Charlotte
The car enters the grounds of my father’s estate. We ride down the driveway, past his expansive sandstone castle. We continue along to the lane that leads to my house on the property. The grounds are manicured to perfection. As usual, the security staff walk the perimeters morning, noon, and night. My two brothers and I each have houses on this property, including our own roads in, but we always use my father’s driveway if we are with him. I smile at the thought. Dad couldn’t possibly use another entrance to his house. He has to drive through the huge fancy gates to feel at home.
I love it here. My father’s staff are beautiful, and I always feel safe. Although I do worry about dad living here all alone. He’s never recovered since my mother died. She was the love of his life. He had to fight hard for the right to love her, too. She was his childhood housekeeper’s daughter. Our money is old money, passed down from generation to generation. Our social reputation is deeply ingrained into all of us. When he fell in love with the hired help’s daughter, it didn’t go down well. It seems like so much has changed since back then…. And at the same time, like nothing has changed at all. I wouldn’t be allowed to fall in love with the hired help either, and all hell would break loose if I so much as tried.
The moonlight reflects off the white pebbles on the drive, and a wave of sadness rolls over me as I look around at the grand grounds. Money doesn’t buy happiness. We would all hand over every penny we have in an instant if it meant we got to see our mother again.
I look out of the window with a frown and, as if sensing my thoughts, my father reaches over and takes my hand.
“Everything all right?” he asks quietly.
I smile at him, banishing my sad thoughts. “Of course. I had a wonderful time tonight.”
“What’s on tomorrow, dear?”
“Nothing. Gardening with Elouise.”
“You don’t have to help with the gardening, you know.”
“I know.” I kiss the back of his hand tenderly. “I like to garden, you know that, and if I get to spend the day with Elouise then all the better for me.”
He smiles and looks out of the window, somewhat bemused. It’s funny because I spend more time with the staff here than I do with anyone else. Most of them have been with my father since I was a child. Elouise is an older lady and our resident horticulturist. She’s gentle, sweet, and I adore her. She lives in the village and has worked for us for about two years, forever a dear friend.
The car rolls to a stop outside my house, and I lean over and kiss my father as Wyatt opens my car door.
“Hello.” Wyatt smiles and takes my hand to help me out of the car. He’s clearly been waiting for my arrival, as he didn’t come to the wedding.
“Hello, Wyatt.” I smile in return, placing a hand on his chest before I walk past him and into the house.
“How was your evening?”
“Wonderful, thank you. How was yours?”
“Quite dull.”
I smile as I walk. Wyatt is in his mid-thirties, and he’s my bodyguard. He usually comes with me everywhere I go. Six years ago, when my father’s company began buying casinos, our world changed overnight. Suddenly, the people he did business with weren’t always as reputable as we were. We needed protection from the unknown, and that’s when we were each given bodyguards who were to follow our every move.
My mother didn’t have one with her on the day of her death and I know my father has always questioned that if she had had one, would the car accident have happened? Would she still be here with us?
I used to hate the security but I’m used to it now, and at least Wyatt isn’t as obtrusive as my father’s security team. They’re hardcore. I couldn’t deal with them at all.
Glancing back, I see three of them in the car behind us. They go everywhere he goes and none of them will ever make eye contact with me. I know it’s because my brother has warned them with their lives if one of them come near me.
Wyatt is different, though. He’s trusted with me. We’ve also become friends. Not besties or anything as he keeps it very professional at all times, but I definitely rely on him more than I expected to.
I give my father a small wave goodbye, and then I walk up the path towards my house as the car pulls away slowly and heads back to the main house.
“Good night, Charlotte,” Wyatt calls from the end of the driveway.
“Goodnight, Wyatt. Thank you.”
After I shut the door behind me, I turn to put my bag down on the hall table, and I pick up the remote control to turn the television on. I head straight to the kitchen and flick on the kettle. I have a set routine whenever I walk into my house: television, kettle, and tea. It’s like the world isn’t right if one of those things doesn’t happen immediately. Dead silence doesn’t feel right to me. The funny thing is that I don’t even watch the TV after I’ve put it on. I simply like the distant background noise it provides.
I grab my laptop and sit at my kitchen counter.
Who are you, Mr Spencer?
I type his name into Google, immediately frowning.
