Playmates (Mates #2)

17. Jayce

SEVENTEEN

Jayce

T he elevator doors glide open, releasing the faint scent of lemon-scented disinfectant and that low, constant hum of quiet judgment that only a law office full of sharp minds can pull off.

I step into the polished marble lobby, the cool chrome walls reflecting back a girl who feels like a child playing dress-up. The emerald jumpsuit I’m wearing swallows me whole, the blazer’s sharp, structured shoulders giving me the impression of someone trying far too hard. I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection—still too young to look this grown-up, still the kind of girl who gets carded when ordering wine.

But, of course, I wouldn’t be Rosalie Huntington if I didn’t manage to walk through all of this with my head held high. As I approach the reception desk, three receptionists in starched blouses and monochrome skirts turn in perfect unison, like they’ve been rehearsing for this moment. One of them recognizes me instantly, her face lighting up with an eager smile.

She rises quickly and leads me farther into the firm, her heels clicking on the marble floor. I pass the frosted glass doors of the family law department, catching a glimpse of a pretty, curvy, redheaded lawyer scribbling fiercely at her desk. She’s sharp, focused, and I can’t help but wonder what it feels like to be her—so sure of her place here.

We reach the crime defense department, and the receptionist practically shoves me through the door, her grin as wide as it gets. “Right this way.” She beams, and for a split second, I feel like I’m in the eye of the storm, everything speeding around me as I step into the heart of it all.

“Ms. Huntington.” Mr. Stevens stands when I enter his fishbowl office, tabletop bare except for a single manila folder. His navy tie matches the vein bulging in his temple. “You look…rested.”

I shake his hand and practically collapse into the leather chair. “They’re talking about me at Starbucks again, aren’t they?”

He’s not laughing and slides a crime scene photo across the desk. My French-tipped nail taps the image of Kix Lyle’s marble countertop, the shattered champagne flute glinting beside our faces pressed together in what looks like passion. Red Sharpie letters scream cheating piece of shit above my smudged lipstick.

My throat tightens around the lie. “We never…”

“Problem is, your fingerprints on his bedroom door frame say otherwise. Same with your fingerprints on him and his other stuff in his house…” Stevens pulls another sheet from his folder. “CSU found strands of your hair in his bed.”

My laugh sounds hysterical even to me. “This can’t be true…”

The attorney’s pen clicks three times, and he notes something down, my head starts racing about what the actual fuck he would write down right now.

“Why did you call me, Mr. Stevens? What exactly is this about?”

I sit up straighter, the weight of the situation hanging between us. My mind races, trying to piece things together.

“I just want to fill you in on what the police told me,” Stevens says, his voice steady but with a hard edge. “I pulled all the strings I could but you’re a suspect now. They have a few main individuals they’re focusing on, since I gave them your statement. But we’re working against time, and we need to give them something to work with to get you out of this.”

I lean back in the chair, swallowing hard. “What did the drug tests say?” I ask, already knowing the answer. The blood and urine tests were the first things Ethan made me do on Monday.

“Drug test results come in on Friday,” Stevens replies, flipping through a stack of papers. “But given your admission about the cocaine—”

I cut him off, “What difference does it make? Voluntary intoxication isn’t a defense in assault cases anyway.” I recite it like I’ve read the statute a hundred times, which, given the 3 a.m. Google spirals I’ve found myself in, is probably accurate.

“No,” Stevens says slowly, meeting my eyes with an almost reluctant intensity. “But roofies would be. If we can prove you were drugged, it changes things. It could back up the claim that you were set up, that you didn’t want to hurt Vaughn or Kix in any way.”

I feel a shiver run through me as the air-conditioning clicks on, the cool air brushing against my silk jumpsuit, a strange contrast to the heat of the situation. My mind is racing—this really is bigger than I thought. Why would anyone want to set me up? Maybe all of this really was…the real me.

“What exactly do they think my motive was?” I ask. “I don’t have any reason to assault Kix Lyle. Assault anyone.”

“Right now, they think you either cheated on Jett Vaughn with Kix Lyle or that Vaughn cheated on you, and you got back at him. The third motive is that you and Vaughn are in cahoots—that you’re his puppet.”

“Vaughn was in LA,” I snap. My fingers dig into the chair’s armrest, frustration bubbling up. “Even he can’t teleport.”

“Maybe, but they still think you could’ve acted on his orders. They think Vaughn orchestrated this whole thing from a distance,” Stevens counters, leaning forward. “Kix Lyle was Vaughn’s nemesis. The two of them were going at it publicly for weeks—threatening each other in interviews, on social media, making their feud clear to the whole world. The police think it’s either you or someone close to you who was involved. And right now, you don’t have an alibi.”

