Private Scandal

by Jenna Bayley-Burke

  As apprehensive as Megan was about her abilities and reputation, she was proud of standing her ground and sticking to what she believed in. Though the boys at the car today had thought she was a whore, and a few permanently adolescent heirs to family money thought she should be to make up for their financial losses, she hadn’t actually slipped beneath the moral code she’d set for herself as a teen.

  Her stomach clenched, thinking of how she’d taken the car from Malibu. Brandon would have to take it back tonight, just as she was taking back her life. If he wanted to be friends without benefits, she would stay open to that. For so long he was her best friend, and she didn’t want to throw that away as easily as he had.

  Her whole life things had come easy to her. Family money opened many doors and provided the security to do as you pleased. When her parents had disappeared with her trust fund and she’d discovered that Brandon had taken up with Gemma, the rug had been pulled out from under her and she’d fallen.

  Hard.

  But she was getting up. The scrapes were healing, and there would be scars left behind so that she would never forget how quickly security could fall away and leave her with only herself to depend on.

  She tacked on a smile as the elderly Raleigh sisters commiserated about how sad it was that her parents hadn’t thought to take their daughters with them when they fled the country. It seemed in every conversation she had to bring it back around to the Carlton Houses and how important it was that she was still here to help with such a worthy endeavor.

  As they nodded their agreement, Megan looked up and found Brandon without searching. Her smile went from fake to genuine. He might not be the man she’d share the rest of her life with, but they had shared some wonderful moments.

  Just as she couldn’t let the current scandal change her opinion of her mother, she wouldn’t let Brandon’s current indiscretions change what she’d thought of him. He’d been wonderful to her, her first love, her first lover, her first heartbreak.

  Her shredded heart tightened in her chest at the realization that they were truly over. She hoped now they could be friends, and that he would learn to accept that they would never again be more.

  “This is ridiculous, Megan.” Brandon waited for her to buckle into the passenger seat of her car before he started it up and headed for her dreadful idea of an apartment. “The Bentley is yours.”

  “It belonged to Carlton International. I’ll get a car eventually.” She folded her hands on her lap as prim as if she were one of the nuns at the parochial school he’d attended.

  “Why do you insist on doing everything the hard way?”

  “Just because I don’t want to do things your way, doesn’t mean it’s the hard way.”

  “You’d be doing me a favor if you let me help you. I go crazy thinking of all the things that can go wrong with this little independence plan of yours.”

  She huffed a breath and stared out the window. Brandon gripped the steering wheel, wishing for all he was worth that she weren’t so damned stubborn. A woman who knew her own mind was attractive in most circumstances, but this was maddening.

  “How are you going to get Cash if you don’t have a car?”

  “I’ll pick him up after my shift at the coffee shop and we’ll walk. It’s good exercise.”

  “You have to work tomorrow?”

  “Today, technically.” She tapped the clock on the dash. “In three hours.”

  “That’s insane.”

  Megan shrugged. “It doesn’t usually feel early because I’m getting off my shift at the bar.”

  “And how do you plan on getting to work without a car?”

  “The same way I have for the two months before you tried to ride in on your white horse. I’ll take the bus.” When she pushed her hair behind her ears he noticed a slight shake to her hand.

  “It would be safer if you would use the car.”

  “I am safer in that neighborhood than the car is.”

  “Yes, but I can replace it.”

  The silence hung heavy between them as he navigated the freeways, still sprinkled with traffic even at the late hour. He’d agreed to take her home only after she’d threatened to leave the car at the hotel and take the bus.

  He’d hoped to use the drive from Beverly Hills to Pasadena to talk her into coming home with him, but she wasn’t playing into his hand. Hadn’t since he’d led her back into the ballroom.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to build her confidence back up. If he’d led her out of the hotel before she’d had time to rally, she probably would have given in and given up on this plan to make it completely on her own.

  “You know, Meg, everyone needs help now and again. You can’t live in a bubble.”

  “I know. My bubble burst.” She gave a sad laugh at her attempt at a joke. “I can take care of myself, maybe not to the level at which I was raised, but most people don’t live like that. Most people live like I do, worrying about the rent and having to wear the same old dress to parties.”

  “Your life is not a social experiment. I have complete confidence that you can continue on like this indefinitely. I also know you well enough to know that you’re miserable like this. Life’s too short to waste simply proving a point.”

  “I won’t do this forever. I miss my sisters.” She drew in a deep breath that tugged at an emptiness deep in his soul. The sigh that followed was long, and sounded too much like defeat. “After the funding is secure for the houses, I think I’ll head to Oregon to see Briana.”

  “You’re going to run even farther away? You think that will help?” His ears prickled as red-hot rage flashed through him. She wasn’t just running away from the scandal, she was running away from him.

  “She really seems to like it there, and she swears it doesn’t rain half as much as people think.”

  “Is this the part where I beg you not to go?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone.

  “I hope not. It would help more if you told me to have a nice life.” She swiped at her cheek and he resisted the urge to pull the car over.

  “Your life won’t be nice without me in it.”

