THE DEBT (Manhattan Nights #7)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

LACHLAN

"She's not as innocent as she looks," the woman beside me slurs, adding to the pain shooting across my temples. "And I'm not as dead inside as I feel."

"Are you ready to go?" I huff—the fortieth time I've done so already tonight. "We can call an Uber or a cab—”

"Go? No way. We got here faster than a cab would, and I paid for the private car," she slurs again and sounds like she's about to dry heave.

I blink. "I paid for the car, actually."

"Whatever. The party is just starting, and we've barely been here a minute. Give it a chance for my booze to kick in."

Pretty sure it already has.

I tug at the collar of my new dress shirt, a white cotton, fitted number that seems to get damper by the minute as I try not to verbally flog my own date for not taking it easier on the champagne.

For f**k's sake, we're attending a prelude to a wedding.

Not a rave.

Shaking off the effects of my headache, I glance around the ballroom, taking note of the already drunk "gentlemen" sporting varying degrees of tight pants and hair gel.

Not a night goes by that I'm not thankful that I've reached my mid-twenties with my hairline still intact.

I may not be anyone's definition of "best man"...but tonight, at least I look like one.

In a suit the color of black onyx and twice as expensive, I catch one of the over-eager young socialites eyeing me up, perhaps imagining that I know the secrets of the universe based on the fact that I actually know what I'm doing—playing the part of the groom's right-hand man as I stare at my reflection in the mirror over the bar.

I drag my fingers through my hair, pacing silently.

I adjust my tux's bowtie.

I pick at the flecks of dust on my collared shirt.

But nothing can distract me from the terrible feeling in my chest as I look over the lush and expensive carpeting of the entrance to the infamous Plaza's Grand Ballroom, where my best friend Drew Fletcher’s engagement party is just minutes away from starting.

I frown, reaching for my phone to check the time. It isn't even nine yet, so technically she's not too late.

But still.

From the very colorful conclusion to our last call, I'm guessing my best friend's headstrong sister—the one who never listens to anyone—might just be taking her time getting here.

Especially considering the reception's already started.

The organ starts playing the first few chords of the processional, and although I'd be the last to admit it, a tiny part of me clenches.

I lean against the wall just inside the entrance, trying to get my body to calm down. It's been half a year since I've seen her.

Since then, I've hardly acknowledged her existence.

Fate is funny like that, it seems.

As part of my plan to be the perfect Best Man, I brought Sabrina’s cousin as a date to keep my thoughts completely off Sabrina Fletcher. And yet thinking about Sabrina is all she seems to want to do.

Standing beside Deborah Fletcher-Sanchez, I knock on the oak surface of the bar top, requesting another drink. And yet the bartender can't make it fast enough.

Beside me, my date sighs, smacking her lips around the edge of yet another martini—one nearly too filled with vodka to even qualify as a cocktail.

"I mean, can you believe the nerve of her?" she says, shaking her head of dark hair melodramatically. "To actually think of even coming here tonight, knowing she and her boyfriend ripped off half the guests?"

I frown. "She and her boyfriend? Last time I checked, Sabrina Fletcher wasn't the one being arrested. Davis Carson was the one sporting the handcuffs."

"Semantics," my inebriated date says, waving a perfectly manicured hand. "He does all of the talking for her. Which I've always wondered why...since Sabrina's always had a mouth."

I grunt as the bartender passes me my ordered seltzer. "She's not the only one with a lot of mouth, it seems..." The words feel hollow when I say them, and I take a moment to let them settle. "Truth is: It's really none of our business, Deb. Let it go."

"Oh yes, it is. That little bobblehead and her felon-in-arms are totally screwing up the Fletcher family name. Of course it's our business." She snorts out another puff of air. "And they're taking way more than what the law considers stealing. That idiotic blond donkey's ass has raised too many eyebrows with his gambling. I can tell it's just a matter of time before he's arrested for something even bigger. And she gets thrown right in a cell alongside him."

Deb's words shouldn't make me as angry as they do.

It was my idea not to have anything to do with Sabrina after what we did. I chose to make our friendship estranged for the past half a year.

That meant no inquiries about her. No care about how her life would go.

And still...

Deborah talking about Sabrina scratches at some part of me I didn't know I had.

And I don't like it.

But Deborah is pointedly correct.

Sabrina Fletcher is carrying on with the wrong guy. Which is exactly why I’d prayed she wouldn’t come.

Davis Carson owes too much money to too many people for Sabrina to come out of this jam unscathed.

