Page 98 of Boost

“Considering I’ve just booked your best fucking room for the night, I’m sure you’ll make an exception.”

Hearing my raised voice, the duty manager emerged from the rear office. Without a word, he checked my booking, glanced between me, my keys and the car neither of them could afford outside, and gave a quick nod.

“Consider it sorted, sir. Your keys will be in your room in twenty minutes.”

I raised an eyebrow at the clerk who’d just told me check-in would take two hours, then nodded my thanks to the manager. I halted mid-step from the desk and turned back to rap my knuckles against it.

“The bar is open, yeah?”

“Absolutely. Would you like to be escorted there?”

I smiled tightly. “No. Thanks.”

No doubt leaving them with questions about what a guy like me was doing in a place like this, I found the bar, ordered an Old Fashioned, opened a tab, and told the bartender to keep ‘em comin’.

I needed the haze that created an illusion of immortality. The place where emotions were powerless and thoughts were extinguished. And for me, that normally sat down the road that led from hard liquor to a wet pussy.

Fuck.

As soon as my first drink disappeared, another took the spot of the empty glass. I lifted it and indicated I’d be outside on the balcony. Overlooking the resort’s beach nested along the vast Santa Barbara coastline, I stared out across the deep shade of blue that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was the perfect place to sit and drown my demons.

“Sir?”

I glanced up to see a butler holding out a key-card. “The Ritz-Carlton Suite is ready for you now. You can head there at your leisure.”

I lifted the second empty tumbler. “I’ll need a few more of these under my belt first.”

He nodded. “Of course. There is also an impressive selection of liquor in the suite, should you wish to continue later.”

“Thanks,” I snapped in dismissal.

I was being an asshole, I knew that, but I hadn’t yet thrown enough money at my ghosts to make them disappear.

I shifted to dig my phone out of my back pocket and reluctantly unlocked the screen.

“Fuck me,” I hissed. The amount of calls I’d missed from both known and unknown numbers was unnerving. Seemed that I still knew how to create a media frenzy with my fucked-up childhood.

Repulsion uncoiled and twisted in my gut. I was furious that they still held this over me all these years later. I’d busted my balls to get to where I was today, and with one ill-fated press release, my world had burned to the ground all over again.

Historically, I’d proven I could weather that storm. I’d been beaten down and rose from the ashes. I could do that again, for sure, but this time I wouldn’t have the ‘luxury’ of hiding behind a new name.

And the worst part? The part that made me want to implode from the inside out?

Losing Greer.

Her name burned into my mind when I scrolled through the missed-call list. Some were from her. That conversation was one I couldn’t face. Not now, perhaps not ever. Explanations like those were too raw to confront, no matter how far in the past they were.

The thing that got me was the look etched on her face; I’d expected to see fear—Ishould haveseen fear. Instead, I saw denial, and almost acceptance, that I had hurt her. That was just fucked-up.

I gestured for another drink when my empty glass wasn’t immediately replaced. Four more Old Fashions later, I ordered room service and made my way to the suite I’d shelled-out a pretty penny for. If I had any regrets over booking the best suite—which I didn’t—they would have been obliterated the millisecond I entered the lavish, two-bedroom apartment with a wraparound balcony and million-dollar views.

Fulfilling two of the three urges I’d had since leaving L.A. (driving and drinking), I embarked on satisfying the third and final craving. The one that would seal my fate and be the ultimate betrayal to both myself and Greer.

The correlation between my brain and my fingers was completely severed as I searched up my fall-back women. The two I’d already tossed away because, even together, they were nothing compared to one of Greer. But fuck, since there was no way to forgive what I’d done, I needed to forget.

Tequila’s Compton accent reached my ear and pulled me from my ever-darkening thoughts. “Long time no hear, Raf baby.”

“I need you tonight,” I demanded, without sweet-talk or pleasantries.

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