by S. M. Soto
With a laugh and a shake of my head, I end the call and stuff my cell back into my bag. I roll my suitcase behind me and take one last glance over my shoulder at my apartment. I worked hard for this place, but to do what I need to do next, I need to let it go.
For the past three and a half weeks, I’ve been making arrangements. Plotting my way in.
To the girls, I made up an excuse about a writing opportunity that opened for me in LA. Of course, Kat, being the friend she is, had her dad hook me up with a room at the Kings Resort. And even with my frequent messages to Baz, he has no idea I’m heading back to LA. I need it all to look like one big surprise. That’s the only way it’ll work.
I’ve kept in touch with him as best as I could, considering our circumstances. You know, being on opposite coasts. It’s been tough, what with Baz being an exceptionally busy man. Trying to keep him interested in me while we’re thousands of miles apart has been nothing short of frustrating.
You know those messages you share with people, and it’s like talking to a brick wall? Yeah, that’s Baz via text message. It’s so hard to read him, and it’s damn near impossible to tell if he’s still interested or not. One day we’ll message back and forth constantly and the next?
Radio silence.
It’ll stay like that for a few days, then repeat itself. It’s an infuriating cycle.
I wish I could say I wasn’t scouring the gossip sites for more info on him, and just as I suspected, he’s been busy at his new club with a different woman on his arm each night. I have no right to be angry—hell, if I was angry, that might even make me a psycho. We’re supposed to be mortal enemies. The sad part is, I have to keep reminding myself of that little fact every three seconds. Especially when I think back on what sex was like with him.
As I slip into the cab and the driver navigates through the streets, I pull out my cell and scroll through my text messages, finding a semi-frequent thread between Baz and me. The flutters in my stomach at the sight of his name are unwelcome, so I try my best to push them aside. There’s no way that quaver in my stomach is butterflies. It’s just nerves. It’s excitement that my plan—that justice for Madison—is finally coming to fruition. The pads of my thumbs fly across the screen, and I hover over the send button, reading my message over and over again to make sure I’m doing the right thing.
And I am.
Baz is the best way to get information. He’s my only in at this point and the only way to find out what happened. A minuscule part of me also wants to prove Baz’s innocence.
Do I want him to be a murderer?
After giving him my body and sharing an incredible night with him? God, no. I want him to be blissfully ignorant of his friends’ activities. It would mean he’s still a good person, right?
Despite the long list of reasons I should find my answers somewhere else, I hit send anyway.
Me: Dinner tonight?
Ten long, excruciating minutes later, he replies.
Baz: Is this a New York thing?
His response pulls a laugh out of me because no, it isn’t a New York thing. He has no clue what I have in store for him or the rest of the Savages.
Me: No, it’s an “I’m headed to LA for a few weeks, and I thought we could have dinner” thing.
The bubble with three little dots appears, and I watch them jump, waiting for his reply. They immediately stop with no message attached. I bite the inside of my cheek, nibbling anxiously as I debate what to do. There could be a list of reasons he didn’t reply. He could be busy with work. He could be with another woman. Or who knows, maybe the idea of having dinner with me again isn’t as appealing as it was three weeks ago.
I’m just about to say to hell with it and type out another message when my cell vibrates in my palm.
Baz: I’ll clear out The Den for us.
Me: 7:30 work for you?
Baz: See you then, dirty girl.
I swipe my finger across the screen to close out our messages, not even bothering to hide the smile pulling across my face. I tell myself it’s all because my plan is working, not because I’ll be seeing him tonight.
The flight to LA and ride back to the resort goes smoothly. Kat’s father pulled some strings and got me another suite here for the duration of my stay in SoCal. All expenses paid. Which is null. I don’t plan on using the spa or any of the amenities for self-care. I’m here for answers, not a vacation. Or at the very least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
I take a swig from my water bottle before I set it back down on the end table, focusing on the open laptop before me.
