Suite Hearts

by Caitlin Daire

  But then she found out from me—only yesterday—who Kaden really was, and she realized she might be able to get a massive payout from the media instead for her ‘story’ about us. After all, she had proof that we were hooking up, so why not embellish a little and make up some stuff about me secretly helping the Pierces behind my parents’ back? It made an extra-juicy story. And extra-juicy meant extra moolah from the media.

  She’d even disappeared from my room yesterday to make a phone call while I was setting up our movie. That phone call could’ve been to the news website to tell them her story about me and Kaden, and she could’ve easily emailed them the photo from her phone.

  So that had to be it. It all made sense.

  Bianca had also helped Kaden set up that beach date for us, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she had more photos as well. She could’ve stayed behind and taken photos of us hooking up down by the water, lit by the flames of the bonfire.

  God, why was I so damn stupid? It was bad enough that I’d fallen for Kaden’s bullshit. But to sleep with him right there on the beach when technically anyone could’ve seen or caught us (even though it was nighttime) was unbelievably careless of me. But that was just how he made me feel. Reckless and uncaring about anything but the moment we were in at the time. I couldn’t help it; I was drawn to him like a magnet.

  I lowered my gaze from Bianca’s wide eyes and quickly unlocked my room before going inside and slamming the door. I’d been stupid to trust her. It seemed like that was my theme for this year: being a total and utter idiot and trusting all the wrong people.

  I spent the next few hours browsing the internet and reading all the other articles that had since cropped up about my forbidden relationship with Kaden and my alleged betrayal of my family and the hotel.

  The user comment sections were the worst part. Almost every comment was an insult or yet another bullshit allegation about me. It had even evolved into a sort of joke where some users were commenting obviously-false stuff like, ‘Peyton Cadwell murdered my family!’ or ‘Peyton Cadwell kicked my dog… twice!’

  Reading all this stuff was like drinking poison, but I was addicted anyway. I couldn’t look away, despite how awful it made me feel.

  I finally slammed my laptop lid shut when hunger pangs began to gnaw at my stomach. It was nearly dinnertime already—I’d been browsing the web for hours—and I hadn’t eaten all day.

  I reached for my landline phone and dialed room service. The woman who answered crisply informed me that they were out of absolutely everything I wanted to order, and when I said I’d get something else instead, she told me that they were unfortunately fresh out of that too.

  I hung up dejectedly. Obviously, the news of my ‘betrayal’ of the Mirabella had reached the room service staff as well, and like everyone else in the hotel, they were mad at me.

  Great. So now I was being starved out.

  Fuming, I stood up and grabbed my purse before sliding my shoes back on. This was bullshit. I hadn’t even done anything wrong (other than blindly trust the wrong people) but I was being treated like garbage anyway.

  I was the one who was hurt here.

  I was the one who’d been lied to and betrayed, and now everyone was acting like I was the liar!

  Total bullshit.

  I checked myself in the mirror before striding toward my door and wrenching it open. Then I stormed downstairs, ignoring the glares and hushed whispers. Screw them. Screw them all. If everyone inside the hotel was going to treat me like a goddamned leper, then that only left me with one option.

  I had to get the hell out of here.

  22 Kaden

  I knew I was well and truly fucked as soon as I saw the news sites.

  Fired, too.

  There was a courteous message from the Mirabella HR department in my fake ‘Cade Miller’ email account notifying me of my termination, and Peyton had made it plenty clear that I wasn’t going to be working at the hotel anymore when I last spoke to her, anyway.

  But now, the scandal had really come crashing down on me, and I'd been avoiding my parents as much as I possibly could as a result. I knew it was the excuse they needed to tell me they were right all along—I was incompetent, and I'd just wasted their time and money once again all so I could get my dick wet with an heiress. That was the way they’d see it, and I couldn’t be bothered listening to them giving me shit anymore. I already hated myself enough for all the crap that went down.

  I had no idea who took those photos and leaked them to the media. I just didn't understand how they'd been able to catch us in the act that long ago, before Peyton and I were really even sneaking around and going on dates. It was almost as if someone had been planning this all along, but I had no idea who that person could be.

  The shittiest part was, I had nobody to talk to about the whole mess.

  Peyton must have blocked my number, because none of my calls or texts went through. Most of my old friends were too busy to listen to the whole story, and my new friends from the hotel staff wouldn't talk to me either. Bianca was firmly on Peyton's side, and I'd never been really close to Allegra. I even fired off a text to Andreas, but I hadn't gotten a reply yet.

  Tristan had listened to me talk about it for long enough, but he really didn't know what to do about my problems. He'd never had a serious girlfriend, and I needed advice from someone who knew what they were talking about when it came to relationships.

  I was sick and tired of worrying and hiding at home to avoid the press clamoring for my side of the story. I wasn’t going to talk to them, but I knew I still had to get out and redeem myself somehow. In Peyton’s eyes, of course. No one else’s.

  In my mind, there was only one way of doing just that, and the answer had been sitting right in front of my face the whole time.

