Noah glances warily at me. That knot tightens. “I’m looking into it.”
I’m just about to tell everyone to chill the fuck out when my phone vibrates again. With a frustrated sigh, I dig it out of my pocket again.
I grind my teeth together when I see exactly what it is. My fingers tighten around my empty glass of bourbon, and I suddenly have the urge to drink more. So much more.
The alerts I get for surveillance at all resorts usually come in biweekly reports. Only the truly important alerts get sent to my phone. This is the third one I’ve gotten in just a few weeks—something that has never happened until recently.
The details are there. The video attachments with the time stamps.
After an issue a few years prior, I made the decision to add more surveillance throughout the properties, so I’d be able to keep an eye on things at each resort, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it if I was away on business.
Clicking the link for the footage, I watch it. They only send me particular clips when something or someone is out of place. An employee not doing what they’re supposed to be doing, any illegal activities, or more than that, intruders. The feed starts to play, and when I realize what I’m watching, my grip on my phone tightens. I grind my teeth together so hard, my jaw aches, and I swear I hear a crack. With narrowed eyes, I watch the individual ride up to the penthouse floor with no issues, but where they slip into next, I know they certainly don’t have any business in there. Especially tonight.
All my suspicions have suddenly been confirmed.
Every weird, unexplainable instance suddenly makes all the sense in the world.
I watch as Mackenzie rifles through the drawers and cabinets in my office. Once again, I already had my suspicions. I had an inkling she was up to something after the first time I caught her sneaking around on surveillance a few weeks ago. She was creeping around the resort, asking employees about me. Sneaking into the surveillance room on the first floor, convincing workers of her bullshit story about an old boyfriend. Everything out of her mouth has been lies. One fucking lie after another.
It was part of the reason I’ve kept her around and gotten so close to her. It was easier to keep an eye on her that way.
I never let on that I knew anything or brought it up because I wanted to see what she was up to. I’m sure she believes this is all a cakewalk. That she’s five steps ahead of me—the idiot who is so infatuated with her that he doesn’t notice all the red flags. She hasn’t caught on to the footage or cameras. She thought she was hidden in the blind spots, but what my employees don’t know is, I have discreet backup cameras on another server through a separate company in case they ever try to delete anything for this exact reason.
I’ve played my part—the part of a fucking idiot—and let her think she’s succeeded in pulling a fast one on me. The guys were right. Something was off with her, even though I didn’t notice it until the club opening. I didn’t have idiotic notions about fate or coincidence—and her being there? It was neither.
I haven’t brought it up to the guys, not wanting to jump the gun just yet. She could be harmless, after something like money, or she could be an even bigger problem, and I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want her to be guilty of being anything other than a broke woman, looking to make ends meet.
I realize I’m giving her chances because I’m invested in her. I’ve invested in every part of her, her personality—whichever one is truly hers—her heart, her shattered armor, and her fucking pussy. None of what she’s done changes the fact that I’m more than attracted to her, just as I know she’s more than attracted to me, too. Whatever it is she’s after, whatever she wants from me, it’s obviously weighing heavily on her. I see it in her eyes, the way they gleam with sadness and guilt. She gets up in the middle of the night when she doesn’t think I notice and sneaks her way around, always looking for something, mumbling to herself incoherently. Or she cries silently on the balcony when she thinks I’m sleeping.
I’ve let her do it all and turned a blind eye. She has no clue I know her intentions aren’t as true as she’d like me to believe. I haven’t stooped as low as to turning on the feed in her room, though. I haven’t broken her blind trust in me by rifling through her stuff like she’s obviously been doing to me.
Ice-cold fury shoots through my veins. It’s so at odds with the fire brewing in my gut. Mackenzie suddenly moves from my desk to the pictures on the walls. When she stops in front of the map of Los Angeles, I stiffen. I watch intently, the way she pauses in front of it. Her arms raise, clutching onto the sides. She suddenly pauses.
Don’t fucking do it. Don’t fucking do it.
She does it anyway.
Mackenzie lifts the heavy photograph, revealing my safe that’s built into the wall. My lips curl over my teeth, and my pulse skyrockets.
If she really is a writer, this is a problem. She’s a problem.
I glance up at the guys. They pause at the expression on my face.
“What is it?”
I glance at Noah and grimace.
I guess we really do have a problem.
Mackenzie
I rifle through the contents of Baz’s file cabinets and desk drawers again, finding nothing. His safe is a little more high-tech than Zach’s with an electronic keypad instead of the dial. With Baz preoccupied and out with the rest of the guys, this is my only chance to get into this safe and see what he’s hiding. I just need to find a paper, anything in his stuff that can give me an idea of what his code is.
Once again, I’ve tried everything—names, dates, places—literally anything I can think of, and nothing has worked. It won’t even let me try anymore; I’ve been fucking locked out from too many failed attempts. That doesn’t stop me from looking further.
I stumble upon a locked drawer and blindly fumble for anything on his desk I can use to pry it open. Gripping the scissors and letter opener, I jam the tip of it into the lock, twisting and jiggling until I hear the click. I drop the letter opener and yank the drawer open. I pull out the contents, and my heart bangs against my chest. The effects of it have me feeling lightheaded.
Money.
Bundles of money.
Papers with invoices and gibberish I don’t understand.
With trembling hands, I pick up a wad of cash and try to read what the paper says.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
My stomach bottoms out at his cold tone, and I let out a surprised squeak, dropping the wad of cash. My eyes fling up toward the door and go wide when I see Baz standing there, watching me like a hawk. I flinch at the unrestrained anger aimed back at me.
Oh, fuck.
“I asked you a question,” he grinds out.
“I-I, uh, I …”
“They were right.” His nose crinkles with distaste as he stares at me. He’s looking at me as though I’m scum. Shit stuck on the bottom of his shoe.
My heart shatters.
A stabbing sensation in my chest makes it hard to pull in a single breath, let alone even think. Pressure builds behind my eyelids and nose as I stumble to my feet.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I whisper, placing my hands out between us, trying to calm him down. He takes a slow, predatory step into his office, and my eyes grow round with fear.