Indiscreet by Nicole French

7

“Are you sure you can’t come?” I pleaded with Calliope for the fourth time that night.

My friend, soldier that she was, had brought my things herself from her apartment to the new one Will and I were renting, along with a selection of dresses for me to borrow for dinner. We were due at Le Corbeau in thirty minutes—Will didn’t want to leave for at least twenty, but Benny had been nagging at us for the last hour, getting visibly more and more stressed every time Will batted his words away. I wasn’t so sure being late was the best way to make up with a woman who had literally slapped him across the face that afternoon, but I wasn’t much inclined to care about her opinion anyway.

“She can fucking wait,” Will kept saying every time Benny or I brought it up.

Benny grumbled and repeated, “Eight o’clock, man. Eight o’clock.”

I felt tired. And terrified. And hungry. It had been a crazy day, and there was still more to come. All I wanted to do was crawl into our giant, king-sized bed and keep making up with Will for the rest of the night. But there was no avoiding Tricia Owens-Baker, who had called Benny at least five times in the last hour to make sure Will wasn’t skipping out on her again.

Calliope fluffed my hair over my shoulders. She’d come armed with a coconut oil hair mask that my hair desperately needed after taking abuse in the unrelenting Spokane sun and then two more weeks refusing any treatment at all in her apartment.

“I’m sorry, boo,” she said. “I can’t come. I have to get to another event tonight for one of my clients. You’re gonna have to brave the storm on your own.”

I scowled into the mirror, and she laughed.

“Stop, you big baby,” she said as she looked over the rest of me. “Okay, this is much, much better than before. I was about to take you to my girls uptown to shame you into doing something here.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t deny that it looked better. Most of the curls and body had returned to my long, dark brown locks, which were piled over my shoulders.

I ran my hands over the sleek silver dress Calliope had loaned me. Between its bustier bodice, tight pencil skirt, and the way the back cut halfway down my spine, the satin basically put every curve I had on display—most of which were a lot tighter after weeks of triathlon training.

“You look gorgeous,” Calliope said, wrapping her arms around my waist and setting her chin on my shoulder. “Baby’s back, huh?”

I snorted. “I don’t know about that.”

“For what it’s worth, I like him.” She stood and walked over to the bureau, where she started putting her supplies in a bag.

I turned. “Who, Will?”

Callie nodded. “I wasn’t sure, at first. I hated that he hurt you, obviously, and knowing who he is, his history and everything…yeah, it’s all a little alarming. But you seem good together. I don’t know. You seem more at peace, I guess, when he’s around. Like I haven’t seen you in at least four years…maybe ever.”

I smiled at my friend, nodding. “I think you’re right. I know there are red flags, but we’re better together, Cal. I’m sure of it.”

She finished packing up her things, and I followed her out of the bedroom and into the living room, where Benny was pacing by the front door and Will was staring out the picture windows grumpily, arms crossed over his chest.

Despite his proclamations that he didn’t give a shit what his mother thought of his wardrobe, Will had still gussied up a little for tonight too. He wore the same black, immaculately fitted pants that he had worn on another dinner date—one we were supposed to have the night he found out his father had died—and a pressed charcoal button-down that made his eyes glow against his tan skin and mane of blond waves. He hadn’t bothered to tie his hair up—preferring, I suspected, to let it obscure his face. Too bad for him, it made him look that much more edible.

He turned when Calliope and I walked in. Benny stopped in his tracks, and Will’s mouth dropped.

“Wow,” he said as I walked over to where he stood. “Holy shit, Lil. You look—”

“She looks like a movie star’s girlfriend,” Calliope said as she walked to the door, slinging her bag of products over her shoulder. “I did good.”

But Will shook his head, making his hair swish lightly around his cheeks. “Nah. She looks like a star by herself. Wow.” He pulled me close, then ran a hand over my shoulder and down my waist, stopping just short of curving around my backside.

“And…that’s my cue. Bye, boo.” Calliope waved, ignoring Benny’s sly looks.

I waved back. “Bye, girl. Thank you!”

After the door shut, I allowed Will to pull me back toward him so he could look me over more thoroughly.

“This is going to be torture,” he said, toying with one strap of the dress, pulling it over my shoulder, then back into place. “I won’t be able to think straight with you sitting next to me in this, Lil.”

I smiled shyly. “Well, good. Then maybe you’ll be too distracted to argue with your mom.”

At the mention of Tricia, Will’s face collapsed into a frown. He pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. “Ah, well. Here’s hoping.”

There was a knock on the door panel. We turned to find Benny standing by the exit.

“We ready to go?” he asked. “There’s a car at the service entrance.”

