"I know you don't want to hear it, Barrett, but I'm one hundred percent certain Charlie was retaliating against photos of you and the Miss Universe contender peppered all over the Internet and in the press.”
"You don't know that for sure, mate," I strike back.
"Charlie still doesn't know the real story behind Natasha?"
"And she never will," I state firmly.
"Why don’t you just tell her while you’re in Athens since you’re face to face?"
"I trust that as my best mate, you’ll never betray me and you’ll respect my wishes."
"It would never cross my mind to go behind your back. I'm just trying to entice you to open up to Charlie."
"Let me get right to the point so you're not late for your date with Ava."
"I received that message loud and clear.” He pauses. “How can I help you?" His tone is curt.
Is my approach a little gruff? Yeah, but given the fact that Charlotte is flying back to London in a few hours and I'm still stuck here, chances are, things will go back to the way they’ve always been between us—on and off.
"I just wanted to make sure nothing had changed when it comes to Marlon?" I ask.
Tyler clears his throat. "Everything is still on schedule. Two more days before this operation kicks off," he says in an exaggerated professional voice.
"Good news. There have been so many roadblocks. I don't want another disappointment."
"You don't have to worry about it, Barrett. It's as good as done. I spent time this afternoon with the lead investigator and he's very confident. Marlon is responding as expected."
"Thanks for putting my mind at ease."
"Of course. That's my job as your lawyer."
"Don't be a wanker, Tyler."
"What?"
"You know what. You're adopting this cold and aloof voice. You're my best mate."
"I think sometimes you forget that."
"How can you say that?" I ask confused.
"You shut me down every single time I suggest that maybe it's time for you to tell Charlie what you've been dealing with. What more do you want from me, Barrett?" There's no hiding his frustration.
I can understand. We just have different ways of dealing with things.
"When the time is right, I'll tell her."
"You're allowing Archer and Cormac to rob you of the only relationship that’s ever mattered to you. From the only woman who’s captured your attention from day one and has never let go. You may be okay with that, but I'm not."
I don't even have an answer for that.
CHAPTER 35
Charlie
Since Barrett mentioned it, I kept repeating ‘what happens in Athens, stays in Athens’ in my head like a mantra. It was supposed to be my protective shield. I hoped it would immunize me. But it failed royally. From experience, I expected my body to crave Barrett—how can it not? The man is a sex god—I didn't expect my soul to yearn so much for him after only six days.
I've been back in London since Tuesday night and none of my toys work anymore. It's the same for my fingers. Porn? Who bloody cares? It's as if it took this man less than a week to reprogram my body so that it only responds to his touch. The problem is, he’s still in Athens. We've exchanged a few text messages, but not much more. He's still under a lot of pressure. There's still a mountain of things to sort out around Jason, preventing him from being moved to a prison was step number one. Ricker’s information has added several layers of complexity to this case. From the sound of it, this prostitution ring has so many tentacles, it's dizzying. And of course, Barrett is preoccupied with whatever it is he has up his sleeves to prevent Archer and Cormac from disparaging his mum.
I guess I should be grateful that yesterday was a crazy day catching up. Terry had warned me, but still, I wasn't prepared. That said, the gruelling fourteen-hour day forced my mind to focus on something other than Barrett Ascott and his magic cock.
As I stand in the queue behind a long line of sleepy heads at Kaffeine—Australia's crack house for coffee addicts—I surf the Internet to make sure Jason kept true to his promise and he kept his mouth shut. I'm just about to open my Facebook account, when I hear a familiar voice that turns my blood to ice.
“Hello, hello, hello," the annoying voice chippers.
Oh, no.
I pretend not to hear.
"Charlie? Is that you?"
It's nearly impossible to ignore someone when they sneak up on you and poke their head into your private space, forcing eye contact. The intruder is right there in my face. She’s so close, our eyelashes are nearly braided together. I take a long step back needing to distance myself from her.
