Betting on Bailey (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing For Love Book 1) (21 page)

I
’m
fast asleep when Daniel calls, and it takes several rings of the phone to pull me out of my slumber. When I see who it is, I pick it up, but my eyes stay closed. It was a late night at
Seb New York,
and I want to catch up on sleep. “Dude,” I protest into the receiver, my voice thick with fatigue. “It’s far too early for a phone call.”

“There’s a photo of you, Bailey and me on the front page of the Post.”

Okay. That wakes me up. I drag myself up to a seated position and wipe the back of my hand over my eyes. “Tell me more.”

“We’re shirtless, she’s in her bra and panties, and the photo was taken in my game room.”

I’m wide awake now. This is bad. This is very bad. Every time I see Bailey’s round ass bent over the pool table, my dick hardens. The three of us have had sex a countless number of times in that room.

“Stone Bradley’s on his way over.”

I know Stone. Daniel’s used him before. He’s smart and discreet, and he gets results. “I’m coming over as well.”

“Be careful,” he advises. “The front of my building is swarming with reporters.”

“I’ll figure out a way.” Daniel’s building has a back entrance. If that doesn’t work, then I’ll just brave them. I pause, not sure if the next question is going to be a sore point. “How’s Bailey taking this?”

Daniel groans. “I can’t reach her. Her phone’s going straight to voicemail. I’m stuck here. I can’t go find her and talk to her, and before you suggest it, neither can you. The paparazzi are going to be wondering who Bailey is. We can’t lead them to her.”

Damn it, he’s right. I definitely don’t want Bailey associated with this mess. In my business, any publicity is good publicity, but Bailey’s in academia and it’s not the same in her world.

“I’m going to keep trying her,” he continues. “I don’t know what else to do.”

I can hear the hopelessness in his voice. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes,” I tell him. “And we can tackle this shit together.”

H
ad
I stopped to think about it, I would have realized that there had been warning signs. Dr. Landrieu was late with his work. A couple of weeks ago, he’d presented a synopsis that had been light on facts, and when I’d asked him for his list of sources, he’d been evasive.

I didn’t question it because he’s famous and tenured and I’m just a lowly assistant professor.

I’ve been busy hanging out with Daniel and Sebastian, being distracted by amazing sex, gourmet meals and my steadily improving pool game. For the first time in my life, I’ve placed my personal life ahead of work.

Monday morning, when I get to my office, I realize my distraction has come with a price tag. There’s a message from the Smithsonian Press in my inbox. I open it, absently thinking that their paper review process has become quite fast, only to be greeted with a shock.

I’m being accused of plagiarism.

My heart hammers in my chest as I scan the contents of the email. The peer review process raised some red flags. Further inquiry found entire sections of our paper without merit, with no underlying facts to back up our assertions. And most damningly, the subject of our research is too similar to some pioneering work that the University of Buenos Aires has been doing. A professor there is alleging that his work has been stolen.

Of course, the paper has been rejected, but that’s the least of my troubles. Right now, my department chair is probably receiving an email questioning the ethics of his department. Tomorrow, the president of NYU will get a memo, and as soon as he gets it, I will be fired. Even though my work is rock-solid, and even though Landrieu committed the crime.

I bury my head in my hands and give in to complete, total despair. I don’t hear the knock at first, then it’s repeated again.

I lift my head up to see Sameer at my door, his face radiating concern. “Bailey, is everything okay?”

“No,” I whisper. I bring up the email on the screen and wave him toward it. “Everything’s not okay at all.”

T
wo hours later
, my office is crowded with people. Sameer’s there, holding a mug of tea, his expression somber. Steve Ashworth, the department head is there. And so is a woman called Peggy Wilkerson, who is, as best as I can tell, a lawyer from the University administrative office. For a brief moment, I wonder if I’m being fired now, until I reason that if that were the case, Steve and Peggy would have made sure to kick Sameer out.

