As he signed his name on the bill, Jonathan tapped on the table.
“So, where to next, Ashton?” he asked. “There’s a hot club up the street. Skin. I’m sure you know it. You’re a legend in these parts, right?”
Marcus scoffed politely. “At one time, maybe, but not anymore,” he said. “I’m cleaning up my act.”
“Aw, come on, man. Once a baller, always a baller. Let’s hit Skin and see if we can’t score some skin.” He laughed uproariously at his joke.
Jonathan found himself awfully funny, but Marcus just found him awful. And yet, as much as he hated the thought of spending another second with this douchebag, he really needed to land this deal. The board was counting on him—especially Kyra.
His phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Kyra.
How’s it going? Did dinner go well? Do you think he’ll invest?
Marcus felt the full weight of the women’s shelter project on his shoulders. The answer to Kyra’s question had to be yes, and it was up to him to make it happen. He had to prove it to his father and to himself that he had what it took to make this project a success. Like it or not, he had to show this guy the good time he wanted in order to convince him to give his money to the shelter.
Everything went well. I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Tired.
He knew his tone was brusque, but he also knew he needed to put his phone away and focus on the task at hand, no matter how unpleasant it seemed. He could talk to her later…if she still wanted to talk to him, once the inevitable pictures of him partying tonight got out to the media. If being the playboy prince was all he was good for, then just this once, he was going to direct it toward a good cause. And afterward, if Kyra decided she was through with him, so be it. It might even be for her own good.
“Let’s light it up,” Jonathan said and looked to Marcus for a reaction.
Marcus shot him a grin that was feigned. “Let’s do it,” he said, and led the way out of the restaurant and into the night.
11
The next morning Marcus’s head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds when he tried to lift it off the pillow. Light streamed into the window of his penthouse bedroom, jarring him from sleep. He glanced at the clock.
Ten thirty.
He’d partied hard last night. There were portions of time he couldn’t clearly remember, but he didn’t think he’d crossed any lines. He had drunk a lot, though, and his body was paying for it now.
He forced himself to sit up, and the room spun around him.
“Shit,” he muttered and reached for the bottle of aspirin he had in his nightstand drawer. With a swig of water, he swallowed a couple of capsules and hoped for the best. He pushed himself to his feet and, naked as the day he’d come into the world, ambled to the bathroom and turned on the water in the walk-in shower, wishing it could wash away the night. Everything about it, from Jonathan’s raunchy behavior to the seedy atmosphere at Skin, felt dirty and cheap. He used to love to party. He’d looked forward to it, even. But not last night. Where living it up used to feel like an escape, last night’s activities felt like prison. All he’d wanted was to go home and curl up with Kyra.
After a twenty-minute stint in the shower, Marcus felt a little better. His head was still pounding, but at least he smelled clean and felt a little more awake. He went to the mirror and took stock of his reflection. Black circles lined his eyes, betraying the late night he’d had. He glanced at his phone and noticed a voicemail. It was from Jonathan Glasgow.
“Hey, Marcus. Wild night last night, huh?” He laughed, and Marcus rolled his eyes at the sound. “Listen, I wanted to let you know that as far as our business is concerned, I’m ready to discuss details and move to the next step. Tell me where to sign, bro.” More annoying laughter, but Marcus was too happy with the contents of the message to get to hung up on the sender. “Call me back to discuss how to move forward.”
Marcus pressed the end button and smiled.
He’d done it. He’d secured the funds they needed. They could proceed with getting the estate in shape to be the site for the women’s shelter.
This was a big deal, and it never would have happened if he’d ended the night at the restaurant.
Suddenly his phone started blowing up with social media notifications. Messages from usernames he didn’t recognize. He opened Instagram and found himself staring at a picture that made him grimace.
It was him, holding up a shot glass next to Jonathan in front of the bar at Skin. They were surrounded by booze and beautiful women. But the worst part was the picture next to it, the one of him and Kyra, kissing in front of the limo.
The caption read—Playboy Prince Rides Again. #princemarcus #playboyprince #goodbyegeorgiahellogorgeous.
Shit.
He moved over to his computer and popped the lid up. In his email were at least a dozen messages with links to news articles. Every one of them boasted pictures of him like the one he’d seen on Instagram and worse. In some of them he was visibly wasted. In all of them, there were women all over him.
Every article told the same story, claiming that he’d had enough of “playing nice” with Kyra and had dumped her to resume his bad boy ways.
This was a damn disaster. He’d expected the tabloids to splash his images all over the place—but it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d drag Kyra into it.
Ashamed that he was still feeling the after effects of alcohol, he snatched his phone from the desk and texted his driver to pick him up ASAP. He didn’t want to take a chance on driving, but he had to get to Kyra before she saw these articles and pictures.
The thought of her finding them first sobered him.
Not enough to drive.
But enough to make him fear how much he had to lose. Last night, making the decision to go out to the club, he’d thought to himself that it would be better for Kyra to see this side of him—to understand what she’d be risking by being with him, in case she wanted to walk away.
Now, truly faced with the prospect of her leaving, he knew he’d do anything to keep that from happening.
“Did you pack Pandy, Mama?”
Kyra handed her niece her stuffed panda. “Here you go, sweetie.” She looked at Maggie, who was bustling around the hotel room, making sure she had everything. “All set?” she asked.
“I think so,” Maggie said and met Kyra’s eyes.
Things had been a bit tense between the two of them since their argument the day before. Kyra hated having drama between her and Maggie and wanted to make things right.
“I want to say I’m sorry about coming down so hard on you yesterday,” she said. “It’s just—”
“No,” Maggie interrupted, holding a hand up to stop Kyra’s apology. “You were right. I should never have gone off to Barcelona and saddled you with Ava when you were busy with work. It was thoughtless of me.”
“You know I love having Ava around,” Kyra said. She didn’t want her sister to think that she ever felt saddled.
“I know, but I’m her mother—it was my responsibility to make sure she was taken care of, and I shouldn’t have just assumed you’d handle it, no matter how short my trip was supposed to be.”