Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EMMA
“ I ’m trying not to spiral here, but I am freaking the fuck out. I can’t help it.”
Gracie had poured us both a glass of wine, but I couldn’t face drinking mine. My nerves were shredded, and I wanted to keep a clear head. I still had to work tomorrow.
“None of it makes sense,” she replied, taking a sip from her own glass. “He took offense to the shitty review that you didn’t write, and he’s been stalking you ever since. But what I don’t get is why he pushed that first domino by sending you those emails, sat back and watched them fall, and them randomly decided to throw a fucking bomb into the mix and send you a fucking animal’s heart. Who does that? He went from zero to a hundred. But why? And don’t even get me started on the police. I’m so mad for you. So what if you deleted the emails? You’re not lying. Who would lie about having to put up with any of this?” Gracie blew out a breath. “But the police might be right about one thing. Maybe it isn’t him.” She shrugged. “It could be a crazy fan-turned-stalker. I mean, why just target you? Why not Gold, too?”
She had a point.
“I need to ask him about that tomorrow, but for now, what do I do?”
“Well, I would say tell Gold to shove his job up his ass, but I know you won’t do that. Maybe just keep a low profile. Wait for it to all blow over. And it will. Blow over, I mean. Soon enough, someone else will write a shitty review and he’ll move onto them, whoever he is, the fucking freak.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Maybe it’s not a he. It could be a she?”
It could. But my instincts told me this was definitely him. The artist himself.
“And you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want,” she went on. “I like having the company.” She tapped her wine glass against mine, which was still sitting on the table untouched, and grinned.
“I don’t want to overstay my welcome, but thank you,” I replied.
“Apart from weirdo stalkers and shitty bosses, how are you doing?”
I couldn’t stop a sigh from escaping.
“Oh, you know, surviving. I do have an appointment with a Duke tomorrow, though. For work.”
“Hold up,” she gasped, holding up her hand. “You have a what now?”
“An appointment. With a guy called Alex Kingston.”
“A Duke,” she marvelled, nodding to herself with an impressed smile.
“Yes. Kind of. He doesn’t use the title, but he has it. And it’s for an article for the newspaper.”
“And what does this Duke who doesn’t use the title look like?” she asked, picking up her phone and tapping away at her screen.
I knew she was going to do a search on him, but part of me didn’t want her to. I didn’t want her doing a deep dive and finding out anything that I wouldn’t want to hear. So I grabbed her phone to stop her.
“Gracie,” I fixed her with a pointed stare. “It’s work. Nothing else. Please don’t start searching online and getting any crazy ideas.”
“Who? Me?” She put her hand on her chest like she was shocked I’d suggest such a thing. Then she put her hand out to ask for her phone back. “As if I’d do such a thing.”
I held onto the phone and said, “Promise me you won’t Google him. It’s just an interview. The possibility of another story for the paper. That’s all. Nothing else.”
Gracie rolled her eyes, but after giving me an exasperated sigh, she said, “Fine. I won’t Google him. I know you’re stressed enough tonight, and I won’t add to that. But when you are ready to go looking for some dirt on him, remember, I’m your girl.” She lifted her glass in salute, then added, “I wonder why he doesn’t use the title?”
“He doesn’t believe in it.”
“Ah. A champagne socialist,” she surmised, then it hit her. “How do you know that?” She narrowed her eyes on me.
“I met him at the gallery on Friday. We got talking, and he might’ve mentioned something about it.”
“You met a hot, rich Duke on Friday, you’re going to visit him at his stately home tomorrow, and I’m only just finding out about this?”
“He isn’t a Duke. And to be fair, I have had other things on my mind.”
“Fair enough.” She shrugged. “I’ll let you off... this time.” And then she grinned conspiratorially to herself. “Can you image the look on Gold’s face if you became the Duchess of Sunford. You could buy the newspaper and become his boss.”
“Again... not a Duke. And I’m not marrying him. I’m going for a business meeting. It’s a discussion about the prospect of writing a piece for the newspaper about his art collection.”
“I bet it is.” She smirked.
“It is. He has a lot of S.K.A.M. pieces. This could be my chance to make amends.”
“Make amends for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“It still might help to clear my name. At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”
“You need to try not being a people-pleaser. Not for those who don’t deserve it. If I was in your shoes, I’d be fucking fuming about all this, and everyone would know about it.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to remind her that it wasn’t so long ago that she was having trouble at work with her boss, who she’d always bent over backwards to please, but she hadn’t kicked up a fuss. But I didn’t want to be that person. And besides, she was offering me a free bed for the night. And wine. That I wasn’t drinking.
“I am fuming. I just show it in different ways,” I told her, but she wasn’t listening; her eyes had lit up with a new idea.
“If he has a lot of S.K.A.M. pieces, maybe he knows who this S.K.A.M. guy is?”
“Maybe he does.”
Gracie gasped. “Maybe it’s him.”
I shook my head. “Now, you’re being ridiculous. I saw him just before the performance on Friday. I hardly think he had time to get changed and get on that wall to do what he did.”
Did he?
Right now, I wasn’t sure of anything.
Thinking about what she’d said made me reach for my wine and take a huge gulp.
Was I about to jump from the frying pan into the fire?
I sat with Gracie until the wine had been drunk, and she was ready for bed. I knew I wouldn’t sleep a wink, so after saying goodnight, I took my phone out and did exactly what I’d asked Gracie not to. I Googled Alex Kingston.
My stomach flipped when I saw photos of him on my image search, looking delectable in his designer suits at various events and photo opportunities. He really was the best-looking man I’d seen in real life. The fact that I was seeing him tomorrow, for a private meeting, made my stomach roll.
He couldn’t be my stalker, could he?
He didn’t look like the type of man that’d terrorise women, and besides, he’d been so supportive and encouraging, backing me even after he’d read the articles.
Or was I being na?ve?
After scrolling and zooming in on way too many photographs, and finding none with women on his arm, I focused on the websites that talked about him, his business and personal life.
They stated that he was thirty-two, single, and had no children. He was the only son and heir to the late Elizabeth and William Kingston, Duke and Duchess of Sunford. And that following their deaths ten years ago, the entire estate had been left to him, but he’d refused to accept the title. My eyes watered at the sum they claimed he was worth. If I wasn’t nervous for the meeting tomorrow before Googling him, then I was now.
After reading, I went back to Google images and scrolled until I found one of him on a beach, with no top on, showcasing the tattoos on his chest, arms, and neck. He was well-built, like a GQ model that I’d likened him to on our first meeting. I couldn’t deny, I liked what I saw. So I zoomed in to take a closer look, and that’s when I saw it. A lion on his arm, and the word Pride.
S.K.A.M.’s performance was about Pride.
Was it a coincidence?
Probably.
It was a pretty common word, and I guessed lots of guys had pride tattoos. But I couldn’t shake the niggly feeling.
Had the devil himself invited me to his lair?