“I didn’t do this, Steve,” I say for the first time. When I say those words aloud, a cloud seems to fall away from me. “This email is talking about plagiarism in the Patagonia section. That’s not me. That’s Pierre Landrieu.”

“I know, Bailey,” Steve starts to say, then Peggy nudges him and he closes his mouth. I guess the university can’t acknowledge that I’m innocent in case I turn around and sue them when they fire me.

And they will fire me. NYU hates scandal, and plagiarism is a cardinal sin in our profession. I’m good at what I do, but in the larger scheme of things, I’m an easily replaceable assistant professor, while Pierre Landrieu is a super-star who has his tenure. As Trevor has pointed out, people with liberal art PhDs are working in his fast-food restaurants. The university will have no trouble finding a replacement.

But I won’t go out without a fight, because this is unfair.

“There’s going to be a review,” Steve mumbles, looking everywhere but at me. “We’ll discuss the matter with the Smithsonian Press and with Valentin Perez in Buenos Aires. I’ll keep you posted.”

“What about Dr. Landrieu? Aren’t you going to talk to him?”

“Yes,” he blinks. “We’ll talk to him too.”

This is bullshit. The fact that they are not even trying to talk to Pierre Landrieu, possibly the only person who can prove my innocence? They’ve already made their decision.
I’m getting fired.

Steve and Peggy take their leave, and Sameer remains behind. “This blows,” he says frankly.

“Yeah, well, what do you do?” My voice is gloomy. “You heard them. They’ve made up their minds to fire me.”

“Fight this, Bailey,” he urges, patting my shoulder. “Write letters. Petition people who have influence. Take this public. What the university is doing is wrong and unfair. Don’t let them get away with it.”

I don’t reply. I’m in shock as I watch him leave my office. My life feels like a house of cards, all tumbling down. I can’t believe how quickly Steve must have agreed to fire me.

I grope around in my purse for my phone. Usually, Daniel, Sebastian and I message each other multiple times a day, a fact that caused no end of giggles at the last Drinking Pack night. When I glance at the screen, it’s dead. Crap. My battery must have run out, and I haven’t noticed. A sudden, overwhelming urge to talk to Daniel and Sebastian washes over me. They can’t fix this situation - no one can, but when I’m with them, I feel cared for.

There’s a spare charger somewhere in my clutter. I hunt around for it, when a thought strikes me. A thought I’m tempted to dismiss right off the bat.

Petition people who have influence,
Sameer said. Who has more influence than Daniel Hartman? NYU has a hundred and fifty million reasons to listen to him.

Part of me doesn’t want to do this. I’d like to do this on my own. Maybe I should trust in the system and let the review process work.

I’m many things, but I’m not naive. In the real world, Dr. Landrieu is famous and world-renowned, and I’m an assistant professor. It’s going to be far more convenient if I take the fall for the plagiarism. After all, who’s going to fight for me? Sameer? He has a kid and he doesn’t have tenure. He’d be stupid to interfere.

Steve? The university administration can exert a lot of pressure on the head of my department. Delayed funding, slower hiring, inconvenient class schedules. Steve will know not to mess with the powers-that-be.

No. If I want to keep my job, I have only one option. Though I’ve made it explicitly clear that I want nothing to do with his money or his influence, I need to ask Daniel for help.

When I first met them, I would have hated to ask for a favor, but things are different now. My relationship with Daniel and Sebastian has deepened. We are no longer at the point where I’m worried that they are trying to impress me with their money and their power. I trust them.

I plug my phone into the charger and wait somewhat impatiently till the battery has enough juice for me to be able to power it up. As I start dialing Daniel’s phone number, I see missed call after missed call. Fifteen in all, all from Daniel.

There are more than a dozen text messages as well, and I open one of them. ‘Bailey. Please trust me. Whatever happens, I will fix this.’

What’s going on?

O
f course
, I call Daniel right away, not bothering to listen to his voicemails. The text message he sent me was very mysterious, and I don’t do well with mystery.

