A Smile as Sweet as Poison Page 6

  Hazel drew herself up a little straighter, the back of her neck prickling with perspiration. “Don’t know what you mean.” She wasn’t nearly the right weight for modeling and she had no acting chops to speak of, but she doubted that was what Travis referred to.

  “I think you do.” His voice was a low baritone, intended for her ears only. He leaned in. “I know guys who’d pay good money to see what you got under that uniform.”

  Shock turned Hazel’s limbs to lead. Her breath tangled in her throat.

  Travis casually tilted back as Sadie joined them by the far wall.

  “You two look cozy,” she giggled. “What’re you plotting? Is it my bridal shower?”

  Hazel couldn’t find her voice. She barely heard Travis trot out a lie, his elbow brushing hers when he gesticulated. Blood pounded against her eardrums. He knows. It might’ve been baseless suspicion before, but now her details were floating around in the websphere, tracing a map back to Hazel.

  Never mind men accosting her in the street or on buses, this was an eight o’clock news alert waiting to happen.

  On legs that barely felt like her own, Hazel pushed away from the wall under the pretext of getting a patron their check. It took her away from Travis’ innuendo and Sadie’s single-minded enthusiasm, giving her time to think.

  Marco was on the phone in the kitchen, arguing in rapid-fire Italian. He didn’t notice her slip out of sight.

  There was no staff room to speak of at the diner, no incentive for the servers and busboys—when Marco bothered to hire any—to hang around when they weren’t working. Besides a crummy restroom, the only other place Hazel could go for a little privacy was the cinderblock-walled locker rooms where she and the rest of the wait staff stowed purses and whatever clothes they didn’t want to imbue with the smell of fried chicken.

  Hazel fished out her cell phone and, with shaking hands, scrolled through her contact list. She didn’t hesitate before pressing Call.

  Ward picked up on the third ring, sounding breathless.

  “Don’t say my name,” Hazel blurted out. “I don’t want Dylan to know it’s me.”

  “O-kay…um, why?”

  “Remember the shit you found out about me? The stuff that’s online…” Hazel dropped her head back against the metal locker behind her. Impact echoed through her skull. “It’s gotten bad. I—I think I need your help.” Again. Her pride smarted just to force the words out. The last time she had called on Ward to rescue her, she’d been too chickenshit to go home after a night spent clubbing with Sadie and her then-boyfriend, now soon-to-be husband.

  On the other end of the line, Ward was silent for a long moment.

  “I see.” He heaved a put-upon sigh. “And we can’t do this in the morning, Maddie?”

  Who the hell is Maddie?

  Ward pressed on before Hazel could speak. “All right. Are you already at the office?”

  Oh. “Still at the diner,” Hazel replied. “But you don’t have to come, I can meet you—”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Ward cut her off.

  A breath that Hazel hadn’t realized she was holding expired from her lungs. “Thank you, Ward. And please, don’t tell—”

  “I said I’ll be there.”

  The call disconnected so abruptly that Hazel couldn’t say if he’d snapped at her intentionally or as part of his one-sided skit. Either way, Ward would be at the diner soon. That was something. He had contacts. He could help. Sacrificing another inch of her pride to make that happen was a small price to pay.

  Hazel swiped her fingertips under her eyes and made herself get back to work.

  * * * *

  “Loved the lasagna,” Ward said when he arrived, fifteen minutes later. “Not sure how I feel about the lies.” He wore jeans and a black leather jacket zipped up to mid-chest, yet still struck her as inconspicuous among the early evening patrons as black ink on a page.

  Hazel forced a smile to her lips and gestured him to a table. Everything’s fine, don’t make a bigger deal about this than it has to be. “I didn’t realize you’d be home so early.”

  “Surprised Dylan and I keep secrets, too?” he fired back. It might have been an innocent tease if not for the clipped edge in his voice. He captured her elbow to make her stop. “What’s going on, Hazel? On the phone, you sounded—”

  “Someone’s inviting people to find me and…do stuff. Like in the video,” she snapped, whirling to face him. They were far enough away from the entrance that she didn’t think there was any chance of being overheard, but Sadie and Travis were still making rounds.