“Any paps outside?”

Benny shook his head. “No one knows where you are yet. But they’re hunting, so I doubt it will take long, especially with Tricia in town.”

Will grabbed a pair of sunglasses off a console and tucked them into his shirt pocket. “Better get it over with.” He reached out for me and squeezed my arm. “I’m sorry,” he said as we followed Benny toward the service elevator.

“For what?” I asked.

Will grimaced. “For whatever is about to happen now.”

* * *

Despite Will’sbest intentions to be late, we ended up walking through the kitchen at Le Corbeau, one of the nicest French fusion restaurants in New York, at exactly 8 p.m., and were briskly guided past the open-mouthed kitchen staff by a haughty maître d’ to a private room in the back of the restaurant. “Private” was a bit of a misnomer—the room itself was completely visible to the public, with multiple folding glass doors left open, heavy drapery pushed to the sides.

We followed Benny into the room in a slight daze, but Will stopped everyone when he served a nasty glare to the maître d’.

“Did you know I was coming?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Baker,” stuttered the host.

“So you do know who I am.”

“Will,” I murmured, but when I tried to take his hand, I was brushed aside.

“Of course,” answered the host again. “I—the others in your party assured us that this would serve your needs exactly, sir.”

“Do you think it serves my needs to be stared at like a fucking zoo exhibit?” Will snapped, gesturing toward the restaurant, which had gone relatively quiet with his arrival. His glare remained fixed on the quivering host.

“N-no,” said the maître d’. “Of, of course. A terrible oversight on our part.” He scurried around the room, closing the glass doors and shutting the curtains over them. “Can I get you anything to drink, sir?”

“Honey, we already ordered a bottle of Macallan 18, your favorite.”

Will squinted in the direction of his mother’s voice, one that had turned strangely syrupy since we saw her that morning. Then he turned to the maître d’.

“Just a Perrier,” he said curtly. “And the same for her. You good with that, Lil?”

I nodded, and the maître d’ took Benny’s order before fleeing the room and Will’s bad temper.

“Well, Mom, I hope you’re happy. The place will be crawling with fucking paps by the time we’re done.” Will straightened his shirt, then pulled out my chair and his. “Let’s get this shit show over with.”

In the seat next to his, Tricia Owens-Baker smiled sweetly. “Will, there was no need to overreact. This is a nice restaurant. No one here is going to tip anyone off about anything.”

Will scowled.

Tricia rolled her eyes. “Good lord, I would have thought you’d grow out of the theatrics during your ‘time away.’”

Will remained as stony as ever and squeezed my hand as he sank into his seat. “I learned from the best. It’s bred in the bone, isn’t it?” Then he looked up at me, all traces of irritation gone. “Babe? You okay? You, um, wanna sit down?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t even move. Not because of the doors or the attention we had. Not because of Will’s mother or the other unfamiliar people at the table. I was stuck where I stood because of the one very familiar face smirking from across the gleaming wood.

My nightmare, my own personal demon, the man who had tormented my dreams for the last year and spent three before that doing it in real life, pulled his napkin out from beside his plate and fluttered it delicately over his lap before looking directly at me.

“Hello, Flower.” He greeted me with a slow, decadent smile. “They said you might be here tonight. So of course, you see, I had to tag along. And it was well worth it, I might say.” His black gaze oozed over me. “You look stunning.”

I gulped. My chest hurt. It was hard to breathe. “Wha—who—Th-Theo? What—what are you d-doing here?”

The smile widened, showing sharp incisors, like a cat about to bat around its prey. He looked the same as always—gleaming black hair, olive skin with the sheen of good skin care, large, dark eyes that twinkled in the dim restaurant lighting. He was maybe slightly thinner after a two-month stint in a minimum-security prison. It was for sexual assault. “Improper sexual conduct” had been the official verdict.

But we both knew what he had done. Theo del Conte, my ex-boyfriend, lover, abuser, psychotic menace, had raped me. In our home. Two rooms from where his friends were drinking champagne and dancing. Just after he had proposed marriage to me…and I had said no. And if the menace in his smile was any indication, he wasn’t anywhere near close to forgiving me for fighting for my justice in return.

Will shoved back in his seat with a loud screech that echoed through the room. “We’re going.”

“Will—” Tricia cut in.

He whirled. “And fuck you very much for springing this shit on us. It’s been four years. Four years. And the best way you could think of to make peace was to bitch slap me, then corner me with a studio head and his demented son at dinner?”

“Now, Will, wait a second!” Tricia spouted. “What are you talking about, demented son?”