He picks up on the first ring. “Bailey,” he says. His voice is cautious.

“What’s going on?” I ask him. “You can’t have heard about this already.” Daniel is freakishly well-informed, but even he can’t already know about my troubles.

“Heard what?” he asks. “Have you listened to any of my messages?”

“No, I thought I’d call you and you could fill me in.” I grimace. “I don’t really remember my voicemail password.”

He chuckles. “Ah, Bailey, I love you.” There’s a smile in his voice as he says those words, and it feels like someone has draped a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer, all around my heart. It feels pretty damn good.

His next words wipe that feeling away. “Have you looked at the Post?”

“No, I’ve had rather an eventful morning,” I reply. “Should I?”

His voice is taut with tension when he replies. “Yes, you really should.”

“
D
amn
.” That’s all I can bring myself to say after seeing that picture. Just damn.

“I’m so sorry I let this happen, Bailey.” There’s misery in his tone. “This is my fault. I’ve failed you.”

“Whoa there, Mr. Overreaction,” I snap. “Slow it down. Did you leak this photo to the tabloids?”

“Of course not.”

I glare at my cell phone, my own troubles forgotten for the moment. Maybe if I have more time to think about it, I might become angry with Daniel. Right now, I’m more concerned about the impact this will have on his Kansas City deal. He’s been working so hard.

“Then the person that leaked the photo is the one I’m angry at, not you.” My voice softens. “Daniel, I trust you. We’ll deal with this, Sebastian, you and me. Together.” I laugh, though there’s not much humor in my tone. The stress of the morning has brought on a mammoth headache. All I want to do is swallow some aspirin and crawl into bed. “Your news is kind of stealing the thunder from mine.”

“What’s going on?” His tone becomes alert. “You said I couldn’t have heard already. Heard what?”

“Dr. Landrieu plagiarized huge sections of his research from some professor at the University of Buenos Aires, and I’m being cast as the scapegoat.” I try and fail to keep the bitterness from my voice. “The university is reviewing my case now. I’m expecting to be fired tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” he swears. I can picture him so clearly on the other end of the line. His eyes closed, his expression tired. All I want to do is snuggle next to him, comfort him and be comforted. “I’ll make a call,” he says finally. “I’ll put a stop to that.”

“It’s not too much to ask?” I don’t want him to think that I’m with him for his contacts or his money. Most of the time, I can fight my own battles. Sometimes though, I need a little help.

“No, Bailey,” he says with exasperation. “God, you are the most maddening woman. I call you, fully prepared for you to never want to see me or hear from me again because of the tabloids, and you are asking me if it would be too much trouble to call NYU on your behalf?”

“Well, if you put it like that.” I take a deep breath. “How’s Sebastian handling this? And can I come over?”

“He’s here. He’s not thrilled, of course, but he’s managing. The notoriety won’t harm him. It’s you I’m concerned about. And as much as I want to see you,” his tone softens, “coming over is a bad idea. The entrance to my house is crawling with paparazzi, waiting for another whiff of scandal.”

“Why is it okay for Sebastian to come over and not me?”

“His face is in the photo, honey. Yours isn’t, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Oh,” I pause. “Okay, that makes perfect sense. I thought I was going to get some sexist reason.”

He laughs. “When this is over, you’ll meet my mother, and you’ll understand how much trouble I’d get into if I ever dared to insinuate that the rules are different for women.”

Sure, there’s a photo of us in the tabloids. Right now, I don’t care. Not when Daniel just said he wanted me to meet his family. “You want me to meet your mother?” I ask out aloud, needing to confirm what I’ve heard.

“Of course. I’d have taken Sebastian and you already to Sunday lunch, except I was trying to stay out of the tabloids, remember?”

“Oh. And your mom will be cool with our thing…?”

“Ménage, Bailey. Or threesome, if you prefer.” He sounds amused.

“I can’t say those words out aloud in a sentence that has mom in it,” I reply. Then I groan. “Shit, if you are going to tell your mom about me, I have to tell my parents about us too at some point.”

