Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology Book 2)

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  ‘And did you?’

  I recoil, glancing over to the bathroom, hearing the whoosh of Lucy’s shower and her singing over the top of it. ‘Yes,’ I confess. ‘I saw her picture in a file on your desk. Lady Winchester.’ More silence. My mind races. ‘But I told Price she wasn’t familiar to me.’

  Becker lets out an audible gush of relieved breath. ‘Good girl.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She’s a filthy rich old lady who’s rumoured to be involved with a collection of forged Picassos.’

  What? Oh God. ‘Why do you have a file on her?’

  ‘She bought a Ming vase from the Hunt Corporation a few years ago. Don’t get any ideas. Gramps got the file out to destroy it. We can’t be associated with crooked people. Bad for business.’

  I gape down the line, astonished. ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you? I’m very real. We don’t associate with carelessness. The police sniffing around isn’t ideal.’

  Yes, I can appreciate that, given the secret room where Becker loses himself from time-to-time and carved a fake Michelangelo. ‘Just promise me you have nothing to do with the Picassos,’ I beg, needing absolute clarification.

  ‘I promise you,’ he replies sincerely, and I sink into the couch, relieved.

  ‘Why didn’t Price just ask you?’ I ask.

  ‘Because he knows I’ll tell him to fuck off.’

  I gawk down the phone. ‘Don’t hold back, will you?’

  ‘They weren’t exactly helpful when Mum and Dad were killed. Why would I help them?’

  I tingle from top to toe as a result of Becker’s spat words, feeling resentment bubbling in my veins, my lip curling. My protectiveness stuns me. I’m so very glad I played dumb. To hell with the police. They weren’t there for Becker. Why the hell should he ever cooperate for them? ‘He also asked about my relationship with you,’ I go on.

  ‘And you said?’

  ‘I told him you’re my boss.’

  Becker laughs hard. ‘Don’t you think the whole fucking world knows that we’re fucking, Eleanor?’

  I frown down the line. ‘I didn’t think of that at the time, when I was being interrogated by the police. And do you want to rephrase that, Hunt?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, a little sheepishly. ‘In love. The whole world must know I’m in love with you. Better?’

  I grin to myself. ‘Much. So now Price knows I’m a liar.’

  ‘Price can think what he likes, princess. I couldn’t give two shits. But at least he knows he’s wasting time trying to ply you for information. The Hunt Corporation has always been a private company. Let’s keep it that way.’

  I go quiet, once again the gravity of my position at the firm and my involvement with Becker hitting me hard. ‘Okay,’ I agree quietly.

  He sighs. ‘Get ready and go have a drink with Lucy.’ His instruction is soft and comforting. ‘Relax, princess. And be safe.’ He hangs up after his final order, just as Lucy appears from the bathroom.

  ‘All clear?’ she asks, rubbing at her hair with a towel.

  I chuck my phone on the couch and stand, ignoring her question but taking on board what Becker has instructed me to do. Relax. ‘What are you wearing?’

  She grins and scoops up the Topshop bag from the floor. ‘Brace yourself.’ She whips out . . . something.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask, tilting my head as she unfolds the garment.

  ‘This’ – she shakes the material until I’m looking at something very . . . small – ‘is a playsuit.’

  My eyes roam from top to bottom of the material. It doesn’t take me long. ‘That’s tits and legs,’ I point out. ‘You are breaking your own rule.’

  She scoffs and drapes the pink, very short, very low playsuit over the back of a chair. ‘I feel like getting glammed up.’

  I give the playsuit a dubious look. That’s a pulling outfit, the kind of outfit a woman wears when she wants attention. ‘Is everything okay with Mark?’

  ‘Fine.’ She shrugs and grabs the hairdryer, flipping her head over and turning it on. ‘Can’t a girl pull out all the stops once in a while?’ she calls over the roar of air.

  ‘You mean pull out her tits and legs?’

  ‘Potato, patarto.’

  Chapter 18

  Covent Garden is a hive of activity, groups of tourists still roaming among the hardcore Londoners who have ventured out to play. Being the good friend that I am, I didn’t abandon Lucy in her disgrace and instead supported her. That is why I am now skimpily clad in a short black draped dress, but my boobs are tucked safely away. My hair is piled high and messily, and my tiny black purse matches my heels. The ones that pinch like a bitch.

