44. Matthias

44

MATTHIAS

Z oey's silky green dress brought out her bright, intelligent eyes. Her shiny hair was styled in a sophisticated ponytail at the nape of her neck, with her long, blond locks draped fashionably over one shoulder.

"You look beautiful tonight," I murmured. I offered a hand to assist her from the town car.

It wasn't a lie even though I was not attracted to her. Zoey Anderson was a beautiful woman with features striking enough to turn most heads. She'd be at the top of the food chain had she lived anywhere else. In Malibu, however, it wasn't her fault that she had to compete with already established actors and supermodels for bit parts in film and television.

Zoey smiled, which strangely caused a sense of unease to fill my chest. I caught the flicker of an inflexible expression etched into her face before she replaced it with an appreciative gleam.

"Thank you, Matthias." She lifted an eyebrow. "You look rather fetching yourself tonight. I can see why both women and men gravitate toward you."

Well then. Leading in with a low blow was one way to do this. Zoey clearly didn't know how to play this game. You should never let an enemy know your true feelings.

I hadn't noticed it before, but Zoey's determined mouth was a lot like Coach Anderson's. Certainly, in Zoey's more feminine lips, it was less grim, but there was still an essence of ruthless ambition held in that pink-hued smile. Maybe the apple hadn't fallen too far from the tree in the Anderson family.

Still, I was a Vaulteneau and preferred knowing where I stood with an adversary. Zoey appeared to be intractable and wasn't shy about conveying it.

"You make it sound like a bad thing," I said, inflecting my reply with a light dose of charm. I could turn it on or off at command. "I'm comfortable being everyone's type."

"Hmmm," she said. Perhaps she expected me to be defensive.

Less confident in my ability to sway Zoey to my side, we made small talk as I escorted her into the main house and into the formal dining room.

Zoey inspected the space with polite decorum. I'd never invited her to the big house before, so she was taking stock of the gold-enameled woodwork in the ceiling and the columns that flanked the crackling fireplace.

Miss Paulina ensured the space was elegant enough to entertain royalty. The three-tiered chandelier was programmed for a romantic setting, with dim, warm lights that cast a soft glow upon the table's floral centerpiece, crystal glasses, and tableware.

Decorating the walls, tasteful pastoral paintings and gilded mirrors were bookended by electric candle wall sconces. The doors that led to the wide veranda were thrown open, which let in the gentle ocean breeze, the musical cacophony of bird warbles, and the hum of a million insects going about their business.

The tranquil scent of firewood and ocean air mingled with the delicious smell of food emanating from the kitchen, the latter which provided evidence of the Vaulteneau chef's excellent culinary skills.

If this were a romantic dinner with Ciaran, it would be perfect.

But it wasn't. Ciaran was in his bedroom talking to his friends. I was sharing a three-course meal with my blackmailer's daughter with the intent of making my problems go away.

I led Zoey to a chair at the table and saw her comfortably seated. I moved around the table and sat across from her. I caught her uncertainty on how to act or behave in such a formal setting. Her eyes darted to the number of forks and knives, to the different glasses, to the folded napkin placed atop the plate. Miss Paulina did not play around with her setup.

If Zoey wanted to rub shoulders with the big dogs, she'd need to be a quick study. I was curious to see how the evening would progress. I'd already noticed that she smoothed her hands down her hair as a sort of "tell" for her nervousness or uncertainty.

I motioned toward the far corner. The sommelier approached with white wine. Waiting in the wings, Chef Clementine detailed what would be on tonight's menu—oven-fresh bread, just-caught fish with an assortment of sauces, vegetables, and a summer salad to start. Normally, soup would be on the menu, but I wasn't a soup fan, so Miss Paulina already knew to remove it from the lineup. Dessert would be a decadent blueberry tart that would pair well with a flute of sparkling champagne.

With the bread, butter, and wine between us, I navigated our conversation away from the weather, surfing, and upcoming competitions by saying, "You're probably wondering why I invited you to dinner tonight, Zoey?"

