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CHAZ
God fucking damn it!
I pace back and forth as I consider all the options I can possibly think of. There aren’t many left, if I’m honest with myself. Genevieve is still missing, and after that fucker Archer and his band of hooligans hit her apartment, I’m starting to suspect those arseholes are the ones fucking with me. They must have her, right? Genevieve had been eating out of the palm of my hand. She wouldn’t have just disappeared.
Though the rich are masters at disappearing if they want to.
Fuck!This has all gone from shit to worse. I thought it was the perfect plan. Genevieve was the perfect target—new money, great potential, and hopelessly weak against my charm. It should have been easy. She was just so desperate to be loved, accepted, and to have a family… I would have had the money before the year was through.
My investment is quickly going down the drain. All that careful planning, all that wooing and the loans I’d taken out just to shower her with gifts, wasted. After everything, the Dandridge name is still at risk, all because I’ve somehow failed.
Where the fuck is Genevieve?
I pause in my pacing to peer at my reflection, straightening my collar where it’s ruffled. All this stress is hell on my complexion. The faster I get all this straightened out, the faster I can return to being the carefree Chaz Dandridge rather than this sad, grieving one. At some point, if Genevieve doesn’t turn up, I’ll have to play the mourning fiancé, and that all just sounds incredibly dreary. I’m much too good-looking to cry. I’ll have to be the silent mourner to make sure I look good for the papers.
Perhaps I should call the police. I have Archer’s information and know who he is. I could tell them, and then they’d have something to look for…
No! I can’t do that either.
“Bollocks!” I snarl, turning away from the mirror. If I throw Archer under the bus, he’ll likely have enough to incriminate me in return. Sure, I have power and my family name behind me, but I can’t imagine my parents would be happy to lend me the family lawyer to protect me. The chances of muddying my own name are too high. I can’t go to the police. That’s out of the question.
Which leaves me with only one real option.
The phone behind me starts to ring, and I peer at it, tempted to allow it to go to voicemail until I see the caller ID. Sighing, I take a second to drop into character before I pick it up and slide the green phone icon over.
“Hello?” I croak out, making my voice sound as if I’ve gone two rounds with a bout of crying or a bottle of whiskey. Dealer’s pick.
“Chaz, darling, you sound horrid,” my mother coos. “Have they still not found the girl?”
“There’s no word.” I sigh morosely, really laying it on thick, even as I blow myself a kiss in the mirror. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s been weeks, Chaz. Perhaps it’s time to mourn her and move on. There are plenty of other options out there.” It’s not difficult to see where I got my cutthroat mentality from. My mother, once upon a time, ensured she married my father no matter what. I envy her ability to find someone so easily.
“But the press would have a field day—”
“Nonsense,” she chastises. “Statistics show that anyone who has been missing for more than forty-eight hours is likely to be found dead. No one would fault you for drowning your grief in another bosom. I’ve heard there’s a new heiress in town.”
Sighing, I adjust my hair in the mirror, practising my sad face. “Perhaps you’re right, Mother.”
“Of course I’m right. Mother always knows best, dear.”
“I need to go now, Mother.”
“I’ll send you the number for the heiress. Pretty thing. And she’s in line to inherit millions.”
We both say our goodbyes, and then I hang up the phone, wiping away the expression on my face in favour of something more comfortable. I’m so tired of playing the mourning sod. If the family name weren’t under scrutiny, I would have already moved on the moment Genevieve went missing.
I stare at myself in the mirror, noticing a wrinkle that needs a bit of an injection to hide it. “Time to get back in the field, old chap.”
My phone dings with a text from my mother, and I glance at the phone number and information she sent. I look up the heiress and grin.
Without waiting another minute, I send a message to the woman to test the waters.
