Not That Kind of Side Hustle
Maddox
In the rented penthouse, my last statement hung between us like a loose thread. For months, I'd been avoiding this conversation. Obviously, not with Delaney.
With anyone.
As for Sloane, lying about money had been only the tip of the iceberg. Or more accurately, it was the cherry on the marriage sundae that I'd refused to eat, no matter the family pressure.
The family was complicated. But the money stuff was easy – even if the explanation would lead to more questions, not fewer.
Sure enough, Delaney's forehead creased. "So, like…she had a lot of debt and never told you?"
"No. That I would've learned before the wedding."
"But how?"
I shrugged. "Due diligence."
She gave me an odd look. "What does that mean? You ran a credit report or something?"
She said it like she didn't approve, which begged the obvious question. "Is that a problem?"
"Honestly? I'm not sure. I guess it feels a little…sneaky?"
My mouth tightened. Sneaky was selling vacation photos to a travel blogger for three grand and then chewing out the resort for the breach of security. Or how about selling the location of a private family retreat and then spending an hour complaining about the paparazzi?
And then there were those photos of my niece's pool party. They'd appeared everywhere online in spite of no photographers being present.
That last one, I still couldn't prove was Sloane's doing, but I'd be a fool to believe it was anyone else. She'd spent no time in the water, but hours sitting nearby on her phone, which had an excellent camera.
On the sofa, Delaney said, "I don't mean to insult you or anything, but don't you think it's better to discuss things directly? I mean…I wouldn't like anyone running a credit report on me."
The words hit hard, because Cal had done just that – run Delaney's credit – and under my orders, too. But right now, we were talking Sloane, and I refused to sugar-coat it. "It wasn't just a credit report."
"So what was it?"
"Call it a basic background check."
Delaney frowned like this was even worse. "So let me get this straight. You trusted someone enough to marry them, but not enough to take their word?"
I gave her a look. "Are you forgetting I didn't marry them?"
"Yeah, but you called it off last-minute, right?"
I recalled the packed church, the photographers clustered outside, and Sloane in the classic white gown. And the fucked-up thing was, I'd told her it was over hours before she'd gotten dressed.
Before she'd walked down the aisle.
Before she'd stood there, waiting, like she still expected me to show up.
It didn't even make sense. The way we'd practiced it during the rehearsal, I would've been waiting for her – and not the other way around.
Apparently, she'd wanted the drama – as opposed to my plan, which was to issue a joint statement saying the whole thing had been called off.
She'd actually agreed – and then walked down the aisle, anyway – a fact I didn't know until I saw the footage on the internet.
Yeah, that was awkward.
And my fucking family – they'd been there, too, in spite of me telling them it was off. Of course, when the blushing bride tells them otherwise, things tend to get tricky.
By the end, the whole thing was a cluster of epic proportions.
To Delaney, I said, "Maybe not last-minute, but close enough."
"So what happened? A bad credit report came in by overnight mail? And on the day of the wedding?"
It was obviously a joke, but I wasn't laughing. "Forget the mail. Everything's digital."
Delaney wasn't laughing either. "Oh, so you got what? A text? An email? A singing telegram?"
A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. "Singing telegrams aren't digital."
"Oh, come on. You know what I mean."
Actually, the night before the wedding, I'd gotten some news in person, courtesy of Ryder Vaughn. As a result, I'd had Cal do some emergency digging, which uncovered a whole plethora of side deals that looked perfectly innocent until you added them all together.
I told Delaney, "It doesn't matter how I got it. Let's just say I discovered some side hustles that weren't sitting so great."
Delaney blinked. "You mean like…OnlyFans?"
I stared. "What?"
"You know, that website where people monetize being hot? And their subscribers pay extra for photos and videos?" She lowered her voice. "And maybe other stuff?"
She looked so flustered, I almost smiled. "I know what OnlyFans is."
"Well, that makes one of us, because I know almost nothing." She cocked her head to the side. "Like…do people pay a monthly fee? Or do they pay like twenty bucks a photo?"
More like a thousand bucks a photo. Except I wasn't talking about OnlyFans. I meant that shot of me and Sloane leaving that resort, which she'd sold for a cool grand. To this day, I still had no idea who had taken it. But the money trail had led straight to Sloane.
As far as OnlyFans, I knew just as much as Delaney. I shook my head. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"So…you've never used it…the site, I mean?"
The idea was laughable. "Hell no." Forget the logistics. When it came to women, I didn't share.
Delaney gave me a sheepish smile. "I think I got you off-track again."
She wasn't wrong.
Unfortunately, every time I started talking about Sloane, I found myself remembering something new.
Delaney's smile faded. "So you mentioned financial stuff. You already said it wasn't related to debt, so what was it related to? A side hustle could be almost anything."
There was no polite way to put this. My jaw flexed. "She was profiting from things that didn't belong to her."
"What kinds of things?"
I considered everything I'd discovered nearly too late. The tips to reporters. The leaked conversations. Hell, even the catering from our wedding.
Correction. Cancelled wedding.
Thank God for that.
In reply to Delaney's question, I said, "Everything."
She hesitated. "I don't suppose you could be more specific? Like…she didn't run around selling your furniture, did she?"
"No."
"So? What did she sell?"
"Information. Photos." Thinking of all that untouched catering from the wedding that never happened, I gave Delaney a wry smile. "Hell, even food."
She frowned. "So…like lobster bisque, huh?"
Far too late, I recalled Delaney's reluctance last night when I'd insisted on ordering that extra bisque to go. She'd loved the idea. I could tell. And yet, she'd told me repeatedly I didn't have to.
She was right.
I didn't have to.
I'd wanted to.
Big difference.
And when she'd smiled afterward, I knew I'd done the right thing.
Except now she was looking strangely uncomfortable, like the memory was making her twitchy.
I asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Before I could press the issue, a cellphone chimed. Not mine. Delaney reached into the side pocket of her leggings and pulled out her cell. With a little wince, she said, "Sorry…that's my reminder."
I glanced at her phone. "A reminder for what?"
She glanced toward the penthouse door. "I probably should've mentioned this sooner, but I've got this delivery thing."
I paused. "Now?"
"Yeah. I'm really sorry. I set the reminder this morning, when I thought we'd be having just a quick coffee."
Earlier, she'd joked about us playing Monopoly until midnight. I hadn't taken her literally, but I hadn't expected her to suddenly bolt. Still, there was no reason to be a dick. "So you need to head out?"
"Well…that's the thing. I don't really want to."
Something eased in my chest. "Yeah?"
"But I have to. And now I feel sneaky, because I should've told you from the start." She hesitated. "Can I confess something?"
I was dying to hear what she'd say. "Go ahead."
"I'm pretty sure I didn't mention it, because I was kind of hoping that if we hadn't finished the game, you'd invite me to come back – you know, after the delivery."
I smiled. "It's not sneaky if you're confessing it."
"Sure it is." She gave the door another glance. "Because I should've said something right away."
"So come back, and we'll finish." I pointed toward the board. "But I'm still gonna clean you out."
She snorted. "Yeah, right." Her gaze drifted to the half-finished game. "Are you sure you don't mind if we put everything on hold for maybe a half-hour?"
That was fine by me.
In fact, those thirty minutes might come in handy for collecting my thoughts to finish the second half of my confession.
The trickier half.
The favor for a friend.