She was silent a moment as she took a sip from her wine glass.

"Is it not to apologize to me?" There it was, that sweet-and-sour tone to her voice. Zoey was angry and doing her best to keep it reined in. Our "relationship" was always a business arrangement. How could she possibly be angry at me? Her intense eyes bore into mine. "I presume you plan to end your… fling with your stepbrother." She let out a little laugh as she nibbled on a slice of bread. Off-handedly, she asked, "What's his name again?"

Beneath the table, my hands clenched into fists. I didn't care if she or anyone had negative things to say about me . Curse me up a storm and I'd be fine.

But to insult Ciaran when he'd been the best thing to ever happen to me was enough to scorch my blood. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of reacting to her words.

I was a Vaulteneau. Insults bounced off our armor.

Show no emotions.

Be a statue.

Throw money at the problem.

Isn't that how Dad instructed me?

"Apologize? No," I said before taking a leisurely sip of my wine. "I was hoping we could make our own arrangements. I'll make it worth your while, Zoey. I know you have professional goals."

"If you think you can bribe me, Matthias, you have another thing coming."

"What have I to bribe you with?" I asked honestly. "I barely know anything about you, and what I do know, none of it is negative. Sure, I doubt the press would appreciate being made into complicit fools. The press and the media are self-licking ice cream cones. They'd get amazing ratings on reporting how we'd duped them into believing a fake relationship. But none of that appeals to me."

"That's hardly front-page news," Zoey said. "The gossip rags are already speculating on your new guy friend."

She pulled out her phone to show me the pictures from earlier today when Ciaran and I were shopping. It was a good photo in that it showed the two of us smiling at each other before we realized we were being photographed.

The brightly colored text next to the photo said, New flame in Matty Vaulteneau's orbit?

"Fucking Sal," I breathed out, cursing the paparazzo's name. I collected myself. "It doesn't matter, Zoey. They'll make up whatever they want."

"Yeah, well," she said as she scrolled down to reveal a grainy, long-lens image. "Try this one on for size, Matty."

I studied the photo of two men sitting astride surfboards. They were kissing out on the water. At first glance, I knew it was me and Ciaran, as that memory was seared permanently into my mind as one of the best kisses of my life. However, the image wasn't crystal clear, but that didn't prevent the celebrity gossip website from speculating.

The media made up celebrity gossip all the time.

" Matthias Vaulteneau enjoys a carefree day on the beach with mysterious love interest ," Zoey read the caption. I saw the rest of the caption before she even said it. " Where's Zoey? "

I downed the rest of my wine. The sommelier had left the wine bottle on the table so we could help ourselves. I refilled my glass and topped off Zoey's.

"You know how this business works," I said. "I understand your goals of breaking into Hollywood and making a name for yourself, Zoey. But guess what?" I pointed at her phone, which was lying face up near her plate. "You're still being talked about." What I didn't say was that I wouldn't be surprised if she was the inside source. "As long as there's a romantic triangle happening with us, you will be a part of the story. But you're a smart woman. You want to make a name for yourself, not because you're my side girlfriend, or whatever it is they're saying in that stupid article, but because of your own talents and story."

"What are you saying?"

"You have looks and an excellent pedigree. Being the daughter of an Olympic Gold Medalist is a cool story and upbringing. And I've seen your acting. You're a good actor, Zoey. Don't throw it all away by stretching out a silly love triangle or being caught in a blackmail scheme. It won't look good for you when it comes out."

She scoffed but it didn't convince me.

"I know what I'm doing, Matthias."

"Yeah, but you never know what these ‘inside sources' might disclose," I said casually. Her eyes shot daggers at me. "These things have a way of coming to the light at some point. I'll be fine," I stressed. "That article won't do a damned negative thing to me. My last name is Vaulteneau. Doors are never closed to me. You, on the other hand…" I trailed off as I reached for a slice of warm bread.