“Ah, I think he means me, Trish,” Theo put in amiably. He still hadn’t stopped staring at me. I wanted to shower.

“You.” Will turned to Theo with murder in his eyes. “Motherfucker, I don’t know what your game is showing up here. But Maggie isn’t alone anymore. She’s got me. Read the news, asshole. I’m a fuck lot crazier than you are. I crash boats for the fun of it, and I fuck up strangers like it’s nothing. So don’t think for a goddamn second that I won’t ruin you for looking at my girl the wrong way. Especially after what you did to her.”

“Well, aren’t we gallant.” Theo picked up his butter knife and ran the serrated edge lightly over his fingertips, enough that I cringed. “But you can have fun with my sloppy seconds. That pussy is wrecked anyway.”

Will lunged forward, only to have his arms neatly captured by Benny.

“Easy, man,” Benny muttered. “Let’s not get arrested tonight, eh?”

“Say it again,” Will dared Theo, a large vein popping out on his forehead. “See if Benny can hold me back this time.”

“Will!” shouted Tricia. “What has gotten into you?”

“Chill, man. You gotta chill,” Benny said in a low, calm voice like he was taming a wild animal. “This ain’t the place, my friend. It ain’t. The place.”

Outside the curtained doors, the restaurant had gone much quieter. I held onto the top of the chair for dear life, genuinely afraid that I would fall over if I let go.

“That’s right, Benny. Calm your client,” Theo said.

He turned to the man sitting next to him—an older, suave gentleman in an expensive-looking black suit. He was the kind of man who commanded authority in a room easily without even speaking.

“Right now, he looks more like a beast than a man,” Theo continued. “I’m thinking his new contract should include some grooming requirements, don’t you think, Dad? No one’s going to want to see Fitz Baker on the red carpet looking like The Walking Dead.”

“Theodore, stop.”

The command wiped the smug expression off Theo’s face, and he slouched back in his chair to sip on his drink and send me death-glares over the rim of his glass. Will, having relaxed enough that Benny set him free, immediately returned to my side, wrapped a hand around my waist, and guided me toward the exit.

“We’re going, Lil,” he said. “Walk away.”

“Yes, walk away.” The deep voice of the well-dressed man, who was apparently Theo’s father, brought the room to a halt. “Go ahead. But it will cost you everything you have.”

Will stopped. Beside him, I swallowed. Outside, the chatter was audible again—I only wanted out.

“Shit,” Will whispered. Then he looked at me with sad, regretful eyes, and turned around.

“Will?” I asked, cowering into his side. “Will, what are we doing?”

Benny now sat at the table, shaking his head. Theo looked incredibly pleased with himself. Tricia glanced between Will and the older man nervously, like she was watching a tennis match. The older man himself folded his hands and waited.

“Fitzwilliam!” Tricia hissed, as if no one could see her beckoning her fully grown son with one hand like she was calling a small boy.

The man smiled, and a chill of recognition scampered up my spine. It was a smile I knew. Bright. Slick. Maybe a little demented. Just like the bastard sitting next to him. He reached a hand out, though I was much too far away to grasp it.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, Ms. Sharp,” he said in a voice that rode the edge of civil and sick. “Though I’ve heard plenty about you. Maximilian del Conte. You might know me better as Theodore’s father, but Mr. Baker knows me as the man who currently owns his last contract. A contract worth millions of dollars. One that he never fulfilled.”

“Will.”

Benny’s voice was low, and it was clear on his face that he had known about this the entire time he was trying to escort us to dinner. He hadn’t wanted us to be on time in order to make nice with Tricia. He was doing it so Will wouldn’t piss off one of the most powerful men in New York. In the entire entertainment industry. Hell, in the entire world.

Maximilian del Conte. Chairman of Del Conte Entertainment Group. Maker of destinies and crusher of dreams everywhere.

“Shit,” Will whispered again. He glanced at Benny. “You knew about this?”

Benny looked between us, his gaze landing on me with a fair amount of regret. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” he whispered. “I had to. Max means what he said. Everything is on the line here.”

The hand at my back pushed me gently toward the table. My heels were dug so far into the floor, I almost tripped.

I reared. “What?” I looked frantically at Will, whose shoulders were slouched. Desolate. “Why do we have to stay here. Will, we don’t need to sit down, do we?” I would have rather been literally anywhere else than at that table. Where the man who had ruined my life would watch me like prey for the rest of the evening.

“Oh, he’ll sit down.” Max del Conte’s sonorous voice again seemed to swallow the silence. “Because if he doesn’t, he knows he’ll be ruined. He’ll sit down, Ms. Sharp, because he knows I own him.”