Wait. Was his first name Spencer, or was his last name Spencer?
He introduced himself as Spencer but I thought that was his surname, hence why I called him Mr Spencer.
I think back to what Lara said about him, and I take out my phone to dial her number. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey, where are you?” she asks quickly.
“Oh, I came home.”
“Why?”
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself smiling. “I was accosted by the infamous Mr Spencer.”
She gasps. “Fuck off. What happened?”
I stare at my reflection in the kitchen window and find myself smiling. “He followed me to the bathroom outside, and then he kissed me.”
“Are you serious?”
“I am. Remind me of his name…”
She laughs. “Did you forget to ask that while his tongue was down your throat?”
I chuckle quietly. “Yeah, kind of.”
“His name is Spencer.”
I type Spencer into Google, and a million Spencers come up. “Is his first name Spencer or his surname Spencer? I’m confused.”
“Give me a second, I’m trying to remember. Oh,” she coos. “It’s Spencer Jones. His first name is Spencer, surname Jones.”
I type Spencer Jones into the search engine and the screen immediately fills with images of him, my smile returns. “Okay I’ve got it.”
“Are you Googling him?”
“Of course.”
“Oh God, put the computer away. I don’t think you are going to like what you read.”
I cross over to the counter to make my tea. “Can you see him?” I ask her.
“Wait.” I can hear the music playing as she walks through the wedding reception. “Yes, he’s standing with his friend again, back on the upper level.”
I press my lips together. Now I regret not staying and getting to know him a bit better. I wish I wasn’t such a chicken, but I was just so shocked.
“Okay, Lars, I’ll let you go.”
“Charl?”
“Yes?”
“How was the kiss?”
I feel my cheeks blush. “Better than expected.” That doesn’t cover half of it, but I don’t want to sound pathetic.
“I’ll be over tomorrow for a full debrief.”
“Okay, see you then.” I hang up, sip my tea, and make my way over to sit back at the counter. I scroll through the images of him, my frown growing deeper. Every image is of him is with a different woman.
They’re all gorgeous with the majority of the photos taken at night by the paparazzi.
Models, actors, fame-hungry whores.
Oh…
I click on a story that goes with one of the images.
Spencer Jones and supermodel Amy Hallam leaving Vivid Nightclub.
Spencer Jones lived up to his Playboy reputation when he was spotted on Wednesday night with Amy Hallam.
Spencer was snapped earlier in the day on a yacht with Miranda Eastman, the Victoria’s Secret model
I click on the link to the photographs, finding a photo of him leaving the club with Amy Hallam, the two of them holding hands and getting into a cab. She’s an actress in a sitcom, and gorgeous, too. In the picture she’s wearing a gold, barely-there short dress. There are a few images in the set. In one, Spencer is looking down at her as they wait for the cab. In the next photo he is kissing her with his hand on her behind. He has that cheeky smile on his face, and then the next image shows them getting into a cab together.
He definitely took her home that night.
I click on the next set of images where he is on a yacht, only this time with Miranda Eastman, a high-fashion model. She’s wearing a black and gold bikini, and her long black hair is flowing down her back. She has a killer body.
There are a few shots, the first one showing him helping her onto the yacht by holding her hand. In the next image he is kissing her up against the rail, and then the one after that shows her lying on her back on a towel. He is lying next to her with his hand on her stomach, looking down at her with that same cheeky smile on his face. I frown as I look at the dates of the images.
These were taken on the same day. He was on the yacht with Miranda during the day, and then that night he went home with Amy.
I look at the expression on his face; pure mischief. It’s the same look I saw on his face tonight.
Gross.
I exhale heavily and slam my computer shut in disgust.
I sip my tea and immediately get a vision of him kissing my hand and being all gorgeous. Ugh.
Thank God, I ran when I did.
I could have ended up being another notch on his sleazy bedpost.
I get a flashback of his cheeky smile, and I smirk. Lara was right, he is an appalling rake… and I can see why he gets away with it. He’s completely gorgeous. Of course, they all line up to date him.
Oh, well, I guess that’s the end of that.
I trudge up the stairs to my bathroom. I turn the shower on, making sure the water is steaming hot, and I take off my clothes as I make the solemn vow to never think of Mr Spencer again in my life.
Never ever.