Gage God should bestow on us humans only one hellish day per month. There weren’t enough extra tall cups of steaming latte, doped with a double shot of espresso or top-shelf whiskey to make Monday palatable. At least, Tuesday is looking like a day that won’t cause my head to explode. After a morning at Wire News Network’s Enews studios with the publicist and my show host, I eventually have the stomach to handle food. “That was some outstanding PR work this morning,” Rhys says, his eyes meeting mine. “I caught the highlights of Matthew’s interview on WNN. He handled it with such composure.” After not eating all day yesterday, lunch at Triple Crème inside the Quintus Hotel is exactly what the doctor ordered. I finish chewing the bite of my delicious prosciutto and grilled aubergine sandwich before answering him. “Snow and Blanche Hyman upped the drama factor by having Snow sit in the audience of the different talk shows Blanche selected for her media circus. Blanche’s defamation campaign was well-crafted. Too bad her most damning piece of evidence had zero credibility.” He nods. “The publicist was worth every penny,” I say. “She masterminded the attack. She has high-ranking contacts at WNN, so she was able to secure Matthew a last-minute interview.”
“It’s baffling he had to expose that much of his private life to ward off those hounds.” “You mean, pariahs.” “That’s a more accurate term. Blanche is nasty.” “And a fucking liar.” My lips curl up in a snarl. “What kind of example is she setting for her daughter? What about working your way to the top instead of bullshitting your way to the top?” Rhys nods. “I wonder if we’ll ever find out whose cock that was.” “Whoever that was, thanks for taking one for the team.” I sneer. “And thanks for clearing Matthew’s name.” Rhys chuckles. “How did you find out Blanche was going to stoop that low?” “Monday kicked off in a startling stir—” “Isn’t that typical of any Monday?” “You’re right.” I let out an audible breath. “Had it not been for a publicist who has her ear to the ground, Blanche’s new claims could’ve been the kiss of death for Matthew’s and the show’s r eputation. Thank God the publicist caught wind Blanche had a breaking news interview lined up. We all congregated in a conference room at my office, waiting on tenterhooks. The interviewer’s opening statement toppled me over. We all watched as Blanche cried wolf about appalling dick pics Matthew sent her daughter. One look at the blurred image, and Matthew exploded in laughter.” Rhys’s brows furrow. “What was so funny?” “Once Matthew found his composure, he explained his baffling reaction. After hearing his explanation, I sighed in relief.” “Don’t ke ep me waiting. Did Blanche have ammo or not?” “That horrible stage mom’s greediness was her demise.” I lean into him. “What I’m about to tell you is between the two of us.” “Absolutely.” A smirk tilts my lips. “A tattooed chest and stomach, and a Prince Albert saved Matthew’s ass.” Rhys frowns. “The publicist tracked unblurred versions of the accusatory photos. The model—or asshole—on Blanche’s dick pics had a bare stomach and no piercings on his cock.” Rhys rests back in his seat. “Well, I’ll be damned. Matthew is clean cut on the outside, and a rebel on the inside.” “You can never judge a book by its cover. The saying is even truer in the City of Angels. Under his suits, Matthew hides a few secrets.” “Did he have to flash his abs as proof of his innocence and absolve him of any wrongdoing?” “He didn’t have to drop his pants and boxer briefs. The publicist had multiple photos of Matthew shirtless ready for his interview on WNN, poking a hole the size of the moon in Blanche’s case. The publicist didn’t want to leave anything to chance, so she had Matthew’s tattoo artist and piercing artist on standby, in case date confirmations were needed.” “Smart move.” I nod. “At first, Matthew was dead set against using his sexual orientation as leverage, but Blanche’s defamation campaign was fraying his resolve. If it came to that, he was willing to go down that road. He’s never denied he was gay, but he’s always been a private guy. Same for his partner. Some might say it’s a dichotomy to be in the public eye and want to ke ep your private life private. Just because you’re in the public eye doesn’t make you a circus animal.” “He’s entitled not to have every aspect of his life scrutinized.” “Damn right.” “Did Blanche’s camp have a comeback?” “It’s been crickets.” The bitch is silent. It’s about time. “Even if she were to come up with a new attention-grabbing scheme, I doubt it would be enough. She’s lost all credibility. From now on, any
accusations that come out of her lying mouth will be received with a shovel of sk epticism.” “She caused a good man anguish, and damaged your show’s r eputation.” “The nightmare is behind us now.” I play with the collar of my shirt. “I can breathe again.” Rhys lifts his beer glass. “Here’s to the next celebrity scandal that’ll steal the spotlight from yours.” I clink my glass with his. “I can drink to that.” “Gentlemen,” a tall, dark-haired man says, approaching us. “Larkin,” Rhys says. “Hey,” I say. Larkin pulls out a chair. “May I?” “You own the joint,” I say. “I do, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.” He undoes the top button of his gray suit before taking a seat. My eyes swing to the entrance of the restaurant, and sure enough, his shadows are standing guard. I don’t recognize them. Larkin must’ve added to his