7. Laurene
CHAPTER 7
Laurene
The black limo skidded to a halt on the gravel drive.
“Leave the engine on,” I said to my driver and jumped out before the car fully stopped.
Reese’s place. His home was a cold, towering villa on the edge of town, its sharp lines slicing through the fog rolling in from the cliffs.
Isolated. Defiant.
Just like him.
My palms were clammy, but the letter burned in my purse as I approached Reese’s door. The gossip mill in town was quick to tell me he bought this home right after the accident . Nearly on the edge of town, up in the cliffs.
My fist slammed into the door—once, twice, over and over, until the sting in my knuckles matched the one burning in my gut.
No answer.
“Reese!”
I banged harder, my palm flat this time. He had to be here.
I knocked firmer on the door again.
“Reese, I swear to God, open this damn door!” My voice cracked; I hated that. I hated needing him so much right now .
I needed to keep calm. I needed to think clearly. Panic wouldn’t get us out of this.
Moments passed, then I heard the click of the dead bolt and the door swung open.
“What the hell do you want?”
His chest was bare, damp from a shower. I exhaled slowly, my eyes tracing the thick lines of his tattoos, some new and some familiar. The low light of the hallway hit him just right, casting shadows that danced and twisted, making him seem less like a man and more like something darker, like an incubus.
I didn’t say anything. His eyes burned into me with anger; he was waiting for me to say something.
“Get the fuck out of here, Laurene. I’m busy.”
He started to slam the door, and I shot my hand out. The sharp metal of the doorknob bit into my palm, but I didn’t flinch.
“It’s an emergency.”
“You’ve got five minutes,” he muttered, stepping aside just barely enough to let me in.
The faint scent of cedar and old leather hung in the space, mixed with something rawer, more… Reese —a touch of sweat, salt, wood, and whiskey.
His smell was still the same.
“What’s the emergency?”
I swallowed hard as I took in his space.
The walls were lined with books, but none of them looked pristine. Some books had edges curled and pages dog-eared. A guitar rested against the wall. A stark black-and-white photograph of a barren landscape, with a cracked earth and twisted trees, hung above the fireplace. The place felt lived-in, but in a way that made it clear Reese was the only one allowed to really exist here.
“Working on a weekend?” I muttered, looking down at the coffee table, where a cigarette was burning in an ashtray, surrounded by scattered business papers. “That’s unlike you.”
The thud of his bare steps vibrated through the space, and I had to remind myself how to breathe. I wasn’t twenty-six anymore, lost in his bad boy charm. So reckless, so perfect for a girl like me who didn’t break the rules.
“Don’t come here pretending like you give a shit now, princess.”
I’d dated other men since Reese, knew how to make them want me, how to stay in control. And yet, two minutes in, and I was twiddling my hair and trying to find the right words to say. I sank into the cushions, crossing my legs as I scanned the room.
“Did somebody die?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I’ve been calling you.”
“I don’t answer unknown numbers, and I blocked your old number years ago.”
He grinned as he said the last part, and I clenched my fists. The man in front of me wasn’t him —wasn’t even close to the guy I used to know.
“I got a photo this morning.”
Reese raised a brow. “What photo?”
I tossed the photo onto the coffee table between us. He glared at me, then squinted at the photo, before looking back at me.
“What the hell is this?”
I pulled the letter from my bag and slid it across the table to him, my fingers brushing his hand as he reached for it. “Blackmail.”
His jaw clenched, and he snatched the letter from me with more force than necessary.
“Is that why I got those?” He pointed over to the mantel.
A vase of lilies.
I jumped to my feet and slowly walked toward them. I’d seen the news photos from Conrad’s funeral, and lilies had been everywhere. I pulled out the unopened envelope nestled in the flowers to find a newspaper page.
Mama already had us on the front page of the society paper.
The headline read “Wedding of the Century,” but it was crossed out, replaced by jagged, angry strokes of red ink — “Death of the Century.” The photo of me and Reese, on stage at our engagement party, had ink scribbled over our faces, holes where our eyes used to be.
I gasped, dropping the paper.
“Did you plan this? Is this how low you’ll go?” Reese’s voice was calm.
I whirled around on him.
“You think I set this up?”
I was raised to be perfect. But loving him was the first thing I ever did for myself.
“I’m supposed to believe this? After what you pulled in the garden? Your big plan? This is too damn convenient, don’t you think?”
“Does it look like I’m joking? Someone’s blackmailing us, Reese.”
If he thought it was me, why couldn’t it be him? An old part of me didn’t want to believe it. But with Reese, I couldn’t be sure. He was unpredictable, volatile.
“Is it you?”
Reese squinted at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I crossed my arms, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. “Cryptic threats. Anonymous photos. Your threats of revenge. Did you send me that note? You have motive. How do I know this isn’t part of your revenge plot?”
A laugh burst out of him, sharp and bitter, slicing through the room like a knife. “Cute. But that’s your family’s MO, not mine. After what you did, I would want you to know if I’m the one hurting you.”