The cursor blinks over the blank screen. I stare, waiting for the words to come to me.
Crickets.
Fucking crickets.
I pause, trying to figure out how to start the story I’ve been trying to tell for years. I know what I want to say, know what needs to be written, but the words don’t come to me. The words I need to expose them for who they are can’t seem to make their way onto the screen. I realize I should probably start from the beginning, but where do I even begin? There was no definitive beginning or end to this fucked-up situation.
Expelling a frustrated sigh, I click onto an open tab that displays my detailed notes on each of the Savages. I reread what I have written so far, refreshing my memory. When my gaze hovers near Baz’s name and his details, I get a weird sensation in my chest. I don’t know how to feel where he’s concerned. I should’ve dropped him once I left LA. Forgot about him. I’m sure that would’ve been a futile attempt.
Now, I’m even more determined to find out who he is and how he plays into my sister’s past. Into our past. I don’t want him to be guilty. He can’t be guilty.
My heart lurches in my throat when a knock sounds on my suite door. Heat enters my chest. I freeze in place, my lungs squeezing, causing the burn to spread. My eyes dart toward the looming door, and I swallow thickly.
What the hell?
It can only be one person. Even though I didn’t tell him what room I was in, I know it’s Baz. I feel it with every fiber of my being. That magnetic draw I have to him is here. Who else could it possibly be?
Hurriedly, I close out my tabs and pull up one of my older freelance projects before pushing off the couch. Smoothing my hand over my straight hair that’s slicked down my back, I quickly dart my gaze down my body, chastising myself for not dressing yet. Dammit, baggy sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt really don’t win me any points in the sexy department. Especially not compared to the slew of models he’s been photographed with over the past few weeks.
I suck in a calming breath and strut toward the door, trying to summon even an ounce of confidence.
I’m not Mackenzie anymore. I’m Scarlett. I need to remember that.
As expected, when I open the door, there stands Baz, as handsome, tall, and formidable as ever. I swallow the thick lump lodged in my throat, not expecting the thrill to shoot down my spine and the butterflies to take flight in my belly. I take in his pristine black and gray bespoke three-piece suit. A smile spreads across my face at the sight of him, and I don’t even bother reprimanding myself at this point.
“Hi.” My greeting comes out breathier than I would’ve liked.
A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, and my cheeks burn with color. How is it possible I can feel that damn smirk all the way down to my toes?
His eyes trail up and down my body, lingering on my black painted toenails before settling back on my face. He cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, raising a single brow.
“You look … different.”
My insides coil, tightening with unease. I rake an anxious hand through my hair that I touched up a few days prior, shifting on my feet under the scrutiny of his gaze.
He must notice the expression on my face because his lips twist ruefully. He rubs the pad of his thumb enticingly over his bottom lip, taking a step toward me, and on instinct, I step back.
“It’s a good look. It’s you. I like it,”
he says, eyes lingering on my nipples beading against the material of the baggy shirt.
I clear my throat, stepping back to make room. “You, uh, want to come in?”
Baz chuckles. “Yes, Mackenzie.”
His name choice has me snapping back to reality, remembering who I am, and most of all, who he is. A scowl pulls taut across the lines of my face. “Stop calling me that. I already told you my name is Scarlett.”
Baz heaves a deep sigh as though I should know better—and maybe I should. “And I already told you that’s bullshit. Don’t lie to me, Mackenzie. Ever.” His ominous tone gives me pause. My body stiffens, and my throat constricts. It takes me a few beats to regain the upper hand—or at the very least, a semblance of it. I close the door behind Baz and decide I need to regroup back inside the privacy of the bedroom.
“Let me get dressed really fast, then we can go.” I whirl on my heels, hurrying into the bedroom and shutting the door behind me. My back sags against the wood, and I coach myself to breathe. In and out. Deep, stabling breaths.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I am so in over my head.