  “That’s a bit egocentric, even for you.”

  “When are you going to stop punishing me for something that isn’t even my fault?”

  “Probably about the time you realize that what happened was completely of your own making.”

  “I suppose you think I should have let some stranger come in and take the hotels? If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else, and they wouldn’t have cared enough to keep the original hotels together. Your family history has always meant so much to you. I thought you might want them.” He turned down her street, the flashing lights atop police cars making him squint. He banged his hand on the steering wheel. “Do you see? You are not safe here.”

  “As if there have never been a few police cars outside your parents’ estate. I’m sure they’re just here breaking up some party.”

  “In this neighborhood I doubt the police have time to bother with noise ordinances.” He pulled along the curb behind one of the patrol cars and killed the engine. He turned towards her to explain that under no circumstances could he allow her to stay here, but before he got a word out one of the bodyguards knocked on her window.

  Megan screamed and nearly jumped out of her skin, proving to him that no matter her bravado, she was not prepared for this.

  “Hey,” he said, taking her hands in his. “It’s okay. I want you to stay in the car while I find out what’s going on.”

  Her thin brows knit together when he climbed out of the car, but she didn’t follow, so at least she’d heard that much. He stepped up on the curb, nodding at the men he’d interviewed personally.

  “Any idea what happened?” Brandon asked, glancing back at the car. Megan sat stark still, staring straight ahead.

  “Break in, about two hours ago,” the younger of the two men spoke in low tones, barely above a whisper. “It took the police over an hour to r
espond.”

  His throat tightened. “Was it—”

  The older man nodded, cutting off the question. “Six boys who’ll have to spend some time in the adult system. Word is they got bored while waiting for her to come home and did quite the number on the apartment.”

  A kind of fear he’d never imagine possible washed over him, spiking his bloodstream with adrenaline and ice. He stared up at the windows of her apartment, watching shadows move behind the curtains. His mind started to play snippets of scenes of what might have been, and he struggled to stop them all. His stomach twisted in a series of knots that would have held a fifty-foot sloop.

  “I called it in and waited. I would have stopped her if she’d come home alone.” The younger man’s words drifted in, but Brandon could only register them with a nod.

  A hollow banging rang out and he looked up to see a uniformed officer shouldering a pimpled teen down the cement stairs on the side of the building. The handcuffed kid’s baggy jeans and over-sized shoes seemed to be tripping him up. If it weren’t so terrifying, it might be comical.

  Brandon heard his own breath grow louder as he stared at the teen, his muscles twitching as they primed for a fight that he knew would never be. Still, his body responded, ready to squeeze the life from this bastard as surely as it would have been snuffed out of Megan.

  He watched as the teen wriggled against his captor, nearly falling over the final stair. The cop jerked the kid’s head up and recognition registered on the scum’s ugly face as his gaze fell on the car with Megan alone inside. Brandon twitched, barely managing to rein in his need to put himself between Megan and danger. She was safe in the car and if he did anything to let on what had happened, she might try to get out.

  Rapid-fire Spanish flew from the bastard’s mouth, his tone taunting and nasty. Brandon’s brain translated immediately, as if the words had been flung in English. He didn’t know he’d lunged until the younger bodyguard blocked his way, the older man’s arm firm across his chest.

  “That garbage isn’t worth it.” The older man spoke, but seemed to know better than to release his hold until the patrol car door slammed.

  Megan clutched Cash to her chest, her breath still unsteady. The hard glint in Brandon’s dark eyes haunted her from the mirrored walls of the elevator. He’d barely spoken to her in the last few hours, nothing outside of one-word answers she wouldn’t have disagreed with even if she wanted to. Right now, he was not a man to be crossed.

  And she wasn’t in any condition to fight. The aftershocks of seeing what they’d done to her apartment still echoed in her mind. There was no telling what they would have done to Cash if he’d been there, to her if she’d come home alone.

  It was all a tangled mess of things she didn’t want to ever have to comb through. If only she could shave it from her mind completely.

  It would be hard to forget the words they’d written on the walls, how they’d torn every piece of clothing she owned, or her irrational anger at the mess they’d made on her great-grandmother’s quilt. She’d always remember the way Brandon had stood beside her, lending her his silent strength when hers had depleted. He’d even shaken off the quilt and put it in a garbage bag, giving it to the front desk with the directions to have it cleaned and repaired.

  Funny, she’d toiled for weeks to earn enough money for the charging pad for the phone, but she’d been cut low by the desecration of the one thing she’d brought with her. As the elevator doors parted, she had the strange realization that though she and Brandon had been together in his penthouse countless times, they’d never ridden up in the elevator together. They’d always kept up the pretence and gone up separately.

  She followed him into the small foyer, the door to his penthouse on the right, what had been her father’s on the left. No one had once questioned why she frequented the hotel, always assuming she used the penthouse after a night of partying rather than returning home. They were right, just not about which penthouse.