I sighed. “You were hell-bent on getting me out of that marriage. We had a plan, Reese. You and Conrad?—”
“You sat there and told them I was jealous . That I caused the fight. Did you tell them what you did? No. Princess had to stay protected. I was just the bastard younger brother, hm? For months people were petitioning the sheriff to throw me in jail, even though Conrad’s death was ruled an accident. No one would come near me. I still can’t fucking wrap my head around the concept that you left me to rot, Laurene. You didn’t even have the fucking gall to look me in my eye after what you did.”
Guilt hit me, forcing me to stare at the ground.
“Conrad died because?—”
“Because he was an asshole, just like my father and your parents!” Reese’s voice thundered, silencing me. “You encouraged the fight. You liked it, didn’t you? You didn’t tell anybody how you?—”
“What are you talking about?” I whispered, not wanting to hear it, not wanting to admit it.
Reese’s eyes were wild, burning with the betrayal.
“You were playing both sides. Smiling in Conrad’s face, and then kissing me? Did you tell him I couldn’t handle the pressure? You fed his damn ego.”
“I pulled Conrad away from you! He was my fiancé. What would I have looked like not intervening? We didn’t even get to talk to him until you both snapped. Be cool. That’s what I told you. But nooo, you flew off the handle like you always do, and Conrad took that as an opening.”
Reese let out a breath. “You think I’d fucking stoop this low to blackmail, when I would be just as affected?”
“Then who?” I demanded.
Too many enemies over time, too many secrets and things done for me to remember.
“I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. “But don’t you fucking forget who saved you when we crashed, who was willing to risk everything for you. I lost more than you ever have.”
“Someone’s out there, Reese. Watching us. Waiting. They saw us back then, so that means our relationship wasn’t a secret. And that is a problem.”
His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the photo. “If this is real?—”
“It’s real. We need to come up with a plan to deal with this.” I stepped forward until we were nearly chest to chest, and I tried to keep my eyes on his face and not his abs. “Let’s start planning damage control. We cover this up. Push it aside till we find the truth.”
His lips parted, a sharp retort hovering, but he stayed silent, his gaze drifting back to the photo.
“Let me guess,” Reese finally said, his voice cold and laced with mockery. “You’ve already got the narrative lined up for when this shit hits the fan? This time will you tell me before you fuck me over?”
I bristled, refusing to take the bait. “Save the drama, and let’s focus on what the fuck’s at stake. Either way, we both won’t come out of this spotless. It’s about sticking with the fact that Conrad’s death was an accident. Which it was. We need to work together. I need you in this.”
“We fucked in the bathroom, Laurene.” Reese scratched his five-o’clock shadow, and I hated how my eyes trailed down his chest to the happy trail that disappeared into his jeans. “Can’t change the optics on that.”
“We kissed,” I shot back, my voice rising in defense. “It was a moment of weakness. That’s all. That’s all the photo shows.”
Reese only glared at me.
“No matter what, our families can’t pay for what we did.”
“They’re the reason we’re in this mess!” He walked over, inhaling his cigarette. “And you want to tiptoe around our parents? Fuck that. Whoever’s doing this, we need to find them and end it.”
I looked at the photo over his mantel, counting back from ten.
“We don’t know if it’s one person or more. What else do they know? If we make a move without thinking, we could make things worse. Because whoever this is, they’ve already got the upper hand.”
“Let’s sit here and think while they burn our lives to the ground. Maybe we can send them a thank-you card while we’re at it.”
I watched him get the bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and set it down on the coffee table. I crossed the room, sitting across from him, and when he poured his drink, I snatched it from him, downing it.
“Let’s think… We pool our resources together, find everyone who was on the boat. Cover up. Buy people out. Share any clues we find. Keep this only between us, and keep our parents happy. Figure out who’s sending these notes.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Do you really want to watch Ashbourne Distilleries fall into someone else’s hands? After everything you’ve built? All the money you’ve earned? You’re not the kind of man who just gives up.”
That made him pause, and he raised an eyebrow. “What else?”
“Mutual protection,” I said. “If we’re going through with this arranged marriage, we need to present a united front. We do this together, always. We keep each other safe and alive.”
Reese’s posture shifted from defensive to focused. “Fine.”
I stood, setting the glass down, and this time, I picked up the bottle and drank from it.
“First, we need to figure out who might have seen us that night. We start with everyone on that boat and at the engagement party. Your family, my family, Blair, Hollie, Tobias—everyone who was there is a suspect.”
“And what’s stopping you from turning on me when it suits you?” Reese said quietly.
“Nothing. But there’s nothing stopping you from doing the same either.”
Without a word, he reached for the bottle. He tipped the rim to his lips, his gaze still on mine, and drank deeply, finishing the last of the whiskey.
“Talk to your mom, I’ll talk to mine.” I was ready to go.
Be strong, Laurene.
He set the bottle down on the table with a deliberate clink, then slowly licked his lips, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.
“It’s a truce, then?” I asked, taking a step back from him.
“I’m still going to ruin you and your family. Just give me time in between saving my ass.”
The finality in his voice sent a chill through me. “Reese?—”
“Shut the door behind you when you leave.”