threw it in the garbage, and pulled off my underwear, also wanting to burn those. Everything was wet and soaked in sweat.
I looked long and hard at myself in the mirror, really taking stock in the moment, before I turned and climbed into the shower, desperate to smell like L’Occitane and not Miguel’s saliva.
My shower lasted longer than any shower I’d ever taken before. I sat on the bench as the hot water rained down on me, washing me clean of every possibility I forced myself to contemplate.
