Notable (Smith High) Page 15

  “The Lady Penh has a shrine at the temple where people bring her offerings.”

  “Pretty nice gig, if you can get it,” I mused. “Find some statues and then enjoy centuries of presents. Sounds almost too good to be true.”

  Then again, in my experience, finding Buddha statues where they don’t belong only served to create a world of trouble.

  Some people have all the luck.

  Aaron scooted closer to me, and I began trying to breathe exclusively through my mouth just to block out his cologne. “Some things you just have to see to believe, Lake.”

  Well, that was forward of him.

  “Sounds like I will have to see that temple for myself. Although I wouldn’t necessarily say no to a little company.”

  “I can take you,” Wesley said eagerly. “I make a really great tour guide.”

  “So true,” Aaron seconded. “Wes is just like the History Channel except he’s real.”

  This was getting me nowhere. It had been crazy of me to expect anything else out of the situation. I mean, what? I thought I’d instantly spot both an exclusive VIP table corded off from the rest of the room and a framed picture behind the bar proclaiming it the finest den for drug dealers since 1989?

  As if anything had ever come that easily to me.

  For all I knew, I wasn’t even scouting out the right hotel. Rithisak Sovann might prefer even swankier accommodations during the downtimes when he wasn’t actively expanding his drug territory. It was still entirely possible that he had nothing to do with Neal’s situation.

  That my desperation for a lead had me lunging at shadows.

  I lifted my glass in an ironic mock salute, while I tried to suppress my sudden surge of panic. “To keeping it real, then.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see yet another member of what I assumed was the Brookes and Merriweather team giving me a slow once-over. The newest addition pulled off a bold red power tie nicely and looked like he would have no trouble following Ben’s What happens in Cambodia stays in Cambodia rule.

  All I wanted to do was slide off the barstool and call it a night. Instead, I cranked up the megawattage on my smile. “I take it this is another one of your friends?”

  “Joel, this is Lake. She writes for Rolling Stone magazine.”

  I fought the insane urge to laugh in Joel’s face at the ridiculousness of the situation.

  A high school girl walks into a bar with three lawyers . . . It sounded like the setup for a bad joke.

  And yet there I was, sipping my wine at the counter and looking for any sign of trouble while the guys engaged in some good-natured ribbing. Well, most of it was good-natured. There was definitely some tension as they each fought to monopolize my interest. As the evening progressed, I was regaled with stories that ranged from perfectly thrown spirals and game-winning touchdowns to brilliant legal maneuvers.

  “So, what have you guys been working on here?” I asked lightly, hoping to steer the topic of conversation away from Aaron’s fifth-grade spelling bee. “Is there a top-secret lawsuit or something?”

  “No,” Wesley laughed. “I wish! We’re all assisting on a fairly standard merger right now.”

  “It’s not standard.” Aaron reached for another beer, only to have Joel intercept him. “Hey! Not cool, man.”

  “What do you think, Joel?” I asked, as though I actually cared about his opinion of some merger that had nothing to do with me. “Have the negotiations seemed unusual to you?”

  His mouth spread into a broad grin. “You mean more unusual than conducting our business here instead of in the U.S. because the guy who owns this place is on the no-fly list? Something like that?”

  Something exactly like that was what I had been hoping to hear.

  It all made so much sense too. Of course anyone infamous for their ties to the drug trade would not be welcomed into America with open arms. Rithisak Sovann’s reputation for waving around firearms probably hadn’t helped the situation either. And since the lawyers at Brookes and Merriweather couldn’t bring the drug tycoon/hotel owner to the U.S., Mr. Sovann was enjoying his home-court advantage.

  Probably.

  My theory was definitely based on conjecture . . . but that didn’t make me wrong.

  It just meant that I needed to score an introduction to a drug lord and finally get some definitive answers.