I bite my lip, trying to suppress the rising panic. I know what he’s implying. Kix Lyle and Vaughn were at each other’s throats, and I was caught in the middle, a pawn in a game I didn’t even know I was playing. The police didn’t arrest Vaughn, though—he has an alibi. I don’t.

“What do you know about Vaughn’s finances?” Stevens asks suddenly, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.

“What about them?” I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“Ethan found out that Vaughn had three wire transfers last month. Three large ones.” Stevens leans in, his cuff links catching the light. “It’s suspicious, but it’s not enough to do anything with. We don’t have legal grounds to go after him yet.”

“So what does that mean?” I ask. “We can’t just use that. And the only thing I know is that he’s about to buy a beach house in Italy.”

“We can’t use it, but it does look like some kind of hush money,” Stevens says. “It’s a trace. A starting point. What we need to do now is figure out how to prove that someone, maybe Vaughn, set you up. We need to find something on him that links him to this—something that makes him a viable target for investigation.”

I start to feel the weight of the situation press on me even harder. “How do we do that? How do we get something on Vaughn that’s legal enough to go after him?”

“We need to get access to his communications. Texts, emails, anything that links him to a crime. Once we have that we can move forward. Your phone’s going to be part of that process too,” Stevens says, his voice grim.

“My phone? Well, I don’t have anything incriminating on there. I’ve got a few stupid photos. But nothing related to Kix Lyle.” Thank God I discussed this with Jay in person and no one else on the phone.

Stevens exhales sharply, his jaw tight as he levels me with a look. “Right now, the priority is getting something solid on Vaughn. He’s the thread connecting you to this. If we can establish that he was involved, the police will have no choice but to shift their focus. If they won’t do it willingly, we’ll give them a reason.”

A weight settles in my chest.

“But we have to be careful,” he continues. “One wrong move, and we’re back where we started—or worse. Lyle could wake up any day now, and when he does, we have no idea what he’ll tell the police about you.”

I swallow hard.

Time is running out, and I can’t afford to wait for the truth to land in my lap. Someone out there knows what really happened, and I have to find them before it’s too late. Before they pin this all on me.

Stevens leans forward. “Since you’re close to Vaughn—”

“Was close,” I correct, crossing my arms. We haven’t spoken in days, and I think he’s ghosting me. Not that I care.

He waves off my correction. “You can still get to him easier than I can. I need you to reach out. Talk to him. If anything feels off—anything at all—you tell the police you noticed irregularities in his accounts. As his girlfriend, that would hold weight.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“You were.” Stevens holds my gaze, unflinching. “We have all the media coverage proving that you were a thing no matter what he says, and I need you to call him your ex at least, understood?”

I nod. Fine.

“Good. That’s enough. You had access to things most people wouldn’t. If you have any reason to believe he was involved, we need to push the police to investigate him the right way.”

“Okay. I’ll—”

The door slams open, and Stevens jumps to his feet.

My father stalks in like a force of nature, exuding the faint but unmistakable scent of Cuban cigars and an aura of contempt that could freeze the room. His every step commands attention as he moves with that deadly calm that’s always unnerving to witness firsthand.

“What’s this and why didn’t you invite me to whatever you think you’re doing here with my daughter?” My father’s watch glistens under the fluorescent lights as he checks an imaginary appointment on his wrist. It’s a habit, I think, just to remind everyone of his wealth, his extremely expensive time. His gaze cuts across the room, never missing a beat.

I slump lower in the chair, feeling smaller than I ever have. It’s like I’m a child again in his eyes. I’m not, Dad. This is my case. But he doesn’t care. He’s already made up his mind about it.

Stevens clears his throat awkwardly. “Mr. Huntington, we’re discussing privileged—”

“Privilege is what I pay for,” Dad says.

He drops into the neighboring chair, the leather creaking beneath him, as if it can’t handle his presence either. “Handle the tabloids. Bury the forensic accountant’s report. Charge more if needed. I don’t care what you do, but do it quick.”

“Mr. Huntington, with all due respect, there’s evidence against your daughter—”

“Stevens,” he roars, his voice sharp as a blade, and I just know Stevens shouldn’t have thrown the facts into my dad’s face. I have no idea when this man will understand that I’m not an innocent angel. “You know what we need. This case can’t go anywhere. Fine, those fucking cops have her fingerprints. They’ve got some evidence that she was in that house. But I don’t care about any of that. What I care about is winning , and I want you to find a way. No matter which road you need to take.”

