Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(97)

“Oh, okay right,” I said, meeting my own sad reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah, I’ll try and reach you la—”

His sentence cut off.

“Freddie?” I asked, to no reply.

I stared down at the black screen. It’d taken four days to get a thirty second phone call. Four days of watching Caroline’s face splashed across every magazine, TV, and news story I stumbled upon. Four days of watching her dip into wedding boutiques and baby boutiques around London. Four days and all I had to show for it was a thirty second phone call.

It wasn’t enough.

I missed him so much and the more days that passed, the farther apart we felt. Thirty seconds couldn’t sustain me. Thirty seconds wouldn’t reassure me that he and I would work out. Thirty seconds was nothing.

“Andie, are you okay?”

I’d sunk down to the bathroom floor. Could they hear me out there?

I inhaled and swiped at my cheeks, trying desperately to get rid of the evidence. I couldn’t keep crying over Freddie. I was really f*cking sick of crying over Freddie. This was supposed to be the best week of my life and I was sitting on the bathroom of a five-star hotel where the towels were warmed and the soap was designer, and I was crying about stupid Frederick Archibald and his stupidly beautiful face.

I felt something hit my butt and I turned to find a piece of paper they’d slid under the bathroom door.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE


Freddie




MY FIRST NIGHT back in London, I started unpacking my things, amazed that I’d been able to bring so much shite with me across the ocean. I worked my way through a pile of stuff sitting on a chair in the corner, but paused when I caught a glimpse of red lace peeking out from the very bottom. It was the red mask Andie had worn to Mascarada. I’d pocketed it on our way out of the club. She couldn’t wait to take it off and had nearly tossed it in a bin, but I’d caught it first.

It was beautiful and she’d looked beautiful wearing it. Caroline had done her best to taint that moment in the club, but she couldn’t erase the memories we’d made on that leather couch. I’d had Andie under my thumb in the dim lights and if I closed my eyes and ran my hand over the red lace, I could still feel the lust take hold.

I picked it up off the chair and cradled it in my hand. The red lace was torn in one corner and the black silk ribbon was crinkled, but other than that, it was no worse for wear.

“I know Caroline is faking the pregnancy and I’m THIS close to proving it!”

That’s how Georgie entered my room, with an accusation and a tone that warned me not to argue. I turned from the chair to see her standing with her hands on her hips in my bedroom doorway, no smile, no nod.

I shook my head. “I just went over it with Dave, Georgie. She’s shown me the ultrasound photos, and records from a legit doctor in London. And we can’t do a paternity test until she’s a little further along in the pregnancy. I’m meeting with him again tomorrow but—”

She wiped her hand down her face. “You aren’t listening! You told me to keep tabs on her, and I’ve been doing just that. I think she’s faking the whole thing.”

“Do you have proof?” I asked, hopeful.

“No, but—”

I turned back to continue unpacking, but she whipped around me and jumped between me and my suitcase. “I lived with Caroline in that suite for the last few weeks. We avoided each other at all costs, but I was always there when she sat down to go through her emails in the morning.”

“So?”

“So…” She smirked. “I hovered in the kitchen, pretending to drink coffee, and secretly watched her type in her computer’s password for nearly a week before I finally had it figured out. When I was on the plane today, I logged in and took a look around.”

I dropped the red mask on top of my suitcase and let my lungs fill with hope. “Georgie, what’d you find in her email?”

She held up her hands to slow me down. “It’s not proof of her faking the pregnancy, but it’s definitely fishy. I rooted around her deleted emails—thank goodness Caroline is too dim to know how to properly use Gmail—and I found an email exchange between her and that ‘legit doctor’ in London. She sent him ￡100,000 and they’re supposed to meet tomorrow for coffee. How weird is that?”

I dropped the red mask on top of my suitcase and took a deep breath. For the first time since the pregnancy announcement, I sensed a chink in Caroline’s armor.

“￡100,000?”

She nodded excitedly.

“How’d she send it?”

“PayPal! To his personal email address!”

I nodded, thinking. “G, I admit that sounds suspicious, but I need some kind of concrete proof of wrongdoing. If we go public with stolen emails, she’ll probably just reveal that the money was more of her philanthropy, some donation sent to Doctors Without Borders or UNICEF. Besides, hacking someone’s email is probably illegal.”

“Who cares if it’s bloody illegal? So is extortion!” she shouted.

“I know.” I leveled my gaze on her. “Which is why I want you to go and stake out that coffee shop tomorrow. We need to figure out what’s going on between them. I know I said no cloak-and-dagger, but—”