“That’s not why I needed to talk to you.” As soon as the server delivers my water, I take a long sip, unable to look Max in the eyes. “There is no easy way to say this—” Across the room, a man ambles into the lounge, six feet of gorgeousness in a black tux, and I stop until he heads for the bar and starts chatting up the pretty blond mixologist.
“Sloane?” Max asks, leaning closer. “No easy way to say what?”
With a slight shake of my head, I force a deep breath, my hands wrapped around my water glass so tightly, my fingers start to ache. “The man who…who…”
Shit. Why is this so hard?
Because you and Max haven’t spoken a word about this in fifteen years.
Max reaches across the table to touch my hand, and I jerk away. “Don’t!”
My cheeks catch fire, and my gaze darts all around the Lac bar until it collides with the guy in the tux.“Sorry,”I mouth to him—not that I expect him to understand from twenty feet away—then turn back to Max. “Dimitri Volkov.”
“Who?” Max’s brows pinch together, and I don’t think I’ve seen him this confused in years.
My voice drops to a whisper. “The man who…ownedme. He’s out of jail. And he…found me.”
“How? What happened?” He’s genuinely shocked now, leaning closer, his voice low and raspy.
Tears lend a shimmer to the room, and emotion tightens my throat. Every time I played out this conversation in my head, Max’s first question was always,“Are you okay?”
“He sent me a letter. I…I’m the reason he went to prison. Or I helped, at least. And he blames me for losing his…empire. If I don’t pay him five hundred dollars every week, he’ll send all the photos he has of me—” I swallow my sob, “—along with my passport, to the media.”
“Fuck.” Max pulls out his phone and starts typing furiously. “We have to get a handle on this.” Taking the cocktail napkin from under my glass, I dab at the corners of my eyes as Max mutters to himself. “Harvey’s taking a long weekend, but it’s only 1:00 p.m. in New York…”
With a quick wave of his hand, he calls for the bill. “Once I figure a way out of this mess, I’ll tell you what you need to do. Until then, go to the party. Mingle. Do the jobBeauty and Stylehired you for. If I don’t have a solution tonight, at least I’ll know how much trouble this is going to cause.”
He doesn’t wait for me to reply, meeting the server halfway to our table and showing his room key before he rushes out of the bar, leaving me all alone and fighting off tears.
How much trouble this is going to cause.
Mingle.
I’ll tell you what you need to do.
He didn’t even give me a chance to tell him about the man who broke into my house. Or the money I’ve already paid. Does he realize what will happen to me if this gets out?
“Breathe. Don’t cry. Marina can’t fix your face if you lose your shit.” My little pep talk doesn’t help, and I take a deep, shuddering breath.
“Are you all right?”
I sniffle and blink hard before I look into the deep blue eyes of the man from the bar. He offers me a handkerchief—such an old-fashioned gesture—and when I take it, our fingers brush. “Thank you. I’m…I’ll be fine.”
He watches me closely while I dry the tears balanced on my lashes. “Are you sure? You don’t look fine.” My fingers start dancing over my thigh under the table, my fear mixing with a hint of outrage that someone I’ve never met before can judge me like this. Before I can form a reply, he rubs his left shoulder and shakes his head. “That came out wrong. You look perfect. To anyone who didn’t see you five minutes ago.”
A weak chuckle escapes through my tears. “Nice save.”
“Just call me Captain Foot-In-Mouth. Seriously, though. Are you sure you’re okay? Need me to go teach that guy some manners?”
“That guy is my manager,” I admit. “He means well. I just surprised him with some bad news.” After I whisk away one last tear, I fold the handkerchief carefully and hold it out to him. “I can send this to the hotel laundry if you’re staying here—”
“This tux came with five of the damn things. Keep it. Just in case.” His eyes darken and he takes a step back, his hands in his pockets. “Good intentions don’t make up for leaving a woman in tears. You’re worth more than that.”
As he walks away, still with that slightly uneven gait, I realize I never asked him his name. Because Captain Foot-In-Mouth? That doesn’t fit him at all.
* * *
Griff
