Page 67 of Break My Rules
“Who is this supposed mistress?” I demand, skeptical.
He squirms. “Kitty Aldridge,” he says in a mumble, and Saint lets out a bark of disbelief.
“You were screwing Kitty?”
Max nods, and then gives an impish grin. “Girl’s got a wild side. Nearly sent me back to the hospital, by the time she was done with me.”
“Kitty is a socialite,” Saint explains. “Annabelle’s cousin. She’s what, seventeen?”
“Eighteen, come on man,” Max protests. Saint rolls his eyes.
“And she’s not just related to Annabelle, either. Her father is the man who heads the Commission on Media Standards and Broadcasting.”
“You see why I couldn’t say anything?” Max nods eagerly. “My dad’s already threatened to cut off my trust fund if I don’t shape up. Marrying Annabelle is the one thing that will make him happy, and if word about this littletristegets out… Shit hits the fan, not just for me, but for the whole company.” He winces. “Bye bye new merger plans. Dad would kill me with his bare hands. Nobody can know.”
“I’m sorry,” Saint says to me quietly.
“I’m not,” Max speaks up. “Now, can you please get me out of this fucking cellar?”
I study him, wondering if this is all some triple-bluff to throw us off the scent. “Can you prove it?” I demand. “Is there any evidence you were with this Kitty person, when you claim you were?”
Max squirms some more, looking seriously uncomfortable now. “Yeah, there’s proof. I kind of, may have… knocked her up.”
“Max!” Saint looks shocked.
“It was an accident!” he blurts, looking like a shamefaced schoolboy. “She said she had it handled. The family thinks it was some local townie, they’re keeping it all hush hush to save face. But she did a DNA test,” he adds, looking at me. “The kid’s mine, and the dates all match. I had to promise her a life of fucking luxury to get her to sign the NDA,” Max whistles ruefully. “Talk about the most expensive weekend of my life.”
I sag back, all my precious hopes falling like shattered glass on the dusty cellar floor.
Max is a selfish, careless asshole, but I can see the truth written all over his face.
He’s not lying anymore. It wasn’t him.
And I’m no closer to the truth.
“Do you have any more sedative?” Saint asks me quietly.
I nod wordlessly and pass him the vial. Saint goes upstairs and returns a moment later with a glass of water.
“Here,” he says, and holds it to Max’s lips. “This should cool you down while I get started untying you. We’ll get you out of here in no time.”
Max drinks. “I know the crazy ones are wild in bed, but seriously, she’s not worth the fuck,” he tells Saint, then drains the glass. Soon, he’s slumping back, unconscious again.
“I’ll get him up to bed,” Saint says grimly, starting to loosen the bindings.
“He won’t remember much,” I offer. “The drugs… They’ll make everything a blur. We can just tell him he had too much to drink, partied a little too hard.”
Saint shoots me a furious glare. “Wewon’t do anything,” he snaps, hoisting Max’s limp body over his shoulder. “You’regoing up to our room and waiting for me there.”
His voice tells me, it’s not a request, but an order.
I leaveSaint to carry Max up to one of the spare bedroom suites. I make my way to our bedroom and wait there as instructed. Now that my white-hot haze of fury is clear, I realize just how mad Saint is with me. I understand it, too. From the outside, what I did here today seems absolutely psychotic. Luring Max here? Drugging him? Tying him up and interrogating him for answers? It's madness.
But I wouldn’t take it back. Not for a minute. Saint has to see that nothing can stand in the way of uncovering the truth.
Footsteps come, and then Saint enters, his jaw set with tension. He doesn’t say a word, just strips off his tie, and kicks off his dress shoes. He undoes his belt, too, and looks down at it in his hands, giving a sharp huff. “I’ve half a mind to put you over my knee and give you a spanking,” he says, still looking furious. “Except we both know that it won’t make a damn bit of difference to you.”
I take a tremulous breath. “I’m sorry,” I offer, and he just glares.