Bad Grace: A Billionaire Romance Romantic Suspense (The Filth Monger Book 2) (4 page)

Him

‘H
ow much longer are you planning on keeping me here?’ I asked, as I sat in the interview room. It was soulless, with blank grey walls and no outside light. A large desk in the middle, flanked on both sides with hard, uncomfortable chairs, was the only furniture. An officer stood by the door, his arms folded and an equally blank stare on his face. Another – a woman in a plain shirt and tight-fitting grey suit, complete with pencil skirt – sat opposite me, cold and unsmiling. The whole effect was as bleak as I felt.

‘Mr Flint is out of the country,’ she said, in clipped tones.

She’d introduced herself, earlier in the afternoon, as Detective Inspector Amber Brown. She was young, for someone of her rank – she could only have been in her mid-twenties – and tight-lipped. She’d probably have been attractive, if she hadn’t looked so stern.

The grin I hadn’t quite been able to suppress at her name hadn’t gone down well. I couldn’t help it, though – it suited her so perfectly. Her hair, while not exactly red, had definite tones of copper running through it, and her eyes could only be described as amber.

I got the feeling she’d said her first name by mistake. It wasn’t as if police officers usually volunteered any more personal information than they had to, and she’d seemed pissed off at the time, as if it were my fault it had slipped out.

Things had only grown worse when I’d asked her to contact Giles, confident he’d be able to ensure my speedy release. She’d left me in the room with the other officer, while she’d made the necessary calls, before returning, a satisfied look on her face.

‘Your lot always think they’re going to get special treatment,’ she said, leaning back in her chair, her fingers knit together across her stomach. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you. Anyone who beats up a defenceless woman on my patch is going to get the same short shrift in this station.’

I could’ve kicked myself. I’d known Giles wasn’t due back yet. Even Max wasn’t due back until the next day. Giles had told me as much. I’d just forgotten, with everything that had happened.

‘But I have to get out,’ I said. ‘There’s somewhere important I need to be.’

‘Oh?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘So this isn’t important?’

‘No, I didn’t mean…’ I tailed off. ‘Look, it’s urgent that I get somewhere, and it has to be before five.’

‘And where’s that, then?’ Her amber eyes narrowed. ‘Is it connected to the assault?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Look, there
was
no assault. She did it herself.’

Her reaction was hardly unexpected. She gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Of course she did.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Look, is there no way…?’

I left the question hanging, hoping she might see fit to work some kind of deal. I had to get the money for Rick…had to. It was of paramount importance. Far more important than the trumped-up charge they were holding me under.

‘Well, suppose you tell me where you need to be, and why?’

I was about to explain that I needed to get to the bank. I even opened my mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut again. I could explain
where
, but I couldn’t explain
why
. At least, I could…I could make something up but, if they checked and caught me out, I’d be in even worse trouble.

I scowled and said nothing.

‘I see,’ she said, knowingly. The triumph in her voice irritated me beyond belief. I was trying to save a girl’s reputation. She had no idea what she was doing, keeping me there.

She looked at her watch. ‘Look, I can’t question you without your lawyer present,’ she said, sounding irritated herself. ‘And you won’t stoop to using one of ours, so…’

She stared at me, meaningfully. I slumped in my chair. There was no way I was trusting anyone with this except Lionel. If there was anyone who could turn this whole thing inside-out and effect me a swift release, it was him.

‘When’s he likely to arrive?’ I’d lost all track of time, by then. The interview room had no windows, so I couldn’t even use the quality of daylight for an approximate estimation. There was no quality of light in this room. It was fluorescent – as harsh and unforgiving as the sour-mouthed woman sitting in front of me.

She was still leaning back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other and regarding me thoughtfully. She shrugged. ‘He’s in court, apparently.’ She stood up. ‘So it could be anytime.’

‘What time is it now?’

She looked at her watch. ‘A quarter to four.’

She must have noticed me shift in agitation at this, because she seemed to relent, and her face softened slightly. ‘Look, the courts shut at four thirty. He’ll be out of there soon, if he’s not already.’

