He walked over and waited a beat for the knock, but none came. He reached for the knob and a white envelope slid under the door, landing on his foot. His name was printed on the front in a handwriting font.
A hard lump of dread settled in his gut as he picked it up. From the weight and feel of it, he had a good idea what he’d find inside. He sucked in a fortifying breath and ripped open the envelope, dumping the contents out on the small foyer table. Photos. Of him and Shelby, his hand between her legs as he held her trapped against the wall. And then with his head between her legs.
Heart thundering, he yanked open the door even though he knew the person who had dropped this was long gone.
Yup. Hallway was empty.
He shut the door and grabbed a handful of tissues from the bathroom before returning to the table. He didn’t dare handle the photos on the off chance his blackmailer had left fingerprints.
The quality of the photos wasn’t good, printed by an inkjet printer on cheap glossy paper. But nor were they bad enough that he’d be able to legitimately deny the photos were of him. Anyone with eyes could see that he was the man kneeling between Shelby’s legs.
So much for the whole what-happens-in-Vegas-stays-in-Vegas thing.
Jesus, could he make it any easier for his blackmailer?
Except he never expected his blackmailer to follow him all the way here. That was weird. He was no expert on the subject, but he knew that was not normal blackmail behavior.
Okay. So it’s another piece of the puzzle.
One that actually told him quite a bit more about the person behind this. The blackmailer didn’t just want money from him. If that was all, why the unnecessary expense of chasing him across the country? No, this person wanted something else. To ruin him? A distinct possibility.
He used a tissue to spread the photos out and studied each one closely. The person who took them had to have been in the hallway, too, but Reece had been too focused on Shelby to notice if anyone had followed them. He hadn’t seen anyone when he walked away from her, either, but now that he thought about it, he did hear the elevator bell seconds before he pulled away from her—it was the sound that had brought him back to his senses. Had that innocuous ding been his blackmailer fleeing the scene?
On the back of the last photo, he found a message printed in the same cursive font as on the envelope.
What will your business associates think of you slumming it?
Fury lit him up. He wasn’t slumming. Not with Shelby.
Okay, so his business associates might think that, but only because they were all stuck-up assholes. They considered sleeping with anyone who had less than a million in the bank “slumming”. In some circles of older money, Reece himself was considered plebeian because he was self-made, from a family with a long history of career military and blue-collar workers.
Shit. He had to tell Shelby about this. He rubbed a hand over his face, stubble rasping against his palm, and stared at the photos. As much as he’d rather not, these pictures were of her, too, and she needed to know. What if it didn’t just stop at pictures? Already the blackmailer had tiptoed over the line into stalking territory.
What if he was putting her in danger by not telling her?
Chapter Six
Shelby was in a dismal mood, and not even the chaos of vibrant lights and sounds on the casino floor cheered her.
This whole day had sucked.
Well, okay, not the entire day. She quite liked how it had ended and relished the thought of Reece tied to the bed, having to call one of his brothers for help.
Served him right.
But the rest of the day? Ugh. Was it possible to request a do-over from the big guy upstairs? She gazed toward the ceiling, but she’d never had much luck praying. Besides, she’d never set foot in a real church in her life—the chapel here in the hotel was the closest she’d come. If a big guy was up there granting prayers, he wasn’t gonna listen to her.
The bartender arrived with her cocktail and she plucked the stick of cherries out of it, biting off the top one.
She really hadn’t meant to ruin Eva’s wedding day. She had only wanted…hell, she didn’t know. She wanted a mother. Like, the real deal, not the spacey excuse for a mother she’d been born to, and part of her yearned to believe Katrina had changed. But Eva was probably right. Katrina would slip back into her old ways sooner rather than later, and did she really want to put any faith in that woman?
No.
The hurt and betrayal in the days after their mother attacked them last fall had been a bitter pill to swallow. Shelby absolutely didn’t want that heartbreak ever again.
So cheers to fucked-up childhoods and crappy mothers. She lifted her glass and toasted her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She’d drink tonight and wallow in her self-pity, then tomorrow she’d find Eva and apologize. She could admit now she’d only told their mother about the wedding out of some selfish need to be loved.
Stupid.