Page 34 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

After working out, I make my way to the car park around the back of the gym, smiling when I press the button on my fob, making my Jaguar beep.

“Is this your car, miss?”

I slow, seeing a man standing on the other side of my Jaguar. The attendant. “Yes, it’s mine.”

He appears regretful. “You might want to call the police.”

“Why?” My heart starts to slow, uncertainty plaguing me as I approach him. He’s looking at the side of my car, a massive frown on his face.

And my stomach falls to the concrete when I see what he’s looking at. “Oh my God,” I whisper, my eyes running up and down the paintwork.

“Looks like someone’s got it in for you.”

I stare at the words scratched into the doors of my brand-new car.

Gold-Digging Bitch

“Any idea who?”

“No.” My mind isn’t allowing me to consider that. The words stretch over the driver’s door, onto the wing, big bold letters that could be read from the other side of fucking town. I blink and look at the guy, dazed. But I can see what he’s thinking. Gold digger.

“Brand new too, huh?” He heads across the car park, pulling his mobile from his pocket.

My eyes bat back and forth between him and my car.

Do I need to call the police? I don’t know.

My brain finally clears for me to contemplate who’d do this.

Gold-digging bitch? Naturally, Katherine springs to mind first. But she doesn’t even know I have a car to vandalise. No one knows I have a car.

I look up and around, seeing a camera mounted on a nearby pillar. “Can you check the footage?” I ask, going after him as he heads to a cabin on the far side of the car park.

“All recordings are stored at our main office, love. I’ve let my boss know, but it’s company policy to only release footage on police request.”

I recoil, chasing his heels. “But what if I don’t want to involve the police?”

He goes into the cabin and plonks himself on an old, threadbare swivel chair, hitching a brow. I can’t say I appreciate the conclusion he’s obviously drawing. I’m not a gold-digging bitch! “Then I guess you get your car fixed and get on with life.”

“And what about your company? This is supposed to be a secure car park.”

He points his pen to a sign on the pinboard, and I roll my eyes at the large print informing me that my car is left at my own risk. “No one can steal your car, miss, but we have a pedestrian gate.”

“Well, I didn’t consider that someone would purposely target me for a hate campaign today,” I grumble, turning on my trainers and leaving.

I’m obviously getting nowhere. I’ve not even had my new car for forty-eight hours.

I open the door, refusing to look at the handiwork someone’s made of my new pride and joy, and throw my bags on the passenger seat, slipping in.

The barrier rises when I pull up, and Jude’s ringing me before I’ve turned onto the main road. I feel a wretched lump grow in my throat, my face screwing up. I absolutely do not want to tell him about this, but it’s not like I can hide it. So I take a breath and answer his call, bracing myself.

The burning rage emanating from him as he stares at the scratched-in words is ripe, forcing me to keep my distance to avoid the heat. He looks fit to burst. “And they wouldn’t show you the CCTV footage?” he says to my car.

“Only the police.”

Jude reaches for his cheek and wipes roughly. An angry sweat? “Gold-digging bitch,” he breathes, and I flinch.

I am not asking him who he thinks did this. Do I even need to? I’ll leave this for him to deal with, because I’m truly fearful of what I’m capable of when it comes to Katherine Jenkins.

On a weighted sigh, Jude comes to me and cups my cheeks, dropping a lingering kiss onto my forehead. “Why don’t you head upstairs and take a shower. I’ll be up soon.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a few calls to make.” He encourages me onwards, pulling his phone out and wandering off towards the rose gardens. I watch him go, his pace slow, one hand in the pocket of his jeans.

“A few calls to make,” I muse, taking backwards steps towards Arlington Hall.

Did he have those calls to make before I arrived with my vandalised car?

My cheeks balloon with my exasperated exhale as I turn and pass through the glass doors.

Evelyn Harrison brings a needed smile to my face, and I take her in with new eyes, appreciating her more than ever.

“Amelia,” Anouska says, smiling from where she’s perched on the pedestal desk. “Going upstairs?”

“You know, I think I need a drink.” I motion towards the Library Bar as I head that way. “Mind?”

“Of course,” she says, laughing, like, why am I asking?

I point back outside. “Will you let Jude know I’m in here when he’s done on his call?”

“Absolutely. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Anouska.”

When I enter, I find Clinton’s showing off his cocktail-making skills to a couple sitting at the bar, delighting them.

A few stools in between them and another couple are free, so I hop on, plucking the menu from the gold stand, browsing.

At the very top, taking first position from Hey Jude, is the Amelia.

I still can’t believe he named a cocktail after me.