‘You think?’ I could feel my heart racing. It was cutting it so fine.

‘He’s probably on his way already.’ The officer standing at the door opened it, stepping back slightly so that she could leave. ‘I’m confident enough that I’m leaving you here. It’s not worth taking you back to the cells.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘Someone will be with you shortly.’

With that, she turned and left the room, the other officer following her and locking the door behind him. The screech of the lock hitting home set off an immediate fluttering behind my breastbone. I’d already had palpitations earlier, when I’d been slammed into a cell. I’d been okay since I’d been in the interview room because I hadn’t been alone, but now I could feel the panic rising up inside me again.

Fucking Max. He’d locked me in a cupboard at school, once, and got caught out of bed. He’d ended up in isolation, locked in a tiny bedroom on his own, and I’d been left there all night, cramped and cold. When I’d finally been let out, hunched over and hyperventilating, I’d ended up in isolation, too. I’d had a fear of confined spaces ever since. Glass lifts, I could cope with, but the steel ones…well, it was the first thing I’d changed in all our hotels and clubs.

Any time I was shut in anywhere, I was the same. There was nothing I could do about it, though. I just had to sit there, coughing occasionally to relieve the palpitations, and hoping that Lionel wasn’t going to take much longer.

Her

T
he counsellor’s office was on the second floor of a bland apartment building in Chelsea. When the receptionist had asked me, on the phone, who had referred me, I’d nearly rung off. I could hardly tell her I had no name to give her. I’d stammered something about a friend of my boss, expecting her to probe me for further details, but she hadn’t.

‘I see,’ she’d said. ‘I understand. Can you make this afternoon at four?’

And that’d been that.

I’d sat for five minutes or so in Reception, wondering what the hell I was going to say, and how I was going to be able to explain myself honestly, until the same receptionist had called me, and shown me through to a cool, quiet room, overlooking Beaufort Street.

A small, neat woman with dark hair and glasses sat at a desk in the corner but stood up as I entered and came over to me.

‘Hello,’ she said, smiling warmly and shaking my hand. ‘I’m Valentina.’

‘Grace,’ I said. ‘I’m…that is…’

‘Please.’ She cut through my stumblings and gestured to a couple of chairs by the window. ‘Sit down. Let’s talk about what you are doing here.’

I sat down on the edge of one of the seats. There was a small coffee table between us, on which sat a box of tissues. Valentina sat in the other seat.

‘So why are you here, Grace?’ she said, putting her hands on her knee and leaning forward. She looked earnest, and sincerely interested and, all of a sudden, I felt a complete imposter. What was I even doing here? I didn’t have issues. I was just a slut.

‘I…a friend sent me here. I…’ I paused again. I didn’t know where to begin.

‘I know who sent you,’ she said. ‘He said you might call.’

‘He did?’

‘Yes, but please don’t worry. Everything said here is in the strictest confidence.’

‘I don’t know where to start,’ I said. ‘I…’

Valentina didn’t speak for a moment, just sat looking at me. When I said nothing more, she smiled again. ‘Why don’t we start at the beginning?’ she said.

By the end of the session, I had a lot to think about.

It’d taken over an hour before the subject of my fantasies had even come up. When I finally mentioned them, I’d looked at her, waiting for a reaction.

She hadn’t reacted at all at first, then she’d given a brief laugh and said, ‘But, of course. Why else would you be here?’

‘You mean, you knew?’

‘But yes,’ she’d said. ‘The women he sends always have these problems. That’s what he pays me for. To try to help them.’

I sat quietly for a few moments, digesting this new information. I didn’t know if that made him better or worse. Any thoughts I’d dared entertain about me being special in any way were way off the mark, anyhow. I was just another sex-crazed nut job to him, clearly.

I said as much to Valentina, who laughed again. ‘My dear, nobody’s saying any such thing. If you walked down the street outside, you’d pass at least a hundred women who have just the same fantasies. I guarantee it.’

