Nothing to Hide

SIX

SIX

In bed, Roxie opened her eyes to darkness. Night. The best time of day. Her body bowed as she pushed her shoulders back and stretched her limbs. Would the gym be open twenty-four hours? Top-rated hotels did that kind of thing, didn’t they?

Her stomach grumbled. Okay, no gym. Food or shower? After eating, work would be next. A super quick shower would have to come first. What did she want to eat? Ice-cream, coffee cake… fresh strawberry mousse.

Fantasizing was fun, but when she eventually picked up the phone to room service, steamed chicken and vegetables were the only things on her order. Smart. No indulgence or excess. Not in food anyway.

Her phone was dead again. Like that was a surprise. She dragged out her charger to juice it up and switched on her laptop too. Having slept all day, she’d be up all night. Her body was returning to its regular rhythm.

When someone knocked on the suite door, Roxie sprang up from the dining table where she’d positioned the laptop and hurried over to answer it.

She threw open the door but was in reverse before setting eyes on whoever was there.

“Hold on, I have to find my purse,” Roxie said. The uniformed guy with the trolley paused. “You can bring it in, that’s fine. I just have to find cash to tip you.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but that’s not necessary.”

Astonished, she stopped and stood silent while he brought the tray in and set a place for her at the table.

“I have to tip you,” she said, snapping out of her shock. “I always tip. Hospitality staff deal with some amount of BS.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, retreating with a smile. “It’s unnecessary. You are Mr. Lomond’s guest. Enjoy your meal.”

What the hell? Her impulse was to argue. What was the opposite of robbery? Why wouldn’t he want a gratuity? Her stomach grumbled again, diverting her bewilderment. The food smelled good, really good. She went to sit at the place the guy had set and dragged her laptop over to open her email. If she didn’t reply to clients now, their messages would distract her later.

Spam. Nonsense. Client. Client. Bill. Spam. Meme from Toria. Client. Technically, she was on vacation and wasn’t supposed to be working. Any work that she got done would be less for next week. Being ahead of the game was never a bad thing.

Stabbing another vegetable, she pulled it from the fork with her teeth. One email caught her eye. Crimson.com, what did they want from her? Recompense for what had happened outside the club? Astrid hadn’t said anything about that earlier. Maybe it was decided after she’d been retrieved from jail. The email had come in hours ago, while she was sleeping.

The only way to find out was to open it. The text was straight to the point. First was a link to her dedicated page on the Crimson website. Her own page, fancy. Clicking on the link took her to an admin login screen. Hmm… Returning to the email, she discovered a username and password. Inputting both, she was delighted that they worked.

The actual page was divided into two sections: one for videos and one for chat. Two buttons, one said “upload video,” the other “stream.” Glancing down at the hotel robe, she pulled the lapels together, laughing. Yeah, streaming would be a bad idea.

People had posted a bunch of comments and questions. Thus far, they went unanswered. It wouldn’t hurt to work her way through them while she ate, would it? Everyone seemed so happy and excited. Ignoring them would be rude.

Before she could do anything else, the system demanded a username and profile picture. Curses. Selfie-time. The laptop told her there wasn’t enough light, once, twice and again. No matter how she angled, the lamp wasn’t sufficient. Putting on the overhead light worked, though balancing her laptop on a forearm while posing was tricky. As she switched off the ceiling light, she loaded the picture to her profile.

Username was a little more difficult. It had to be something fun… and couldn’t link back to her business pages. The Crimson website wasn’t hers; it was Lomond’s. After the tour was done, her page would be erased and her credentials revoked, as they should be.

Lomond’s… What was she to him?

A comment caught her eye.

Smiling, Roxie chose her username: “Lomond’s Delight.”

He’d get the irony of that, right? It wouldn’t matter. Her username wouldn’t cross his desk; anyone official would have better things to do.

After the way Astrid had run down her greatest hits, Roxie wouldn’t blame Lomond for having a negative opinion of her. Her opinion of him wasn’t exactly lofty. When he went around exuding arrogance like he did, he was asking for people to judge him. He couldn’t be as good as he thought himself to be. No one was that good.