I wanted Zoey to think about the consequences.

"Then do what Coach Anderson tells you, Matthias, and no one has to get hurt," Zoey said, doubling down. "You'll get to compete in the Nationals and maybe even qualify at the Olympic Trials this summer. I'll start landing roles in Hollywood, and Coach will have another star athlete on his roster."

"Do you always want to be known as my side piece?" I muttered. "In three months the media will pair me with whoever I happen to be standing near."

She gave that some thought before coming to my way of thinking. "You may have a point, Matthias. I still don't know what you want me to do about it."

We paused our conversation as the salads arrived. Zoey waited to see which fork I'd use before she started picking at the leafy greens on her plate.

When we were once again alone, I said, "I presume you know about the video Coach has on his phone?"

Zoey shot me a worried glance. Oh, shit. Was there more than one video on Coach Anderson's phone?

That thought opened up other possibilities I hadn't considered before.

Did Coach Anderson have a history of blackmailing his athletes? Fuck . My face fell before I could hide it. I needed to call an emergency team meeting.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zoey offered. Her voice was stoic and self-assured, but I was not fooled.

I started thinking about the future…and not just my future, but my friends on the swim team. I wasn't team captain this year, but I'd probably be voted captain next year.

Anxiety bloomed in my chest. I couldn't let Coach Anderson affect their careers, either. He'd been coaching at USC for five years. Five years wasn't too terribly a long time, so maybe I was his only target.

Leaning forward in my seat, I put my fork down. "How many videos are there?"

She remained tight-lipped for a long moment before she caved.

"A few," Zoey said with a resigned sigh. "I mean, I know about them, but haven't actually seen them."

An enormous weight pressed against my shoulders as I took in her words.

What the fuck?

I scrubbed my face and ran fingers through my hair. "Jesus, Zoey." I drained my wine. "And you willingly went along with it?"

"What am I supposed to do, Matthias? Call the police? He's my dad and it'd be my word against his."

"Not if they knew about the videos," I shot back.

"Do you want your video being made public?"

She had a point. Snorting cocaine off an erect cock wasn't exactly a smart decision, even if I didn't remember doing it. That shame would follow me around for a long time.

"Of course not."

The room was getting stuffy and my fingers fumbled with the tie strangling my neck. I loosened it before removing it all together.

"You may be as rich as Croesus, Matthias, but you can't say the same about others on your team. They can't afford for their videos to go public or testify in a court of law. Some of them need to keep scholarships in place. Or they want to make Nationals. Or they need to secure sponsorship deals. They don't want to rock the boat, so they never press charges, Matthias. They just want to swim, same as you."

It was almost as if she knew how people reacted to being blackmailed. As if this was a regular occurrence.

"How many athletes is Coach blackmailing?"

In that moment, the question was left hanging in the air. Chef Clementine entered the dining room, asking if we were ready for the fish. Zoey and I hadn't even finished our salads yet. I'd lost all pretenses of an appetite, but I indicated she should still bring in the dishes.

When the chef left the dining room after placing perfectly prepared fish and vegetable plates before us, I asked my question again. "How many people is he blackmailing, Zoey?"

"I don't know. Two or three, maybe. You're his primary target, though. He has videos going back years for other athletes. Most of the time he doesn't do anything with them, especially if he has nothing to gain. Just the threat of their existence is enough to keep most in line."

Fuck. I shot out of my chair and it toppled to the floor with a thick thud.

"In my case," I started, pacing the room, "what Coach has to gain is specifically related to your Hollywood ambitions." I pinned her with a hard stare. "Are you dating multiple people for this purpose?"

"Are you jealous?" she asked, and I couldn't help but notice the blush of hope on her face.

She didn't realize it, but she'd just revealed her hand.

This was my chance.

My chance to get Zoey on my side. If she thought I'd date her for real, would she help me? Would she then destroy the evidence?

Her ambition only coincided with her father's goals when it suited her.