"Oh, hi, Octavia," I say with a forced smile.
"Fancy that we’d both be at the same coffee shop on a sunny Thursday morning."
"Indeed it is." Not.
“Well, there’s nothing quite like Kaffeine. Rumor has it that your bestie, Amelia Cavendish, favors this place. That’s why I come here now. Screw Starbucks. It’s no longer for people like us. It’s for the plebs.” She means the lower class. Yeah, she’s full of herself. “If it’s good enough for the Prime Minister’s daughter, it’s good enough for me.”
Please allow me to barf.
“It’s just good coffee,” I deflate.
"Right.” She pauses.
I take a step forward. Thank God the queue is moving.
Octavia hurries to catch up with me.
“Smashing outfit,” she says running her eyes up and down my length. “I immediately recognized you from behind. As usual, you're as stylish as ever."
Go away. "Thank you."
"And those shoes," she points to my feet. "The pop of color is perfect. Are they Jimmy Choo?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Christian Louboutin?”
“No.”
“Where did you buy the look?"
For the love of God, the woman can’t take a hint.
"Athens."
I'm wearing one of Barrett’s kick ass outfits. He much prefers me in skirts and dresses—something to do with easy access to my pussy—but since he knows I love trousers and suits, he indulges me. That's why I'm clad this morning in a fitted black suit. Italian, of course. I particularly love the cigarette ankle trousers. I paired the sleek suit with a black silk V neck blouse. Another one of Barrett’s buys. It’s deep enough to be flirty, but not enough to be trashy. I decided to add a splash of color by adorning a pair of hot pink Yves Saint Laurent high heel shoes I already owned—the same vibrant shade as the lingerie combo he bought me.
"Oh. Not that it matters. As glamorous as it looks on you, the outfit would dwarf my tiny stature." Since I don't have a response to that, I keep quiet and take another step forward. "Were you on vacation?"
I really wish you would leave me alone.
"No. Business."
"Ah,” she flashes me an incredulous glance. "You have international clients now?" Her voice goes up by several octaves.
"I've had international clients since the day I opened my PR shop." Mic drop.
Her expression darkens with malevolence.
She pins me with a harsh stare.
I return the favor.
True to form, she’s cranking up bitch mode to the hilt. It’s unmistakable in her eyes. She's gauging. Calculating. Scheming.
No doubt she's preparing a stinging response.
She always does when I one up her—which is most times.
"I'm sure your looks and your assets come in handy in your work."
There it is.
"My looks?" I quirk an eyebrow. "My numerous degrees from London, New York and Los Angeles count for nothing. And it’s needless to say that my extensive experience and the fact that I'm very, very, very good at what I do is also negligible. And yes, I use that prestigious industry award I won this year as a coaster."
I'm a professional publicist.
You’re just a wannabe.
She shows her f
angs. Octavia doesn't know how to smile. "You're such a superstar. I'm just chugging along. I still marvel at the coincidence that we’re both in the PR world."
Coincidence, my ass.
"I thought you were an event planner now." Especially since your public relations company failed. And the clothing boutique before that. And the jewellery store before that. Wasn’t there a pub as well that tanked?
"It’s semantics. It's the same thing," she snaps.
"Many would argue."
"Well, I still do a little PR. It's not my main bread-and-butter, but it's still a staple." Bullshit. "In fact, I'm a contender to help Ludlow Abbey revamp their image. Reverend Rowan Nesmith and I are going over the contract as we speak. He loooooves my edgy ideas. It’s going to rain money my way!"
Utter rubbish.
What a liar.
I've already been awarded that contract. It’s a done deal. Terry surprised me when I got back to the office yesterday. I signed the contract last night and already couriered it to Ludlow Abbey. Oh, did I mention I'm meeting with the good Reverend this afternoon? Yeah, Octavia is full of shit.
"I see," I smirk.
