Bad Grace: A Billionaire Romance Romantic Suspense (The Filth Monger Book 2) (3 page)

Him

I
t was at that moment that Giles’s words came back to me. He’d said someone at one of the papers had inadvertently given out her address. I wondered just what Rick would do if he did get hold of her. The way he was acting, anything was possible.

I waited until she’d crossed the road and was heading back towards her flat, then I went back to the car. Once inside, I pulled the package from inside my jacket and read the address, written in shaky capitals across the front. I let out a long, low whistle. An expensive address, indeed. Our Charlotte was doing quite nicely for herself, thank you very much. Rick had been right when he’d labelled her a call-girl. It wasn’t the kind of postcode inhabited by your average pro. But then, Charlotte had never been that. She was class all the way, hence the reason we’d been so thoroughly duped.

I started the engine and headed to Belgravia. I was almost amused. Her real address was barely a stone’s throw from the Fforbes hotel and the F Bar itself. I’d been more or less chasing my own tail ever since I’d started looking for her, and she’d been within spitting distance the whole time.

As I turned into Eaton Square, I ducked my head to look up at the houses. Tall, solemn terraces with white, Georgian facades lined the road, their columns standing to attention as I drove slowly past. I’d had half a mind to move here myself once, I remembered wryly. I’d had some mad idea that Aimee and I would settle down here…as if either of us would’ve settled down anywhere, back then. I put the thought from my mind and focused instead on finding the house I wanted.

When I spotted it, I parked outside, which was a miracle in itself. Maybe it was a sign things were going to go smoothly for once. Or not. I took a deep breath, and walked between the columns of the porch and pressed the buzzer of flat number two.

There was no reply. I hadn’t expected there to be, to be honest. It would have been too simple, and nothing was simple at the moment.

I waited a few minutes, before pressing it again. This time, a voice answered the buzzer. It was a woman. Her voice was thick, as if she’d just woken up, but she was still making a credible attempt at sounding well-spoken. It was Charlotte.

‘Who is it, please?’ she said. ‘I’ve no appointments this morning.’

‘Open the door,’ I said. ‘I don’t need an appointment.’

The intercom switched off abruptly.

I waited, but no one came to the door, so I rang the buzzer again.

‘Open up, Charlotte,’ I said. ‘Or Christine, or whatever the fuck your name is. We need to talk.’

There was no response again for a moment or two, but then I heard footsteps behind the front door and, after a moment or two, it creaked open slightly.

Charlotte peered at me from within the hallway. I could see only half her face, but the part I could told me she was nervous. Her caramel eyes were wide and fierce, and she was biting her lip. ‘What do you want?’ she said, grudgingly.

‘We need to talk, Char…Christine.’ I held out the envelope. ‘And I’ve brought your post.’

‘Jane!’ She put her hand around the door to take it. ‘
She
told you where to…?’ Her voice was incredulous.

‘She told me nothing,’ I said. ‘Except that you’re some kind of plaster saint.’

‘She was homeless when I met her.’ She shrugged. ‘I let her use the downstairs flat. The house belonged to my parents.’

‘Quite the heroine,’ I said. ‘I must say, it surprises me.’

‘The perfect match for a knight errant,’ she said, opening the door slightly wider. She was wearing a fluffy white dressing gown, the soft, butterscotch skin of her cleavage more than apparent within it. She was pushing it forward deliberately, I was sure, and I looked away, back to her eyes. She was regarding me with an almost hungry look. I stepped back slightly, taken by surprise. This wasn’t how I’d envisaged events panning out, not by a country mile.

She moved forward, letting the door fall open, and put her hands to my collar. ‘We had something good, you know,’ she said. ‘I felt it.’

I didn’t know what to make of it. Was she for real? Had she really not understood anything about our relationship? Or was she playing games? It seemed the more likely scenario.

‘Now Charl…Christine…’ I began, but she put her finger to my lips.

‘Charlotte,’ she said. ‘It’s who I am nowadays, and you know you want me. Why don’t you come upstairs?’

‘So you can video me?’ I raised my eyebrows and damned near smirked. So that was what she was after – another chance to get some evidence for her big story. In a way, it was a relief. The haul I’d taken at my flat must have been everything she had, and that could only be a good thing. But, on the other hand, her gall at pressing me again, at trying once more to coax me into her honey trap, was frankly insulting.