  Luckily for me, I knew three guys who would all happily jump at the chance to do me a solid, even if a certain high school boy—like, oh, I dunno, Houston—started yelling about how we’d be taking crazy risks for no good reason.

  I just needed to do a little more sleuthing before sharing my plan with the gang.

  Which was why I took one deep breath before I really got the party started.

  Chapter 24

  I wasn’t drunk—I’d barely even touched my second glass of wine—but something was definitely wrong with me.

  The adrenaline rush from playing the part of sophisticated Lake Scott should have peaked hours earlier. I couldn’t figure out what had me feeling all warm and bubbly on the inside. But I wasn’t sure I cared. Some dim part of my mind kept screaming that I needed to raise my guard and get the hell out of there, but the why remained unclear.

  Why leave when tugging Wes out onto the dance floor by his tie felt so right?

  Years spent fighting for control had never seemed so exhausting. Daunting. Meaningless. The music pulsed through me until I felt positively electric. The urge to dance had never been so strong as I writhed to the vibration of the bass.

  This was what I had been missing, the freedom to move my body the way I wanted. Not because it was a staged performance for the benefit of others.

  Just for me.

  Grinning foolishly, I gave myself over to the music. It didn’t matter that Wesley hadn’t mastered anything beyond the awkward middle-school-level sway that should barely qualify as “dancing.” It didn’t bother me. I kept right on gyrating even when he mumbled something about needing a drink and moved away.

  I didn’t need anyone.

  It should have seemed so obvious to me. I had lost count of the times I’d thought those exact words over the past few years. But they had never been true before.

  There had been plenty of nights when all I’d wanted was to have my parents tell me that they loved me, without any endgame or elaborate point-tallying system in mind. You know I love you, Chelsea. . . . I just wish you would try to meet your potential.

  Your mother and I both think sending you abroad is for the best.

  Nobody will ever love you as much as I do.

  I shook off the jumble of voices from my past and blinked in surprise at the guy dancing with me. I didn’t remember him. I couldn’t have picked him out of a police lineup if my life depended on it and yet his limbs were entangled with mine.

  And I had no idea how that had happened.

  Stumbling away from him, I accidentally jarred a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties.

  “Sorry, I have to . . .” My words dried up as I realized that nobody was listening.

  Most of the strangers crowded around me seemed like perfectly friendly travelers who were just hoping to collect stories about what a good time they’d had on their vacation. They probably wanted to tell all their friends that in Cambodia you didn’t even have to leave the hotel to find a crazy party. The rest happened so quickly, it felt like a blur of movement. Couches and tables were pushed aside as the crowd thickened and the bartender was slammed by drink orders.

  Half of the people waiting in line were probably looking only for plausible deniability before they joined the fray.

  The whole thing was insane.

  Somehow the sophisticated hotel bar had been transformed into a nightclub that had already hit full capacity with no sign of quieting.

  None of which had been part of my plan.

  As I twisted away from yet another stranger, I desperately searched the crowd for a famil
iar face. In that moment I would have even welcomed a vision of Logan walking toward me so that I could dismiss it as another one of my seriously messed-up dreams. Even waking up in a bathtub to Houston’s dire threats about girls who oversleep their alarm clocks sounded pretty good to me.

  No such luck.

  There were too many people blocking my view of the bar for me to catch even a glimpse of Houston; I could only assume that he was still doing his best bodyguard imitation. Then again, it was entirely possible that this new mess of mine had irritated him into bailing once and for all.

  I craned my neck for a better look and gasped as cold beer sloshed my neck, trickling down the front of my dress and soaking into my bra.

  This wasn’t even remotely fun anymore.

  Not when I could feel strange hands touching me, my shoulders mostly, but someone grazed my stomach before trying to cop a feel. I couldn’t make it stop. There were too many people pressed against me. Too many laughing faces everywhere I turned. Too many memories.

  I couldn’t even distinguish the flashbacks from a haunting sense of déjà vu.

