Page 51 of A Secret to Die For

“Uh, I was staying upstairs, in the, uh, in the penthouse, and I was wondering if you could help me to find a cab?”

“You’re a guest of Mr. Van de Kamp?”

That was Garrett’s surname? What was it, German? Dutch? “Yes, that’s right.”

“If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up. Where will you be travelling to?”

“To Baldwin’s Shore.”

I figured I’d sound like a fool if I asked where I’d be travelling from, so I took a seat on the pale grey couch at the front of the foyer and prayed that Garrett wouldn’t show up in the elevator. That was a conversation I didn’t want to have, and I especially didn’t want to have it with a hangover. Far better to leave quietly and never speak of this monumental disaster again.

Out of curiosity, I searched for Garrett Van de Kamp while I waited, but nothing came up. He was probably one of those quietly wealthy people who liked to keep a low profile, so it was fitting that he’d worn a mask when we first met. It had been a metaphor for his life. Mine too. But if nothing else, last night had taught me a little about the type of person I wanted to be going forward. I was sick of trying to please other people at the expense of my own happiness. Friends were different, and I’d go above and beyond to help Brooke, Addy, Paulo, Darla, Brie, and Romi, Luca, Colt, and Aaron, but my family could go to hell.

And as for the monster… I hoped Blue was right and he wasn’t in town for me, but if I was still on his radar, then I’d have to take my chances.

My old life had been no life at all.

18

GARRETT

“So she just ran out on you again?” Johannes snorted around a mouthful of cheese. Behind him on the screen, Anouska—his latest girlfriend-slash-muse—lounged on a couch, topless. Neither of the pair had any inhibitions whatsoever. The two of them, blessed as they were with trust funds and a complete lack of responsibilities, had taken an impromptu trip to Courchevel to catch the end of the ski season. “Did you ever stop to ask yourself whether it might be you?”

“She left a note apologising for throwing up on me.”

“Okay, maybe it is her.”

“I shouldn’t have let her drink so much. Where’s your laundry soap? She also puked on herself, and I need to wash her clothes.”

“Do you even know how a washing machine works?”

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“If you’re washing her clothes, does that mean you’re going after her?”

“Of course.”

“The thrill of the chase?”

“Something like that.”

Johannes wouldn’t understand what I was feeling. Hell, I barely understood it myself. He was happy with superficial relationships that were never intended to go the distance, and for years, I had been too. I’d actively sought them out. Better to date an unashamed party girl who understood her place and signed the paperwork to prove it than a gold-digger intent on getting her claws into a fortune. But even the party girls had grown tiresome. When I returned to the US full-time, I’d joined Nyx, a club created for men like me. The hostesses were beautiful, bound by NDAs, and willing to do anything a dick could desire. But although I’d learned a lot about my own sexual proclivities, lately I’d found myself wanting more. I needed the whole package, not just one part of the fantasy.

And I thought Sara might possibly be that package.

“I’ll probably need to borrow your apartment again,” I told Johannes.

“Whatever, bro. Don’t want to introduce the new girl to the fam yet?”

“If you were a Dorsey, would you?”

My father would interrogate her, my stepmother would smother her, and my half-brother would either hit on her or insult her, depending on which side of the bed he’d gotten out of that morning. If I was going to stand any chance with Sara, I needed to build a solid footing for our relationship before I walked her into a nightmare.

Johannes snorted. “Hell, no.”

“How long are you staying in France?”

He turned to Anouska. “How long do you want to stay here, babe?”

---