The Men She Played

My profession? Im a placeholder. A professional ghost.

My specialty: powerful men haunted by the one that got away. The idealized ex, the girl next door, the great lost love. I find the ones with a tombstone in their hearts and I become the ghost theyre still chasing.

And when their real-life ghost is about to be resurrectedto come back into town, to get a divorce, to finish their residencyI cash out and perform my own disappearing act.

In my line of work, I have a reputation. They call me the queen of dancing on the graves of old flames. The best you can hire at getting gone.

Right now, Im in the middle of a gig, diligently channeling the spirit of Liam Blackwoods dearly departed first love.

Im wearing her favorite style of white dress, my fingers resting on the keys of his grand piano, faking my way through a melody. But my mind is on the numbers.

Last month, Ethan Reed bought his ghost a pink diamond. Get with the program, Liam.

1

Ava. Play that piece again. Clair de Lune.

Liam is leaning back on the leather sofa, eyes closed. His voice is a low rumble, laced with a familiar, almost invisible thread of exhaustion and nostalgia.

My fingers twitch, nearly stumbling into the opening notes of the "Flight of the Bumblebee."

Buddy, this is the only part I know. It took me a full week to memorize this one damn section. If I play it again, the whole con is up.

I take a slow, calming breath. I turn my head, carefully arranging my expression into the gentle, watery-eyed look Id studied in photos of the original girl, and add the perfect touch of melancholy. Liam, Im a little tired tonight. That song it just brings up so much.

Yeah, so much anxiety. The anxiety of being exposed as a fraud.

Liams eyes open. His gaze is sharp, analytical, and it lands right on me.

A fine sheen of sweat instantly slicks my back.

Just when I think hes about to call me out, to finally see the cracks in my performance, he lets out a soft sigh and gestures to the empty space beside him. Come here.

My internal monologue is a cascade of eye-rolls, but my body is a consummate professional. I rise with a practiced fragility and drift over to him. He pulls me into his arms, and I sink into the scent of himclean cedar, expensive whiskey. Its intoxicating. Its the smell of money.

Next weekend, youre coming with me to an auction, he murmurs, his fingers tangling in a strand of my hair. His tone leaves no room for argument. Theres a sapphire necklace. I think youll like it.

There it is. The closing bonus.

A tiny, invisible version of me starts setting off fireworks. On the outside, I just hum a soft, Mmm, and rest my head on his shoulder, fighting to keep the triumphant smirk off my face.

According to my very reliable, very expensive source of information, Liam Blackwoods sainted childhood sweetheart, Charlottethe one who supposedly succumbed to a tragic, unnamed illness years agois scheduled to make a miraculous recovery and return to the country next month.

I have to work fast. In this final month, that sapphire necklace, the two handbags Ive had my eye on, and the deed to the downtown condo he promised me all need to be secured.

Operation Perfect Getaway is a go.

Just as Im mentally calculating how long this final payout will let me lay on a beach in the Seychelles, his phone, lying on the coffee table, starts vibrating violently.

He frowns, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

But I, being the perfect, attentive stand-in, immediately move to get it for him. Ill get it.

When I pick it up, the name on the screen makes my heart skip a beat.

ETHAN REED

As in, the notoriously charming, scandal-a-minute heir to the Reed fortune. Hes also on my shortlist of potential clients, but his great lost love is studying abroad indefinitely. Too much risk. Id put a pin in him for now.

Liam takes the phone and, after a glance at the screen, puts it on speaker.

Blackwood! Did you see whats trending? That little stand-in you keep around she wasnt at Enigma two nights ago, was she? Ethans voice is practically buzzing with the gleeful energy of someone who loves to stir the pot.

My blood runs cold.

Two nights ago?

I was at Enigma. Another potential client, the tech prodigy Leo Fostera man said to be eternally hung up on his college girlfriendwas hosting a private event. Id gone to make a brief, seemingly accidental appearance. To plant a seed.

Liams gaze snaps to me, sharp as a shard of glass. What are you talking about?

Someone got a picture! Its just a profile shot, but come on, Id recognize her anywhere. She walked into a private room right after Leo Foster! The whole scene is buzzing. Theyre saying your girl is playing for two teams. Or hey, maybe even more!

