His Dark Vices (Dark Love Games #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Bree

I was worried about coming here at first.

I've been to mansions for interviews before, so it wasn't the huge estate that was worrying me. I could have at least had a reason for my unease if there were rumors, but there weren't any. There was more like a heavy feeling attached to Charlie Carter. Not publicly—everyone loves him. Rather, that foreboding fog lingered solely in my workplace, thanks to the journalist who used to interview Charlie, Sherrie.

I got sent today in her place because Sherrie refuses to write on political topics. And the last person she interviewed was Charlie.

The article she wrote was positive, so I don't think her relationship with Charlie soured. She just suddenly lost interest in what seemed to be a topic she was passionately interested in.

Which is weird.

Honestly, I get the impression that Charlie bit her or something.

After meeting him myself, I still don't know what happened, but I'm starting to get an idea.

Up close, Charlie is a little too polished. I wonder if the last journalist tried to get a closer look at him. Anyone who has the time to sleuth around can find the flaws that are surely there. I hope she didn't go that route.

It would have been an obvious mistake.

No matter what evidence she found, there's no way Shade Valley's favorite son would have gone down. They love him too much. Any excuse would have been found to explain his misdeed, and even if no one could find an excuse, all he would have to do is apologize, and everyone would move on.

He'd still be Shade Valley's favorite son.

People love who they want to love and believe what they want to believe.

My family learned that the hard way.

It didn't matter how many years my dad put in at the university or how well he supported the students. When a journalist accused him of inappropriate relations in the lecture halls, readers didn't demand evidence (it didn't exist anyway), and they didn't listen to the many students and faculty members who defended him. They readily accepted that my father was a predator.

Because they wanted to.

I don't believe for a second that Charlie is as perfect as he seems, but you wouldn't get that impression from me. We had a very pleasant interview, and I'll be writing very pleasant things about him, the way my readers expect me to. They want to be happy, even if it means lying to themselves.

Maybe one day he'll be exposed and fall from grace, but that star is going to be burning for a while.

As for me, it's time for a little treat.

The late afternoon sun greets me as I step out of Charlie's mansion, temporarily blinding me as I look for my car. It's right where I left it, sticking out like a sore thumb at the end of a line of shiny vehicles. I head over proudly to my plain gray rental, thinking about how far I've come, and slide into the driver's seat. At least I'm not driving my beat-up yellow deathtrap anymore—though I'm grateful it got me through college.

This afternoon, I'm hitting up my favorite café for a little post-interview ritual. I used to go to the Cozy Cup in college after finishing up articles for the campus newspaper. It was a little way to pat myself on the back. To remember my roots, I've kept up this ritual since I graduated.

I'm a little excited. My stomach is growling, and I'm thirsty from talking so much. I can almost taste the strawberry soda I'm going to order, but I don't know what I'll eat yet. I'll probably just go for my usual avocado toast. But maybe I can switch things up?

I crank the radio up and pull off, humming along. I try to focus on the road and decide on what I want to eat at the same time until I get to the café's parking lot. After parking, I grab my laptop bag and practically skip to the entrance, beaming the whole way. I'm in a really good mood as I breeze through the door and quickly scan the café. I'm hoping my favorite booth is empty, like it usually is. I like to think the employees try to keep it free for me, but that's probably not it. I'm just super lucky.

Like today!

The booth is empty. Well, not completely empty. It looks like there's a fresh strawberry soda waiting for me—and avocado toast! Huh. And here I thought I was annoying the employees with my presence. I guess they value me after all!

I look around excitedly, trying to catch the eye of the employee who set this up for me—and so quickly. Did they see me pull into the parking lot? But everyone seems pretty busy, rushing here and there, taking orders, or cleaning.

As far as I can tell, no one's things are at the booth, so I walk over and plop down, still trying to catch someone's eye. This is for me, right? Who else could it be for? A strawberry soda and avocado toast topped with a fried egg, my usual order, in my usual booth.

Well, it's not my booth, but it is the one I usually sit at.

I kind of space out as I go back and forth with myself mentally and reach for the glass. Yup, that's strawberry alright. There's no way this isn't for me. I take a grateful sip and bounce a little in place as the carbonation hits my throat. Sooo refreshing! And now my little ritual is kicking off smoother than I expected.

I relax in my seat and start ripping up bite-sized pieces of the toast with my fingers. My editor will be happy to know I'll be done soon with the scoop on Charlie, but what's my next focus? I take my laptop from its bag and boot it up, pushing bites into my mouth at the same time.

"Companion," I say thickly, talking to the virtual assistant on my wrist. Well, it's more than that. Companion does everything.

"Mark my interview complete."

It vibrates, and its narrow screen flashes green. I polish off at least half of the toast, then take a few more gulps of soda, focused on my upcoming work schedule. I feel a huge burp coming, so I turn my head away from the window and let it out.

Urrrp!

