Before You Go

by Ella James

  It wasn’t the glitz that was getting to her nerves. She had been to parties before, and this one mattered less than any other. Margo didn’t care if she did things “right” here. A part of her wanted to do them wrong.

  She downed the remainder of her drink when Jana looked the other way. Logan would be here, and she was going to find out if a night’s sleep had changed his mind.

  Her door opened and she took the driver’s hand, standing up in her black taffeta gown. A security guy was waiting for her; he followed her and she followed Jana, who avoided the crowded lobby, taking a small stone path around the hotel to a supersized pool deck. There was a giant glowing sapphire pool in its center, with several smaller, leaf-shaped pools fanned out around it. There were at least a dozen tiki huts, stone pits where entire pigs were being slow-roasted, dozens of colored tents, lit up from inside and glowing in vibrant reds and whites and blues.

  Margo’s eyes snapped to Logan like a magnet. He stood in a hut to her left, serving drinks to guests and looking underwhelmed. She said a quick goodbye to Jana, asked her guard to please watch her from across the floor, and then forced herself forward. Her stomach was doing flips, and her knees felt like they might not hold her weight.

  By the time she neared his hut, he had seen her, too. She knew this because he froze in the act of pouring someone’s drink. He smoothly finished, and when the line cleared, he held a twinkling glass out.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  She searched his face, looking to his mouth and cheeks and brow to tell her what he’d decided.

  She nodded—“Sure”—and watched relief seep through his features. She watched him reach for the chardonnay, fill her glass. He held it out to her with a smile that broke her heart. There was no sparkle in it. His face had gone pale, almost delicate. The wind blew his dark hair, and she thought, this is it. He would tell her “no,” and she would run out to the beach, and she would have to dive into the ocean, because she would be on fire. She felt that, half a second before she noticed his eyes were fixed on something over her shoulder.

  Margo turned around, and her gaze slammed into her mother.

  Cindy was waiting outside the big white tent. Margo caught her eye, and she quickly realized that Logan had been right. Cindy wouldn’t like them together. She turned to face him with stone in her stomach.

  She opened her mouth, but her throat felt too tight for words. Logan spoke for her.

  “I—” The strain on his face finished for him. Or maybe he just chickened out. He squeezed his eyes shut, looked down. For some reason, that made her mad enough to talk.

  “You what?” she asked flatly.

  She watched his gorgeous eyes open, felt him slide from her grip; he had joined the other team, her mother’s.

  “Don’t bother. I can tell. You won’t even look at me. That’s your message, loud and clear. Thanks for the drink.”

  She started to turn, but his hand was too fast. He grabbed her wrist, and Margo froze.

  “I can’t…”

  Though her heart clenched, she spoke up in a voice that was shockingly cold: “That must be nice,” she said, “that you just can’t. If you can’t do something, then there’s no real choice, is there?” Her fingers snapped. “Decision made.”

  She had the fleeting, useless thought that she might love him. Then she jerked her arm away. “Good luck in the space business. I hope you go far.”

  20

  He watched her glide to the white tent, saw Cindy beckon her inside. The older woman actually nodded at him, like good job buddy, thanks. Then the flap-door dropped, shutting him out.

  Logan drew a ragged breath, used it to power his escape—out the side door, through the crowd. He burst into the lobby, bumping a man who cursed him in Italian. The crowd was even thicker inside, and by the time he made it into the men’s room, he was gasping. He twisted the faucet, splashed his face. Astronauts weren’t supposed to have scars or broken bones. The rigors of training, the pressure of G-force could tear already ruined skin, re-crack fractures that were decades old.

  They weren’t supposed to have the emotional baggage he had, either. For the same reasons.

  And his files—medical, dental, psychological—were supposed to be private. Yet Cindy Zhu had them. Somehow she’d bought them and now his private hell was hers to know. It made him furious, but Christ, the woman practically owned him now. He couldn’t even work for a rival company without worrying that Cindy would spill everything.

  He walked into the lobby, toward the office, where he could get another shirt. He put his hand over the scar slicing over his left temple, and something strange hit him. He hadn’t always been the way he was now. He’d been innocent once, just a kid. Innocent like Margo. A kid like Maggie.

  He diverted course, headed for the pay phones. He was calling his sister, to tell her he was coming home—tomorrow.

  21

  “Do you want a drink?” Cindy looked from Margo to Jana.

  The O manager nodded. So did Johnathon Graystone, and so did the Russian man beside him. The one with the girl’s name Margo couldn’t remember.

  Cindy leaned to Margo and said, “Orange Blossom. Very good here.”

  Margo didn’t know exactly what to say, so she nodded, sparing only a glance for her mother. Cindy placed the order, and the conversation drifted back to business. She had no place in it, of course, but she didn’t care.