When you come from a real estate family like mine that deals in secrets, you learn pretty young how to recognize the signs of someone on the run.

I guess we were—again—kindred spirits in that way.

After Drew covered my ass in that last f****d-up deal, that's exactly what I've been on...

On the run.

And heading back to the safety of London has never looked better.

Deborah turns to me, interrupting my thoughts. "You knew Davis Carson...right?"

"I'd use the term 'know' loosely. But yeah, I knew the guy."

"I'm guessing through the finance business you know a lot of people, right?"

I stiffen. "You could say that."

"I'm just saying..." Deb continues without taking the hint from the tone of my voice. "I thought you Quinns knew all those big Finance types. I mean, after that finance genius swindled you guys out of all that money, I'd assumed you guys learned how to spot a scammer from a mile away."

I turn. "I wouldn't venture to call a thief like Chris Jackson a 'finance genius' per se."

"Well, I wouldn't trust your word on this one, then."

I sigh. "And why not, exactly?"

Deb downs another martini, setting her glass down. “Well, before Mister Billionaire Biz-Wiz Chris Jackson slipped out of the clutches of his cushy, minimum-security prison, it wasn’t exactly the case that he was arrested for swindling you and your brothers. He was arrested for tax evasion, blah blah blah...The IRS flagged him for special attention. He was one of those who used offshore accounts to avoid paying his taxes."

My eyes narrow. "You lost me."

"You know what I'm saying. He was working with code-word accounts. Using coded names. And the tax audit was the tip-off his accountants were getting."

She sips her martini. "And I understand they closed down his accounts and took him to court. So, under their warrant, they searched him and his property. I heard he wasn't the only one...just one of many. But he was the most prominent of the bunch...even had a nice little stash of money at his place, not to mention real estate all over the place. He must have been very thorough, keeping his close friends in the same line of work. I mean, not every dime of his money was found. There were some rumors he even had more offshore accounts. And seriously? Did those bonehead authorities really think they could keep a man like him in prison? It only makes sense that he had friends to help him escape."

I c**k a brow. "You seem to know a lot about my family woes and our enemies."

Deb nods with an air of satisfaction in her eyes before focusing her attention on the party. "I Googled you before our date, of course."

"Right. Well, let me tell you something that Google won't, darling...I don't take the kind of deals that someone like Davis Carson makes, if that's what you're asking," I say, taking a generous drink from my glass.

“People are funny when it comes to money, I've learned. I’m just saying that the Carson family has money, connections to dangerous people, and dangerous enemies. Maybe that’s the kind of risk Sabrina was after." She glances up. "The internet tells me you're quite a risk-taker yourself, Lachlan. I heard that you got some sort of injury a few years back and left the country without your certification. But your brothers went back for it."

I finish my first glass of seltzer and reach for another.

"I wouldn't say all that exactly."

"Or maybe you’re trying to protect your brothers...?"

I can hear echoes of Deb's words from a story I'm trying to forget. A story that got me on the wrong side of a business deal with a stranger. A stranger who nearly killed me.

And I don't bother correcting her on Davis or his family.

I pause, studying her face.

In some ways, Deborah seems the perfect woman for a one-night date.

Unassuming. Unattached.

Her hair perfectly tousled, wearing a black strapless gown, her smile captivating.

But then she opens her mouth.

"As a matter of fact, I'd say you're right. I'm a man who only opens his mouth for the right reasons, Deb."

"Lucky for me, right?" Before I can tell her just what I think about that particular little comment, my cell vibrates in my pocket.

I pull the phone free, grimacing at my older brother's name flashing on the screen. Honestly, I'd appreciate it if he didn't call.

I'm sober enough to know that when my brother calls out of the blue, it's usually for a lecture. And tonight's as good as any for one, too.

"I'll leave you alone," Deb says, a smirk appearing on her lips. She steps away just as I answer, watching the latest round of guests step inside.

"Yeah?" I grunt into the phone.

"I see someone's in a good mood.”

Noah's voice is cheerful, too cheerful, and I'm immediately suspicious. Deborah's eyes follow me as I make my way out of the party room and enter a quieter alcove cordoned off by elegant French doors.

"Noah, I'm in a very good mood right now," I say, grinding my teeth against the inside of my cheek. "I was just happily having a conversation with a beautiful woman until you interrupted."

"You? Having a conversation with a beautiful woman?" He pauses. "And I'm going to assume by the sound of chatter in the background that the two of you are actually fully clothed...?"