Reading the questions one at a time, Roxie typed answers under her new username…

Q: How do you feel about your prize? You must be crazy excited. Going on tour like that, with Zairn Lomond, it would be a delight! Amazing fun.

A: It was unexpected. I had no idea there were going to be any contests or prizes the night we went to see Sunset. Just goes to show that anything can happen any time!

Q: Who are you? Do you even like to party?

A: I love having a good time! Music and lights, what’s not to love?

Q: Are you a Crimson Queen?

A: Uh… I’m not totally sure what that is, but thanks for your question.

Answering another and another, she worked her way down the never-ending list. A counter in the corner was ticking up… fast. What was it for? She scrolled down to read the words beneath it. “Users online.” Cool. People were logging on right in front of her. The positivity and excitement were infectious.

The comments were coming so fast she could hardly read them before three more popped up. The counter kept rising. Her fingers stalled, hovering above the keys. An audience. A huge number of people rushing to read her words.

Hmm, there were two choices: run or give the people what they wanted. Cracking her thumb knuckles, she pushed the food away and sat up straight. The people wanted to talk, and she was never short of something to say.

“Hello, everyone,” Roxie typed. “Wow, you’re all so enthusiastic!”

The cascade of eager greetings blurred the screen for a second.

Lomond was popular. He was in the press for the women he dated and the men he socialized with. He’d appeared as himself on the big screen. Hosted business seminars. Offered commentary in the news. He was the businessman that the paparazzi wouldn’t leave alone.

He lived in a world many aspired to. Everyone wanted to be him or date him. Yachts in the Mediterranean. His own Bahamian island. Owner of sports stadiums and concert venues, he epitomized the playboy lifestyle. Always wearing hand-tailored clothes, he was showered with lavish expensive gifts.

The world paid attention to his every word, both in person and in the press. One word from him could make or break a brand. He’d created celebrities and cut them down. Established and extended careers while demolishing and restricting others.

In the know and the primary interest on any scene, Zairn Lomond was idolized all over the globe.

Sitting there, watching question after question pop up, the true scale of what she’d waded into became clear. Most of the questions were about him. What he was like and what he’d said to her. Everyone wanted details.

“Whoa, beauties,” she typed. “I can’t answer everyone at once.”

“What’s he really like?” was the next question that appeared.

“Who?” Roxie typed, adding a laugh emoticon. “I’m kidding. Lomond, right?”

A flurry of the word “yes” fired onto her screen, filling the page.

These people were brilliant and hilarious. “You’re really into him, aren’t you?”

Typing a question in response to their question was maybe a cop out. The true answer was she couldn’t answer.

The questions kept coming. There was begging too. Begging for an answer.

“Please tell us. Please. Please!”

“We’re so jealous right now! You have to give us something.”

“Anything!”

“Yes, please, please, please, anything.”

“Did you swoon all over him?”

“What does he smell like?”

“Please!”

“Did he touch you? Like hold your hand or anything? God, I’d melt if he touched me!”

“Please tell us something!”

There was no getting out of it, Roxie had to be honest. “I’m sorry, beauties,” she typed. “I can’t dish the dirt. I’ve never met him.”

For the first time since the droves had joined her, there were no words. A good five seconds passed before the denials came.

“Bullshit!”

“No way!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You have met him. You have to have met him.”

“We don’t believe you!”

“He’s the whole prize.”

“Uh, yeah, nothing to hide, remember? Don’t bullshit us.”

“Why are you lying? Why would you lie?”

“I don’t get it.”

“She’s lying! Total liar!”

“Don’t lie about him. You shouldn’t be there if you’re just going to lie about him.”

“Tell the truth!”

“I swear it,” Roxie typed. “I wish I could dish every juicy detail. We have never been in the same room, except at the studio when I was in the audience.”

“No way!”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I thought the whole point was for you to be looking over his shoulder.”

“He doesn’t actually want someone in his shadow all the time.”

“Imagine…” another user typed. “Being in his shadow 24/7.”

These people were so dedicated to him.

She sighed. “You are wonderful people,” Roxie typed, her fingers moving fast. “He’s blessed to have followers like you.”

“I’m pissed off,” someone suddenly wrote.

“Yeah, it was supposed to be a dream come true.”

