Secrets Of The A-List (episode 12 Of 12)

By Karen Booth

A secret to die for…

When a sudden change in Harrison's condition summons the Marshalls to his bedside, their loyalties will be pushed to the breaking point. Until now, the Fixer has been holding all the cards. But there's a new player in town and they're playing for keeps, forcing the Fixer to make a bold move that could lead down a dangerous path – and uncover long–buried skeletons the family would rather keep underground. Better grab ahold of something, Marshalls. This house of cards is about to collapse.

Super Rich. Super Sexy. Super Addictive. Secrets of the A–List – read all 12 episodes!

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Nov 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781489250025

Karen Booth

Karen Booth is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on '80s music and way too many readings of “Forever” by Judy Blume. Married to her real-life Jake Ryan, she has two amazing kids with epic hair, a very bratty cat, and loves getting up before dawn to write romance. With plenty of sparks.

Book preview

Chapter One

Mariella’s Halloween masquerade ball was a little more than twelve hours away, and Gabe now regarded the clock as his mortal enemy. Time was evaporating, the calm before the storm going up in smoke. Circumstances today were about to force him to do something he’d never considered—taking a human life.

Vanessa had flown into Vegas two hours ago with the gowns Mariella had ordered for the ball. Like it or not, and he didn’t like it at all, especially since the suggestion had come from Rachel, this was his best window to deal with the Vanessa situation. They were away from Santa Barbara and Casa Cat. The murder would be a sad story, but it wouldn’t cast a permanent pall over the Marshalls and their estate. People would eventually forget about the whole thing.

His sleep had been fitful and fragmented last night, after reaching the conclusion that he had no choice but to get rid of Vanessa permanently. Knowing that it had to happen today put him even more on edge. Every nerve in his body was raw and agitated. That was the most unsettling part. He was the unflappable one. He did not get rattled.

Ever.

To make it worse, his damn phone would not stop ringing, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. After his call from Rachel last night, it was nice to have a break from the business of being the Fixer and deal with something as benign as a party, but this one had become a royal pain in the ass. The list was incredibly tight. Guests couldn’t merely buy their way in. A person had to be somebody. A big somebody. It was Gabe’s job to determine who was in and who was out.

In his suite at the Grecian, he rolled his neck to work away some tension, then stared down his phone’s caller ID. Trudy Binghamton, newly divorced socialite. She’d called twice yesterday. He hadn’t taken either call, on purpose. People like Trudy were accustomed to getting whatever they wanted, but she was a gossip of epic proportions and had been one of the first people to cast suspicion on the true nature of Harrison’s accident. She had to pay for that misstep, even though Gabe ultimately wanted her at the masquerade, sucking down French champagne and stuffing her face with the finest party food MSM had to offer. The Marshalls needed lips flapping about their fabulous party. He needed people with big mouths chattering away that the Marshalls still had it. They were boldly marching forward with business as usual, showing the world that Harrison’s physical state was of little concern, even when it was a worry that never left Gabe’s mind.

This is Gabriel, he answered.

Gabe. It’s Trudy. Trudy Binghamton. You didn’t call me back yesterday.

Gabe smirked and spun a pen on the desk blotter, glancing out the window, wishing they were on a lower floor and he had a view overlooking the pool. Bikini-clad women to admire would’ve been nice instead of the hard and gaudy landscape of the Vegas strip. Was it too much to ask for a pleasant distraction? My apologies, Trudy. I’ve been incredibly busy. What can I do for you so early in the morning?

It’s the masquerade ball. Everybody’s talking about it and I haven’t received an invitation. I’m a little perplexed, to be honest. It’s tonight. I need time to prepare.

Gabe despised the way certain people assumed they would be invited. If only they knew how many hundreds of people were clamoring for a nod. There were no mailed invitations. There is only a guest list. Hold on one minute and let me see if I can squeeze you in. He shuffled a few papers around, even though he already knew what his answer would be. It’s going to be tough, but I have space on the list for you, plus a guest.

I really could use a plus two. I have friends in town, and they would love to come.

I don’t know that I can do that. The list is impossibly tight.

What if I tell you my friends are Megan Lowry and her husband? Certainly a major network news anchor will do you some good. She’s a big foodie, and she’d love to meet Mariella.

Gabe nodded. Things were working out very nicely. Mariella would be pleased. Okay then. But just for you. At this point, we’re in danger of getting shut down by the fire marshal.

Really? There was so much pure delight in her voice she practically squealed.

Gabe would never let things get that out of hand. Mariella would pitch a fit, and that would not convey the current MSM message: all is under control. But don’t worry. Your spots are safe.

Thank you so much, Trudy gushed. I’m really looking forward to it.

Eight o’clock. Black tie for the men. Women are asked to wear dark colors. I’ll send you the flight details, and don’t forget your credit card. We’re hoping to raise a lot of money.

And we’re wearing masks, right? Sounds deliciously naughty, Trudy purred. She’d come on to Gabe last Christmas at a party at the Polo Club, but she wasn’t his type at all. She was all fake nails and phony conversation. Entitlement oozed from every pore of her body. If he entertained a woman with money, he wanted her to be the type who’d earned it, just as he had.

Yes. Bring your mask. ’Bye, Trudy. He hung up and typed her details into a spreadsheet on his laptop. Looking at the numbers, that whole question of breaking some occupancy laws really could become a problem. He might need to give the fire marshal a phone call after all. In Gabe’s experience, a bottle of rare scotch and a promise of VIP treatment at one of the Marshall restaurants were usually enough. Luckily there was room on the fleet of private jets they had reserved, so at least one less problem there.

Gabe’s personal preparations for the party were sewn up—his tux was pressed and ready, hanging in his closet near the elaborate mask Mariella had chosen for him. She’d ordered them for the entire family, custom-made in Venice, Italy, at a moment’s notice and flown to the US via jet. She never spared any expense, especially when she was hoping to make a big splash. He quite liked his, which was described as a Roman warrior mask—solid black surrounding his eyes, with silver metal scrolls that curled down on to his cheekbones and