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“I was probably lying. But back to Alexandra,” I say with another glance at the door. My interest in Gavin’s love life only extends so far. Right now, I’m failing to see the nature of the emergency midnight visit. And dammit, when will the vet pop her head out the door and give me the all clear?
“Focus,” Gavin says again. “Look at me, not the door. Please.”
I reluctantly obey.
“We were at this birthday party tonight and Alexandra pulls out a picture.” He leans forward resting his forearms on his thighs. He’s still wearing his suit jacket, but the white sleeves peeking out from underneath are dotted with bright red. He turns to look at me, and I glance up from his blood-stained cuffs. “Do you remember the worst days?”
“Yes.”
He has my complete attention now. I’ve known Gavin since we were five years old. I can still picture the day the social worker dropped him off at the farmhouse next to ours in upstate New York. Not the hour’s drive from the big city where I live now, but upstate upstate, by the Finger Lakes.
Gavin had nothing with him when he arrived at my neighbor’s dilapidated home. Not even a trash bag. Even as a kid I thought that was strange. But I was thrilled to finally have another kid my age nearby. As an only child living miles and miles from town, I wanted a playmate.
“She has a picture of me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know who took it. Hell, I didn’t know there was evidence … I thought it was over. I thought I’d put it behind me.”
“You did.” My voice is fierce and firm. I lean forward too and place one hand over his. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. That you weren’t a victim—”
“I was a weak little kid,” he cuts in. He looks over at me, and I see his desire to tear apart that word. Weak. He’s fought against that label for decades.
A weak kid who was bullied and beat up, I think. And no one stood up for you. Certainly not your worthless foster family. They made it worse. So much worse.
I know better than to share my thoughts out loud. Revisiting the past won’t change the present. And his foster parents paid for what they did to him. Not enough. But there was an attempt at justice, if not revenge.
“Are you going to pay her off and make it go away?” I ask. I don’t need to know how much she wants. Gavin can afford to pay her blackmail. It will piss him off. He hates giving in. But it will make the problem disappear.
“I haven’t decided,” he says. “She’s asking for a lot.”
“You can afford it.”
Money changes everything. Not always for the better. I’ve learned that the hard way too. But for Gavin? Money changed how the world saw him. And I think it might have saved him.
He looks at me. His expression is hard and his jaw taut. But there is a hint of fear in his eyes. He reminds me of a wary animal, a pup who has spent too much time in a shelter and no longer trusts the world beyond the cage.
“What if the money doesn’t make it go away?” he asks. “She has a fuc—a freaking picture. And it gets worse.”
Worse than visual proof of his most humiliating moments? And no, I’m not thinking about the sex tape right now. There was nothing embarrassing about that—at least not for him. I only watched a few seconds. And I can feel my cheeks warming just thinking about it.
“So much worse,” he murmurs, more to himself now than me.
“How bad?” I whisper. “How much does she know?”
“I think she knows my real name.” He turns his handsome face toward me. “What if she can connect the pieces?”
The Gavin Black Billionaire Playboy mask he presents to the world has been stripped away. His dark eyes are haunted. I see a cornered man offering a rare glimpse inside his soul. And for the first time in years, I wonder if he struggles to keep the image in place. Does he ever let his guard down? With his parade of girlfriends? With his friends from work?
“Would it be so bad?” I ask softly. “If everyone learned the truth?”
“Yes.” He springs to his feet and begins pacing the waiting room. “There are three people who know my full story. You. Margaret, the head of my PR Company, and my lawyer.”
“And now Alexandra. Although I’m not sure that is her real name.” I steal a glance at the exam room door. “Have you called Margaret?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not talking to Margaret and her PR gurus until I have a plan. Then I’ll get her team of private eyes to find out every detail of Alexandra’s life.”
“I think you should call her right now.”
He stops in the middle of the room. “I know what she’s going to say. She’s been after me to tone down the “Alpha Male” image.” He makes air quotes as he says the words. “She thinks I’ll get more press, and land more endorsement deals, if I show my softer side.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. My best friend’s in crisis and my dog’s in surgery, but I can’t keep the giggles at bay.