  Lucy spots two stools at the bar and makes a beeline for them, grabbing the cocktail menu when she arrives. ‘You know what I think?’ she says, burying her nose in the leather-bound book with lists and lists of drinks.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask, settling next to her and placing my tiny bulging purse on the bar.

  ‘I think we should work our way through the mojito menu. Every flavour.’ She looks up and waves a beckoning hand to the barman. ‘We’ll start with the blackcurrant.’

  ‘How many are there?’ I ask, craning my neck to see. Lucy turns the menu away from me. Her sly action tells me there are a lot of flavours on that menu.

  ‘Just a few.’ She points at the page and smiles sweetly at the barman. ‘Two of the blackcurrant, please. And when you see our drinks an inch from the bottom, start making the strawberry.’

  ‘Like your style.’ He laughs and grabs two tall glasses as Lucy slaps the menu down and turns her stool into me. I have to admit, her tits and legs look amazing, and she’s pinned up her short blond hair haphazardly. She looks lovely.

  ‘How’s Mark?’ I ask again, undoing my bulging purse to retrieve my lipstick. The unfastening of the zip relieves the pressure from inside, sending all of the contents spilling out onto the bar.

  ‘A bigger bag, perhaps?’ Lucy teases, waving her oversized clutch under my nose.

  ‘Here.’ I slide my phone, keys, and purse across to her. ‘Put these in that suitcase. My zip’s going to break.’ She laughs and takes them, tucking them neatly in her huge clutch bag. ‘So, how is he?’

  She shrugs nonchalantly, taking a quick peek around the bar. ‘He’s good.’

  The barman slides two of the most elaborate-looking blackcurrant mojitos I’ve ever seen across the bar, and Lucy dives on hers, wrapping her lips around the straw and slurping loudly. ‘Hmm, yum.’ She ignores the bewildered look that has crawled its way onto my face, keeping herself hunched over her drink, working her way through it like it’s a life saver. Or a distraction.

  Reaching forward, I claim my mojito, all the while keeping suspicious eyes on my friend. ‘Just good?’ I ask coolly.

  She’s still refusing to look at me. ‘Yeah, good.’

  I settle back on my stool, analysing my shifty mate. I can’t usually shut her up once Mark is the topic of conversation, whether she’s gushing about how he’s the one, or she’s moaning about printer-room girl. Her eyes start to flick from corner to corner of the bar. She’s scoping the joint. Closely. Nervously.

  I’m getting more and more worried the longer I study her. It’s not long before two more mojitos are sliding across the bar, and I look down to see I’ve worked my way through the glass mindlessly while I’ve been sitting here pondering what’s got into my friend.

  ‘Thanks.’ I smile at the barman, swapping my glass with the fresh one. My lips haven’t even made it to the straw before Lucy has supped her way through the strawberry mojito. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re looking for someone?’ I throw it out there and watch as she looks at me out the corner of her eye.

  ‘Not at all,’ she mumbles before quickly holding her empty gla
ss up to the barman.

  She’s lying. What’s going on? Then I suddenly recall something she told me on one of our phone calls. ‘Oh my God,’ I breathe, taking her glass and putting it down before forcing her stool around so she has to face me. ‘Tonight’s the work party you’re not invited to, isn’t it? They’re coming here.’

  She hangs her head in shame. ‘Might be.’

  It makes sense. The playsuit, pulling out all the stops. ‘What are you thinking, Lucy?’ I ask, exasperated.

  ‘I’m thinking that if I’m not here, Miss Nimble Legs will have those pins wrapped around Mark’s waist quicker than you’ve fallen in love with Becker.’ She scowls at me, and I recoil, a little offended. ‘I’m not particularly happy about stooping to such levels, but she hasn’t given me much choice. Have you seen it?’ she asks, nodding her head like a demented puppet. ‘Her fucking legs stretch to Jupiter.’

  I see in my mind’s eye the gorgeous woman sashaying from Lucy’s office building, and Lucy’s sour face as she watched those long legs strut. My friend feels inferior. She’s short, and the tall leggy blonde from floor eighteen is clearly giving her an inferiority complex. ‘Mark screwed her. That’s all.’ I’m a fucking hypocrite. I was hardly cool when we bumped into Alexa the other day.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, maybe that’s all she’s good for. Long legs to wrap around a man’s waist.’ I wince at my stupid comment, remembering another pair of long legs that, apparently, Becker likes wrapped around him. I literally jerk my head to the side and toss the stray thought out on a wrinkled nose. He only has thighs for me.