  My parents still suspected that Peyton's mom and dad were part of some elaborate tax evasion scheme, and the business world rumors were growing thanks to them, but I was convinced that wasn't the case. And the last thing I needed was for another Mirabella scandal to come out and make Peyton feel even worse. No, I needed to nip it in the bud and make sure her family were washed of all suspicions.

  I still hadn’t returned my hotel staff keycard, so I figured I had one last shot at figuring all of it out.

  This morning was it.

  I sneaked into the Mirabella in a cap and sunglasses, quickly making my way past everyone in the lobby. I didn't want them to know I was here, but if anyone did happen to notice me, I'd say I was trying to make things right with the Cadwells. And I really was—just in a more complicated, confusing way than they would assume.

  I made my way to the accountants' offices on the ground floor. A man happened to be walking down the hall at almost the exact same time as me; probably one of the accountants of the hotel. He gave me an inquisitive look as he passed. I sighed, looking at my watch and acting annoyed as if I was late to a meeting. That seemed to be enough to stop him from staring.

  I kept striding down the hallway. I only needed one piece of information, and then I could get the hell out of there. I actually couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of this until now.

  Stopping in front of an office, I glanced at the label on the door. A black plaque hung on it, engraved with a single name. It was the office where I’d found that one file which didn’t match any of the others, sitting next to a shredder. The plaque read 'Callum Houston'.

  That told me all I needed to know.

  Last time I was sneaking around in the accounting section of the hotel, I hadn’t bothered to look at the name plaques on the offices. But Callum Houston could very well be the accountant on the team who was stealing money. It made sense—the office belonged to him, and the incriminating files were right there. Perhaps he’d been in the middle of shredding them when he decided to go to the bathroom or something, and I just so happened to be sneaking around all those weeks ago at that exact time.

  Something was still nagging me, though. It almost seemed too easy t
o pin it on him.

  I made my way back to the lobby.

  "Hey, Gloria," I said awkwardly as I approached the front reception desk. The women who worked here usually knew everything about everyone who worked at the hotel. It was kinda surprising that they hadn’t figured me and my secret out, to be honest.

  Gloria huffed when she saw me, obviously not too happy about my arrival.

  "I just have to ask you one question," I said, holding a palm up.

  "What makes you think I'm going to help you?" she asked, the annoyance plain in her voice. “Why are you even here?”

  "Gloria, please," I said. "I'm just trying to make things right for all of us. I know I've messed up. Will you just answer a question for me? Please?"

  "Fine," she said in a clipped tone. "One question. That's all you get."

  "Thank you," I said. "I'm just wondering about a man that works here. Callum Houston? He’s an accountant."

  She gave me a strange look, obviously surprised by my question. She probably thought it would have something to do with Peyton or all the gossip column rumors about us, but she didn't know how to connect the dots.

  Finally, she shrugged. "Yes. I know of him. Young and stupid, just like half the staff here," she finally replied. She rolled her eyes a little as she spoke. "He’s worked here for about four years, I think. But I don't even know why he bothers."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, furrowing my brows. Maybe I was on to something here.

  "Haven't you seen his car?” she asked with a sniff. "He drives a damn Ferrari. I see him sometimes in the parking lot. Way I see it, doesn't seem like he even needs this job. Damn shame when my poor Carlito has been trying to get a job here for months. He’s an accountant too, you see."

  "I see," I said, giving her a polite smile.

  I really didn't have time to hear about Carlito, but I made a mental note to send Gloria some chocolates. Lord knows she deserved it after witnessing all of our antics over the last month or so. Poor woman. "Thanks, Gloria. I'll get out of your hair now,” I said.

  Making my way back through the lobby, I wondered how it was possible that this Callum guy drove a Ferrari. Accountants didn't make that much money, right? At least not one that had only been working in the job for four years. And Gloria had also mentioned that he was young...

  So how could a guy in that position afford to drive a car like that? And why wasn’t anyone else suspicious of this?

  Things certainly weren't looking good for Callum, considering what I’d found in his office, and I intended on getting to the bottom of this mess as soon as possible.

  I needed to head back to the accounting offices.

  If my suspicions were correct, this Callum dude was the one to blame. He must've been responsible for some departments of the hotel, which included the task of producing consolidated financial reports for them. He could possibly be skimming money off the top of those departments. Then he could make new reports to support this and shred the original papers (with the correct figures) to cover his tracks.

  That morning when I found those documents, I could've caught him off guard, just like I thought earlier. Maybe he took a call or went to the bathroom, thinking it was too early in the day to get caught, seeing as no one else was around yet... and thus, the papers were right there for me to find. And seeing as I quickly made copies on the office’s photocopier, leaving the originals there, he would’ve never suspected that anyone else ever laid eyes on those files. He would’ve come back and finished shredding them, none the wiser. It was simply a matter of very, very lucky timing for me.

  By the time I got back to the accounting floor, it was bustling with staff.

  I asked one of the women in the hallway about Callum, because I had no idea what he actually looked like, and she pointed me toward a short, stocky young blond man in the accountant break room. I was just about to leave to speak to him when she stopped me.

