Secrets of the A-List Box Set, Volume 1 Page 20

  “I’m offering more than just money, Thom.” The Fixer placed both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “What I’m offering you is freedom.”

  “From?”

  “The obligations and expectations that come along with your parents’ money.” When Thom didn’t reply, the Fixer continued. “I’m offering you a cut of the action. All you have to do to earn it is keep what you heard to yourself. I’m talking about an obscene amount of money here, Thom. The kind of wealth that would finally allow you to be your own man.”

  The implication, regardless of how true, smarted. Still, it was a tempting thought.

  What if money weren’t an issue? He wouldn’t need his parents’ approval. He could live his life as he pleased.

  He wouldn’t need to marry Elana.

  He could jump off the Marshall family crazy train and spend his days lying in the warm sand on a beach in the South of France. Make love to whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Without fear of repercussions.

  Thom heaved a sigh, his jaw clenched. It was a nice fantasy, but he wasn’t naive enough to believe that money like that wouldn’t come with a shitload of strings attached. The kind that could strangle you to death if you weren’t careful.

  “No.” Thom shook his head, his tone firm and decisive. “I don’t want your dirty money.”

  The person seated across from him grimaced, the icy gaze narrowing for a moment at the implication of Thom’s words. “Despite what you may think, I’ve helped a lot of people—including members of this family—out of some very sticky situations. I’ve saved careers, reputations, legacies.”

  “If what you’re doing is so noble, why hide it?”

  “Because work like this is best done behind the scenes and in the shadows. It requires ruffling feathers and making enemies. By not telling them, I’m keeping them safe.”

  “A lot of good that did Harrison.” Thom assessed the Fixer carefully. “I’m beginning to think that what happened to him wasn’t an accident at all.”

  “There’s no evidence it was anything other than an accident.”

  “What if it wasn’t? Maybe your side hustle has put all the Marshalls in jeopardy. Even if it’s only a small possibility, shouldn’t they know?”

  “They aren’t. I assure you.” The Fixer stood, pacing the room. “But they’re certainly under enough stress already. The last thing they need is this.”

  “I won’t lie to Elana.” Thom nearly whispered the words, the irony of the statement not lost on him.

  “I understand, and I know it’s a lot to process right now. All I ask is that you take some time and think it through. Sleep on it. Better yet, why don’t you wait until after the engagement party? Elana’s already stressed. You wouldn’t want to upset her or Mariella before then, would you?”

  This wasn’t about sparing Elana or Mariella’s feelings. It was about buying time. Thom realized that. He wasn’t stupid. Still, considering everything that had happened, perhaps it was a kindness to delay delivering the news to Elana and Mariella.

  Elana was already hanging on by a thread. She’d been close to calling the wedding off the other day. He was sure of it. How would she react if she learned the truth about the Fixer?

  Their upcoming wedding was one of the most anticipated social events of the season. He and Elana had been content with the small, private engagement party his parents had thrown at their home soon after the engagement. But they’d finally given in to pressure from Harrison and Mariella to have a big engagement bash that was more consistent with what was “expected” of the Marshalls. After numerous revisions to the guest list, more than three hundred people—including society and entertainment magazine reporters and photographers—were invited to their “intimate” official engagement party.

  Calling off the wedding and engagement party would set off a social scandal and heighten the rumors already swirling about the Marshalls since Harrison’s accident. The gossip rags would undoubtedly raise questions about Thom’s relationship with Elana.

  Samuel and Caroline Scott would not look kindly upon rumors questioning his sexuality.

  As an only child, his parents had doted on him his whole life, and Thom loved them back—but he had also grown up knowing exactly what his parents wanted. They’d built their real estate empire for him and his future. He couldn’t escape knowing what they expected him to be—the man to carry on the Scott family name. To marry, have the grandchildren his mother yearned for, to be a legacy. Just like the Marshalls.

  At heart it was all he wanted to be able to give to them...but that meant quashing his secret desires and focusing on Elana. It wouldn’t be that hard, he supposed. After all, she was beautiful. And sweet. And his best friend. He did love her.

  He just hoped it would be enough, given that now, his future was tied to his marriage to Elana in more ways than one.

  “I haven’t changed my mind, but I will think about it. I promise I won’t say a word about this to Elana or Mariella until after the engagement party.”

  “I’d think long and hard about it if I were you, Thom.” The tone was grave and the stare icy as the Fixer stood. “There’s a lot on the line for everyone.”

  Thom watched as the Fixer left the cabana. He ran a hand through his hair, a chill running down his spine.

  What would happen when he refused to keep the Fixer’s secret? Would he end up like Harrison? Or worse?

  * * *

  Elana Marshall surveyed the growing stack of bags and boxes laid out in her suite. Chanel, Givenchy, Saint Laurent, Versace, Elie Saab, Christian Lacroix, Oscar de la Renta and Carolina Herrera. Red-bottomed Louboutin heels, Jimmy Choo sandals and mile-high Aquazzuras.

  Modeling the endless options was thrilling. It distracted her from thoughts of her impending wedding to Thom. An event she still couldn’t consider without the crushing feeling that she was making a huge mistake.