“It was a lie.”

“We were duped.”

“So much for getting the truth.”

Horrified, Roxie watched as the group broke down to insults and upset. Some voices jumped in to try tempering the rising anger.

“How often in life does anything meet expectation?” Roxie wrote, hoping they could be objective. “I’m only at the start of my journey, who knows what will happen next? Tell me what you’d look forward to if you’d won the prize.”

Some people logged off, others continued the negativity. At least a few people answered her.

“I’d be excited about Japan!”

“Italy! Definitely Rome. That’s a total dream.”

“The hotels, the high life, unlimited spending…”

“I should be taking notes,” Roxie wrote. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Aren’t you upset you were conned?” someone asked.

Roxie sighed. The fans were disappointed, so much for the enthusiasm. “I came into the situation with no expectations. It is what it is. Lomond is one man with his own life. I don’t think we’d get along anyway.”

More comments, questions, everyone seemed so confused.

“I thought it was the prize of a lifetime,” someone wrote.

“You’re being way too understanding,” another person typed. “You should demand what you’re due.”

“Yeah. You won fair and square.”

“We should message him. All of us.”

Someone posted an email address, and the users started to discuss bombarding it with demands.

“Seriously,” Roxie wrote. “I don’t want to spend a lot of time with him anyway.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s a liar.”

“He cheated you out of your prize!”

Someone knocked on her door. Rising from her chair, scanning the comments, Roxie reversed toward the knocking.

The words got too small for her to read as the knock came again. Someone needed to chill out, that knocking was way louder and more insistent. If the building was on fire, someone should pull the alarm… Maybe the server guy was back for his tip.

Opening the door, she revealed the slick errand boy who’d brought her purse the first night.

“What have you brought me this time?” she asked, sure he wouldn’t have anything.

“Ms. Kyst,” he said, casting a nervous glance down the corridor. “Have you been…? Are you…?”

Roxie frowned. “What’s wrong?” She backed up. “Come in. Come in.”

He entered and she let go of the door. It dropped toward its frame without the latch clicking into place.

“Where did you get the laptop?”

“My hotel before I went out last night.” Roxie had to pause and refigure her timeline. “I think that was just last night. Are we after midnight?” She laughed. “Feels like a lifetime ago. Would you like a drink?”

As Roxie started toward the minibar, her door flew open. Startled, she whirled around to witness a huffing, puffing Zairn Lomond come storming in.

“Where the hell is she?” he demanded of the slick guy. Lomond didn’t wait for an answer and adjusted his angle to charge at her. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Excuse me?” Roxie responded, c*****g a hip. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“You have no right to say my name to anyone,” he barked, looming over her.

Asshole! “I haven’t and I won’t.”

“You won a prize on a talk show, that doesn’t open my inner circle to you.”

“Zairn,” someone said in the background.

It wasn’t Slick, which meant others had followed the hotshot in. The asshole was right up close, practically on top of her, so she couldn’t see past him.

The audience could go to hell, right along with him. “Good!” she responded. “I couldn’t care less about your ridiculous inner circle.”

“Oh, so you lie about me for kicks? You think I’d take that s**t from someone like you?”

Ha. What a prick! “Someone like me? Who’s that? A peasant? A nobody?”

“A charlatan,” he snapped. “A lunatic charlatan.”

“I’m a lunatic? I am?” Roxie couldn’t believe her ears and let out a burst of laughter. “You probably spend your whole life surrounded by yes men and babes with really low self-esteem. You might fool them that you’re worthy of their adoration, I’m not so easily deceived.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I could say the same to you about me!”

If he wanted her to acquiesce or pander, he’d be waiting a long time. Roxie would not blink first. No way.

“Mr. Lomond…”

That was Astrid’s voice; they definitely weren’t alone. Roxie didn’t flinch and neither did he.

He smelled good. Why did she notice that? Clean with just a hint of scotch and a whisper of cologne. His tie was gone; his shirt open a couple of buttons. His hair was relaxed, unlike the rest of him. This was Zairn Lomond casual. Angry, no furious Zairn Lomond casual, but casual all the same.

“Z, come on,” another new voice. “Don’t give media w****s ammunition. You know better.”