"Excuse you."

"Oh!!" I yelp, jolting in my seat.

I've just discharged a burp right into some guy's crotch. He's staring down at me, his green eyes steadily fixed on mine. It takes me a long moment to realize he's not a waiter.

"You're sitting in my seat, drinking my soda and eating my food," he continues, gesturing at the table without looking away from me.

"What?" I blurt out. "The staff ordered this for me," I explain without conviction. "They knew I'd be coming in, so they… got my regular booth ready with my usual order…"

He narrows his eyes, looking at me like he thinks I'm as stupid as I sound.

"You come here everyday at the exact same time and get the exact same order?" he asks slowly, knowing that's not what happened.

"Not every day," I say quietly, feeling like shrinking in my seat. I close my eyes as realization dawns on me. "Oh my god."

"You sure did come with an appetite today," he notes.

"Where were you anyway?" I shoot back, but after one look at him raising his eyebrows at me, I immediately wish I hadn't said anything.

"Sorry, I didn't know hungry college kids wait until you're not looking to eat your food. Next time I won't go to the bathroom."

"I'm not in college!" I say defensively.

"High school?"

I hold his mocking gaze for a beat, wanting to slug him in the stomach. But I'm the one in the wrong. I swallow down my pride and take a deep breath.

"No, you're right. I mean, I'm not a student, but I shouldn't have assumed this food was mine. You didn't do anything wrong, this is totally my fault."

I slam my laptop shut, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. The plate is a mess—there's no way I can give it back to him, and there still isn't a waitress in sight. I don't know what to do other than get my things and go.

"You've already eaten so much, might as well stay," he mutters, looking around the café. "I better get going, anyway." The guy sighs and shrugs. "Looks like you scored a free meal on me." He laughs, not going easy on me one bit.

I feel guilt sink into my stomach like a heavy weight. I don't want this guy to think I'm rude and entitled, and I really can't believe I just started scarfing down some random person's food. I have to make this right somehow.

"Wait, please don't leave yet. At least… at least let me buy you food to-go."

"I have somewhere to be," he replies shortly, sounding annoyed.

"I'm sure you do!" I add quickly, sizing him up.

The guy is tall and handsome, of course he has better places to be. I don't usually go for guys with long hair, but that tousled, layered look is doing him a lot of favors. Not to mention that strong jaw.

He narrows his eyes at me like I'm being weird, and I realize I should have followed that up with something else instead of just staring at him.

"U-um, I mean, I really am sorry. I always sit here and get a strawberry soda. I thought the manager left this here for me or something, which is soo dumb now that I'm saying it out loud. Can you wait 10 minutes while they make you fresh food? I can totally pay."

I'm already getting out of the booth and groping around in my purse for my wallet. When I stand next to him, I have to look up to see the dismissal in his green eyes.

"No, don't worry about it. I can pick something up after my meeting ends. In two hours."

Twist the knife, why don't you?!

I groan and cover my face, feeling worse by the second.

"Just pay me back later if you feel that bad," he says with a laugh.

He's the one who just had his lunch ruined, but he's in a much better mood than I am. I look helplessly at the half-eaten avocado toast, then back to him.

"Later?" I repeat dumbly, confused.

He starts backing away. "I'll let you treat me when I see you again. You come here often, right? Or maybe I'll see you around."

By the way he grins at me, I get the feeling that he's teasing me about something other than the food. I want to ask what he means, but he's already waving and walking away, forcing this resolution into my hands. I start after him but quickly stop. It's useless to press the issue any further for now. I'll just make a bigger nuisance out of myself.

But what did he mean about seeing me around? Do I know him from somewhere?

I drop heavily and uselessly back into the booth, tugged down by negative emotion. The avocado toast has now lost all its appeal. I can't look up, either. I'm too afraid I'll catch a worker's mocking eye. Or worse—that a manager is rushing over to kick me out for stealing food from his customer.

So much for my little ritual.

I continue to sit and stew, the smell of the offensive food turning my stomach. This is supposed to be my comfort place. Now it's sullied by my entitlement, and I couldn't even make it right. How am I supposed to feel comfortable coming back here? The employees are probably laughing at me in the back.

"Whatever!" I say out loud with finality.

Nearby diners look in my direction, no doubt noting that I'm sitting here alone, talking to myself. But I don't care. It's ridiculous to keep ruminating when I tried to fix the issue. Yeah, so, I embarrassed myself. I look like a jerk, and I made a guy go hungry before his meeting or whatever.

We all make mistakes!

Somehow, that excuse doesn't comfort me the way I thought it would.

I gather my things in defeat and shuffle shamefully out of the Cozy Cup. Warmly and with enthusiasm that feels a little thick, the woman behind the front counter sings goodbye.

Instead of giving her my middle finger, I give a half wave and duck my head lower, resolving to put this mess behind me.

It's not like I'll be seeing that guy again anyway.