  Tears stung her eyes, and at that moment, Mr. Graystone’s lanky son put his hand on hers. “Vincent,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  She’d been staring at him off and on for the past half hour, but he’d seemed a part of the conversation—almost an adult. Funny, now that she looked at him, that she’d ever thought that. The guy was awfully thin and sort of awkward, but he had a breathtaking face, with statuesque features that seemed designed for the heir to a fortune.

  He smiled, and Margo tried to decide what color hair he had. Was it light brown or blond or was it orange? Maybe a mixture of them all. It brought out his fiercely green eyes and emphasized the princely planes of his face.

  “Let’s go walking,” he said, standing. He came around the table and, like a butler, held his arm for her. Cindy waved her on, and Margo almost leapt out of her chair.

  “Gracias, señorita,” Vincent said when they were out of the tent. “That gig was giving me the snores.”

  Margo laughed, surprised at the sound.

  “If we want to have any real fun we’ve got to get rid of the shadow,” Vincent whispered.

  “How do we do that?”

  “Like this.” And then Vincent dashed to the left, dragging Margo with him. He cut right across a dance floor before taking a sharp left.

  They ran down a flight of stone steps, onto the beach.

  Laughing, Margo looked behind her. The guard was gone.

  Vincent smirked. “Like I said.”

  The shore was dotted with tents and several large bonfires. People were dancing, laughing. They kicked off their shoes—Vincent stuffed her Ferragamos in his coat pocket—and started walking.

  “One of those tents is for Natalia,” he said. “She’s kind of a bitch, but it’s somewhere we could go.”

  “Who’s Natalia?”

  “You don’t know her?”

  “No.”

  “Natalia is Repin’s daughter,” Vincent said, like he was prompting.

  “…And who is Repin?”

  Vincent laughed. “The big Russian bastard we were eating with at dinner.”

  “Yeah. Man-girl.”

  “What?”

  “His first name is a girl’s name, right?”

  “Ha. Right. Valeri.”

  Margo folded her arms. “I hardly know Cindy. I definitely don’t know any of her friends.”

  “Well, you’re not missing much, believe me. They’re boring. Let’s go this way.” He pulled her toward the water, which lapped at the coral-colored sand. The music was fading as they moved. She
heard a firecracker pop, but it was far away.

  The only light came from the moon, but Margo felt comfortable. Protected, though the guy was rail-thin, and nothing about him said fighter.

  “I want to hear about you,” he said. “Tell me about Cindy Zhu’s daughter.”

  She felt a little off balance as she glanced at him; his face wasn’t Logan’s. Which didn’t matter. Wouldn’t matter, at least not right now. What had he been saying? Oh, yeah. Cindy’s daughter. “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “I bet not.”

  “About me… I don’t know,” she lied, thinking of Logan. I feel like I’m going to throw up. “There’s not that much to tell.” She’d been slapped by her hair as they walked into the wind, and Vincent noticed. He let go of her hand and began to wiggle his tie out of his shirt. While she stood there, staring, he knotted it and slid it over her head, then gathered her hair up off her face. He pulled the tie tight, and draped the silk ends down her back.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That feels so much better.”

  “Your boyfriend won’t like it,” he said, catching her hand again with his.

  Margo stiffened. “My what?”

  “Your boyfriend. The one inside the drink stand. Speaking of drinks.” He reached into one pocket and pulled out a bottle: Tutankhamun Ale. He slid his hand out of hers and put the drink in. “That’s yours,” Vincent said. “I got one for myself, too.”

  “When?”

  “As we were walking out the door. There was a bowl full of them. You didn’t see?”

  Margo laughed. “No.”

  “Well,” he said, twisting the top off his drink. “I did.”

  “You’re funny.”

  He grinned. “You’ve never taken a drink before, have you, Margo?”

  “Have you?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Plenty of times.”

  “Your dad must be pretty lax.”

  “Johnathon doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But hey, have a swallow of it.”

  She hesitated, and Vincent helped the bottle up to her mouth. “This stuff’s made in Cambridge. Recipe’s supposed to come from the tomb of an Egyptian queen.”

  Margo got a mouthful, and it didn’t taste good at all. She made a face, and Vincent laughed.

  “Keep sipping,” he said. “It gets better. And it will make the night more fun.”

  Reluctantly, Margo took another sip. “How did you learn so much about drinking?”

  “School.”

  “Where do you go to school?” she asked.

  “Eton.”

  “That one in England?”

  “That one.” His shoulder bumped into hers, a little jostle that made her chest ache with thoughts of Logan. Under his watchful eye, Margo took another sip.

  “I thought your family was American,” she said.

  “You thought right.”

  “Then why do you go to school in England? There are good ones here.”