“The Amelia is officially our most popular to date,” Clinton calls, pouring.

The couple claim their glasses and sip, and the woman smiles at me. “You should try it.” She looks to the heavens. “Divine.”

Clinton chuckles, placing a napkin down for each of them, then a small bowl of olives. No nuts. “Do you want one?” he asks. “I’m told it packs a punch.”

“Ha ha,” I drone, closing the menu and waving a hand in playful order. It’s hardly past noon, but it’s the weekend. I’ll cut myself some slack. Besides, I’m in shock. “Get me the Amelia.”

“Oh, you won’t regret it,” the lady says, giggling. “This is my third. It’s our anniversary weekend.”

“Aww, congratulations.” I smile as she places her hand on her husband’s knee, and he clasps it. “You’ve come to the best place.”

“Right?” she says, gushing. “Isn’t it incredible? It’s been on my bucket list since it opened!” She offers her hand. “I’m Denise. This is my husband, Leroy.”

“Pleasure,” I say, accepting. “I’m ...”

“This is Amelia,” Clinton says, smiling at the shaker as he prepares my drink.

“Oh, like the drink!” Denise laughs. “How funny!”

I smile, awkward. “Yeah, like the drink.”

“Not like the drink,” Clinton pipes up. “She is the drink.”

I look at his grinning face tiredly. “What’s taking you so long?”

He lets out a bark of laughter, shaking vigorously, and poor Denise falls into a state of total confusion.

“I hope you have the best weekend,” I say, making her smile again.

“Thank you.” She turns to her husband and some hushed whispers go down.

“Anytime today,” I call, increasing Clinton’s amusement, and on a dramatic pour and over-the-top twirl, he slides my drink towards me. I waste no time taking my first sip, sighing. I hate how good it is, especially at this time of day.

“You look like you’ve had a rough day, and it’s only just afternoon.” Clinton gets on with polishing some glasses. “Come on, get it off your chest.”

“Well, yesterday, the man I’m seeing turned up at my office and has put me in a bit of a sticky situation.”

“The man you’re seeing?” he asks. “I heard he was your boyfriend.”

“And who told you that?”

“Jude.”

I laugh. “Was he growling when he put that out there?”

“I wondered what the low rumble was. I thought the ice machine was about to blow up.”

I smile around the rim of my glass. “He’s very aware of his passive-aggressive possessiveness,” I muse.

“And what about you?”

“Oh, so you heard about my run-in with Katherine?”

“May have.”

Brilliant. I peek over my shoulder, checking the bar entrance. “How much do you know?” I ask, testing the water.

The look on his face alone tells me Clinton knows a lot.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” I ask.

“Totally.” He spots someone at the end of the bar. “Just be careful, okay? The last woman Jude was seeing disappeared.”

I recoil, not knowing what part of that statement to process first. “Disappeared?” He was seeing someone?

“She was a rep for one of the beverage companies that supplies Arlington Hall. Jude was seeing her.” He falters.

“Sleeping with her. Whatever, I’ve already said too much.

I’m just saying, Jude called it off and suddenly we had a new rep.

I like you. I don’t want Katherine and her misplaced sense of ownership to chase you out of town.

” Clinton places his finger over his lips as he leaves me.

Well, damn. Ownership? She’s deluded. And why didn’t I ever wonder about any other women? Maybe because Katherine filled up that space for wondering. And, damn you, Clinton, I’m grateful for the heads-up, but I can’t do much with that information since I’m not supposed to have it.

“Huh,” I murmur to myself, looking out the window onto the front, where I see Jude waving to someone.

I get up and wander over, looking out. Katherine’s husband, Rob, climbs out of a sports car and approaches Jude, and despite not being able to hear what’s being said, the body language speaks volumes.

Jude’s arms come out, in the kind of way that suggests he’s asking, What the fuck is this?

Rob looks at my car. Then looks up to the heavens.

“Oh my God,” I say quietly to myself. Rob obviously thinks it’s his wife too. My teeth clench. So she thinks she’s going to chase me out of town? Never, I vow to myself. She’ll have to drag my dead body away.

Now who’s passive-aggressive possessive?

I huff to myself, making my way back to the bar and slipping onto the stool, finishing my drink.

“Another?” Clinton asks.

“Yep.” I slap the bar. “Keep ’em coming.”

“You got it.”

“And pass me some of those olives too.”

Clinton sets a bowl down on a smile and gets to work on my second drink as I pluck an olive out and nibble around the stone. “Pitted or not?” I ask.

“Not,” he calls.