Chapter 2

ELODIE

A week later, I once again waited in my car at Blades Arena. Except this time, I didn't stand around with all the other paparazzi outside near the door. I waited in the spectators' lot, with a perfect view of the beat-up Corolla that Mac drove. It was a rust color. Or maybe it was red and had faded to that shade. I was so damn confused.

"You're sure that's the right car?" Roy, who was on the phone, asked me. "Because we can't miss him again."

I rolled my eyes, glad my boss couldn't see me right then. "Yeah, it's the right one."

"Because if you're wrong and follow some rando—"

"It's his car! Trust me. But I gotta run, Roy. I think people are starting to leave the stadium. I'll check in with you later."

The fact that the usually unflappable Roy Fink was freaking out about this whole Mac-car situation just made me even more nervous. It didn't help that I'd had to fess up to the fender bender thing being my fault when I'd arrived at work the following morning.

Roy had taken one look at my car, raised one of his notoriously bushy eyebrows, and given me a look that made me want to squirm like a child in trouble for stealing candy.

Don't get into another accident, for the love of God, my boss had warned me just an hour earlier. I don't want to pay workers' comp because you can't pay attention to what you're doing while driving.

Well, I wasn't driving right now, was I? I was just sitting in my car, sipping a latte that I'd probably regret later, considering it was already past five o'clock, and waiting for Mac to emerge. But there was a good chance I might need the energy tonight, even if I didn't get any sleep later.

I heard the sounds of the crowd, even as far away as I was in the spectators' lot. Thanks to social media, I watched a livestream of the Mac doppelg?nger come out. Once again, a jacket was draped over his head, and he quickly hurried to his car without engaging with any fans or media.

I paused the livestream a few times, scrutinizing the doppelg?nger. I'd studied a few different videos of Mac—and his stand-in—over the course of the week, trying to see the minute differences between the two men.

I'd quickly realized that the doppelg?nger always wore a pair of white New Balances that the real Mac had never been photographed wearing. Considering Mac had had a brand deal with Nike for years now, you would think he'd have done a better job dressing his decoy. New Balances made zero sense.

"Sloppy, sloppy," I muttered to myself. In this age of social media and recording everything, somebody should pay attention to these details. Then there was the fact that Mac always left with his dragon tattoo on full display. Whoever had concocted this scheme hadn't really thought all this through enough.

I finished off my venti latte, wishing I'd given in and bought a snack to go along with it since I was now shaky from too much caffeine. I waited and waited, but no real Mac came out. All of the paparazzi and fans had left now, and I had a brief panic attack that I had, in fact, pegged the wrong car as Roy had feared.

But then I saw him: Mac Mackenzie, in all his glory, walking up to that junker of a car and sliding behind the driver's wheel. At least this time he wore a jacket that covered up his dragon tattoo. I watched as he glanced around the parking lot, as if he knew someone was watching him, and I slinked down into my seat. A chill ran down my spine as he glossed over my car without even noticing me.

I let him drive away for about thirty seconds before I started following. I knew I had to be extra careful this time.I couldn't afford another fender bender, and I certainly couldn't afford to lose him again.

I had a gut feeling some new story lurked under the surface of this entire thing. Sure, it could just be that Mac had gotten tired of the limelight and wanted a break. But then why had he just done an interview with The LA Times a few days ago? And why was he still posting on Instagram and TikTok nearly every day?

Clearly, he wanted to keep a low profile—but only when it suited him.

I followed Mac for what felt like an eternity, although it was only for three whole miles. In LA, going more than a block could take you twenty minutes. I breathed a sigh of relief when we avoided getting on the 101. The last thing I wanted was to try to follow Mac on the freeway.

When Mac parked his car behind what looked like an office building, I pulled in a few rows over and watched him walk in. It was a nondescript, two-level structure surrounded by bushes. There was also a large garage attached. It looked like it could be a warehouse of some kind. I waited and waited, but nothing more exciting than watching Mac's butt disappear into the building happened.

"The fuck?" I scowled after an hour and Googled the address, but nothing too interesting came up. building housed a small marketing firm in one suite and an interior designer's office in another.

Was Mac getting his place remodeled? I glanced at the time. It was nearly seven o'clock now. Why would he have an appointment this late?

I wasn't sure what to do, but over the next half hour, a few cars started trickling in. It seemed odd that people would be arriving at an office building now, but what the heck did I know? When a car carrying three women wearing tight, slinky dresses and stiletto heels rolled in, my curiosity perked up. Ohhkay, what's this now?

I was seriously confused. These people weren't dressed to meet with contractors or freelancers. They looked like they were going out to a club.

"Welp, I guess I better go see for myself," I said. I applied another coat of mascara and lipstick, suddenly wishing I was wearing something other than jeans and a boring white blouse. At least I hadn't worn Vans—though my ballet flats weren't much of an improvement. If I'd known there was a wardrobe code for this assignment, I would've dressed for the occasion.

As I approached the front door, I realized there was a security guard inside, stopping people who entered. He was huge, looking more like a bouncer than your standard mall cop. I had to tilt my head back to make eye contact with him.

"Password," he grumbled, sounding bored.

Uh. Crap. Think . I let out an awkward laugh. "I'm meeting someone here—"

"Password," he repeated.