I glance to my side, catching sight of Deb before the French doors in the alcove close. "Yeah, I'm fully clothed, yes. And she is too, yes. Did you call to critique my social skills?"

"No, actually. Just surprised that you're capable of speaking to women when their clothes aren’t lying in a pile on the floor.”

My older brother chuckles into the phone.

Of course, this makes me feel guilty.

In a way.

But only a small one.

A grin finds my face against my will.

“If I’m not mistaken…that used to be your M.O. So…is that it? You call to relive your glory days through me since yours are now long gone?”

He chuckles again. "Can't I just miss you, Shortstack? I mean, you're back in town, and I haven't even seen you yet. Starting to think you don't care about my well-being.”

"Ah," I say, scratching my cheek, trying to keep my cracked voice from being nervous—the way I am every time my brother calls, making me feel like I’m twelve years old again. "So you just called to catch up?"

"Uh-huh," he says. "And to bust your balls. I heard about who you decided to take to Drew's party tonight." He pauses for effect. “So how is Drew's cousin, Mrs. Deborah Fletcher-Sanchez? Heard there might be trouble in paradise for the Sanchez’s. Derek Sanchez is said to be something of a serial entrepreneur, but lately, his name has been associated more with money troubles…followed by marital troubles. Just didn’t believe the rumors. I guess they’re not really rumors anymore.”

“Hm," I grunt, eyes unmoving from the beautiful brunette standing and mingling just outside the French doors. A beautiful brunette I'm beginning to think I should avoid. “Can’t say I know Derek all that well. Nice enough guy, I think. Saw him a few times at some Fletcher parties in the past."

"Oh yeah? Pardon me, Shortstack…but I’m going to make the assumption that Derek Sanchez isn’t nice enough to let you sleep with his wife…or am I reaching?”

I faintly scoff. "This isn't an episode of Dynasty, Noah. We’re not in a soap opera. And you don’t need to give those rumors another minute of your attention.”

"No?"

"No. Not like you imagine, at least," I say. Even as I speak, my mind is doing a rewind in my head. "I'm not sleeping with Deborah, Dildo-breath. We've only just met. Haven't even finished our first drink yet. And Deborah Fletcher is separated. I would have thought the rumor mill might have mentioned that.”

Noah sniffs, a low laugh sifting between us. "That's true. Besides, I'm pretty sure a lot of men aren't educated on how marriage and divorce work. However, some of us believe in the outdated concept of cheating being something men do and women react to."

I run a hand through my hair. "You know, there are a lot of things I could call you right now, but I'll leave the name-calling to your own future wife."

“Oh, trust me: my lovely wife-to-be has discovered every name in the book to call me by now. Wedding planning is stressful. I think I’d rather have a vasectomy than go through this whole planning s**t ever, ever again.” He snorts on a laugh. “This woman's got me running around Manhattan like a chicken with its head cut off. Caterers and DJs and party favors. My temper is about to explode, not to mention my head."

"Well, as long as it's not your d**k. You'll need that for your wedding night...assuming your soon-to-be wife hasn't deflated it or cut it off by now."

"Good one. But if it's all the same to you, I'll take your advice the day you wind up with a wife...which I'm assuming will be sometime in the year Never-The-f**k-Ever. And speaking of wives..." His tone turns serious, lowering its volume until it's almost grim. "Have you talked to Jase yet? You know he's asked about you..." He hesitates. "He knows you're in town. I couldn't hide it."

I straighten, pulling my spine off the wall. I take another step across the lush carpet, gazing out the window at the gray rain-streaked street. My heart pounds beneath my collared shirt’s double-breast.

"Good. You don't have to hide it. And neither do I."

"You're really not going to attend his wedding?" he asks, confused. His tone is cautious.

There's a long pause.

"I'm not mad anymore, Noah. I'm just over it. I've moved on."

"'Moving on,' huh? Is that why you're attending your best friend's engagement party with a married woman instead of a single woman?"

"A single woman like who?"

"I don't know... A single woman like that woman you brought to Tommy's party last year. A single woman like the one you took to the baseball game a couple of months ago. A single woman like, maybe...Sabrina Fletcher?"

I freeze.

The line's silent, but I can hear Deb still chatting with other guests in the next room.

My fingers are practically shaking as I lick my lips.

"Don't start, Noah. We're not talking about me and Sabrina again. Trust me."

"If that's the case..." Noah asks, obviously pushing his luck. "Then why do you sound so angry?"

