The Insiders Page 3

  Screw it.

  I started down the hallway. “I’m going, whether you want me to or not.” But they were right behind me, and I was right. There was a guard down the hall, by the exit door, and he was moving to take point outside the room I just left. My mom was safe.

  The lobby was deserted when we got there.

  A gold and red rug spread over a marble tile floor, with red and white chairs against the far wall. The front desk itself had a gold trim around the edges, and there were two sweeping stairways that led up to the second floor, separating around two large posts. The same red and gold carpet covered the stairs and the second floor.

  The lobby was small, but intimate and grand. I wasn’t surprised. Of course it would be, if Peter Francis owned it.

  I started for the clerk but then saw a small shop across the lobby.

  I asked the front desk clerk, “Can I get some antacids charged to my room?”

  He started to nod, his hands going to his keyboard, but that’s when everything stopped and went into slow motion. This was the second time today that something similar happened.

  The hotel doors swept open and in strolled Asshole Kashton.

  Like Bright and Wilson, the guards all stood at their tallest height, shoulders back, head up, hands slapped to their sides. The store clerk almost mimicked them without realizing. He was ramrod straight and the epitome of professionalism as he bobbed his head in one firm nod. “Mr. Colello.”

  Tension spread around this man.

  Lovely. I was already tired of him.

  He didn’t look over, but he was aware of me. I knew it like I knew I had two hands. I just did.

  “Is he in?”

  The clerk’s words almost tripped over themselves in his rush to answer. “Yes, Mr. Colello. We stopped allowing more guests as well.”

  Mr. Colello. That’s what he called the guy. I could give him a different nickname.

  Mr. Asshole.

  Asshole Dipstick.

  I could go on.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  I was standing across the lobby, inside two walls of shelves that made up their store.

  He turned without pause.

  His eyes went right to mine, not stopping or hesitating on the guards.

  Those tingles from before were back, spreading through me, racing up and down my spine, and I felt heat in my belly.

  I wanted him.

  And I wanted him badly, and holy hell, I hated that. I hated feeling that, knowing that, and as his eyes darkened, I knew he knew it all, too. The side of his mouth lifted up. I wanted to curse again, because he knew exactly the effect he was having on me and he found it amusing.

  A whole new wave of humiliation crashed over me.

  I had never been affected by someone like this, ever.

  He started for the elevator.

  Relief hit me, but also disappointment.

  I just scowled.

  But nope. We weren’t done, because the guard spoke up behind me. “Ma’am. We need to clear the lobby.”

  Which meant I was elevator bound too.

  He was walking ahead of me. It was almost like he was a living, breathing weapon. He had an inherent athletic grace to him.

  I stepped to his side, then moved another step behind him.

  It was petty. I felt like everyone knew why I did it, but I did it anyway.

  I was not beside him. Beside him meant something, like I was there to engage, like I was his equal. Behind him meant something else totally, like I was submissive to him, like he was the boss and I was another of his employees.

  So I was behind him and to the side. I did not want to engage, but I was not submitting either.

  And he knew it too.

  His mouth curved even higher.

  The elevator door pinged open.

  He went in, moved to the side, and now his eyes were on me.

  He watched me step in next to him and raised his head to the guards. “Stay. I’ll send it down.”

  “Oh hell no.” I started to step out, but his hand caught my wrist.

  A zing of sensation went through me.

  He pulled me back in, then tugged me to his side.

  “What are you doing?”

  As soon as the doors were closed, he let me go and stepped back to lean against the wall. He smirked again, but his eyes were trained on my lips. “I’m not here for you. Relax.”

  My mouth flattened. “You relax.”

  The smirk moved to a grin. “You have attitude.”

  I looked away and tried to ignore the inferno his touch had lit inside of me.

  FIVE

  “You’re the team manager?”

  Why I blurted those words out, I had no idea. I was also noting he had hit the penthouse floor.

  His eyes narrowed, and he shifted to the side. He lowered his head, his eyes still on me.

  I was waiting.

  And still, nothing.

  “It’s a joke. Most IT start-ups have a flat hierarchy now. The head guy in charge is now termed ‘team manager.’ You manage the team. Right?”

  It was an insult. He was so not about equality and a positive work environment, which was the new push in IT departments.

  And I was being passive-aggressive.

  I didn’t care.

  “Why were you in the lobby?”

  I couldn’t handle those eyes. Still facing forward, I leaned my shoulder against the other side of the elevator.

  “Antacids for my mom.”

  “You had to get Tums for your mother?”

  I was pissed off, and he was here, and I didn’t like him, and I was trying to ignore how my body was having the opposite reaction, so I decided then and there to unleash my frustrations on him.

  I turned, facing him squarely. “Who are you? I mean, really.”

  A faint grin teased the corner of his mouth as he moved to lean a shoulder against the back of the elevator. He was full-on facing me. “I thought I was the team manager?”

  He was enjoying this.

  He shouldn’t be.

  That made it worse.

  “I know you’re not a team manager. You said you’re an associate of my fath—Peter’s. You’re up there in the power chain, but who? Head of security?”

  His lips thinned, but I still felt he was trying not to laugh.