  Brandon held open the door for her and she walked into the place she’d spent more nights than not before her world tilted and she slid into oblivion. Hearing the door close, the slide of the deadbolt, the beep of the alarm, Brandon’s footfalls as he retreated to the bedroom, all of it served to relax her shoulders and lower her guard. In spite of the events of the night, she hadn’t felt this safe in months.

  Cash wriggled from her arms, his nails clicking on the marble tiles on the entryway before being silenced by the thick rugs on the dark wood floors as he scampered into the kitchen. She wondered if he’d be disappointed not to find his water dish in the butler’s pantry, but when she heard his faint slurping her heart tumbled. For better or worse, they were as close to home as they got.

  Brandon emerged from the bedroom wearing only a pair of black lounge pants slung low on his hips. She couldn’t help but notice the hard ridges of his abdomen and the smooth planes of his muscled chest. She looked for the evidence she’d left on his body, but didn’t see the slightest trace.

  He crossed the room to the wet bar and poured himself more bourbon than she’d ever seen him drink. He didn’t like to drink, didn’t like to blur the edges or lose control. He tossed it back with barely a wince and poured another.

  “You need to give it a minute and let it kick in.” She ran her palms along the rough lace of her skirt, unsure of what to do with her hands.

  “I don’t think I have enough for it to even make a dent.” He swallowed another glassful, banging it on the marble countertop.

  “Unless you’ve started drinking, it shouldn’t take long for things to get fuzzy.”

  “Promise?” He poured another.

  “Seriously, give it some time.”

  “Go to bed, Megan.” He swirled the glass, never once looking up at her as he walked to the wall of windows and stared out at the twinkling lights of the city.

  She twisted her hands in front of her. “I’m going to need to borrow a T-shirt to wear since I don’t have anything.” Her voice cracked, but she swallowed and continued. “And I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

  “Whatever you want, Megan. Your closet is nearly full, but go ahead and take whatever you want.”

  The urge to go to him and wrap her arms around him and apologize for how he felt was strong, but she didn’t give in. She was as shaken by the events of the night as he was, which didn’t leave her in a place to comfort someone else, and so she retreated.

  She’d rarely been in the guest bedroom of the penthouse, always staking her claim on the king bed and the man who slept in it. The guest room was decorated like the rest of the hotel, understated with light colors and rich fabrics. She sat on the bench at the end of the canopy bed and slid off her heels, rubbing at the soles of her feet.

  Fear and exhaustion combined to make her both wired and tired. Maybe Brandon’s idea of drinking into a stupor had some merit. She got up and opened the door of the walk-in closet, turning on the light as she stepped inside. Confusion flooded her as she looked around at more clothes than she’d seen since she’d left her parents estate.

  Looking closer, she tried to place when and where she’d worn things last. These weren’t the things she’d left at her parents or things she’d sold at the consignment shop, but clothes she must have left here over the years. There were shelves of sweaters, which made sense because they were always the first to come off and she doubted she ever took the time to look for them when she left. Jeans, dresses, shoes, evening bags by the dozen.

  Had she really been so disconnected that she hadn’t realized just how much was here? She usually came with a bag, but it was obvious she’d rarely left with one.

  She turned to her left and her heart stuttered. Her entire lingerie collection hung neatly on padded hangers, carefully finger-spaced apart. Maybe she’d never noticed the things she left behind because everything must have been tucked into his closet like her lingerie had been.

  At least he’d had the decency to transfer her things before he moved Gemma
in. Since so much remained, Gemma probably had no idea what he kept hidden in the guest room. If she’d found such a stash she would have burned every piece.

  Thoughts of Brandon’s new lover did serve to push down the events of the night. Megan rubbed her face, knowing that staying here was only a temporary option. She couldn’t stomach having to see Gemma and Brandon play house.

  She reached out and fingered the soft silk of one of her nightgowns. None of them were entirely appropriate for sleeping. Lingerie had been more playwear than anything else. Brandon had a thing for red. And sheer. And lace. And flyaway baby dolls that would release with a quick tug on the ribbons holding them closed. Some of it was playful like the Santa teddy. Some had made her feel so incredibly sexy.

  She found an aubergine nightgown with a slit so high even her legs seemed long in it. The lace along the halter neckline seemed to push things together and used to make her feel like a siren. She lifted the hanger and carried it into the ensuite bathroom and hung it on the back of the door. She turned the steam shower on full before stripping out of her dress and underwear.

  Beneath the spray, she tried to scrub off the events of the day, of the last few months. Maybe if she scrubbed hard enough she’d get back to who she used to be, how she used to feel. Steam billowed around her, curling her hair and relaxing her muscles. She let the water course over her body until her limbs felt week and heavy.

  As she dried off, she wondered if she might be able to make it to bed before the sensation evaporated like the steam. She finger-combed her hair and toweled it dry before slipping the nightgown over her head. The silk whispered against her skin, the lace of the bodice molding to her curves.

  The cool air prickled her skin as she left the bathroom in search of Cash. The penthouse was dark, only the faint moonlight illuminating the rooms. Megan knew every inch as if it were her own home, but that didn’t make finding a tiny black dog in the dark any easier.