  ‘Eleanor!’ Lucy shrieks.

  ‘But you’re a keeper, Lucy,’ I rush to finish, kicking myself for using one of printer-room girl’s best assets, and kicking myself harder because I put that asset around Lucy’s boyfriend’s waist. ‘He wants you.’ I sag on my stool. I thought my own silly little insecurities were unreasonable, but at least I’m not stalking Becker around London. ‘Oh, Lucy,’ I say in despair, dropping my head into my hands. ‘How do you know he’s going to be here?’

  ‘I might have stumbled across a group email at work detailing the plans.’ She doesn’t sound in the least bit embarrassed by her confession. ‘Eleanor.’ She comes closer. ‘Trust me, since Miss Nimble Legs found out Mark and I are dating, she’s seriously raised the stakes. The flirting, the dresses at work, the coy smiles. She’s like a fly around shit.’

  ‘But he’s with you,’ I point out, for the hundredth time. ‘Does he know how you feel?’

  ‘God, no. I don’t want him to think I’m needy.’

  I give her a sardonic look, one that suggests she’s deluded. Not that she notices, because she’s looking over my shoulder, her eyes rooted on the door. I don’t bother looking. Her round eyes clue me in on who’s just walked in. And I know the moment Mark spots her, because she virtually dives into her mojito before turning the most over-the-top smile onto me and laughing loudly. At nothing. Oh, this is great.

  ‘Lucy?’ Marks voice drifts over my shoulders from behind, and I watch in astonishment as Lucy does a double take.

  ‘Mark!’ she sings, slipping down from her stool and giving him a hug. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here. Eleanor invited me out.’

  I gulp down my stunned cough and tackle my drink before I give her away.

  Mark showers my insecure friend with plenty of affection, kissing her full on the lips and then helping her back onto her stool. His actions and persona reinforce my thoughts. The leggy blonde from floor eighteen doesn’t stand a chance. I just need to convince my friend of that before she blows it. Men hate needy women.

  ‘We started in the Punch and Judy,’ Mark tells Lucy, though I know she already knows that. ‘But this place does a mean mojito and the music is great after nine.’

  I raise my glass and smile when he registers the mojitos. ‘Already found them.’ I smile. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Great.’ He’s relaxed and cool, his beard a little shorter than the last time I saw him. ‘How’s the boss?’ A small knowing smirk materialises. ‘Or boyfriend.’

  ‘Magnificent,’ I reply, spiking a laugh from Lucy.

  ‘You girls want a drink?’

  I look to Lucy for guidance, seeing her slowly shaking her head. I don’t get it, but I play along, nevertheless. ‘No, I’m good.’

  ‘Yeah, you carry on. I don’t want to interrupt your night,’ Lucy says, calm, cool, and completely composed. And once again, I’m gaping at her. She’s killing me. I swear, the girl has a split personality. I throw her a brief look of condemnation that she completely sidesteps. Once again, her eyes are cemented somewhere else, and with Mark still hovering beside us, it can only be one other person. Looking discreetly in the direction of Lucy’s fire stare, I see her. The girl from floor eighteen. She’s immaculate. Polished. Perfect. I feel sick on Lucy’s behalf. She’s chatting in a group – work colleagues, I guess – but her attention is flicking repeatedly to Mark’s back. And it hasn’t escaped Lucy’s notice.

  Oh shit. I predict fireworks very soon. I sip my mojito, looking at Mark to gauge his take on the situation. He’s just paying the barman, completely unaware of the daggers being tossed behind his back, aiming for . . . what’s her name? I make a point to ask Lucy the moment the coast is clear. The whole scene is making me nervous, and I’m damning Lucy to hell for dragging me into the middle. My nerves only amplify when I see Lucy go all tense. She may as well be foaming at the mouth, and only a split second later, I find out why.

  Miss Nimble Legs appears, her long, delicate fingers reaching for Mark’s arm. My hands twitch, ready to grab Lucy and hold her back. Oh, she’s a bold one. I can see the evil glint in her eyes. She knows exactly what she’s doing. ‘Mark,’ she purrs, resting her hand on his arm and holding it there. ‘The drinking games are starting.’