  “A higher security person?”

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw.

  I tracked his hand the whole time, and I shouldn’t have.

  My mouth dried up.

  “I’m a consultant of sorts for your father.”

  “You consult for him? With him? About him?”

  A confused look entered his eyes as he eyed me back, studying me almost as intently as I was grilling him. “What are you doing, Bailey?”

  Shit. The way he said my name, my blood was singing.

  I averted my gaze.

  We were nearing the top, and as we did, I began to hear music. It was getting louder and louder, the closer we got, until we were only a few floors away, and whatever he said, I could no longer make out his words.

  We hit the top and I could hear only bass and the sound of a cat screeching the same word over and over again.

  The elevators opened and it was worse.

  He glanced to me. No good-bye. Or wave.

  Not even a smirk.

  Well then.

  He just stepped out and started forward.

  There was no hallway. It opened onto the actual room itself.

  I couldn’t help myself. I hit the button to keep the elevator door open and I stared, like curious nosy spyware. Pressed against the panel wall, I angled my head out, just enough so one eyeball could see.

  He headed toward the main room, and like that, there was another burst of loud music, as if a door opened somewhere inside. A guy passed Kashton, heading to the other side of the room. Shirtless. A lean frame like Kashton’s, but skinnier, his jeans were half falling off him. He had dark blond hair that looked greasy, sp
iked high, and he slapped Kashton on the shoulder as he went by him. He barely looked up before he was out of sight, and then he backtracked. Slowly. Foot by foot. There was no casual walk this time, until he was standing just in front of Kashton … staring right at me.

  I hit the wall just as Kashton turned to look, too, and I let go of the button.

  I knew who I had just seen. My half brother from Peter’s first marriage.

  Matt Francis was almost a regular fixture on the gossip sites. Rumored heir to Peter Francis’s empire. It was reported that he had no interest in learning about cyber security or anything that has to do with computers. I ached for my idol, literally ached, when I first read that in an article. What son of a billionaire genius didn’t want anything to do with his father’s company? It was blasphemous.

  His interests lay toward partying, being photographed with models, and more partying. The last scandal had put him in a huge exposé for Camille Story’s largely popular gossip website. The girl was invited to all the rich and famous parties, gossiped on them, and somehow remained within their circles.

  I’d only caught the last article on him because my last roommate sent me a link, the subject line gushing, “I KNOW YOU LOVE HIS DAD! EAT YOUR CYBER HEART OUT!”

  I’d just moved back home after graduating, and I wanted to read up on him. He’d been in a car accident after flipping off the paparazzi. Exiting that article, I’d been jealous of him. It’d been an odd reaction. I’d admitted that to myself then, wondering why I was envious of this rich kid’s exploits, but then I’d shrugged it off and went to make spaghetti for when my mom got off her shift.

  When I got to my floor, my stomach was heaving all over the place.

  Even my hand was shaking.

  It was then, opening the hotel door, that I remembered.

  I forgot the Tums.

  SIX

  Chrissy was rifling through the minibar when I got back from my second trip, Tums in hand this time. A pile of single-serving alcohol bottles was on the table, along with candy bars, sugar candy, and bags of chips. She popped up, a robe on, bare feet, and her hair wrapped in a towel.

  “Hey, honey!” She saw the Tums in my hand. “Great! You got ’em.”

  She scooped up all the food and alcohol, leading the way to the bathroom. The tub was filled up, with bubbles almost overflowing. She had laid out a bunch of towels beside it, and she put all the candy and alcohol on the toilet lid.

  “What are you doing?” I paused in the doorway.

  She tested the water, then de-robed. Literally. Untying her sash, she held her arms behind her and stepped out of the robe. It fell to the floor behind her.

  “Mom!”

  I turned away.

  “I don’t need to see you naked. No one needs to see their parent without clothes.”

  She just laughed, and I heard the water sloshing around. “I got ready for a bath. How can I not take advantage of this? Do you know how many hotels have a claw-foot bathtub? None that I know of. This is so rare, and ooh, it feels so good. Do me a favor, sweetie.”

  “Are you covered by the bubbles? Is it safe to look?”

  She laughed. “I’ve got the same parts as you do, just a different size. Every female should be appreciated. If we all looked the same, there’d be no fun in life.”

  “Seriously, Chrissy.”

  This wasn’t a vacation, but back to my whole diatribe earlier, she thought it was. Oh, to hell with it. I snagged one of the wine bottles and sank down to the floor beside the tub.

  I didn’t know the time anymore, but drinks made the most sense.

  Chrissy smiled at me, her head just over the bubbles and wine in hand. “Cheers, honey.”

  Yes. Cheers. We saluted each other.

  She sipped her wine, next reaching for one of the candy bars. “Help yourself. I did a whole raid through everything.”

  My stomach was metaphorically on the floor. “Mom, we have to talk about what happened.”

  It was time.

  “Oh.” She waved that off. “Not now.” Finishing her wine, she settled back, closing her eyes. “I know what happened was traumatizing, but you’re safe and…” Her voice slipped. “Do you really want to bring up all the bad stuff tonight? We’re in the lap of luxury here.”