  The high school parties I had once crashed with Logan, Ashley, and Steffani had started this way too: drinks, flirting, dancing, and then an overwhelming sense of panic when the crowds pressed too close. But I hadn’t wanted the girls to think I was intimidated by anything so I had lied.

  Oh yeah, I’m fine! I love this song! I just need to get another drink....

  Half of those beverages had been discreetly tipped into potted plants and bathroom sinks.

  But the other half I had sipped and swallowed down.

  I had needed my boyfriend to pull me into a secluded corner and focus on making everything a bit better, one meltingly slow kiss at a time . . . but Logan had usually been too busy helping everyone else to realize that his girlfriend was coming unraveled.

  Then one night I started wondering if my boyfriend preferred confiscating car keys from drunken strangers because he was no longer interested in me.

  By the time I had downed a couple of drinks, I was convinced that he wanted to break up but couldn’t say the words to my face.

  Jake had started grinding with me when I was staring at the bottom of my third drink. From there the night got a little fuzzy. I remember thinking that I wasn’t doing anything wrong, not when Logan had practically ignored me the whole evening.

  And being flattered that an older high school guy would be interested in me.

  Now I lurched unsteadily toward the bar, no longer even trying to apologize as I attempted to escape the crowd, the memories, and an overwhelming sense of shame that I’d been so determined to make someone—anyone—love me that I had lost myself.

  That it could still happen to me again.

  Sweat dripped down my back, and all I wanted to do was shower away the stickiness of the spilled beer and chug water until I felt clean inside. But I couldn’t seem to find a way out. Not with a throng of flailing bodies surrounding me, blocking me in. I only grew increasingly claustrophobic when the world started spinning.

  Oh yeah, something was definitely wrong.

  Panic flaring, I raised my arms as if I were playing a drunken version of Marco Polo and tried to stumble my way to freedom . . . only to be halted by two strong hands that gripped my shoulders. I couldn’t manage more than some feeble thrashing.

  “Calm down, Chelsea. Breathe!”

  The familiar voice had my arms going all tingly and my knees weakening. It was the alcohol, a distant part of me reasoned. A dangerous combination of alcohol, adrenaline, claustrophobia, and flashbacks.

  That had to be the reason.

  “Houston.” I gasped for breath as he forcibly pulled me away from all the flailing limbs and sweaty bodies. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Although the way he cradled me against his chest and began gently stroking my back, as if the wet material wasn’t entirely disgusting, that felt beyond good. My panic began to ebb away because I knew that I was safe. Houston wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.

  Even if he wanted to strangle me himself on a semi-regular basis.

  “Hey, man, take your hands off Lake!” Aaron pushed his way out of the crowd behind us and succeeded only in jostling me forward.

  Houston stopped walking and cupped my face with his hands, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with following Aaron’s instruction. Not when he stared even more intently at me than usual. Some emotion swirled around in his eyes but vanished behind a cold, hard mask before I could figure it out.

  “I’m making sure she’s okay,” Houston replied coolly.

  “Yeah? Well, keep your hands to yourself!”

  Which seemed a little over the top to me considering that Houston’s hands hadn’t strayed anywhere all that interesting. Much to my chagrin.

  “Is there a problem here?” Wes asked, finally making it through the crowd and appearing at my side. “Is this guy bothering you, Lake?”

  My head felt heavy, but I forced myself to mumble, “Fine. Sleepy.”

  “No, she’s not fine.” Houston’s voice held barely contained anger, but his hands remained gentle. “She nearly collapsed out there.”

  “From one glass of wine?” Aaron said skeptically. “I doubt it. Buzzed maybe, but unless she’s allergic, she shouldn’t be more than that.”

  Houston frog-marched me over to an empty chair before he turned to the two lawyers. That’s when reasonable, rational, intelligent, Student of the Year, let’s think this through Houston? Yeah, he punched Aaron right in the face.

  It was epic.

