by Tricia Owens
“Too late for what, damnit?”
Wilson turned the laptop around so Ethan could see the screen. Several windows were open, spaced around the desktop. In each was an image from Merrick’s suit campaign. Each looked professional. Striking. Ethan would have complimented his friend on a job well done if he didn’t at that moment wanted to vomit.
“Where did you get those?” Ethan whispered. His ears rang. His head felt as though his brains had been replaced by helium. “How is this possible? Those aren’t real.”
“They’re real, Mr. Winter. Real enough. Thank your friend here for his photo manipulation skills.”
“But that’s…” Ethan swayed. He grabbed the back of the nearest chair. “Merrick…how did you get those?”
On the screen were images that could have been found in any fashion magazine. The difference was that in addition to the posed shots of Ethan taken this morning at the Cosmopolitan photoshoot, there were new two images.
The photos showed him lying on a bed, naked, one hand thrown above his head, the other between his legs, partially cupping his penis. In one photo, draped beside him on the bed were the pair of suit pants he’d worn as part of the photoshoot today. In the second photo, his suit coat trailed off the screen. In both images a limp, used condom lay on the bed beside Ethan, contributing to the impression that he’d just had sex.
The lighting was consistent through all the shots both at the Cosmo and in the bedroom—dim and sensual, leaving edges in shadow. The lettering tied them together as a cohesive campaign. Anyone looking at these would assume Ethan had consented to the risqué photoshoot.
But Ethan knew differently. He could tell that he was younger in the bed shots. His hair was slightly darker, not as bleached as it had become once he’d moved to Las Vegas. And there was the fact that he didn’t remember posing for such photos. He wouldn’t have, not with a used condom in the shot. Yet thanks to Merrick’s considerable skill at pasting in the garments and adjusting the lighting to hide his manipulations, the photoshoot appeared as though it had been taken this morning.
“Where did you get those?” Ethan demanded of his ex-lover. The older man refused to meet his eyes. His face was a mask of agony, but Ethan had zero sympathy for him “Are those from when we were together? Did you—did you take photos of me without my permission?”
“We were lovers,” Merrick mumbled. “It’s not a crime.”
“I was asleep! And now you’re using them for—I don’t know what this is for but I’m not letting it happen.”
“Feel free to sue him after they’ve been leaked to the public.” Wilson snapped the laptop lid closed. “Or, you can avoid the humiliation of public exposure altogether.”
Ethan felt attacked in a way he’d never experienced before. This was worse than a stranger trying to blackmail him. This was his ex-lover, a man with whom Ethan had been vulnerable. The pain and outrage were like a knife in the heart. He didn’t know how to handle this. No one had ever tried to deliberately harm him as Merrick and this man were attempting to do.
“Why do you need those?” Ethan asked, pointing at the laptop. “What’s the point of embarrassing me?”
“This has been set in motion by Mr. Poole.”
For a second, Ethan’s mind whited out. Then understanding hit him like a lightning bolt. He stared at Wilson in shock.
“You’re—are you talking about Max’s father? Philip?”
“I have a deal to make with you,” Wilson said. “Leave Las Vegas. Within the hour. Take nothing with you. Contact no one. You’ll be remunerated generously enough that you’ll be able to buy whatever you want when you reach your destination, wherever that may be.”
Ethan brought a trembling hand to his lips. “This is insane. I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s one thing to be outed, Mr. Winter. Quite another to be photographed in such a sexually suggestive pose. Will the clients of The Elite Poole Worldwide take you seriously as a bodyguard after seeing these images? Will anyone believe The Elite Poole is anything more than a front for an escort service?”
The seriousness of the situation began to claw at Ethan. This was more than just his reputation at risk. This was much bigger.
“You’re asking me to leave town,” he said, unable to believe the words.
“Immediately.”
“Max is my husband. I-I can’t leave him.”
“You are not legally married, nor is your name on any account or property shared by or associated with Maxmillian Poole. You can walk away without incident.”
“No, I can’t. I-I can’t.” Ethan looked to Merrick, who continued to stare at the ground. “Merrick, say something.”
“I’m just a tool, Ethan,” the older man mumbled. “A convenient tool. Maxmillian’s father has it out for you. The guy had people dig into your past. They found me. It was damn bad luck that I happened to be in a difficult spot with Moira and the models and needed a bailout. Even worse for you that I had taken those photos while you were sleeping. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that I had them, but…I think they would have found a way to make this happen even without them. This Poole guy—he sounds like a man you don’t cross. His pockets are bottomless. He has the power to do anything. We don’t stand a chance against people like him.”
“We stand no chance if you don’t fight him,” Ethan gritted out, glaring at Merrick. “You had options. You could have come to me. Max and I would have helped you.”
“And yet he didn’t, and now here we are,” Wilson said. “Right now, you need to decide if you’re willing to destroy Maxmillian Poole by staying by his side.”
“Why can’t Philip Poole leave his son alone?” Ethan spat. “He’s had nothing to do with Max for decades. Why care now? Why does it matter if Max is with me? Doesn’t he want his son to be happy, for god’s sake? What kind of monster is he?”