I drop my head into my hands and rub at my temples, trying to stave off a headache. I wasn’t prepared for this. I was supposed to have the upper hand tonight, not him. He’s in my space, screwing with my head, already ruining everything. I haven’t been around him for even a full hour yet, and he’s already skewed my psyche.
Shaking myself out of it, I push off the door and hurry toward the closet. I yank the hangers across the rod, looking at the dresses I brought for occasions like tonight. I pause on a strappy lilac satin midi bodycon dress that hugs my curves. The slit up the left side shows just enough thigh to be distracting but not overtly sexy. I’d typically go for a hot red and short little number to get Baz’s attention, but I need to be sweet Scarlett and sweet Mackenzie tonight. The best of both worlds. And this dress will play into the façade perfectly.
He’s already seen me at my sexiest, but obviously, that’s not enough. He’s surrounded by a slew of sexy and willing women day in and day out. I need to be more. I need to be interesting. He has to want to keep me around. And that’ll be the biggest test of all.
I slip into a pair of nude heels with straps that wrap around my ankles before I head into the bathroom and spread out the contents of my makeup bag. As much as I’d like to go heavy on the makeup, hiding the girl from my past, I need to embrace my features. Baz seems to like them.
I settle for some concealer under the eyes, mascara, and eyeliner with a little blush. I fluff my hair in the mirror and take a step back to check out the whole ensemble. It’s not perfect, not even close, but it’ll do.
Snatching my clutch off the nightstand, I walk back into the kitchen and lounging area of the suite, and I stop short. Baz sits on the edge of the couch, leaning over my laptop, scrolling through a document. Of their own accord, my feet take me in his direction, clicking along the ground as I go. I slam the laptop closed, my chest heaving wildly as I work to control my anger and my fear.
“What do you think you’re doing?” My voice shakes, betraying the nervousness coursing through my veins. Slowly, Baz shifts his gaze from the closed laptop up to me. His face is void of any expression. The stirrings of a smirk tease the corners of his lips as he pushes to his feet. His tall, intimidating form towers over me, and I fight the urge to cower and step back.
“Interesting piece, dirty girl. I take it you’re ready?” His eyes travel along the exposed skin of my shoulders, then down the material of the dress.
My brows tug down, questions and reprimands on the tip of my tongue, but he steals the words from my lips when he bends down near my ear to whisper, “You almost look too sweet to eat. Almost.”
Tension hangs heavy in the air as we head down for dinner. It thrums in the confines of the elevator and travels down my spine, straight toward my core, when he takes my hand. Baz expertly navigates his way through his resort, leading us toward the same restaurant and the same table where we first met. The setup is almost identical, only this time around, there are two place settings and a candle lit in the center of the table to give it more of a … romantic vibe than the last time we were here. Baz pulls my chair out for me before he settles in the seat across from me.
“So …” Baz starts, once we’re both comfortably seated and sipping our wine. “How long are you in LA this time?”
I take a sip from the glass, already preparing the speech I’ve worked out in my head. I can’t leave any room for errors.
“I’ll be here for seven weeks. Close to two months.”
Baz’s brows rise. “And this is all for the freelancing you do, correct? What is the piece on, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I pause, but only for a split second, before I catch myself. “You mean to tell me you don’t already know?” I raise a brow, mirroring him. I lift the wine, hiding my smirk behind my glass. “I mean, you were snooping, after all.”
Baz laughs, causing the normally harsh lines of his face to soften. The sound is raspy and dark, traveling through my body in waves.
“That’s fair.” He grins, revealing a lone dimple in his cheek. “You left your work open, so I didn’t see any reason I shouldn’t look.” He shrugs in such a self-assured way, I can’t help but laugh and shake my head.
God, what have I gotten myself into? He’s more charismatic than he is suspicious.
“It’s more of a journalism piece that’s keeping me here, but it’s still a great opportunity. Besides, work is work.” I shrug, draining the contents of the glass. I keep replaying in my head, like a mantra, just how much I need to make this dinner count. One misstep could ruin everything.