  Elana glanced over at her fiancé. He was there to help her pick out a dress for their big engagement party that was just two days away, but he was preoccupied. The pained look on his face mirrored the unsettling feeling that came over her whenever she thought of their wedding.

  Thom was tall and handsome. He’d always been a loyal and reliable friend. Most importantly, he was a good man. She should be thrilled to be marrying him. So why did the thought of marrying Thom cause a rock to settle in the pit of her belly?

  It’s just nerves.

  That’s what her mother had assured her—she’d said even she had suffered a bad case of cold feet before marrying Elana’s father.

  Marrying Thom would bring joy to her family at a time when they needed it most. It was what both her father and mother wanted. What they thought was best for her. More importantly, it was her opportunity to finally make them proud.

  But say goodbye to the mind-blowing orgasms with Jarrod.

  Elana slipped into a navy Carolina Herrera gown with a butterfly detail and slid on a pair of navy Jimmy Choos. She turned in the mirror and appraised the fit of the dress.

  She glanced at Thom seated in the corner. He’d been so quiet she nearly forgot he was there. “What about this one?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She strode across the room and poked Thom’s shoulder. “That’s the third time today you’ve completely zoned out on me.”

  “Sorry, I was just...” He ran a hand over his head. “Got a lot on my mind, with the engagement party coming up and everything.” He cleared his throat. “What is it?”

  “The dress.” She seethed, turning around. “What do you think of it?”

  “Isn’t that the one you had on a minute ago?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, it most certainly is not. That was a sleeveless black Oscar de la Renta gown with a deep V-neck and embroidered white floral overlay. This is a strapless navy Carolina Herr
era with a sweetheart neckline and a butterfly appliqué.”

  “Oh, well, it’s beautiful.” His smile was as unconvincing as his halfhearted compliment. “You’re stunning, Elana. You’ll look incredible in whichever gown you choose.”

  His words felt hollow, and his mind was elsewhere. Couldn’t he at least pretend to be excited about their engagement party?

  “You don’t care at all, do you?”

  “Of course I do.” He stood, taking her in his arms. “You know I do.”

  Elana sighed, her lips pursed. “Then can you at least act as if you care? This party is important. It means a lot to me and to my mother. Everything needs to be perfect. I need to be perfect. Starting with my outfit. Now, will you please help me pick something out that says we’re a happy couple and my father is going to be all right?”

  She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her close again. “We are a happy couple, and your father is going to be all right. You have to believe that.”

  Elana nodded, fighting back the tears that stung her eyes whenever she thought of her father lying unconscious in that hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and machines. He looked so helpless and vulnerable. Nothing like the invincible man she’d known her entire life. The man who’d always come to her rescue whenever she needed him.

  “Say it.” Thom tipped her chin.

  “My father is going to be fine.” She swiped a knuckle beneath her eye. “And we are a happy couple.”

  Thom’s smile barely lifted his cheeks. “Damn straight.”

  * * *

  Thom settled back in the chair, forcing a smile and showering his fiancée with effusive praise as she tried on the parade of designer dresses and corresponding shoes. Yet, his mind was still a million miles away.

  He’d promised to carefully consider his decision to reveal the identity of the Fixer to his fiancée and her mother. He would tell them the truth because it was the right thing to do, despite the tempting offer being dangled in front of him.

  I’m talking about an obscene amount of money here, Thom. The kind of wealth that would finally allow you to be your own man.

  The words replayed in his head, along with a vision of a life that was his own. One in which he could follow his heart’s desires, rather than being made to feel ashamed of them. Or compelled to do something that went directly against his nature.

  Thom smiled and fawned over another of the dresses Elana modeled. Yet inside there was a growing anxiety.

  What’ll happen when I turn down the offer?

  Could a person who seemed so affable and innocuous really cause him physical harm? Would the Fixer ruin Scott and Associates—his family’s luxury real estate firm?

  The Fixer had likely done much worse to others.

  Even if Thom accepted the offer, he’d be making a deal with the devil.

  He wiped a sweaty palm on his pant leg.

  Either way, I’m fucked.

  * * *

  Mariella Santiago-Marshall sat at her dressing table in a brilliant-hued teal silk kimono. A gift Harrison had picked up for her during a trip to Japan a few years ago.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, but she couldn’t visualize the strong, virile man her husband had always been. Instead, the image of Harrison lying comatose in a hospital bed came to mind whenever she thought of him.

  Harrison had shown no notable improvement since the accident. Worse, there were no indications he would.

  Yet, rather than camping at his bedside, here she was preparing for Thom and Elana’s lavish engagement party.

  They’d moved forward with the party at her insistence—a calculated public relations move. Maintaining their front as a strong, united family was more crucial now than ever.

  The uncertainty of Harrison’s condition cast a long, dark shadow that filled them all with a growing sense of dread. How could Harrison leave the fate of their empire and their family in the hands of the Fixer?

  She’d convinced herself that what they all needed was a night of celebration and gaiety to ease the tension.

  After her last visit to Harrison, those words rang hollow.

  She should be by his side. Not celebrating with a gaudy, star-studded affair, as if Harrison’s life didn’t hang in the balance.