  His fist connected with Aaron’s jaw, snapping back his head just like in an old-time western. Except in the movies, the hero usually doesn’t start shaking out his hand and yelling, “Damn, that hurt!” And usually the bad guy doesn’t glare and say, “I’m going to sue you, asshole,” before lashing out with a left hook of his own.

  I started yelling for help before Houston even hit the floor.

  Nobody appeared willing to intercede. I caught a few people taking photos of the brawl on their phones and shouts of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” rang throughout the bar while Aaron and Houston rolled around in a tangle of thrashing limbs.

  I grabbed desperately at Houston’s jacket, but he refused to release his grip on Aaron’s leg.

  “Houston! Knock it off!”

  “Not. Now. Chelsea,” he grunted. “I’m busy.”

  I tugged again and very nearly got an elbow in the stomach for my efforts. “Somebody help me!”

  Wesley stared at the three of us on the floor in confusion. “Chelsea? You said your name was Lake.”

  Because it was really important for us to get that cleared up in the middle of a fistfight.

  “It’s a nickname,” I snapped angrily. Houston no longer had the advantage of surprise working for him, and Aaron was starting to get into the swing of it. “Help me break them up!”

  Wesley clearly didn’t want to intercede, but through more luck than skill he managed to pull Aaron back a few steps. “How do you even know him?”

  “He’s my photographer, okay?”

  “Oh.”

  That’s when he actually put some muscle into separating the two lunatics. Typical. Wes didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught in the crosshairs of a right hook if he didn’t think he had a shot with me. I had a feeling that wouldn’t last if I happened to mention the illegal age gap separating high school from law school.

  The words “statutory rape” would effectively squash any interest the lawyers had in me, which made the prospect of blurting it out awfully tempting. If I hadn’t suspected that Wesley was my ticket in with Rithisak Sovann, I would’ve marched Houston right over to the elevators without so much as a wave good-bye.

  Instead, I maneuvered it so that the parting shot Houston kept trying to throw at Aaron would have to go through me.

  “Out of the way, princess!”

  “Earth to Houston,” I hissed, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Snap out of
it. You’re better than this!”

  The words weren’t part of some kind of bizarre attempt to flirt him out of prolonging his fistfight. They were the truth. But then I noticed the way the muscles in Houston’s shoulders contracted and strained against my hands. No wonder he kept himself so controlled all the time: When he actually let loose, he was all pulsing anger and jagged frustration.

  And then he snapped.

  I’m not sure what happened. One second, his scorching green-eyed death glare was focused solely on Aaron’s face, and the next, his eyes had widened in near panic while his arms instinctively slammed me against his body.

  And then he was kissing me.

  Chapter 25

  I went all gooey.

  Instead of shoving him away, I let my fingers go on a little expedition, moving upward from his shoulder blades until I felt the silky ends of his hair. Which may have been when I started kissing him right back.

  There was no easing into it, no meltingly slow anything. This kiss contained an edge of insanity that had me fervently hoping it would never stop. That he wouldn’t think about any one of a dozen reasons why we wouldn’t make a good couple, and pull away.

  Because with his lips against mine, I thought I could come up with just as many reasons to give it a shot.

  Houston didn’t pull away.

  Instead, he bent to my ear and whispered, “Keep your head down, princess. We’ve got company.”

  No kidding. Right before his tongue had investigated my mouth, he’d personally sucker punched some of that company in the face. If he’d wanted to avoid a scene, he should have rethought that one. I just hoped Ben wasn’t among our witnesses or neither of us would ever hear the end of it.

  “You really need to back off, man!” Wesley’s timing couldn’t have been worse. I was in no mood to deal with any more male ego competitions.

  Especially when I was starting to feel slightly nauseous.

  Houston didn’t let go of me entirely, but I could feel the barrier between us go right back up.

  “You’re going to lower your voice while we walk out of here. Otherwise I am going to make sure everyone knows that you drugged my friend,” Houston growled.