I cant breathe.

Shit. Busted?

I was so careful. I checked for paparazzi. Which asshole with a camera phone got me?

Liams face darkens. He hangs up on Ethan and opens Twitter. There it is, trending at number three:

#BlackwoodsGirl Cheating with Tech Mogul Leo Foster?

The accompanying photo is blurry, but the dress Id so carefully chosen to project an air of effortless innocence is unmistakable. And so are Leo Fosters signature gold-rimmed glasses. Its all the proof anyone needs.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

My sapphires. My condo. My sunny beach in the Seychelles. All vanishing into thin air.

Liam puts the phone down. He doesnt say a word. He just looks at me, and the silence is colder than any accusation.

Run.

The thought is a primal scream in my head.

Run. Now. Immediately.

Before he processes the full extent of this humiliation, before he thinks to lock me in here or have me thrown off the penthouse balcony.

I make my decision in a split second. I shoot to my feet, grabbing my small purse from the sofa. I force my face into a wobbly, unconvincing smile. Liam, I I have to use the restroom

I dont wait for a response. I pivot on my seven-inch heels and sprint for the door like my life depends on it.

Twist the handle, slip through the opening, slam the door shut behind me.

The sequence is flawless, worthy of a professional assassin.

From behind the door, I think I hear him roar my name: Ava!

Cant hear you! La la la, I cant hear a thing!

I bolt for the emergency stairwell, my heels clattering. One of them nearly twists my ankle, so I kick them both off and carry them in my hand. Thank God for penthouse suites. I run down five full flights of stairs before I dare to slip back into a main hallway, find an unlocked supply closet full of cleaning tools, and dive inside, locking it from within.

My heart is a wild drum against my ribs, so loud Im afraid someone will hear it.

I slide down the cool, solid wall, gasping for air.

My phone is vibrating nonstop in my purse. I dont have to look to know who it is. Liam, or my best friend and agent-of-chaos, Maya.

My hands are shaking as I pull it out. And there it is. A text from Liam.

Run?

You have three minutes to get your ass back here and explain.

Explain? Explain what? How Im a diligent, multi-tasking professional managing a diverse portfolio of clients?

I scroll down. Theres a message from Leo Foster, too. Characteristically concise.

Whats this trending topic about?

Do you need my help getting it taken down?

Oh, thanks a million, Leo. You stepping forward right now would be like throwing gasoline on a bonfire.

But the worst one, the absolute cherry on top of this shit sundae, is from Ethan Reed.

**Heard you crashed and burned, beautiful. Need a safe house? My doors always open for you. ;) **

I stare at my phone in disbelief.

Do all these guys have some kind of gossip-detecting radar? How are they all this fast?

I frantically text Maya: CODE RED! IM BURNED! Liam is done, Leo is probably toast too! Book me the first flight out of the country. Anywhere. I DONT CARE!

Her reply is almost instantaneous: HOLY SHIT! You juggled two of them at once and got caught?! Youre a legend! Okay, looking for flights now! But I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?

Me: This is not the time for games! SPILL!

Maya: Good news is, Liams ghost, Charlotte, looks like shes coming back early!

Me: !!! Are you serious?!

Its a miracle. A bona fide miracle. With the real thing back, whos going to care about the understudy?

Maya: Bad news is Ethan Reeds ghost, the ballerina whos been studying abroad? Her flight lands next week.

Me:

Maya: Oh, and Leo Fosters college sweetheart? She just finalized her divorce. And shes been very active on the local charity circuit lately.

Me:

So, what Ive done is Ive managed to perfectly, precisely, and simultaneously light the fuse on three different volcanoes that were all about to blow.

What have I done to deserve this?

2

Crouched in the cramped, dark supply closet, surrounded by the faint scent of bleach and Pine-Sol, I contemplate the wreckage of my life.

If I go out there now, Liam will almost certainly catch me.

But I cant hide in a closet forever. Eventually, the cleaning staff will find me and have me arrested for being a creep.

As Im spiraling, the doorknob begins to turn.

My soul just about leaves my body. I throw all my weight against the door, holding it shut.

From the other side, a lazy, amused male voice drifts through. Well, well. Is there a little stray cat hiding in here?

That voice its Ethan Reed.