  Over a lunch date with Thom’s mother, Mariella had confessed that she was beginning to doubt her decision to carry on with the engagement party. Caroline Scott’s warm cocoa skin blanched at the suggestion. The woman had recycled all the arguments Mariella had posed to Thom and Elana about why the party must go on.

  It was a show of unity. A dose of much-needed joy at such a difficult time. The only way to counter the rumors that Marshall International was vulnerable to a hostile takeover.

  It was what Harrison would’ve wanted.

  That was the biggest lie. A lie she’d created when it had suited her objective.

  She’d tentatively agreed, but Caroline hadn’t looked convinced. Her husband, Samuel, had visited Mariella at the restaurant hours later, reinforcing his wife’s plea.

  The party must go on.

  Mariella had agreed, but now...

  “Earth to Mariella.” The voice of Lane Devereux, her longtime hairstylist, shook her from her daze. Lane’s gaze met hers in the mirror, one eyebrow quirked. He stood behind her creating soft beach waves with a ceramic flat iron. “You’re a million miles away, Mariella. What’s going on?”

  She studied Lane’s face in the mirror. Nearly six feet tall with golden-brown skin and penetrating, coffee-colored eyes, Lane was incredibly handsome. A fact he owned comfortably and used to his advantage. Slicked-back salt-and-pepper curls and the gray stubble that crawled along his strong jaw were the only evidence of his age, which he wore remarkably well.

  “I’m having second thoughts about the engagement party.”

  No point in hiding the truth from Lane. She’d known him since Elana was a baby, and she’d been trusting him with her secrets for more than two decades.

  Talking with Lane was cathartic. If only she could confide in him about the Fixer. But sharing such potentially volatile information wasn’t an option.

  “You’re worried because Elana’s still got a thing for Jarrod?” Lane twirled another strand of hair around the hot iron. “Don’t be. I know she has the hots for him now, but Thom is a young stud. If he handles his business right, Elana will get over her little crush on Hollywood’s favorite man whore before you know it.”

  Mariella groaned silently. Elana’s continued preoccupation with Jarrod was a concern, but not the one bothering her now.

  “I’m worried that going ahead with the party while Harrison lies in a hospital bed will make us seem shallow and insensitive.”

  “It’s a little late for that, love.” Lane raised a brow as he eyed her reflection. “The party is hours away. If you cancel now, rumors about the state of the Marshalls will run wild.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts, Mariella.” Lane set the steaming implement on its stand and repositioned her hair so that soft waves framed her face. “I know you’re concerned about Harrison. We all are. But you know damned well he’d want you to march your ass into that party tonight with your head held high, looking like the regal queen you are.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling myself, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Well, I am.” Lane turned her chair and lifted her chin, rearranging a few more locks. “Canceling now would be a waste of time and a hell of a lot of money. And the message it would send...” Lane clucked his tongue. “They’d have Harrison dead and gone by the news at eleven.”

  “You’re right, of course. The party must go on. It’s a shame I’m not feeling very festive.”

  “Well, perk up, sister.” He gave her a warm smile that she could
n’t help but return. “This hair looks way too good to be outshined by your grumpy disposition.”

  Mariella laughed. Lane Devereux was the one person in her life who was no-nonsense. He said exactly what he meant, without compunction. In a world filled with insincere sycophants who’d say or do anything to curry her favor, Lane’s no-holds-barred honesty was refreshing. His tendency to cut through the bullshit and say what needed to be said was the reason she’d confided in him so often over the years. Lane wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. He’d tell her what she needed to hear: the truth. Plain and simple.

  If he’d been anyone else, she’d have thought his words insensitive. But it was Lane. He was simply giving her a much-needed dose of reality.

  “I’ll do my best.” Mariella smiled.

  “That’s my girl.” Lane squeezed her shoulders. After spritzing her black tresses lightly with hair gloss, he nodded his approval. “Now you’re all set. Let’s see what you’re wearing tonight.”

  Mariella stepped into her closet and pulled out a fabulous black sequined Givenchy gown.

  Lane’s brows scrunched. Arms folded, he framed his jaw with his forefinger and thumb. He stared at the dress, then at her. “It’s a beautiful gown, honey. There’s no doubt about that, but I thought the point of this party was to ensure people Harrison isn’t dead.”

  “It is.” She clutched the gown to her body.

  “Then why, my dear, do you plan on going to this thing looking like you just stepped out of the limo behind a hearse?” He shook his head. “No. No way. You are not walking up in that party looking like the merry widow on my watch.” He waved his hand, dispatching her back into her huge walk-in closet. “I know you have something more festive in there. Something that says, ‘I’m happy and alive, and so is my husband.’”

  Mariella held back an incredulous grin. She shouldn’t laugh, but Lane was right. “Fine. Then help me select a more suitable dress.”

  Lane stopped gathering his things and joined her in her closet, nearly as big as the bedroom. He carefully surveyed the racks of evening gowns organized by color, then length. Most of them unworn. Mariella typically donated her evening wear after an event. It wasn’t as if she could wear it again. A style magazine or fashion blogger would inevitably call her out on it.