  "Hey, aren't you the guy in the papers?" she asked, biting her bottom lip. "With the whole Peyton Cadwell thing?"

  I froze for a second, convinced I was about to get my ass thrown out of here, but then she smiled widely and handed me her business card.

  "Call me if you’re ever free. I get lonely," she said in a flirty voice, and waved before leaving.

  Women.

  I went into the break room, and Callum's eyes zeroed in on mine. Was I imagining it, or did he look guilty as fuck?

  I made my way to the coffee machine that he was sitting next to, pushing some random buttons and pretending to wait for my drink.

  "Hey, man," I said to Callum, tilting my head to the side. "I saw you earlier in the parking lot, right?"

  "Maybe," he replied, staring at me over the rim of his coffee cup.

  "Nice car you've got there." I grinned at him, taking my own Styrofoam cup from the machine. "I love Ferraris. Then again, who doesn’t, right?"

  "Hm. Yeah," he said, looking at the floor.

  God, the guy was hard to talk to.

  I took a closer look at him and realized he probably wasn't just some jackass trying to fend off a conversation. He looked vaguely upset about something.

  "Hey, you all right?" I asked, worried I’d already blown it.

  He waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, I’m fine," he said. He hesitated for a second, then looked back up at me. "It's actually not my car. It was my dad's."

  I stared at the hot liquid in my cup for a few seconds as I thought about what this meant. Callum wasn't rich—the car was apparently his father's. So it looked like people (such as Gloria) had the wrong impression about this guy. Including me. I could very well be barking up the wrong tree.

  Then again, he could just be a good actor. Or good at hiding most of his other assets. I could imagine that someone guilty of embezzling money probably wouldn’t flash it around too much, making it obvious that they were suddenly wealthy. They’d probably keep it well-hidden in offshore accounts so that no one would ever suspect a thing. But they might get one nice thing for themselves and claim it was a gift or inheritance, which was believable enough.

  "Oh, yeah?" I finally said. "Well, he has good taste."

  "Had. He passed away a couple of years ago," he muttered. "Left me the car and not much else. I guess it's a conversation starter, at least.”

  I was surprised to see genuine sadness in his eyes as he spoke.

  "I'm sorry," I said. He just gave me a simple nod.

  "I know what it's like to lose someone," I added, not sure what else to say to break the awkward silence. Callum raised his eyebrows. I was surprised myself, because apart from my grandpa when I was four, I hadn't lost anyone... except for Peyton. And even though it hopefully wasn't permanent, it still fucking hurt.

  "It's rough," Callum replied with a small nod. "Hey, do you work here?"

  "Just here for an internship. Only been here a few days,” I lied smoothly. He seemed to believe me.

  "Come on," he said, getting up. "I'll show you to the main conference room, if you’ve forgotten your way around. That’s where the interns usually meet up in the mornings."

  Fuck.

  I decided to play it cool and gave him a bright smile as I followed him out of the break room. I needed to use this to my advantage, and I saw my chance as we walked past his office. Callum was chatting about his father’s love of cars, and I replied politely, waiting for a lull in the conversation. And it came at the perfect time.

  "Hey, isn’t this your office?" I asked, pointing to the door with his name on the plaque. Then I realized I wasn’t supposed to know his name. We hadn’t actually been introduced. Shit. “I…uh… I thought I saw you coming out of there the other day,” I added.

  He bought it. "No, must’ve been someone else you saw," he said. Then he rolled his eyes. "It’s ridiculous how they haven’t changed the plaque yet. I was moved to a different office about a year and a half ago.” Then he sighed. “Still not over it,” he added in a mutter.

  "How come?" I asked with raised eyeb
rows.

  He turned his back to the door and motioned to the one next to it.

  "This girl I like works there," he said awkwardly.

  I peeked into the room. The girl who'd handed me her card stood in the office, talking on the phone. I grinned at Callum and handed him the business card she'd given me, her private number handwritten on the back.

  "You should call her." I winked at him. "I hear she gets lonely."

  He stared at me, and then laughed and shook his head.

  "So who uses this office then?" I asked conversationally, trying to shift his attention back. "Like you said, they never took your plaque off the door."

  "No. Idiots… it still confuses people who come here looking for me.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “But yeah… I guess it doesn't really belong to anyone right now." He shrugged. "Sometimes the temps or interns use it, because it still has all the stuff in it. Computer, photocopier, and so on."

  Fuck. Nowhere near closer to my answer.

  "So why haven't you made a move on that girl?" I asked.

  "Cecilia?" He sighed. "I guess I just didn't want to be one of those annoying guys who hits on her at work, you know? I’ve made that mistake before. Got drunk at a staff Christmas party once. Tried to hit on everyone. Went down like a lead balloon.”

  "Right."

  "But you know Rob Silver?" he said in a hushed, conspiratorial voice. "He's been using this office constantly to try and get her to go out with him. It's so pathetic. He’s more than twenty years older than her. Can’t the dude find someone his own age? She’s obviously not interested.”

  Bin-fucking-go!

  "He's the head of accounting, isn’t he?" I asked, remembering that from something I'd overheard in the hotel.