I turned to go.

‘Wait!’ she said. ‘You’ve got it wrong. I can’t sell that fucking story, not for anything. Whatever you and your old boys’ network have done, it’s final. They’ve closed me down. I’ve lost all my contacts at the papers. I’ve nothing now except…’ She indicated down at herself…at her body.

I shrugged. ‘It’s the price you pay,’ I said. ‘For fucking people over. What did I ever do to you?’

‘Nothing.’ Her eyes were still downcast, and she sounded genuinely miserable. ‘And everything. You’re the only guy I ever thought…’ Her words tailed off into an inaudible whisper. She looked up at me, her eyes fierce again, suddenly. ‘I’d have dropped the story like a stone if you’d only…’

‘Hey,’ I said. I didn’t want to hear any more. ‘Christi…Charlotte…you’ve caused a steaming heap of shit. You’ve no idea. Rick Palmer…’ I looked at her, meaningfully.

‘Rick?’ She shook her head, impatiently. ‘Don’t you get it? That story was the bomb. It was going to get me out of this…pay off this house. I can’t go back to the East End. I just can’t. I had to do something, and Rick – he was my last hope.’

‘You’ve ruined him, Charlotte,’ I said. ‘And his family. I’ll give you the money.’

‘I don’t want your money.’ She sounded close to tears. ‘I love you.’

‘No,’ I said, firmly. ‘Don’t even go there.’

‘Never?’ She looked up at me, piteously.

‘Never, ever.’ I shook my head. What the fuck was she even thinking? She didn’t seem to have any grip on reality at all. ‘Is there anything you can do? Anything that might help Rick? Or me?’

She looked at me steadily for a moment, clearly thinking. Just as I thought she was going to laugh in my face, she nodded, briefly. ‘Yes,’ she said, dully. ‘There is something. Wait there.’

She closed the door, quietly, and I waited, as instructed. She was gone so long, I began to think she’d left me standing there on purpose. I wouldn’t have put it past her. I was about to give up and leave, when the door opened again.

I’d been looking up and down the street, and I turned as I heard her undoing the lock. As the door opened, I reeled back in horror. Her right eye was swollen and bloody, and one side of her lower lip hung fat and heavy, suffused almost mahogany with more blood. As I looked at her, she turned to the door frame and began to head butt it, slamming her left cheek into it, hard and often.

For a few seconds, I did nothing at all. I was utterly transfixed. Then, I stepped forward and, grabbing her by the tops of her arms, attempted to pull her out from the doorway.

As soon as my hands touched her, she began to scream. ‘Help!’ she yelled. ‘I’m being assaulted!’

I stepped back, taking my hands away from her and holding them up, looking up and down the road to see if anyone had heard.

Someone had or, rather, two people. Police officers, naturally. I’d have expected nothing less of Charlotte. I turned back to her. Those few minutes upstairs had given her just enough time to get them on their way.

‘What have you done?’

‘What have
you
done?’ she hissed. ‘How am I supposed to get by now?’

‘By screwing men for money,’ I said, coldly. ‘It’s what you’re best at.’

‘Screw you,’ she snarled, almost under her breath, before turning, all soft doe-eyes and innocence, to the hurrying police officers.

And she had, I thought to myself. She’d screwed me royally. I looked out the window and watched her disappear, as I disappeared myself, handcuffed and on my way to the local cop shop, in the back of a Black Maria.

Her

L
iv rang in her lunch hour. ‘Just checking in to make sure you’re okay,’ she said. Her voice was quiet, and she sounded anxious. ‘It’s the first chance I’ve got. Max is…well, Max – you know. I’m rushed off my feet.’

Just when I’d thought I couldn’t feel any more guilty. I knew it was my fault. I’d been off work all week, and Liv was having to do double-duty, and then some, knowing Max.

‘I’m sorry, Liv,’ I said. ‘I’ll sort the fireplace, and I’ll come into work tomorrow morning. I can’t make the afternoon, I’ve an…appointment.’ I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I was going to see Kitty’s agent. I still couldn’t believe he thought I was worth bothering with.

‘Forget the fireplace,’ Liv said. ‘And I can handle the Flintmeister – no worries. Listen, I’ve got another gig tonight, if you want to come along.’

‘Um…yeah,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’

‘Definitely.’ Liv’s tone was firm. ‘Just no…you know.’