  “My father wants the Graystones to be elite enough. To hang around people like Valeri Repin. He’s Russian mafia, if you didn’t know—not that they all aren’t.”

  They walked in silence for a minute, and then Vincent turned them back around. “Tell me about your boyfriend. You really into him?”

  Margo shrugged.

  Vincent’s mouth curled. “So that’s a ‘yes.’ How did you meet him?”

  She told him, and then, when he prompted her a bit, she told him a little more. She left out the juiciest details, but by the time it was over, Vincent knew more about her and Logan than anyone else alive (other than her and Logan).

  “He decided it wouldn’t be a good idea,” she said, misery bleeding into her voice. “He wants to go to space with the company, and he’s worried Cindy would be mad. He doesn’t even want to try.”

  “But he will.” Vincent seemed sure of it. “It’s a good thing I’ve given you my tie. That will help.”

  “Make him jealous?”

  “Yep.”

  The party was wilder when they returned. Everybody was dancing. Vincent grabbed them two more drinks—something called Utopias this time—and pulled Margo onto the dance floor. As they twirled around, keeping step with the island music, Margo kept seeing Logan, a smudge of white in the little hut.

  They danced through two more drinks before Vincent led her back to their sandals. “I’ll walk you to your mother.”

  “Cindy,” she corrected.

  “Cindy.” He put an arm around her, and Margo threw an obvious glance over her shoulder. She didn’t see Logan in the hut.

  “Where’d he go?” she asked, and Vincent pulled her closer as they passed through a crowd.

  “I think our plan worked. Your boy was relieved of duty a few minutes ago, and he looked very troubled. I’m sure he’ll come to find you any minute now.”

  “Good,” she said, suddenly exuberant.

  “I’ve got to get back up to our suites. My father and I are staying here with the Repins, and I’m Natalia’s host. Unfortunately, I have to entertain her.”

  “I bet you like her.”

  “Well, you’re drunk.” He tucked a curl behind her ear, and the two of them stopped. She realized they were just outside her mother’s hut. Cindy, she corrected her fuzzy head. “Cindy.”

  “She’s right in there,” Vincent said, pointing.

  “I know.”

  “I’m going up,” he said, nodding to the hotel. “We may see each other in a little while, if Nat wants to come back down.”

  “Okay. Cool.”

  “Keep the tie.”

  He bowed lowly and left. She looked at the hut—no Logan—then back to the tent. There was no way in the whole wide world that she was going to sit down with her mom. Cindy.

  Yeah, screw Cindy.

  She was going to find Logan. If he didn’t want to hang out with her, well, she would… What would she do?

  She decided to get another drink, and stepped into one of the open bars to get it. The place had neon pink and white lights, a blue disco ball, and way too many people.

  That’s when one of them caught her arm. A blond man she thought she recognized. “Miss Ford?”

  She barely had time to say, “Yeah,” before he grabbed her arm and began leading her to the door.

  “What is it?” Margo tried to pull against him, but her arms were so heavy.

  “Your mother needs you,” the man said.

  Margo planted her heels and her arm slipped from his hand. “Why?”

  "You have a family emergency."

  Even drunk, Margo knew that was bullshit. “I don’t have a family.”

  The man’s eyes swept the room, and Margo realized who he was: Mr. Teeth! Though her brain was bleary, an awful awareness trickled through her. She turned to see what, exactly, Mr. Teeth was looking at. He lunged for her, grabbing her arm and jerking her toward the door.

  "Let go of me!"

  He didn't, and Margo had a thought that sent chills down her spine.

  Kidnapper!

  “Help!” she screamed, and his hand slammed over her mouth, bruising her lips. He practically carried her out the door as she struggled, and no one seemed to be coming!

  A limo was waiting down the short stone walk, its engine idling, the back door open. She thrashed, tried to scream through his hand, and finally bit him. She was able to catch his finger in her mouth; he had a leather glove on, but she bit so hard he yelped and for a second she was free.

  “HEEEEEEELLPPPP!” she screamed. She tried to run, but she was wearing heels.

  “HELP ME SOMEONE PLEASE I’M BEING KIDNAPPED!”

  Teeth grabbed her around the waist. Margo screamed, and heard someone yell, “Stop!”

  She looked up, saw two security guards running from either side of the path. The awful man—he was not a scientist!—pushed Margo to the ground, and she had only a second to register the gun in his hand before he fired three quick shots. Margo turned in time to see both guards drop like flies.

&nbs
p; He stuck the gun in her face, and she was so terrified she threw up.

  “Oh shit!”

  On his shoes.

  “Get up you stupid bitch!” There was panic in his voice, which, she realized, was sounding familiar. Familiar because it was angry and so thickly…German. Like in the O the night she’d gone to look for Logan!