I’m obviously not like the women I’ve seen him pictured with. Not the sexy size zero supermodels or the hot Instagram sensations everyone suddenly wants to look like. With the hair change, I feel somewhat different—maybe even a little empowered. I’m not exactly the boring old Mackenzie I was, but she’s still in there, lurking at every turn. It seems as though I’m constantly in a battle with her. Fighting to overcome her, fighting to forget her. I’m afraid she’ll never leave.
He doesn’t smile. Instead, Baz finishes his drink and beckons to one of his men in the shadows for something stronger. I clench my sweaty hand into a fist beneath the table, trying to stay calm at his sudden seriousness.
Why is there suddenly a chill in the air?
I can’t suppress the sinking feeling of dread that’s taking root in my belly.
What will happen if Baz decides he doesn’t want to keep me around? What happens to my plans and ulterior motives then?
Baz leans forward, steepling his hands in front of him. His expression remains blank, showing no outward emotion or giving any insight as to what the hell could be happening.
“Before we go any further, I do need to know one thing.”
“Oh?” It’s a struggle to keep my voice steady.
“Why did you lie about your name? And,” he says, cutting me off when he sees me open my mouth to refute him, “don’t lie to me this time either. All it would take is one click in the hotel system to find out your real name. So I’d like the truth. I don’t do well with deceit.”
My eyes slam shut. “I lied about my name because …” I trail off, trying to think of something clever to say.
Think of something, Kenzie. Don’t fuck it all up now.
Instead of perpetuating my lies, I settle for the partial truth. “Because I’m trying to become a different Mackenzie. Not the old one. I want to be a better me. And I guess … Scarlett was my way to do that. Around people who didn’t know me, I thought it would be easier to change.”
“Why not lie to me at first? I would’ve been none the wiser.”
I pause, glancing down toward the table. I swirl the pad of my finger through the condensation on my wine glass and tell him the truth. “I think I wanted you to know the real thing. The real me. For once, I wanted something that was mine.”
He leans back i
n his seat and cocks his head to the side, assessing me. Much like he did last time. I feel as though Baz does this with me often. He sits back and appraises me, trying to piece me together and figure me out.
He brings his glass to his lips, and I watch in fascination as those plump lips press against the tumbler. His throat works on a swallow, and I find myself feeling hot all over. The heat rolls over my skin and through my body in waves. My dress clings to my flesh as the perspiration rolls down my spine, and I feel my cheeks flush with color. I can’t tell if it’s from the wine or just the sight of watching him drink from the glass. I’m hoping it’s the former. If it’s the latter, I’m a lot more starved for a man’s touch than I originally thought.
“All right. I guess I can’t fault you for that. I will say you’ve taken me by surprise.” His brows dip, as if he’s uncomfortable admitting it. “For some reason, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, which is strange … Not many women have the ability to do that to me.”
“You seemed to be doing fine these past few weeks.”
I regret the words the second they leave my lips.
What the hell am I doing? Why would I say that? Out loud, nonetheless.
Baz’s eyes alight with surprise at my slipup. I watch the corners of his mouth twitch, and I know he’s dying to laugh at my expense. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”
My face flames over, and I practically choke on my next breath. “No. Well, not really. You were photographed in the gossip section, and I just happened to see the pictures.”
“You just happened to be looking through the gossip section?” he asks dubiously, calling my bluff. “Didn’t take you for the type.”
That gets my back up. I straighten in my seat, all humor and shyness dissipating from my face. “Why would you? You don’t know anything about me.”
You don’t know who I really am.
You don’t know it was my sister you all murdered.
You don’t even remember who I am.
“Easy, dirty girl. I’m messing with you. Let’s just enjoy the rest of our dinner.”
Before I can even voice my agreement, he waves his hand behind me, and I hear the wheels of a cart gliding as his staff rolls an entire meal toward us.