"Soon I’ll be all the rage.” In your dreams. “Speaking of which, it seems like Barrett has moved on. For good this time.” That’s an abrupt change of subjects. "I saw him this past weekend at an event.” Impossible since he wasn’t in town, you idiot. “He was with a tall and super sexy brunette.” What a fucking liar. “They seemed hot and heavy. But I don’t have to tell you that. I’m sure you’ve seen her beautiful face in the media.” I hope you die a painful death. “What’s her name again?” Octavia snaps her fingers. “Oh well, never mind. She was hanging from his arm like a swan. Lucky girl. I guess brunettes have more fun, after all." Octavia's fangs are out again. An unexplainable blast of jealousy blows through me, as though I stepped in front of the harsh blazes of a wildfire. “Are you seeing anyone new? Things were a bit of a train wreck between you and Owen. Pity. Oh yeah, and there was that famous music producer. John? Joel? Jonas?” It’s Jonathan McCready. “Whatever. Did that fizzle as well?" A wolfish grin spreads across her face.
Fucking cunt.
“Octa—”
"Next!" the barista shouts.
As much as I’d like nothing more than to shove my best snarky remark down her throat for throwing that in my face right before punching her, I'm grateful coffee will prevent me from spending the morning in jail.
"I'm sorry, Octavia, but I need to put my order in. I wouldn't want everyone in the queue to wait. Oh, by the way, jumping the queue isn't the British way. You should really go to the back of the line," I flash her a condescending smile. I even stand on my toes and point to the back of the shop to stress my message.
"Brilliant," the guy behind me says. "That's right, go to the end of the queue. We’re all in need of caffeine, sugar tits," he snarls.
"No need to be so rude," she retaliates.
“What’s rude is you thinking you have a right to your bloody morning coffee before I do,” the guy says.
I tilt my head to the side. "Yeah. Not cool."
“Well,” Octavia pauses, bouncing her eyes from mine to the guy standing behind me. “Charlie, I’ll see you around,” she chirps. She gives me a scathing look.
I respond with a smile.
Finally, she stalks off, every line of her body screaming with anger.
Take that, bitch.
“Have a good day,” I say as I wave her off.
Good riddance.
"For a minute there I thought she was your friend," the guy behind me says.
“Trust me, she’s anything but.”
I can’t stand Octavia Plum Ascott, aka, Barrett's despicable half-cousin.
What a piece of shit that woman is.
At thirty-six she still lives off of her father's money. Everything she touches, fails.
She’s hated me since the first day we met.
The feeling is mutual.
The only thing is, she's done her best to copy my life—from the blonde hair to her attempt to steal my client base. Did I mention she was dating this lawyer named Garrett for a few years? Yup, she’s a nutcase.
Although she's back to being a brunette and her sham of an event company is fledgling, she’s still the thorn in my side.
Just like her father Cormac Falcon, her uncle Archer Morton and Barrett's grandfather's first wife, aka, her grandmum Alvina Cherry—yeah, those are some pretty atrocious middle names—Octavia lives by one rule: make Barrett's life a living nightmare.
Alas, that steadfast mission has trickled into my life as well. Hence why I’ve walked out on Barrett so many times.
Blood runs through the veins of most humans. Bitterness and envy run through Octavia’s veins. Ditto for her evil family.
CHAPTER 36
Barrett
Knock, knock, knock.
“I’m coming!”
“Mr. Barrett Ascott?" the hotel staff asks when I open the door.
"That's me, mate."
"This was just delivered for you and I thought I'd bring it up. It looks like it requires your immediate attention."
"Thank you so much."
"It's my pleasure. If I can be of service for anything else, please don't hesitate."
"I won't."
I salute the hotel staff with a small nod and he does the same. He turns on his heel and heads towards the lift.
I close the door and stroll back towards the deck. When I rip open the envelope, I freeze. My blood goes cold so fast you’d think I was having a stroke.