I nodded, relieved she thought I was normal.

But then, she continued. ‘Of course, most women wouldn’t dream of
acting
on them. They use them to explore the darker side of their sexuality safely, and in a controlled way.’

I nodded, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks. She did think I was a sex-crazed nut job, then.

‘That’s why our friend has sent you to me,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘He’s worried you’re going to end up doing something you’ll regret.’

‘I know I might regret it,’ I said. ‘I just can’t seem to help myself.’

‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Now let’s talk a little about why that might be.’

I had a lot to think about by the time I finally left.

As I hurried down the steps and out into the bustle of Beaufort Street, I looked at my watch. I’d been in there a good two hours. The secretary was long gone, and the rest of the office shut up. I couldn’t help thinking that he must’ve paid her well.

Whatever he paid her, she was certainly worth it. For the first time in recent days, I didn’t feel ashamed of myself, or my desires. I’d known, deep down, that my behaviour was a reaction to recent events, but she’d made me see that it didn’t make me a bad person. I just had to think; did I really want to live my fantasies, or was it just a way of getting back at Leo?

When she’d asked me, I hadn’t been able to answer.

As I’d said goodbye, she’d put a hand on my arm.

‘If you do follow through with your fantasy,’ she said. ‘Let our friend help you. A good fantasy is safe…controlled by you. If you go out there and find it somewhere else, it won’t be safe. It won’t be anything like you imagine.’

As I made my way back to Liv’s, through the late London rush hour, I thought hard about what she’d said. I’d expected her to tell me I shouldn’t even think about it, but she seemed to understand that it was no good telling me anything. I had to decide for myself.

I looked down at the information sheets in my hand. They detailed different techniques for recognising unhelpful beliefs, and distancing yourself from them. I was supposed to practise them daily until our next appointment…if I felt another one would be helpful.

I still wasn’t sure, but I was determined to practise the techniques. I finally felt like I might be in control of my own behaviour.

Him

I
t was well after four by the time Lionel arrived. By the time I finally got out of there, it was gone half past. I’d been charged with ABH, despite all my protests, but that was the least of my worries at that moment. I hailed a cab to take me from Chelsea to the City and, as soon as it pulled away, I took my phone out of the bag of possessions they’d grudgingly handed over before I left. To my mortification, they’d taken everything from my pockets – including my business cards.

Something that had started off as a wry joke was getting rapidly out of hand. I’d been questioned about the Filth Monger title at some length. In fact, if they hadn’t had that to go on, I might have been out a lot quicker. I wasn’t allowed within fifty metres of Charlotte’s flat now, which suited me just fine. I’d have been happier at that moment to be fifty miles away, at the very least. God, she must be feeling smug now, the crazy bitch.

I switched on my phone, ostensibly to check if Rick had been in touch, but the truth was that I was hoping Grace had called. There had been a call, and it was from a number I didn’t recognise. My breath caught in my throat. It had to be her. I took a deep breath and rang the number.

There was no reply. I sagged into the creased leather of the seat and stared out the window at the building traffic. Rush hour had already started, and it was cutting it extremely fine. I had to get to the bank, though. So much depended on it.

I leaned forward. ‘Can’t you take a short cut?’ I said. The traffic was frustratingly slow – inching forward a few yards every now and then, before grinding to a halt again.

‘This
is
the short cut,’ the driver threw back, over his shoulder. ‘It’s not a race, you know.’

But it was a race. Not against the traffic, but the clock. As the minutes went by, I grew increasingly anxious and, when my phone suddenly rang, I physically jumped.

I stared at the screen for a moment. It was the number I’d rung, returning my call. I didn’t answer immediately. If it was Grace, I wanted to get it right. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and have her think I was even more of an idiot than she already did. I remembered the business card I’d given her.
The Filth Monger.
I
was
an idiot.

Finally, I put the phone to my ear. ‘Hello?’

It was a woman’s voice, breathy and excited. ‘Hello? Is…is that the Filth Monger?’