  Ward could’ve agreed to meet her outside, if he cared about making this easy on her.

  He frowned. “What are you saying?”

  Irrational, pent-up fury seized hold of Hazel. “Violent porn with my face on it ring any bells? Well, some fucker reposted the video again and now they’re advertising where I live and how to find me,” she ground out, every word like barbed wire in her mouth. “Now you get why I don’t want Dylan to know?”

  Ward sank down into the empty booth she’d led him to. “Shit.”

  “I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “Think I need something stronger.”

  “Coffee’s all you’re getting,” Hazel said, already stomping away.

  Sadie caught her eye at the bar, eyebrows creeping up in silent question.

  “Everything’s good,” Hazel lied. “Can I have the milk?”

  “Sure… You know if you need to talk, I’m here, right?”

  “Yeah.” She mustered a smile, keenly aware of Travis watching them, drawing his own conclusions. She nearly stepped on his foot as she peeled away from the bar, but he backed out of the way too quickly.

  Ward was resting his chin on his folded hands when she returned to his table. “Sit.”

  “I’m supposed to be working—”

  “Sit down,” he reiterated, some vague trace of the Dom she knew creeping into his voice. “Please.” He flung a plaintive gaze her way, his blue eyes nearly bled to gray under the unflattering neon lights.

  Hazel obeyed, smoothing the skirt of her uniform down with both hands.

  “The video’s been around for a while. Cached, sure, but if I could find it—”

  “It was reposted,” she explained. “My best guess is someone found it and decided to share with the class.” Swap ‘class’ for ‘entire world’ and you’ll understand why I’m worried. “It’s happened before, mostly with the stills. Guys like to upload their porn collections these days.”

  “How do you know it’s a guy?” Ward asked.

  Hazel snorted, unamused. “That’s the part you want to quiz me about? Fuck if I know… Point is, it’s out there. I tried to get it taken down like I’ve done before. I say I don’t consent to having it posted, I threaten legal action. Usually, it works.”

  “But not this time.”

  She shook her head. “I may have tried to name and shame the webmaster for ignoring my emails. That backfired.”

  “How bad?”

  Hazel scratched a hand over her neck. There weren’t enough floggers in the world to match the sting of gleeful, anonymous insult. “Use your imagination.”

  “My imagination’s a pretty scary place,” Ward pointed out, curling his hands around the white mug. Steam eddied around his face, washing him out even more.

  Don’t I know it? Hazel pushed the thought aside.

  “Look… I need your help. I know you have…contacts. Legal counsel.” Maybe if her threats had the backing of a real, live law firm, she could force the webmaster’s hand. “I’d pay you back, of course. But I have to do something. Most of these guys are only brave and bold behind a computer screen.”

  Ward crooked an eyebrow. “You know that for a fact?”

  She thought of Travis and his ill-disguised allusions. “I’m hoping.” Either way, the sooner the video came down, the sooner she could disappear into the dusty vaults of obscurity.

  Ward held her
gaze as though peeling back the layers of skin and flesh to peer into the marrow of her bones. Whatever he found there warranted a tired sigh.

  Bet you’re sorry your best friend hooked up with me now, aren’t you? Bet you wish you’d told him everything from the start?

  Hazel fought to curb the flash of hurt. She pressed her palms into the surface of the table, elbows square with the scored edges. She had known it was a risk going to Ward. She had to accept the consequences, whatever they were.

  “Do you know the web address of the video?” he asked.

  “Yes.” It was embedded onto the back of her eyelids, along with the shame and revulsion that rose within her like bile every time the autoplay engaged.

  Ward produced a ballpoint pen from an inner pocket. “Write it down.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You want this settled, don’t you? Once and for all?”

  Hazel dithered. “Yes, but—”

  “Then trust me,” Ward said. “I’m going to fix it.” He offered no further details on the how and why.

