Page 126 of Wasted

Chapter

Thirty-Four

“What exactly are you going to say to him?” Victoria whispered the question to Cillian as the Masseys’ maid or housekeeper—whatever she was—closed the door to go find her employer.

Cillian gave her a grin. “These things just come to me in the moment.”

Did she realize how close she was to him as they stood on the top step of the grand pillared entrance to the mansion? Maybe it was the cold or her nerves that made her press so near that her coat sleeve brushed his, but Cillian wasn’t going to miss the opportunity.

He slid his arm behind her waist. “Don’t worry. We’re doing this for Sydney. Somebody has to make this guy take responsibility.”

She nodded, her mouth in a tight line. But she didn’t pull away.

The door swung open, and a man appeared, scanning them with blue eyes.

Lawrence Massey looked exactly like Cillian had expected. Fifties with thick graying hair cut in a modern style that said he still thought he was attractive to young women. About five eleven and in decent shape. Dress shirt and navy pants that had likely paired well with his overpriced suit jacket before he’d taken it off to relax at home. With the wife who had no idea he was playing around with teenage girls.

Or maybe she did know. His money or power could be enough to keep her quiet and locked in to the marriage.

“I remember you.” The player gave Victoria a smooth smile. “Victoria, isn’t it? You look so much like your mother.”

Her frame tensed beneath Cillian’s arm.

Great. The guy had known her mom. Hopefully, that wouldn’t make her want to go soft on him.

“Please, come inside.” Massey stepped back, gesturing with his hand for them to enter.

Cillian let Victoria go in first. This was perfect, coming with someone Massey knew and trusted.

He was already letting his guard down, clearing the way for a strike to his conscience. If he had one left. If he didn’t, Cillian was just as willing to use the leverage of public exposure or legal charges.

“My wife and I were about to sit down to dinner. I don’t think you’ve met her yet, have you?”

Victoria returned his smile, though she shot a quick glance at Cillian. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. But I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a hurry this evening.”

“Oh.” His gaze went to Cillian.

“Forgive me.” She lightly touched Cillian’s arm. “This is Cillian Doherty, a friend of mine. Cillian, this is Lawrence Massey.”

Cillian extended his hand, and Massey took it in a strong handshake. But something flickered in Massey’s eyes as their gazes met. Did he sense Cillian was a threat?

He shifted his attention to Victoria. “What brings you by on this cold night?”

“We need to discuss something rather difficult with you, I’m afraid.” She might be nervous about doing this, but even Cillian couldn’t tell now. Her posture was perfectly straight, as usual, and she looked Massey in the eye as she spoke with a kind but unwavering tone.

“What might that be?” Massey crossed his arms over his chest, like he sensed he wouldn’t like where this was going.

“Sydney Morris has been trying to reach you, and she says you haven’t returned any of her messages.”

Massey froze without changing his posture. Only his eyebrows moved, immediately scrunching toward each other. He stared at Victoria for a few beats.

Cillian would let him sweat it out for a bit.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Who is this, Sydney, did you say?” His denial would be more convincing if he’d stayed immobile. But fear battled the eyebrow lift he attempted and pinched the corners of his mouth. And his eyes widened ever so slightly. He was panicking but trying to think, trying to strategize.

“Like she said, we don’t have much time.” Cillian’s turn. “So let’s cut to the chase and skip through the denials. We know you had an affair with this sixteen-year-old girl and got her pregnant.”

“Will you keep your voice down?” Massey hissed the words as he looked over his shoulder toward the doorway that must lead to wherever his wife was waiting for him.