Page 4 of Beautiful Deception
It smells pungently of disinfectant.
“What do I have to sign?” I ask, shuddering as a gentle breeze caresses my legs.
When he closes the door behind him, putting us at arms’ length, the concrete walls trap frigid air and prevent my stomach from wreaking havoc. I just saw Remo hold up a man by the head as if he was clutching a basketball on the court.
“You have an invitation from Casey Morgon.”
It takes me a moment to understand what he meant. My friend Junnie and I got an invitation for a seven-day getaway in the snowy mountains. The host is a close business acquaintance of our parents, and I’d occasionally met him at informal gatherings but had never spoken to him.
Junnie’s cousin received an invitation as well, but it conflicted with her schedule, so she would not attend. I didn’t want to go either, but I didn’t want her to be alone in the villa with other guests. If she was unlucky, they’d all be strangers.
Casey Morgon has a penchant for business marriages, which is why these retreats for unwed children of elites exist. With no cell service in the mountains, we’ll be forced to engage with one another to get through the seven days.
Some guests go because they want to, but most are compelled to by their families. I expected the next gathering to be months or maybe a year away, but the host didn’t seem to mind that someone had died from a heart attack the last time.
Is this why Remo is asking about the invitation?
“The guest who died there,” Remo explains with a magnetic lure of his voice, “it was an assisted suicide.”
I was expecting him to say murder. I nuzzle into the fur collar, sniffing quietly, and wait for him to continue.
He emphasizes, “It’s illegal.”
“So…” I mumble, the long-winded silence filling the room uncomfortably.
“I’ve been assigned to investigate,” Remo says while brushing a strand of dark hair away from his eyes. “I’m also your plus one on the invite.”
“There is no guest on it.” My head tilts skeptically in response to his statement.
“It does,” he retorts with an art of deception on his expressionless face.
I hit back with, “You can take my spot.”
I was debating whether to go and now is a good opportunity to pass on the unwelcomed obligation to him. Perhaps he’ll require backup, so Junnie can give up her invitation. However, knowing her, they will have to battle for it.
He counters, “It’ll look suspicious if I show up alone.”
“It’ll be more suspicious showing up with me.”
He watches my lips part for the next rebuttal and is ready to refute it with his biting glare, so the words lodge in my throat before they can form.
“No.” I shake my head while he merely blinks as if he’s anticipated it. “I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you, either.”
He huffs a breath, a little louder than a sigh, and opens the manila folder in his hands with three steps to close our distance. A pen rolls on the papers, coming to a stop on top of the big letters for claim damages.
He notes where to sign my name and write today’s date. Carefully and with haste, I scan through the form for any inconsistencies before signing.
This man gave up far too easily, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he has a contingency plan.
I hold my next breath, shuddering at the remnants of coffee and cotton in the air. I don’t smell anything on him, and there’s a nagging whisper of temptation to press my nose against the hollow of his throat to find out.
The thought is short-lived, like the mellow tides of the ethereal ocean.
“You’re free to go—” he declares as the door swings open.
A woman dressed in a neat suit enters the room, and the beautiful Sienna-brown leather coat flutters along with her confident strides.
“Do you want a lawyer—”