  Mark looks over his shoulder, but not at her. He’s looking past her, to the crowd of work friends on the other side of the bar. ‘Be there in a sec, Melanie.’

  That answers one question. I’ve also had something else cleared up irrevocably. Mark isn’t in the slightest bit interested in Melanie. His dismissiveness may as well have been a slap in the face, and Melanie’s sour expression tells me it hurt just as much. I hope Lucy is seeing this. I watch as Melanie slides off. Lucy’s narrowed eyes follow her path. They don’t even stray when Mark leans in and kisses her sweetly on the cheek. ‘Why don’t you come and join us?’

  ‘No.’ Her answer is mindless, her focus still firmly centred on the interloper. ‘I’m good with Eleanor. Go have fun.’ She turns a sweet smile onto him.

  I want to smash her head on the bar. And I’m talking about my friend, not the brazen floozy who’s now giggling and thrusting her chest out as Mark joins the crowd. Lucy is so blinded by hatred for that woman, she can’t see what’s staring her in the face. Namely, a man who isn’t in the least bit interested in what Lucy is viewing as competition.

  I swivel on my stool, back towards the bar, and search for the waiter. ‘Two more.’ I hold up my empty glass and resist the urge to order shots. I feel like I need it. It takes the waiter a few minutes to prepare our next round, and the whole time, Lucy is growling next to me.

  ‘Stop it,’ I warn.

  ‘Stop what?’

  It takes everything out of me not to fulfil my previous thought and smash her head down on the bar. She needs some sense smacking into her. ‘He’s not interested in her. Look.’ I throw an arm out and watch as she turns her creased face towards Mark. ‘She’s vying for his attention and getting nowhere.’ At that precise moment, Mark turns and chucks Lucy a wink and a cute smile. ‘He wants to be with you, though that might change if he finds out you’ve been stalking him.’

  ‘I haven’t stalked him,’ she argues, turning slowly on her stool and spotting the fresh mojito – this one blueberry.

  ‘No? What wou
ld you call it, then?’ I ask, fully intending on the condescending tone. She deserves it. She’s being silly.

  ‘Look at her, Eleanor,’ she moans, throwing her arms in the air. ‘Tall, gorgeous—’

  ‘Easy,’ I finish for her, fairly or not. But I’m basing my conclusion on what I know and what I’ve seen. And besides, Lucy is my friend. I have a moral obligation to be bitchy towards a woman I don’t know, especially when said woman is sniffing around my friend’s man. Lucy pouts as she peeks out the corner of her eye. ‘He’s obviously smitten with you.’ I reach for her hand and squeeze it. ‘Don’t play her game. He’s yours. Rise above it.’ I ignore my mind’s gentle reminder of the fuck off I threw in Alexa’s face. Acknowledging it would make me a hypocrite.

  I see Lucy mulling over my words, staring down at her glass. ‘I’m in love with him,’ she says quietly.

  ‘Never!’ I gasp, earning a slap on my arm. I laugh it off and relax a little, now she’s stored away the invisible daggers. ‘Of course you’re in love with him, you fool.’

  ‘Less of the insults,’ she grumbles. ‘Looks like we’ve both been struck by Cupid’s arrow.’

  Struck? I laugh.

  How about stabbed?

  Chapter 19

  An hour later, we’ve made our way through the rest of the mojitos, moved onto wine, and I fear Lucy hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said. She’s got progressively more pissed, worse since she started on the wine, and her eyes are wandering again. I can’t blame her. Melanie has been trying to climb Mark like a tree for the best part of the evening.

  ‘Dance floor,’ I declare, jumping down from my stool, ignoring the fact that I just stumbled forward a little. Robin S has just kicked in with ‘Show Me Love’, which has kicked my feet into action. I have the urge to dance. Besides, it’s a perfect way to distract Lucy. ‘Come on.’ I grab her hand and drag her across the bar before she can protest, and I don’t let go of her once we’ve shimmied our way onto the dance floor. I send our arms into the air and start lip syncing, drawing a needed laugh from Lucy, who swiftly joins in. We twirl, sing, throw some serious enthusiasm into it, and neither of us are focused on anything else, except each other. Which is just what’s needed.