The voice was different than I remembered Grace’s – younger sounding and more well-spoken. It wasn’t that Grace had a strong accent, it was just that hers was more Home Counties. This girl was public school, through and through. If it wasn’t Grace, then who the hell was it?

‘Ye…es,’ I said, warily. Surely it wasn’t Charlotte? She’d managed a passable imitation of a well-spoken accent, only that morning. Was she calling to gloat?

There was a brief pause, as if the caller wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe it
was
Grace, then, after all.

‘Who is this?’ I said, looking at my watch.

‘It’s Felicity – Felicity Flint.’

Fuck. Definitely
not
Grace. Probably just as well. I couldn’t see her being interested in a guy who was waiting on a court date for assaulting a woman. She had enough going on. In my heart, I knew I needed to give her a wide berth, but why the hell was Felicity Flint calling me? Of all the people I didn’t want to speak to at the moment, she was pretty near the top of the list. Certainly while that tape was floating about…

‘Uh…’ I hesitated, wondering where the hell this was going. What could she possibly want with me? I hoped she wasn’t after another assignation.

‘You do remember me, don’t you?’ Her voice had taken on a pettish tone. It was her all right, no doubt about it. Giles’s spoilt little primadonna of a daughter; willing dogger and, if I didn’t get my hands on that tape, soon-to-be unwilling porn star.

‘Yes,’ I said, with an inward sigh. ‘Of course I remember you. How…how are things, Felicity?’

I heard her inhale sharply, and my throat constricted, as if in sympathy. It wasn’t sympathy though…it was panic. What had happened?

‘Well.’ She didn’t sound worried – more excited, and when she spoke again the words came tumbling out over each other, as if she couldn’t get them out quickly enough. ‘That’s why I was ringing you. You’ll never guess, but I had to ring you. You were so kind to me, the other night after those other guys…well, you know. Anyway, I had to tell you…I’ve found someone.’

Her triumphant tone was lost on me. I was looking at my watch. It was gone ten to five, and the taxi was still nowhere near Lombard Street.

‘Found who?’ I said, trying to focus. It wasn’t easy. The traffic was at its usual rush-hour standstill, and even as I watched, the seconds ticked away on my watch…closer and closer to five o’clock.

‘I’ve found a boyfriend,’ she gushed. ‘I thought about what you said…you know, about having everything going for me, and I started to feel more confident. Anyway, I went out a couple of nights ago and, well, I met Hugh. Oh God, he’s lovely, and he’s rich, so he’s not after me for my money. I…I think he honestly likes me.’

I couldn’t take my eyes off my watch. ‘That’s great, Felicity,’ I said, shoving a twenty pound note at the taxi driver, and motioning at the door. The lock clicked, and I pushed open the door, into the oncoming traffic. ‘I’m pleased to hear that. Well done.’

She said something else, but I couldn’t hear it above the sound of the horns blaring. Several drivers had stopped and, disregarding their shouts and gestures, I ran across the road in front of them, pushing through the crowds heading towards Bank underground. I dodged through more traffic to cross Threadneedle Street, and then raced down Lombard Street, pushing through the oncoming commuters and apologising breathlessly.

As I got closer to the bank, the crowds thinned out, and the noise died down slightly. Blocking out as much as possible with my other hand, I held the phone to my ear again, as I jogged the last few yards to the bank.

‘What was that, Felicity?’ I gasped, panting.

‘I said, thank you Filth Monger, whoever you are.’

I could still hardly hear her but, even so, I could tell she meant it. Her voice throbbed with sincerity. ‘Thank you so much. You’ve given me my self-esteem back. I don’t know how to repay you.’

‘Really,’ I said, my breath coming hard and fast, and my stomach lurching. ‘You’ve no reason to thank me.’

I put my hands on my knees for a few seconds, as I got my breath back, then stood up and stared at the huge double doors of Ffyvells branch. I’d meant what I said. She had no reason to thank me. The doors were firmly and inarguably shut.