Stevens hesitates, eyes flicking between my father and me.

His expression is one of a man who’s been given an impossible task, and I can see his frustration bubbling under the surface. “Mr. Huntington, the evidence…it’s damning. The fingerprints. The cellular data. I can’t just—”

“Damning?” Dad interrupts, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. “Stevens, I’ve seen politicians get away with worse. Murderers even…I’ve seen them walk free. And you’re telling me this?” He gestures to me, his voice rising. “That you can’t handle a simple case. A misunderstanding. My daughter didn’t do a thing. The real criminals? They’re out there, Stevens, but the system lets them slip through the cracks while we’re stuck here with this fucking shit .”

My father slams his fist on the desk and both Stevens and I jerk up.

I can practically feel his resistance cracking.

But how far can you push before the law snaps back?

“We need to find a judge who’s… more inclined to see the truth. Bribable, perhaps,” Dad continues, his voice growing colder, more calculating with each syllable. “Find a way to make this disappear . If the evidence is real, we’ll find a way to make it not real . We’ll bury it. Every last piece of it. You’re my lawyer, Stevens, so I expect you to do what you’re hired for —what you’re good at. It’s not your fucking place to feign innocence. We both know what you’ve done before. So, fix this fucking shit.”

The silence is unbearable, but Dad is relentless. “If you can’t, Stevens…well, we’ll find someone who can. I don’t care about your newfound ethics. I didn’t choose you because you’re a saint. I chose you because you win cases that shouldn’t have been won. You’ve made careers out of cleaning up messes just like this one, and believe me, it’s not time to stop that.”

I want to scream, to lash out, but I stay silent. I know how my father works, and I know that this is how he solves problems. Throw money, throw influence, throw people at it until it just disappears. Nothing is insurmountable to him.

But my throat tightens, nonetheless.

Sometimes he scares me.

This is how he treats Riley. The cold man. With me, he was never like this. Not once. How can I say I love my dad when he treats other people like this? What kind of person does that make me?

Stevens doesn’t flinch, and that’s when I know that my father didn’t lie.

He’s not a saint at all. Of course not.

“You’re asking me to cross lines, Mr. Huntington. I…I understand your position, but—”

“Don’t tell me what you understand ,” Dad interrupts again. “This isn’t about what you understand . It’s about what you can do . I’m not asking for miracles. I’m asking for results. Just fix this and I’ll make sure you’ll be a partner next. Goldman, Reed, and Stevens. Doesn’t that sound good?”

I notice Stevens’s hand fist around the pen, but there’s something flickering in his dark eyes. Oh, he wants this. The audacity of my father. I can’t believe this man.

“My daughter didn’t do anything. The system just doesn’t see that right now, but you can change that. You can make sure everyone understands that they’re messing with the wrong family.”

Stevens looks down at the floor for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He looks like he’s mentally tallying his options, weighing how far he’s willing to go for my father’s money, power, and connections. Then, he meets my father’s gaze, resolute but careful. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll start by examining all the evidence, trying to find weaknesses. I’ll see if we can get some judges on our side, but it’s not going to be easy.”

Dad drapes an arm around my chair and leans forward, his expression unchanging. “It never is. I didn’t expect it to be. But let’s be clear: you will make this work. The same way you’ve handled every other case I’ve handed you. I expect nothing less than a win.”

Stevens nods slowly.

Then my father rummages through his jacket and throws him a wad of cash just like he would with a bone to a dog. “So what’s it going to be, Stevens?”

“I’ll make sure that your daughter walks away from this without a scratch on her record.”

Dad gives a satisfied nod and stands up. “Good. I expect no less. And Stevens…if I find out you’re dragging your feet, I’ll find someone else who can deliver.”

He holds his hand out to me and I look at Stevens, who takes the money and quickly pockets it away. I don’t know why, but at that look on his face, the shame in there, I feel something like pity. My dad has them all. And they are all so weak. I have never witnessed one man who has said no to my father. Someone he couldn’t pay.

And just as I watch Stevens making sure the hush money is nowhere to be found, I swear to myself that I will find out who did it. Of course, I could lean back now. Watch how Ethan manages to clear my name, watch my dad handle this case without me having to show up to court even once. But all that I’ve learned just now boils down to one thing: I need to know what happened.

And if I did it. I’ll go to the police and turn myself in.

But there’s still hope—hope that I’m truly innocent. Not because my father wants me to appear that way, but because I am . And that’s why I need to find out if someone lied to me.