  “Mom.”

  She opened her eyes again. Her mouth flattened. “Okay.” She nodded, sitting back up, some of the water splashing over the side of the tub and wetting where my feet were. “Okay. You’re right. You must have a million questions—”

  Before she even finished, I started, “How?”

  She choked a little before a knowing grin tugged at her mouth. “Bailey. If you don’t know how a baby is made by now, then—”

  “Mom.” I wasn’t amused. I let her see that.

  She laughed. “Okay. Enough teasing. Give me another wine thingy. They aren’t big enough.”

  I grabbed one that was on the edge of the toilet and handed it over. Her hand closed over my wrist instead, and she tugged.

  “Ah!”

  I’d been kneeling to give her the wine, and from my position, my side hit the tub before she pulled the rest of me into the bath with her.

  “Chrissy!”

  She was laughing. The water was going everywhere.

  “Come on. Let’s have a bath together. You and me. Mother and daughter.”

  I ignored her comment. Some days she was Mom. Others, she was the child. I tended to switch too, except I was never supposed to be the parent. That was her job.

  I shoved up. Half the water was on the floor now. “Who’s the child in our relationship now?”

  “Oh, myself, for sure. That’s a no-brainer.”

  I got out of the bath. My pants completely drenched. “I’m soaked.”

  She waved, her hand and arm covered in bubbles. “Put the robe on. Peter always was the best at planning for any outliers—his word, not mine.”

  Just like that, I sobered up.

  It wasn’t the outliers word, though it still stung. It was how she said Peter’s name.

  She said his name for the first time as if she knew him. It was a window to how they were when they would’ve made me. I hungered for more. I needed more, but I did as she suggested. I shimmied out of my wet pants and shirt, pulling the robe on and then ridding myself of the rest.

  I was heading back to the bathroom when there was a soft knock on the door.

  A guard was on the other side. “The vehicle will be downstairs at six in the morning.”

  Six a.m.

  It was so early, but as my throat burned, it wasn’t enough time.

  Not nearly enough time.

  * * *

  We were lounging on the couch.

  My mother had gone through half the contents of the minibar, and she was groaning, rubbing her stomach. “I may be in pain right now, but I’m not going to regret this night. Not one bit.” She was grinning, eyeing me. “How about you?” Her eyes grew concerned. “I noticed you’ve barely touched any of the food or drinks all night. You okay?”

  Now. It had to be now.

  It was nearing eleven, and I knew my mother would pass out within the hour.

  I sat up and pulled a pillow to rest on my lap. It felt like a small amount of protection against what was coming.

  “I have to know everything, Mom.”

  “Bailey.” She sighed. “How about we have this conversation tomorrow? We can get coffee on the way back to the house and talk everything over at Carla’s.”

  “Why Carla’s?” She was a coworker, neighbor, and the closest person my mom had to a best friend.

  “I’m assuming there’s still damage at the house.” She sat up, moving slow, and got up to start cleaning.

  Now she cleaned?

  She frowned at the pizza box. “You won’t want any for breakfast?”

  I shook my head.

  She turned to the door. “I could offer the last few pieces to the guards outside. They must be hungry.”

 
There was my mother.

  She was stalling and evading. She was even avoiding. Let’s throw in some deflection while we’re at it. It was my new favorite word.

  I sat there, watching her getting up and starting to clean the room, and I knew I should be the dutiful daughter and help. I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to move from this couch. If I did, I wouldn’t have the courage to keep pressing. She would increase her attempts, asking to cuddle or trying to talk me into watching a movie as she crawled into bed. Either way, we wouldn’t get anywhere, or I wouldn’t get anywhere.

  The guards turned down the food, so she shrugged and put the box in the garbage. She rinsed out the emptied little wine bottles and put them in the recycling bin.

  All the candy wrappers went in the trash.

  She went to the bathroom. I heard her moving around.

  Ten minutes or so later, she came back. I caught the whiff of toothpaste and mouthwash as she returned to her perch on the couch.

  Seeing I hadn’t moved at all, she raised an eyebrow, then sat. Her shoulders fell down.

  “Okay.” Her head bobbed up and down. “Okay, Bailey. I’m all yours. What would you like to know?”

  “Everything.”

  SEVEN

  I never went to sleep.

  My mom nodded off around three in the morning; she broke her eleven o’clock rule for me. I stayed up and watched her sleep. I didn’t tell her I was leaving. It was all left in a note, and a part of me felt like a coward. The other part of me knew that if I told her, she wouldn’t let me go. She might have moments where she acted young and carefree, but I knew Chrissy. She would’ve pulled all the mom tricks she had and somehow we’d be going into witness protection later. But I knew her. She would miss Brookley, so I outlined in my letter that, during this time, I would be safe. So would she.

  And the other factor: I was going to meet my father.

  A shiver of anticipation went through me as I dressed in a set of clothes from that overnight bag they had given me, and bent to kiss my mom on her cheek. She was breathing so steadily, deeply. I brushed some of her hair back from her forehead, whispering, “Love you, Mom.” My voice caught on a sob, and before I could lose my will to do this, I turned and left.