How the hell did he find me here?

Come on, open up, beautiful. The paparazzi are about to swarm the hotel entrance. You cant hide in a closet forever, Ethan says, his voice laced with the same teasing tone he uses to charm his way out of everything.

I press my lips together and hold my ground.

No? Okay. I guess Ill just give Liam a call. Let him know where his lost little canary is hiding.

Hes got me.

I take a deep breath and yank the door open.

Ethan is leaning against the opposite wall, dressed in a ridiculously flamboyant pink silk shirt, unbuttoned just a little too low. Hes smiling, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. In his hand, hes dangling his phone, Liams contact information glowing on the screen.

Mr. Reed. Fancy meeting you here, I say, my own smile feeling more like a grimace.

Its no coincidence. I came looking for you. His eyes drift over me, lingering for a moment on my bare feet. Tsk. A real damsel in distress. Come on, Ill get you out of here.

I eye him warily. The lobby is crawling with reporters

Youre with me now. What are you afraid of? He raises an eyebrow, his tone breezy and confident. Or would you rather wait for Liam or Leo to come down and rescue you?

I picture Liams ice-cold fury. I picture Leos cool, detached analysis of the situation. And I make the only choice that feels survivable right now: the handsome, untrustworthy devil I know.

Then Id be grateful for your help, Mr. Reed. I manage to squeeze out a thankful smile.

He nods, satisfied. He shrugs off his tailored suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders without asking, then slides an arm around me. Stay close. Dont look up.

He guides me, half-shielding me, toward the main elevators. Just as he predicted, the lobby is a war zone.

Flashbulbs explode like a fireworks finale. Reporters surge toward us like sharks that have scented blood.

Mr. Reed! What is your relationship with this young woman?

Ethan, arent you and Liam Blackwood friends? Why are you with his companion?

Miss, can you clarify your relationship with Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Foster?

The questions are like daggers, each one sharper than the last.

Ethan keeps that infuriatingly casual smirk on his face, but his arm tightens around me, pulling me deeper into his side and shielding me from most of the cameras.

Everybody, give us some room, he says. His voice isnt loud, but it carries an authority that makes people listen. Ms. Vance is a friend of mine. Im helping her leave. As for the rest of it, no comment.

A friend? What kind of friend sneaks out of the emergency stairwell in a nightgown? one reporter yells, refusing to back down.

I look down at myself. In my panicked escape, Id forgotten I was only wearing a silk slip of a nightgown. With Ethans oversized jacket and my bare feet, my hair a tangled mess the whole picture screams walk of shame.

Ethan lets out a short, sharp laugh and is about to respond when a new voice cuts through the chaosclear, crisp, and furious.

Ethan Reed!

Every head in the lobby turns.

Standing at the entrance is a tall, slender woman in dance rehearsal clothes, her body radiating a chilly, disciplined grace. Her forehead is damp with sweat, as if shes come straight from the studio.

My pupils dilate.

Is that no, it cant be. Thats Isabelle Croft, the ballerina. Ethans great lost love.

What is she doing back a week early? And how did she know to come here?

Isabelle stalks toward us, her eyes like twin icicles fixed on me. Who is she?

The smirk on Ethans face finally fades. Izzy. What are you doing here?

Shouldnt I be here? she retorts, her voice dripping with sarcasm. It looks like youve had a very entertaining few years while Ive been gone, Ethan. Are you poaching your friends women now?

Yes! Exactly! You tell him! Im just an innocent flower caught in this mess! My inner monologue is cheering her on.

Ethans brow furrows. Its not what you think.

Then what is it? Isabelle presses, her gaze landing on me again, full of judgment and contempt. This woman, wearing another mans clothes, caught by reporters sneaking out of a hotel you seem remarkably calm about all this.

I bow my head, doing my best to look like a frightened, overwhelmed victim. He and I were just friends, I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Friends do this? she scoffs, clearly unconvinced.

The scene is at a stalemate, the reporters frantically capturing every second of the drama, when the elevator doors slide open with a soft ding.

Out steps Liam Blackwood. Hes flanked by two imposing bodyguards, his face a thundercloud, his dark suit radiating pure menace.

His eyes immediately find me, tucked into Ethan Reeds arms.

Im done for.

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