If I let those men handle my case, they’ll just make it disappear. But that means I’ll never know the truth. Never know who really did it, because they won’t dig deep enough. Not if there’s even the slightest chance it could make me look guilty. I can’t let that happen. I have to keep searching on my own. I need to find out who framed me.

Dad lifts me up and drapes a strong arm around the small of my back, leading me to the door. His voice is smooth now, a chilling contrast to the earlier fury.

“Remember, we don’t fail, Stevens. And something like this will never happen again, okay? My daughter needs to concentrate on her rising ballet career. I don’t want her disturbed ever again.”

“Understood, sir.”

The elevator ride feels like it stretches on for years, dragging me back to moments I wish I could forget. Dad adjusts my collar like I’m still that little girl in lace tights, and for a second, I almost want to pull away. But I don’t.

Even though he was all sharp edges and anger inside that room, now he’s softer. The fierce protector, the man who’d burn the world down for me in an instant, is nowhere to be found. In his place is the father who played dolls with me, who chased me around the garden pretending to be a monster, who pushed me so high on the swings I thought I could fly.

I look up at him, studying the way his eyes—my eyes—still soften when they land on me, and I wonder if he’s seeing the same memories I am. The nannies, the au pairs…they were always around because Mom couldn’t bear to mother, and Dad was always somewhere else, wrapped up in his work. But when he was here, it was like the world stopped, and it was just us. He was here, in the only way he knew how.

I was his little princess, the one he couldn’t say no to, the one who could do no wrong. And God, it took me way too long to realize that it wasn’t healthy.

And even now, I don’t know how to deal with it. I can’t even think about losing him, not when I love him more than I can put into words. But how do you love someone who’s done all the wrong things? How do I get him to see me—not the daughter he’s built in his head, but me ?

I open my mouth, but then he smiles at me, and I falter. This is the conversation I’ve been holding onto for years, waiting for the right moment. Yet, as much as I want to speak, I find myself hesitating, unsure if today should be the day…and it’s not.

“You know Riley’s engagement party is happening tomorrow,” I blurt as the doors open to our black Escalade idling at the curb.

Dad leads me out of the building, nodding at everyone we meet, and I can practically feel him silently telling anyone who dares to challenge me that they should never even think about it, and I’m this close to wishing the ground would just swallow me whole.

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes this time. “Darling, your brother stopped wanting me around when he traded ‘Daddy’ for ‘trust fund.’”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” I say, my voice catching slightly as we reach the car. “He wants you to be part of it. And you’re in New York right now—be there. For me?”

I clutch his sleeve tighter, looking up at him, hoping for some trace of the father I love so much.

He exhales a heavy, almost defeated sigh, before meeting my eyes. And then, just like that, the wall he built up falls away, and his eyes soften again. “Where?”

“He rented the Chilton’s Restaurant.”

“Good choice.”

I smile. “See? Your son has taste.”

“Rarely.”

I poke him with a finger. “Dad, we talked about this. You need to try. You only have us. He’s part of our family. Riley needs you more than he’ll ever admit, and you need him too. Please…at least try to show him the good side of you.”

“The ‘good me’?” He chuckles, though there’s a sharp edge to it.

“The one you show me. It starts at seven.”

“All right.”

“Perfect,” I say, already making plans in my head. “I’ll tell your assistant to buy white orchids. And please, for the love of God, pretend you know Liora’s name.”

He nods. “And if I go, you’ll stop hanging out with that hockey ruffian?”

Wait—what? I blink up at him, shocked. “Jayce is an NHL all-star…”

“And we’re Huntingtons.”

I narrow my eyes. “How do you even know I’m seeing him?”

“I know who’s coming and going in my hotel, honey,” he says it with a quiet confidence that makes my skin prickle. Maybe Riley was right, I shouldn’t have taken the apartment when he offered.

“He’s nice, though. Way nicer than Vaughn, Dad.”

“Don’t remind me of that accident. You’re not ready to settle, and when you are, there’ll be plenty of men worthy of you.” He kisses my forehead. “Now, go make me proud and show those teachers who’s the best ballerina in town.”

I sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Fine. But you will come to Riley’s party?”

His smile widens, but there’s something guarded in his eyes. He nods. It’s not exactly the excitement I wanted, but it’s something. It’s all I’m going to get with him. I don’t know why, but I haven’t given up the hope that if I can mend things between him and Riley, I can make him see me and stop doing all this scary shit…a girl can hope, right?

“Stanley? Can you please drive me to Ethan before heading to Julliard?”

“Don’t forget to take your bodyguard Ivan with you all the time.”

“He’s following me around anyway.”