"I'm not angry."

“Bullshit. You used to sound exactly the same when the ref would pull a red card on you. Or when you lost a game to a team you know you should have beaten. And the last time I checked, you told me you could barely get out of London, could barely get out of work any time anyone tried to see you. Yet you're going to a wedding in NYC with a married woman who’s got more baggage than a 757 airliner. Lach…seriously. What the hell is going on?"

I swallow.

"I'm not interested in dating, Noah. That's what's going on," I reply.

I hear more muffled laughter, a dull clink of glasses, organs in the background.

I turn my head to peer out the window, taking in the rain-soaked streets.

Despite my history of getting my balls busted every time we speak, contrary to public opinion, I trust Noah. In fact, he's the only brother that's seemingly capable of telling me the truth.

Even if I don't like it.

His voice grows thick. "But you're interested in her. Sabrina. A blind man could see that.”

My skin prickles. "She's not like other women, Noah."

A longer pause.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she's different. And I don't understand it. I don’t want to understand it. What I need to do…is stay out of her way.”

Another long pause.

"She's 'different,' but meanwhile, you're happy to be in the same place as her." Noah clarifies. "Apart of the same group, anyway."

"Jesus, Noah. Let's not do this here, okay? I've got enough to deal with. And I know she does, too...with all the stories being run by these papers. That's everything that's wrong with this town right now, right there. Rumors spreading.”

Noah agrees. “Yeah. Spreading like a paid s*x worker’s legs in Dubai,” he responds, softer this time. “I did hear all about her and Davis. And it's f****d up. She didn't deserve to be dragged into that business. It's not even her business. She's a victim. And as far as I'm concerned, she shouldn't exactly be ashamed about what her f**k-boy boyfriend did. It’s not like she knew…Despite what those God-awful pieces of s**t-tabloids are saying. Running stories like that is bound to put that woman through a lot of unnecessary pain. To put it mildly, Davis has a lot of enemies these days. Which means I’m sure Sabrina does, too.”

My eyes roll back in my head. The frown on my face must be obvious from the other end of the line.

Then, I take a deep breath. "I know. Believe me, I know."

It isn't the first time I’ve considered how much danger Sabrina is in right now. Especially since she's frozen herself in place after hearing about Davis' loan issues.

But Noah isn't wrong.

Sabrina was—is—vulnerable. Aside from her family, she doesn't have anyone else. I just hope I'll be able to convince her of that soon.

"I haven't even had a chance to talk to Sabrina about it," I admit, still gazing out the window at the rain-soaked street. "But I will soon. Don't worry."

"Worrying is all I do when it comes to you, Shortstack," Noah adds, chuckling. "I know you can handle it, Lachy. Believe it or not, I trust you to do the right thing…even if it takes your thick-headed ass time to do it.”

I'm quiet.

"I'm only concerned because I don't want to see you get hurt. I've seen you keep up the act about a million times by now."

My eyebrows rise. "What act? What are you talking about?"

"It's simple, man. You can't fool me. I know how much you care about her."

The line goes silent. I simply grip the phone in my hand. I feel prickling sweat between my fingers.

After years of sharing private thoughts with Noah, I'm surprised by his reaction. He's right. Speaking to him like this always stirs up buried emotions. I can feel it now, my stomach churning.

"Look, Noah. I'll handle it. I need to handle it. I simply can't stand by, watching Sabrina get attacked again over something so..."

"Disastrous?" he offers.

"Yes. Disastrous. And it's all falling right on Sabrina."

I may not know Davis Carson very well, but I know his kind of debts. The kind that don't go long without someone paying up.

This whole trip back to New York has one goal: To do my Best Man duties for the best friend I owe. And to disappear as soon as they are done.

I have no plans of veering from that path...but staying focused is quite the task when Sabrina's presence is just as unavoidable as the rain outside.

I say goodbye to Noah and place the phone back in my pocket.

...but then it rings again.

My hand pauses. I'm startled by the voice on the line.

"Hello?"

"Sabrina," I breathe.

"I...hi."

Her voice is quiet, hesitant. But there's no doubt it's her.

“Hello." I actually can't feel my lips forming the words anymore.

I'm not sure how to respond for a second.

A partial laugh.

She chuckles. "Hi."

I feel my chest thumping. It's actually strange how simple that word is. How simple I feel after hearing it now.

We hold the line silent a second before she continues.

"We need to talk," she exhales as if she's read my mind. "We, uh...need to talk. Right now."