I stared at him. He smelled like Old Spice mixed with cigarettes. It reminded me of the way my grandfather used to smell before he passed. I thought about making a joke to that effect, but based on this guy's stance, I could see he was serious. And I wasn't about to get around him by batting my eyelashes. When a couple came up behind me, seeming annoyed I was holding up the line, I apologized and ducked back outside. That was when I realized I could hear music thumping from somewhere. What the heck is going on inside?

My heart pounded, and sweat beaded on my forehead. But I hadn't gotten this far in my line of work by giving up easily. Sometimes you had to suck it up and do things that made you uncomfortable. You didn't get the scoop on big celebs by being a shy wallflower.

I returned to the security guard and asked, "What is this place, anyway?"

He folded his arms across his massive chest. "If you don't already know, then you should go."

"Well, that sounds ominous." I giggled and flashed a flirty smile, but the guard was not impressed. "You're really not going to tell me? What's the big secret?"

"Like I said, if your name isn't on the list and you don't have the password—" The guard motioned to the parking lot. "You can either turn around and leave, or I can escort you from the premises."

This guy could probably flick me across the street with just his fingers , I thought in panic. I racked my brain for some kind of excuse about why I didn't have a password, but at that moment, my imagination failed me.

I returned to my car, feeling stupid and defeated. Inside, I gripped the steering wheel.

"Think, Elodie, think!" But my brain wasn't being the least bit cooperative.

Sure, if this were a movie, I'd go back and charm the security guard, but I'd already botched that attempt. Besides, I had a feeling that guy was immune to feminine wiles. He seemed about as interested as a brick wall.

Yet I couldn't just let this chance to get a story on Mac pass me by. I had to get into this place. It wasn't somewhere that was accessible to the public. And given that Mac went to all the trouble of using a decoy, he obviously didn't want anyone to know he was coming here. That was suspicious, wasn't it?

I drove around to the back of the building, unsure what I was even looking for. But what I found was a small loading dock, along with an overflowing dumpster. A couple of squirrels took off when I parked my car near their trash piles, their gleaming eyes flashing as they scampered away.

Two more cars pulled around the back of the building and stopped near the loading dock. A woman got out of each car, wearing nothing but skimpy lingerie covered in trench coats that were wide open for the world to see.

Another hulking security guard stepped out. This one seemed quite taken with these two women, and they were let inside through the back without delay. I could practically see the man drooling as the ladies sauntered in front of him.

Which gave me an idea...Reaching into the back seat, I grabbed the duffel bag I'd left in my car and riffled inside. I'd forgotten it was still there since I'd packed it two weeks ago when I'd been staying overnight at Todd's. It had been his birthday— Yes ! the bra and panties set were still in here. Bingo! What luck.

"Now, how do I get changed without getting arrested?" I drove around and parked my car behind a large SUV in the corner of the lot, then climbed over into the back seat. I managed to get the lingerie on without exposing myself, although I was sweating by the time I'd accomplished that task.I honestly had no damn clue what I was doing or what I was getting myself into, but my heart raced waiting to find out. So I took a few deep breaths to calm down and gathered my courage to waltz outside wearing only a bra and panties. It didn't help too much, but I put on my best game face before walking to the back door and knocking. The security guard opened the door, his eyes widening.

I fluffed my hair, my lids lowering in what I hoped was a seductive expression. "You gonna let me in or not?" I asked. "It's a little chilly out here like this."

The guard, though, blinked and said, "ID?"

I laughed and tilted my head coyly. "Where exactly do you think I'm holding my driver's license?" Then I added a slow twirl, giving him a nice view of my cheeky panties.

He smiled. "You new?"

"Can you tell because my butt is shiny? Do I need to powder it?"

He chuckled and, to my immense surprise, stepped aside to let me in. "Your butt looks A-okay to me."

So much for the tight security. This one hadn't even asked for a password! I had to restrain myself from giggling like an idiot. I was so damn excited.

The urge to giggle was stymied, however, when I realized that I had no idea where the hell I was supposed to go. I waited to see another person, maybe one of the scantily clad ladies who just came in, but the building seemed all but deserted. My only recourse was to follow the sound of thumping music, which meant going down a bunch of rather creepy, dimly lit back stairs.

"If I get murdered, I'm coming back to haunt you, Roy," I muttered to myself as I reached the last level of the building. The music was even louder now. I opened the door . . . to yet another bare hallway. This one had a few people milling about, so I followed them through another door, trying to look like I belonged. But my steps faltered when I got a look at where I was. It felt like I'd stepped through a magical wardrobe and into another world. Whereas the hallways and stairs were all gray concrete and beige walls with fluorescent lights, this area was lit like someone's boudoir.

The foyer was gorgeous, with velvet walls, a huge chandelier overhead, and delicately patterned tiled floors with lush rugs. Multiple settees were right at the entrance, and both men and women lounged about. Some were wearing lingerie, some slinky dresses. A few of the men had their shirts off, while others looked like they'd come from board meetings, loose ties the only sign that they'd left work.

I felt multiple gazes on me, but despite my scantily clad appearance, I wasn't underdressed. Not at all. I fit in perfectly here. As I passed by, one man eyed me, giving me a lurid wink.

I shivered and kept going straight ahead, expecting someone to stop me and demand why I was here, but no one did. And as I made my way farther into whatever this place was, I realized it wasn't just some underground bar or club. There was more going on here.

I approached a large glass window where a few people milled around watching something on the other side, and my eyes nearly bulged from my head. A woman—completely naked—was draped over the back of a chair. A man stroked the woman's ass for a moment before he knelt and began eating her out.

Holy shit. This is a sex club.