“Jesus Christ.” My jaw drops. As realization sets in, rage washes over me, blinding me for a few beats. "Fucking shit! Bloody assholes!" I yell, throwing the envelope across the room and watching its contents scatter all over the place. “Heads will bloody roll.” I flex my fingers a few times before balling them into a fist. “Forget it. They’ve tested my patience long enough. I’m going to fucking kill them one by one with my bare hands,” I growl, brandishing my fist in the air. “I fucking hate them!” I yell louder. I could punch a hole in that window and not care of the consequences. I'm that angry.
My phone rings. I walk to the coffee table where I left it and without looking at the number, I answer.
“What the hell do you want?” I bark.
“Barrett?”
Shit.
“Mum.”
“Is that any way to answer the phone?” Oh, no. I'm going to get it now. "Have your father and I not instilled better manners in you?"
"I'm sorry, Mum."
"What in the world has gotten you in such a foul mood?"
"More fucking shit."
"Barrett! Language! I would think that with the fortune your father dropped on your elite education that you could at least express yourself better. This isn't my son. It's unbecoming of you."
“Archer and Cormac. Is that better?”
She lets out a long heavy sigh. You know the one. I'm sure all mums are required to perfect it before they give birth. "What the fuck have those bloody assholes done now?"
I bite off a smile.
You won't hear Korina swear in English very often. She tries to pretend I don't understand, but she does it in Croatian all the time. It's quite amusing. For her to swear in English, she's pretty pissed off.
"Well, it's not them directly. It's that con artist of a photographer, Marlon Holloway.” Manipulative son of a bitch. “I know he's on their payroll, I just can't prove it yet."
"He knows you're in Athens? I thought that was hush-hush."
"I doubt he does. Same for the idiot brothers."
"Then I don't understand."
"Felicity received an envelope this morning. It was marked urgent and private. Given this case with Jason and the prostitution ring allegations, she thought it was related. When she saw what was in the envelope, she sent it over to me, same day delivery. She didn't tell me why. She just said, it's best if I deal with this. I have so much thrown at me right now, I di
dn't make much of it. Now I understand why her voice sounded so strange when we spoke earlier. I just received the envelope."
"More photos?”
“Yeah.”
“Are they of me when I was a young model or has Marlon been stalking me to my photoshoots lately to catch shots of me while I change?"
"No. It’s not you."
"God. I'm afraid to ask," Mum says.
"It's Charlotte."
"Oh, no. "
“Yeah.”
"Honey, I'm so sorry."
"So am I."
"Are they… compromising photos?" Mum asks hesitantly.
"Let's just say I didn't need to see that side of her." Not unless I’m the one inflicting pleasure.
"Those monsters have no bloody shame."
"Mum, these photos leave nothing to the imagination."
"Not that I should be asking the question, because God knows I don't need to know anything about your sex life, but is it Charlie and you?"
"No."
I meant to continue, but I can't. Instead, I let out a long frustrated sigh.
"Barrett. What is it? Talk to me. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together."
I remain stubbornly mute.
"Honey," Mum presses.
"It's Charlotte with another guy." Speaking those words is unbearable. I've never wanted to slash a man's throat like I do right now.
"Good Lord." Mum doesn't speak for a while. I'm fuming way too much to say a word. After several long seconds, she breaks the silence. "I thought Tyler was doing something about this so that they stop pestering you."
"I thought so too.”
This is what has me stumped. I thought Marlon had boarded a plane at five o'clock this morning heading to LA. Felicity said the photos were dropped on her desk when she went for a coffee break at nine-thirty this morning. Marlon would have been mid-flight. She said there were no stamps and no return address. When she asked the receptionist, Rosalie had no notion of any courier dropping off a parcel. None of this makes any sense.
“You need answers, honey.”
“I opened the envelope right before you called, so I haven't even had time to wrap my head around what I just saw." I doubt I ever will. “I’ll call Ty right after I hang up with you."
You're All I Think About_Second Chance Romance Page 28