“I can’t speak for Mr. Poole,” Wilson said. “I am only here to issue an ultimatum. Leave now under the circumstances I have laid out or these photos will find their way to the public. And if you believe that you can weather the storm, remember that this will not end here. Mr. Poole wants you gone from Las Vegas and he will do whatever it takes to see it done. There are no lines, legal or illegal, that Mr. Poole won’t cross to see you gone.”
“Fuck Mr. Poole!” Ethan lashed out. “He doesn’t get to dictate my life. I’ve never met the man and I sure as hell am not letting him blackmail me.”
“I’m sure your husband will appreciate your stubbornness as his company is driven into the ground and he is publicly humiliated. Perhaps there will be a police investigation into the escort service he is allegedly running.” Wilson shrugged. “Anything is possible.”
“You’re sick.”
“This won’t end, Mr. Winter, until you’re gone from Maxmillian Poole’s life.”
“This makes no sense,” Ethan said to himself as he stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Max means nothing to his father. Nothing. Why can’t he just leave us alone?”
The question was rhetorical, of course. The elder Poole was a man Ethan couldn’t hope to understand However, he did understand one thing: he believed that Philip Poole wouldn’t rest until he’d gotten what he’d wanted. He’d be just like his son, driven to succeed at any cost.
First the disaster with Max’s friend Gordie and now this. Would Philip Poole go so far as to ruin The Elite Poole Worldwide just to force Max to obey him? Despair rolled through Ethan because he knew the answer. Philip Poole had never wanted his son to move to America and take control of the company. Max had done it as an act of rebellion and to purposefully walk a different path than his father.
But that path was curving around into a U-turn, forcing him back to his father.
“If I leave,” Ethan began, the words bitter on his tongue, “I need a guarantee that nothing will happen to Max or The Elite Poole Worldwide. Otherwise there’s no point in me going.”
“I can give you no guarantees. But understand that Mr.
Poole’s issue is with your presence in his son’s life. You are the problem.”
The words crushed Ethan. It was all he could do to remain upright and not sink into the nearest chair. He had only ever wanted to bring joy to Max, but right now he was Max’s Achilles’ Heel. Right now, he would be the reason that Max, who had never failed at anything, would finally stumble.
“How am I leaving?” Ethan asked dully. He felt his emotions retreating, sinking to a place deep inside of himself and encapsulating so he was left numb. Dead.
“I will drive you to the airport. I will provide you with funds for a flight and your reward money for leaving.”
“Take your reward and choke on it.”
Wilson inclined his head. “Let’s go.”
Ethan forced himself to take the first step forward. Then the next. His limbs didn’t want to move, as though his body were fighting his mind.
“Ethan…”
Reluctantly, he looked back at Merrick.
I’ll tell him, the older man mouthed.
Though that would provide some comfort, Ethan shook his head.
Max couldn’t know the truth. His reaction would be terrible and could destroy everything Ethan was trying to preserve by leaving.
Let Max come to his own conclusions. He was a survivor. It was important that he continued being a great success. Even if he did so without Ethan.
Chapter Twelve
Maxmillian experienced a sort of déjà vu, and it was nearly enough to turn his stomach. As he re-read the words on his computer screen, the thin hope that this was all a misunderstanding or a miscommunication faded for good. There was no mistake here. Giuliani had done good work. The proof existed and was in Max’s hands.
That didn’t mean he wanted it.
He sat back in his chair, heart thudding within his chest. He wanted to give in to his baser urges and roar at the top of his lungs. He fantasized about flipping his desk with everything on it. Or punching someone. Hurting them as he hurt now. He wanted someone to share in his grief, to understand his bitter frustration. He wanted someone to shake their head and tell him, Yes, you’ve been wronged. You don’t deserve this.
He wanted sympathy, he realized, like a young boy would.
He hadn’t felt this way—so potently—in many years, and he understood that these emotions were more powerful now for having been suppressed for so long. He had compartmentalized many uncomfortable events and emotions in his life, kept them separate to avoid tainting the parts of his life that benefited him and made him happy. Those compartments were still sealed. If he dared blow them open—especially now, after what he’d learned—his genuine, unfiltered reaction would end his career and possibly place him at risk for a civil suit.
Ethan, if he became aware of the depths of Max’s self-restraint, would argue that he was hurting himself by locking away his emotions. He would probably say it would be cathartic and healthy for Max to let it out all.
Ethan had always been too optimistic for his own good. The current situation was a perfect, awful example of that.
Max snatched up the desk phone and called his husband’s cell. With each unanswered ring, his dread grew. By the time Ethan’s voicemail message came on, Max felt as though he were choking on anxiety. It was all he could do not to hurl the receiver across his office.
Control yourself. He may be in the midst of the photoshoot. Gather the facts before jumping to conclusions.
Except that it was too late in the day for the shoot to still be running. Not unless Ethan and Merrick Felix had run into trouble…
Max ended the call only to immediately dial up Merrick Felix’s hotel and request to be connected to the man’s suite. As the line began to ring, sweat slid down Max’s ribcage. What would he do if neither man answered? What would it mean?
“H-Hello?”