By revealing her cards, I could make everything end.

Make it go down in flames.

Zoey's dreams of stardom.

Coach's dreams of wielding power over me.

But that meant squashing my dreams of earning Olympic gold.

Almost no matter what I did, I wouldn't come away clean, and I'd hurt Ciaran in the process. I had to keep him in mind, too.

It came to me then. In order to fix everything, I had to sever Zoey's ambition from her father's blackmailing scheme.

"No," I said. I restored my chair and offered her a serious expression. "I'm not jealous, Zoey. I could stand here and lie to you, but I'm not going to. I could pretend to like you, to date you, and get you to help me out of this jam, but I won't." Her nostrils flared at that. "That said, I still want to see you succeed in Hollywood. Why can't we enter into our own agreement and leave your dad out of it?"

She studied me before taking a small bite of the flaky fish. "Go on," Zoey said. She seemed more in control of her emotions.

"We will continue to be seen together," I offered. I took a large bite of the fish and even though flavor exploded on my tongue, I barely tasted it. "I'll extol your talents, beauty, et cetera, during paparazzi encounters. I'll also mention you to Hollywood insiders. Sometimes my dad asks me to review coverage reports for scripts he's on the fence about. I may be able to recommend you for parts. In short, I'll gush about you at every opportunity."

"What do you want in return?" Zoey's posture was all businesswoman.

During the course of the evening, she'd shown a range of emotions. One moment she'd be stoic. The next she was vulnerable. She'd been acting like her life depended on it. And maybe it did.

Hollywood was a dog-eat-dog world. Zoey, who was cutthroat when it suited her, would fit right in.

"Two things," I said. I leaned back in my chair. "First one is don't talk to the press about Ciaran. Ever . Second one is to delete all the videos."

"He's your stepbrother , Matthias," she enunciated like I was a simpleton. When I didn't respond, she leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "Fine. His name won't come across my lips. However, the second stipulation may be difficult to accomplish."

A flash of movement at the dining room's door caught my notice. It was Miss Paulina, standing tall and proud in her perfectly starched uniform. Her pinched expression alerted me to the fact that whatever she needed my attention for, it was significant.

To Zoey, I said, "Excuse me a moment, please." In a few short strides I was at Miss Paulina's side. "What's wrong, Miss Paulina?"

"I believe Mr. Galbraith is attempting to leave the premises." Her words did not travel far enough for Zoey to overhear.

My eyebrows furrowed. "He's not a prisoner, Miss Paulina." I looked at my watch. It was barely eight. "He's allowed to explore the area."

"Young man, please allow me the wisdom to distinguish between a simple walkabout versus when a person packs their belongings to leave the estate."

I racked my brain for anything that might have upset Ciaran and couldn't come up with a single thing. Ciaran knew about all my skeletons.

"What happened?" I asked Miss Paulina.

"I am not in Mr. Galbraith's confidence. I suggest you make your way to the guesthouse as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Miss Paulina."

Donning a facade of normalcy, I returned to Zoey. She was sitting serenely in her chair looking every bit the poised, accomplished actress—and professional blackmailer—that she was. I had a feeling she'd agree to my terms only because I'd painted her into a corner.

"Unfortunately, there's a situation that requires my attention," I started. "You don't have to give me your answer tonight, Zoey. I'll call you tomorrow. One of our transportation specialists will drive you home in a few moments." I paused in the doorway. I wanted to leave Zoey with one final fact. "Just in case you need motivation while you think through your options," I said while pointing at the corners of the room. Her gaze followed my instructions. "Vaulteneau has a state-of-the-art security system with cameras and microphones. Our entire conversation has been recorded."

The thing about billionaires is that they wanted to stay billionaires. We had enemies left and right. The estate's surveillance system was both a deterrent and a form of protection.

Zoey lips flattened, but I didn't miss the way her eyes went as round as saucers.

Satisfied, I exited the main house, but my glee was short lived once I entered Ciaran's bedroom.