team. Rhys and I are both multibillionaires––same for most of the guys we hang out with. Without ever catching a glimpse of Larkin’s bank account, it’s clear, he trumps us all. The only guys who stand toe-to-toe with Larkin when it comes to wealth is Phoenix König and his brothers. Their international conglomerate of hotels and real estate is a force to be reckoned with. Phoenix’s cousin Callum is another, via his father’s empire and his own business dealings. But neither Phoenix or Callum walk around with bodyguards. That right there is quite telling. There’s more to Larkin than meets the eye. Larkin lifts a hand, and a waiter, carrying a tray, rushes over. He drops a highball containing ice on the table and proceeds to fill it with Perrier. “Thank you, Antonio,” Larkin says. How he remembers all of his employees’ names, blows my mind. Staff comes and goes in the hospitality business, but Larkin does an impressive job at ke eping track. With a little head bow, Antonio scurries away, empty Perrier bottle in hand. “Since I don’t drink during the day, this will have to do,” Larkin says, lifting his glass. Rhys and I follow his lead. “Blanche Hyman is determined to use her daughter’s hymen like a lottery ticket,” Larkin says. “Here’s to shutting up the twat.” I didn’t see that coming. Thank God I didn’t take a sip of my drink or else Larkin would be wearing it. I roar in laughter. Rhys joins me. We’re making a spectacle of ourselves, while Larkin remains cool as a cucumber, not even cracking a smile. “I’ll drink to that,” I say when I regain my composure. The three of us clink glasses before taking a long swig of our drinks. “Now that the monkey is off your back, I hope I’ll see you tonight,” Larkin says. I frown. “The theme party,” Larkin says. “We didn’t even bother asking if you were attending,” Rhys says. “You’ve been avoiding those parties for a long time.” I nod. “That’s because he didn’t have a good reason to show up. Now, he does.” Larkin’s eyes hold mine. “That was quite the Tarzan performance at Rhys’s birthday party. Your Jane is still in town—” “You were there?” “I walked in as you were soldiering towards your victim,” Larkin says. My brows arch. “I didn’t see you.” “You only had eyes for one person,” Larkin says. “He was so much under her spell, he didn’t bother with me even though it was my birthday.” Rhys takes a jab at me. “Hence, the lunch invitation.” I point to his plate. “And I apologized. Multiple times.” Rhys play-punches me. “I’m giving you a hard time.” I shake my head. “Going back to what I was saying, Miss Schuyler would be the perfect date for our Angels and Demons party at Dark Compulsion tonight.”
Larkin holds my gaze. I cock a brow. “I wasn’t planning on asking you,” Rhys says, “but now that Larkin tabled the matter, you should bring Lily.” “I’m not sure that’s her scene.” I shift in my seat. “It might be a little over the top for her.” “How many times have I heard that before?” Larkin says. “Sometimes the shyest ones come alive once they st ep inside my club.” “The sisterhood will be there. They’ll hold her hand,” Rhys says. “Not to mention, you’ll be there.” “If the raunchiness that takes place in the main party room is too much to handle, I’ll give you my private room. All the rooms, lounge rooms, and mini lounge rooms are booked. I was planning on having a little fun tonight, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice for you. What are friends for?” I consider Larkin. I’ve been avoiding Lily since Sunday morning after leaving her hotel room. Asking her to be my date at an exclusive adult club where high rollers meet for an illicit night and all sorts of kinky stuff should make for a great conversation starter. “Ask her,” Rhys says. “Had you not claimed her, I would’ve.” My eyes snap in Larkin’s direction before narrowing, jealousy beating at my chest. “Down, boy,” he says. “You wouldn’t be able to land a punch.” He crooks a thumb over his shoulders to where his bodyguards are standing. “They’re former Irish Army Ranger Wing.” I frown. “Elite soldiers of the special operations force of the Irish Defence Forces,” Larkin says. “You don’t want to mess with that level of military training.” My nostrils flare. “I wanted to rattle your cage, Mr. Hollingsworth. Mission accomplished.” I roll my eyes. “If you’re trying to be funny, that was an epic fail.” “You saw her first,” Larkin says. “A real man doesn’t mess around with another man’s girl.” My lips stretch into a thin line. “In that case, why poke the bear?” “Because for the past three years, you’ve made it a point to use women for one specific thing.” “And you haven’t deviated. Ever.” Rhys piggybacks on Larkin’s campaign. “Lily is the perfect candidate to help you break the curse.” My hands dive into my hair to tug at the strands. Larkin and Rhys are aware of the demons I’ve been battling for the past three years. Fuck them for using that knowledge to manipulate me. “Mr. Hartford is right. A beauty with raven hair, passing through the City of Angels, enticed you to break your self-imposed rule.” My eyes bounce to Larkin. “So, now you two are shrinks?” Larkin shakes his head. “A blind man could see what was unfolding.” “My bad. You’re a poet. Rhys is the shrink.” Larkin levels me with a threatening gaze. I don’t avert my eyes. “It’s your prerogative to ke ep your head stuck in the sand, Mr. Hollingsworth.” A long beat passes. Me, stewing. Rhys and Larkin alternate between staring at me and glancing at each other.