Felix answered the phone like an uncertain man, like a man who’d considered not answering at all. Did he suspect who was calling?
“It’s Maxmillian Poole.”
A sound came over the line: a sharp inhalation of breath coupled with a muted, quickly aborted groan. Max sat up straighter in his chair.
“I’m trying to get in contact with Ethan,” he said sternly. “He’s not answering his phone.”
“Ah, he’s busy at the moment. Just stepped out of the room.”
“You and he are both there?”
“Yes. Both here.”
“But he left the room.”
“That’s right.” Defensive. Lying. Max didn’t need to see the man’s face to know that he was pale and sweating.
“Why did he leave the room?” Max demanded.
“He, uh, had to uh—he wanted to get some ice. From the ice machine. Down the hall.”
“And he left his cell phone with you?”
“That’s right.”
Felix wouldn’t have convinced a child of his nonsense.
“Are you alone in your suite?” Max asked carefully. He needed to know if the other man was speaking under duress.
“Yes. But like I said, Mr. Poole, Ethan’s coming back.”
“Then I’ll wait on the line for his return.”
A pause. Max could practically hear Felix’s heart racing.
“How about I have him call you back when he gets here, okay? We’re in the middle of business and I’ll probably forget that you’re waiting—”
“Mr. Felix—”
“—so we’ll just do that, okay? I’ll have him call you. Gotta go.”
The line went silent. Max gave in to impulse at last and slammed the receiver into the cradle. He took a deep breath. He decided on a course of action. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and lifted out his gun and a magazine. If Ethan was at the hotel, Max would find him. And if he wasn’t…Merrick Felix would regret ever stepping foot in Las Vegas.
~~~~~
During the long walk to the elevators, Ethan’s vision seemed to film over in red and his ears filled with the deep, loud throb of his heart. Wilson followed behind him silently, yet Ethan was sure he could sense the man’s satisfaction.
“Everything went according to plan, did it?” Ethan threw over his shoulder as he neared the bank of elevators. “Your boss got what you wanted and now you’ll probably get a bonus or something, right?”
“I stepped in last minute, so no bonus for me.”
“You were called in late?”
Wilson ignored the question.
When they reached the elevators, Ethan punched for the casino level before glaring over at the other man. “If you were brought in as a last-minute fixer, that implies something failed earlier. Which part?”
Wilson shrugged before switching Merrick’s laptop to the hand farthest from Ethan and clasping it against one hip. “That doesn’t matter to you. Everything is fine now that you’re playing along.”
“Was Merrick supposed to convince me to leave before the photoshoot?”
Instead of answering, Wilson turned to face the closed doors and stared at his own reflection.
“Was there another plan?” Ethan persisted. “Is this Plan B?”
“It doesn’t matter to you, Mr. Winter. None of this is going to be your problem from now on.”
Because he would be out of the picture, just as Max’s father wanted.
Ethan still reeled from what he’d learned. Though he’d been angry about the man’s treatment of Max as a child, Ethan couldn’t have claimed that he’d hated Philip Poole. He hadn’t known the man or his motives well enough for that. However, today that had changed. What the elder Poole was doing to his son now—basically controlling whom he loved—was unforgivable no matter what his reasons.
Ethan couldn’t help questioning how much the existence of The Elite Poole Worldwide factored into this. Max’s success represented autonomy from his father. Now, more than at any other time since Max had taken control of the company, the agency was poised for true domination of the industry. With Axel Randolph’s backing, Max was about to achieve bu
siness goals which didn’t involve his father in any way. Though Philip Poole had been hands-off in the rearing of his son, there was a chance he’d come to realize Max was about to achieve full financial, mental, and emotional independence from his parents. Did Philip Poole find that threatening?
How selfish, Ethan thought with disgust. How pitiful.
He startled when his suitcoat pocket vibrated from his phone. It had to be Max calling. What if Ethan answered and hurriedly explained the situation? Would Max resent him for taking that risk and defying his father?
Or would he be proud of Ethan for not bowing down to his father’s demands? Max had the resources and the connections to make just about anything possible. He could withstand Philip Poole’s bullying—
Except Ethan considered their current situation, with Max stressed about the public reveal of their relationship. What Philip Poole threatened was a thousand times worse. It could break Max.
“Don’t answer that,” Wilson told him, looking pointedly at Ethan’s pocket. “Not until you’re on the plane heading elsewhere. Part of the deal.”
“This is no deal.”
The older man shrugged, disinterested. “Lips zipped until you’re airborne, then you can chat all you like.”
The phone rang one more time before falling silent. Ethan brushed his fingers over his pocket, almost as a last goodbye. Max was only minutes away, yet Ethan could already feel the gulf between them expanding.
An elevator car arrived. Ethan and Wilson entered, the older man pushing the button for the casino level.
“You sleep okay after doing this sort of thing? Ruining people’s lives?” Ethan asked as they descended.
“I do all sorts of work for all sorts of people. Don’t take it personal.”
“You must be joking.”
Wilson sighed and scratched at his nose. “I’m in this for the money. I don’t care about you or this Poole fellow. My job is to incentivize you to leave, end of story.”