  Unconvinced, Hazel snatched the pen off the table and, like Dylan had once inscribed his name and digits on a diner napkin, hoping she’d call, she wrote down the web address of an intimate moment that was never supposed to become anything more. She didn’t go as far as to hope that Ward would succeed where she’d failed.

  “There’s another problem,” Ward pointed out.

  “My apartment,” Hazel finished for him. “I’m taking care of it.”

  She expected Ward to scoff, but he only nodded, turning the napkin toward him with thumb and forefinger.

  “How much do I owe you for the coffee?”

  “On the house,” Hazel replied, heart lodging in her throat. “About Dylan—”

  “He should know,” Ward said.

  Hazel sucked in a breath, readying arguments that she knew wouldn’t hold water.

  “But I won’t tell him.” Ward pushed away from the table. “Just tell me one thing… Moving your stuff into Dylan’s room, asking him for a key—was that because you wanted to, or because of this shit?” The napkin was a white flag in his hand, but Ward’s features were hard, lips pressed tightly together.

  Of course he’d made the connection. Behind the arrogance and the convenient inheritance, there was a sharp mind to contend with. Hazel sighed. She couldn’t lie anymore. She also couldn’t tell him the truth. Ward already knew that she was weak and foolish. He didn’t need to believe she was manipulative, too.

  “I did want to,” Hazel offered hesitantly, trying to straddle that fine line.

  “Right.” Ward’s chuckle was mirthless, shoulders slumping beneath the distressed leather jacket.

  Hazel wanted to drop to her knees, to beg him to forgive her. She didn’t. That wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. She wasn’t that girl anymore.

  Knuckling the sticky table, she levered slowly to her feet. “I’ll walk you out.”

  She could tell Ward was ready to protest, but he submitted to the touch of her hand on his shoulder without complaint.

  “Thanks for coming to meet me,” Hazel added. “And for listening. Even if there’s nothing you can do, it—it means a lot.”

  Get all of it out now, a voice whispered at the back of her mind, while you still can.

  “Sure. What are friends for, right?”

  Ward swung open the diner door, bell chiming overhead, and was gone before Hazel could ask, is that what we are?

  She lingered in the doorway, pretending to ease it shut as quietly as she could. Her ribcage took a few seconds to knit itself back together, cracked slats of bone soldered into some semblance of functional shell around her aching heart. A tentative believer in multiple, concurrent realities, she could almost imagine a universe in which she ran into the street and begged Ward to forgive her.

  In this one, the clock above the bar read eight-fifteen. She had another eight hours to go before she could leave the diner.

  Chapter Six

  Shrouded in mist and the faint, dying glare of streetlights, four-seven-one Aulden Way was forbidding in a way Hazel hadn’t experienced in a while. She blamed the shiver that threatened on fatigue and the Volvo’s busted heater. She hadn’t been anxious coming here since the night she’d met Dylan. She didn’t want to start now.

  With a mental ass-kicking, Hazel shoved her way out of the car and grabbed her purse. Her sneakers made soft, nearly soundless noises on the sidewalk. By contrast, the creaking of the front door seemed a shrill clarion call. Hazel hitched up her shoulders around her ears as she eased it shut. She was still shivering as she took the stairs two at the time, climbing hastily under the flickering glare of a neon lamp.

  Nothing moved in the converted warehouse, but Hazel had a hard time shaking the expectation that someone, somewhere was waiting for her. Wishful thinking, she decided as she slotted her key into the latch. Even ghosts were asleep at this hour.

  The loft was no exception. Hazel dragged the door shut behind her and locked it, feeling like an intruder. She had toyed with the thought of heading to a motel all through the night. Fear of having to answer more questions—from Dylan as well as Ward—was the decider in the end.

  Hazel told herself absent funds never played a part. She told herself she wasn’t just looking for excuses.

  It would’ve been easier if Ward had told her to stay away. Now, standing in the apartment he shared with Dylan, Hazel didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

  The way the place was laid out, she couldn’t see into Dylan’s bedroom from the entryway, much less peer up the stairs, into Ward’s. Her view of the living room revealed minimalist furniture and monochrome abstracts largely wreathed in shadow. Not exactly home sweet home.