Outraged, Roxie closed her eyes in a long, disbelieving blink, then sidestepped to see around the angry bear. “What did you call me?” she asked the older gentleman near the door. Except he was no gentleman if he went around insulting women he’d never met. “You better apologize.”

“Why?” he asked, sauntering a couple of steps closer.

There was another guy further away, but she ignored him to focus on the rude dude.

“Because if you’re talking about me, it’s a lie,” she said, going closer to him. “And you shouldn’t insult people who have a big microphone.”

“Now she’s threatening us,” the far away guy said.

“What the hell is going on here?” she asked, looking from one person to the next, stalling on Astrid. “Did everyone take crazy pills?”

“You were on the website,” Astrid explained. “You’ve been talking to users.”

Unable to believe that a few words could cause so much upset, Roxie was bewildered. “What? That’s what got the precious Lord Lomond in a snit?”

Her attention swung back to him. Lomond wasn’t any calmer, in fact the tightness in his jaw suggested he was close to breaking a molar.

Though their eyes were again locked, someone else spoke for him. “You were not given permission to—”

“I logged in,” Roxie countered. “If you didn’t want me there, why give me the logins?”

“We didn’t know you had your computer,” Slick said.

Tilting her head to the side, she narrowed her focus on Lomond. “Have you got a tongue in your head or do you always let others speak for you?” l*****g her lips, she rolled her eyes upward, fake pondering. “Uh, let me help… I think the word you’re looking for is ‘sorry.’”

“Sorry?” Lomond snapped, marching closer. “You expect me to apologize to you?”

“Yes,” she said, matching his pace until they were up close again. “You came in here yelling at me, sent your little posse to scold me and I was only doing what I’m here to do.”

“You upset hundreds of people.”

“Hundreds?”

“Online,” he said, looming closer. “You have no idea the s**t-storm you’ve stirred up. You had no right—”

“To tell the truth?” she asked. “They asked questions and I answered them.”

“There’s a process—”

“I don’t give a damn about your process.”

“Stop interrupting me!”

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please, Skippy. I am not your employee. I am not beholden to you.” She thrust her fists to her hips. “And I am definitely not afraid of you. Shout. Threaten. Stamp your feet. Whatever. You are in the wrong here.”

“Wrong?” he said, recoiling a fraction, incredulity written across his expression. “I am not—”

“Bet you’re not used to that. Anyone ever tell you you’re wrong before? ‘Cause you are. Right now. Drink it in, Tough Guy.”

“You had no right to talk about me.”

“I didn’t talk about you,” she said. “Your fans wanted me to talk about you, but I told the truth. Did I meet you before tonight?” He didn’t respond. “Did I?”

“No,” he growled in a deep, steady reply, tension still vibrating through him.

“So that’s what I said. I never met you. I told them I never met you. What would you rather I said? That we were best buds? That we were screwing and you’re the best I ever had? Would you prefer me to lie? I can make up all kinds of s**t. Guarantee it won’t paint you in the best light…” She exhaled. “Asshole.”

“Your comments have to be approved before—”

“No,” Roxie said, shaking her head. “I didn’t ** for that. The point of my position is to tell the truth.”

“Your position?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? To show the world you had nothing to hide? Those were your words. Yours.”

“Your turn of phrase matters,” he said, dialing down a little. “You don’t strike me as a woman who considers her words before she uses them.”

Guy had some goddamn nerve. “You think I don’t know words have power?” she asked, noting the fade of his rage. “I know words have power. I also know the difference between truth and spin. I won’t spin my reality for you, I tell the truth. I couldn’t answer their questions because we’d never met. I don’t know you. And if they asked me that question again right now, I’d say you’re an impulsive hothead because that’s all I know about you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“No.” Roxie folded her arms “I don’t think I want to either. You’re not the good kind of spontaneous, that much is obvious. What a disappointment.”

His tongue moved behind his lower lip.

He took one step back to switch his focus to the others. “Give us the space.”

“What?” the older guy by the door said. “Z, we’ve got—”

“Give us the room, Og.”

Mutterings dwindled and the door closed. Everyone was gone. They were alone.

“What now?” she asked. “You going to yell at me some more without witnesses?”