Page 347 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

“She’s fine … physically,” Naomi says. “I don’t know. You should probably get here, though,” she repeats.

I say, “I’m on my way,” and I hang up the phone. Sending a quick text to Trevor to let him know I’m on my way down, I leave the office. I try calling Grace’s phone a few times, but it just rings.

When we pull up to the house, I’m more than a little surprised to see dozens of cars parked in the long driveway.

I get out and tell Trevor if I’m not back out in ten minutes, he can go home from the night. Music is blaring so loud the doors, windows, and walls of the beach house do precious little to dampen the sound.

The place is packed.

People smile and greet me as I walk through, but none of them seems to know where Grace is, though everyone remembers seeing her at some point in a different part of the house. Why any of these people are here, I don’t know.

After looking for ten minutes, I don’t find Grace, but I do find Naomi. She’s nursing a drink and chatting to Rave McAllister, one of the only rock stars I still let into any of my homes. Most of them think they’ve got to be Ozzy Osborne, snorting ants off the ground or they don’t have any credibility. If that’s their thing, it’s fine. I just don’t like being the one to clean it all up afterward. Rave’s okay, though.

“Naomi, have you seen Grace?” I ask.

Naomi doesn’t even look at me, she just waves her hand in my general direction, I can only assume as an attempt to dismiss me so she can keep talking to Rave.

I tap her on the shoulder and she spins her head toward me, saying, “What?”

“Hey, Naomi,” I say, “welcome to my home. Enjoying the party?” I nod to Rave who nods back.

“Oh, Zach,” Naomi says. “Yeah, I think she’s out in the hot tub or something.”

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

Naomi rolls her eyes. “How shouldIknow?” she asks. “Go talk to her.” With that, she turns back to Rave.

I have tried to like that woman, but I’m convinced it’s never going to happen.

Making my way out back, I cross the deck and make my way around to the side by the pool, dodging people I didn’t invite here all the way. My position is already weak as it is. I don’t need it going public I’m throwing an A-list party while my company’s going under.

First thing’s first, though: I need to make sure Grace’s all right.

I come around the side of the house to find the pool dark, but filled with people and what has to be almost as many crowded inside the hot tub. To be fair, the hot tub is just about as big as the pool. As if the party wasn’t bad publicity enough, the only clothes or bathing suits I see are collected in little piles around the water.

The few people who bother to notice the lord of the manor’s home erupt in a cheer when they see me, but I can’t find Grace. I finally spot her about a quarter of the way around the hot tub, talking to a semicircle of people.

She’s naked right along with everyone else.

I walk around to where Grace has her back against the hot tub wall, and I set my hand on her shoulder. She looks up at me, saying, “Hey, baby! We were just talking about you. Why don’t you come in and join us?”

“Where did all these people come from?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Ralph here says he’s from New Jersey, but I haven’t had a chance to get to everyone yet.”

“Why is there a party at my house and I don’t know about it?” I ask.

With that, everyone but Grace scatters. On their way out, it seems they fill others in because soon it’s just Grace and me.

“What’s your deal?” she asks. “Andre and I thought it would be a good way to blow off some steam after all that’s been going on lately.”

“Andre?” I ask. “You called Andre Moriarty, just about the sleaziest guy making movies—and he doesn’t even do porn—and the two of you decided to throw a party?” I ask. “Now, wheneverythingis hanging in the balance?”

“Calm down, will you?” she says. “He called the house. I didn’t know if it was you or if it was someone who needed to leave a message, so I answered. I told him you weren’t home, but we got to talking. Turns out he’s a really nice guy. I don’t think he’s a sleazy guy at all.”

“Have you ever watched his movies?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “If you think so little of him, why’s he calling your beach house?” she shoots back.

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