  Well, they hadn’t thrown her out yet.

  With a shudder, Hazel peeled off her knitted plum cardigan and hung it in the cloakroom by the front door. No alarms blared. No one stopped her. It was a likewise hazard-free journey down the semicircular, bookshelf-lined hallway to Dylan’s room.

  A pang of tenderness stabbed between her shoulder blades like an ice pick at the sight of him, sprawled on the bed with one arm thrown over the portion of the mattress where Hazel should have lain. It was enough to make her shelve her doubts.

  Hazel kicked off her shoes and wriggled out of her baggy jeans. She didn’t bother with taking her makeup off before she crawled into bed beside him, heavy with some nameless emotion.

  Her back to Dylan, she felt him stir when she dragged his arm around her waist, but he didn’t wake. His slurring, sleepy mumble might have been her name.

  “I’m here.” Hazel sighed. “I’m staying right here.”

  For as long as they allowed her to, anyway.

  * * * *

  The loft was empty by the time Hazel crawled her way from beneath the warm covers draped over Dylan’s bed. She hadn’t heard him move, much less putter about getting ready, but there was coffee waiting for her in a pot on the kitchen island, and French toast.

  Ward must have left him in the dark about their chat, as promised.

  Hazel helped herself to breakfast with a heavy heart. The coffee was lukewarm, but she drank it anyway. It was almost noon, her stomach growling for something more consistent than toast. All those acrimonious ‘fat skank’ comments online couldn’t keep her away from the leftover lasagna.

  She showered while the microwave whirred, then made the bed. It seemed like the least of courtesies after crashing in Dylan’s room without so much as asking. Still dripping shower water over the hardwood floors, Hazel knelt beside the king and peered under the drooping coverlet. Her rucksack was where she’d left it, presumably still containing the laptop.

  The urge to pry it out ignited in Hazel’s chest, then faded just as quickly. She’d been disappointed before.

  There were no new messages on her phone when she finally sat down to eat and nothing remotely interesting on TV. The microwave had left the slice of lasagna soft and a little s
oggy, cheese melted to a watery glaze on top. Hazel ate it anyway, trying to follow along with some afternoon telenovela she only partly understood.

  By the time Sadie called, she would’ve agreed to a whole battery of dress fittings and cake tastings. Sadie only wanted coffee. That would do, as well.

  They agreed on Newport Beach, good for people watching and far enough from Marco’s diner than they wouldn’t run the risk of running into any regulars. The coffee shop was an indulgence, the kind of place that could afford to sell six dollar coffee and stick ‘organic’ signs on every pastry.

  Hazel arrived first, a good ten minutes before Sadie sauntered up to the boardwalk terrace in a polite, knee-length dress, her dyed-blonde hair pinned up in a tight ponytail. Hazel barely recognized her until Sadie was standing over her table.

  “Hey. You look—”

  “You like?” Sadie twirled in her wrap dress. “Frank got it for me.”

  “Ah,” Hazel murmured. That explained it. “It’s nice.” Oddly demure, for Sadie, but people did far stranger things out of love than altering their wardrobe. “How is he? You two busy planning the wedding?” Sadie’s stories rarely seemed to involve her groom, but Hazel hadn’t exactly been paying attention. It was possible she’d missed out on his contributions.

  “Oh, no. He’s way too busy.” Sadie flagged a waitress as she sat down across from Hazel, ankles folded and sunglasses pushed into her hair. “Iced tea.”

  “Um, a latte,” Hazel told the waitress.

  “Regular or soy?”

  Hazel looked up into a freckled, vaguely Nordic face and thought about Travis asking her if she liked her job. “Regular.”

  “Diet or—”

  “Regular everything,” Hazel said, regretting her tone almost at once. She had been on the other end enough to abhor rude clients. Now she was one of them. “Since when do you drink iced teas?” she asked Sadie once they were alone again.

  The parasol over their table allowed just enough sunlight to peek through the gaps. The thin sunbeams brought out the once-vibrant pink highlights in Sadie’s hair.