‘No,’ I said, doubtfully. ‘Of course not.’

‘Good.’ She sounded satisfied. ‘See you tonight, then.’

She hung up, and I stood there, staring at my phone. Could I trust myself to go out again, after the last two disastrous attempts? I knew she was trying to make sure I wasn’t sitting in, brooding, but maybe I was safer indoors.

Even as the thought crossed my mind, I thought of Leo. He might come round again while Liv was out. In which case, I’d be safer out with other people. I couldn’t believe I had to think like this about a guy I’d shared my life with for the last seven years, but it did seem like it had come to this. I was going to have to go to Liv’s gig.

I still hadn’t even got dressed. I went upstairs to have a shower, but ended up lying down on the bed. I felt exhausted. Everything was getting on top of me, and I needed to escape – even if just for a few minutes. I pulled my PJ bottoms down and lay back, moving my fingers down and around my clit. As I began to massage it and to get turned on, I relaxed into it and slipped into my dream world.

This time, my thoughts were less focused than usual, and they drifted between two different scenarios, each involving one of my previous nights out. In the first, I was being used in a hotel room by the guys from the F Bar. In the other, I was in the backpacker’s bar again, sitting on Chris’s lap, with the Australians gathered all around me. I had Stef’s cock in my mouth, and Chris was toying with my nipples, tweaking and twisting them until they became hard and tight through my jersey. He put his hands to the bottom of it, pulling it up and up until they sprang free of the fabric. Immediately, a couple of the other Aussies moved in on me, sucking at my breasts, as I continued to suck on the firm warmth of Stef’s cock.

Chris had lost out on my breasts now, so eagerly were the other guys devouring them. His hands slid around, instead, to the front of my jeans, popping open the button, before unzipping the fly all the way down. He began to push them down towards his legs, exposing my bare ass cheeks. Then he lifted me up, so the two guys sucking on my nipples could pull them down across my hips, my knees and, finally, my ankles.

At the same time, Stef bent over and lifted up the bunched fabric of my jersey, before yanking it forcefully up over my head. He dragged it from my arms, throwing it into the sawdust, strewn across the floor. I had no underwear on, and I was now naked in the middle of a pack of aroused Aussies. Those remaining pressed in around me, pulling at my breasts and running their beer-soaked hands all over my bare skin, sending shivers of anticipation through every nerve in my body.

Instead of being content to ravage me there and then, Stef pulled me to my feet, and I was dragged over to the stage. It was empty, with only spotlights shining down upon it, and the guys picked me up bodily and passed me to others, already clambering up into the lights. The bar was crowded, and people stood all around, witnesses to my public degradation. No one tried to stop them. Rather, they applauded as I was laid down on the cold, hard boards of the stage, and my legs spread wide, an open invitation for anyone to take me.

It wasn’t until the first guy loomed above me, unbuttoning his fly ready to begin my disgrace, that I became some other, faceless woman, and the guy above me turned into Leo.

I sat bolt upright, panting not with excitement, but with shock and disappointment. I felt humiliated, just not in the way I wanted. Leo had disgraced me in quite another way and, even though we were no longer together, he owned my fantasies now. I felt like crying all over again.

I took a shower, scrubbing at myself as if trying to wash away my misery. By the time I finally opened the door of the shower cubicle, I knew I wasn’t going to Liv’s gig that night. I was too angry and, worse, too frustrated. I couldn’t trust myself to behave, any more than Liv could.

I stood there, dripping wet and naked, looking at my body in the mirror. I knew that, given half the chance, I’d have men’s hands running all over it, their tongues and cocks pushing into it wherever and however they desired. It was partly to get back at Leo, I realised, but more so because I honestly believed I’d enjoy it. I’d spent years being a good girl, and it had got me nowhere. I was all too ready to surrender to my fantasies.

But what if it went wrong? I remembered Mr Arrogant’s words.
Don’t end up dead in some gutter.
I knew he was right. I was almost suicidally reckless at the moment, and it was a very real possibility. Even if everything went well, I could end up with some horrible disease, or worse…splashed across the tabloids again. As if I hadn’t been humiliated enough, I’d feel suicidal if my dirty desires became public knowledge.

Smug and self-assured as he was, Mr Arrogant was right and – thank God – he had my back or, at least, he’d thrown me a lifeline. I grabbed a towel from the radiator and went into the bedroom to find my phone.