I cross my arms over my chest. The walls around my heart have been reinforced with high security locks and chains. The plan was to never let anyone in. Then came Lily... “Own it, Gage,” Rhys says. “You stole the spotlight away from me on my birthday by making a hell of a statement. Don’t let it all go to waste.” I open my mouth to tell them to mind their own damn business, but a petite blonde with almond-shaped hazel-brown eyes, dressed in a chic, sky-blue double-breasted blazer and a white skirt, approaches our table. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gallagher, you have an important call from the Cayman Islands. I have the call on hold in your office.” Larkin nods. “Thank you, Gloria,” he says. He rises to his feet. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, duty calls.” He shifts his attention to me. “Text me if you want the room.” “Thank you,” I say. Larkin cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t flat out refuse my offer. Progress.” I don’t have a comeback. “I’ll forward the details so your date is aware of the dress code,” he says. I nod. “Oh, Mr. Hollingsworth, you’re going to love the dress code,” Larkin says. “That theme party kicks ass in terms of dress code for the women,” Rhys says. “We show up in a boring suit.” “It’s a favorite among members,” Larkin says. “It has to do with the good versus bad rhetoric that’s been drilled into Catholics for centuries—” “Same goes for Anglicans,” Rhys says. “Point taken.” Larkin nods. “At Dark Compulsion you get to live out the good versus bad rhetoric in a far less dogmatic way. When you give a woman the permission to be bad, something switches in her brain... It’s going to be a night of debauchery.” “I’m looking forward to it.” Rhys lifts his glass in salute. Theme parties are particularly kinky at the club. I have no doubt Angels and Demons will live up to its promise. With a nod, Larkin turns on his heel, Gloria and his beefy Irish shadows following him. Bringing Lily to Dark Compulsion is crazy. Even more so on a theme night. Now that Larkin has planted the seed in my head, I’m dying to corrupt her at the club. Needing time to digest it all, I pick up my sandwich and ke ep eating. Rhys does the same. It doesn’t take long for us to finish our food and wash it down with craft beer. “It’s good you’re coming out tonight,” Rhys says, tucking his napkin underneath his empty plate. “The jury is still out if I’m coming or not.” He considers me for a long beat. “What? I didn’t commit. I thanked Larkin for his willingness to give up his room,” I say. “This is an intimate part of my life. Lily will be on a flight to New York on Friday.” “Not that I want to sound like a fucking motivational quote, but so much can happen in four days...” I respond with a non-committal shrug. “No one has the right to put a timestamp on grief,” he says. He should know. “You’re allowed to take as long as you need to make amends with the bleak reality of losing a parent.” He glances over his shoulder before returning his attention to me. “The guilt you’ve been carrying would break your mom’s heart.”
I’ll go to my grave with the guilt. “I made a promise to my dad.” A lump forms in my throat. “I swore to him I’d always look after Mom.” Rhys has heard this story I can’t break free from before. “The red flags were there. Mom said she was happy. I didn’t want to be the selfish son who told her she wasn’t allowed to love again. I should’ve been like a dog on a bone. I bear the responsibility of her death on my shoulders.” After losing my mom, it got to a point where diving to the bottom of a top-shelf bottle of liquor was my only salvation. Grief almost cracked me wide open. Same for survivor guilt. During that dark time in my life, I wasn’t as close to Rhys as I am now, but that didn’t stop him from being there for me when I needed it most. I didn’t slide into full-blown alcoholism. I suffered from alcohol-related bereavement. Hours of therapy confirmed that. Work helped me to move on, even though I knew I’d never be fully absolved of the role I played in my mother’s death. “Aren’t you tired of holding up all those walls?” Rhys lets out an audible sigh. “It’s been three years, Gage...” “I know it’s been three years.” I’ve been trapped in hell for that long. “Let go of the guilt before it kills you.”