“I’ve already told her.” He sounds puzzled. “I told her weeks ago.”

Oh. I don’t know what to do with that revelation, so I focus back on the conversation at hand. Looking at the photo on my screen again, I notice something that has so far escaped my attention. “Daniel, this was taken in your game room.”

“I know. The place is being swept for bugs now.”

“Who could have planted it?”

“My money’s on Cyrus,” he admits. “He more or less threatened to leak some more pictures if I didn’t resign as CEO.” He hesitates. “I think I’m going to do it, Bailey. The next photo could reveal your face, and I can’t risk it.”

My first, instinctive reaction is to tell him to fight. He can’t give in to Cyrus’ blackmail. Then I stop and consider the consequences of what would happen if naked photos of me end up in public circulation.

My colleagues would whisper about my personal life. If I do get tenure, everyone will assume it’s because I’m sleeping with the billionaire who gave the university one hundred and fifty million dollars. And my parents? Yikes. I don’t even want to think of their reaction.

Then I think about Daniel and Sebastian.

Daniel defended me against Clark before he even knew me, betting on me to succeed. He’s spent hours patiently coaching me, helping me practice shot after shot. Yes, he said one horrible and hurtful thing, but after that moment, he’s done everything to make amends.

Sebastian looks like a bad boy with his ripped abs and his tattoos, yet he’s cooked dinner for me more times than I can count. When I forget to eat, lost in research or engrossed by corrections, it’s Sebastian that reminds me to stop for food.

I’ll be lying if I told you that being in the public eye this way doesn’t bother me. Of course it does. I’m human, and this is a horrible, disgusting invasion of our privacy.

But when it comes down to it, I care more about Sebastian and Daniel. And I can’t see a version of the future that doesn’t have them in it. I love them. As insane as it is, I love both of them, and I want both of them in my life. For a long time. Forever.

My decision is made. When I speak, my voice is firm. “No. You can’t give in to Cyrus. Fight back, Daniel.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, and I fear he’s already made up his mind. “How could Cyrus have planted the camera anyway?” I ask him, to keep him from making any rash decisions. “Has he visited you lately?”

“No,” Daniel says, sounding frustrated. “If I could prove it was Cyrus, I could fight back, but I have nothing. The only people who have visited are you and Sebastian. And my housekeeper, of course, but she’s been with me forever.”

“And Juliette…” I say slowly, remembering something. “Remember? A few weeks ago? Juliette needed to drop off the proofs of Sebastian’s cookbook, and you told her to drop them off at your house?”

“That’s right,” he says slowly. “I’d forgotten about that. Hang on, Bailey, let me get Sebastian on the line. Talk to him while I go alert Stone.” I hear him call out to Sebastian. “It’s Bailey,” he explains.

“How are you doing, Bailey?” Sebastian comes on the line and asks me, his voice concerned.

“I’m fine, I think,” I tell him. “It hasn’t sunk in yet. I’ve already had quite the morning.”

“What happened?”

I fill him in on the happenings at the university, and he swears softly. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, Daniel’s going to make a call for me,” I tell him, wishing I was there in person with them. “I decided I’m not too proud to ask for help.”

“Good girl,” he says approvingly. “Ah, here’s Daniel. Let me put you on speaker phone.”

“Did Bailey fill you in about Juliette?” Daniel asks.

“No,” Sebastian sounds puzzled. “What’s Juliette have to do with this?”

Daniel quickly explains our discussion and Sebastian whistles. “You think Juliette planted that camera?” he asks. “I can’t see her doing something like that.”

“You guys. Listen to me,” I interrupt both of them. “She’s already warned me away from Sebastian once.” I tell them about the bathroom incident. “She’s obsessed with Sebastian’s career. And Daniel,” my voice rises with excitement as I remember something else. “She was talking to Cyrus at your party for the longest time.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t notice?”

“No,” he says. “They don’t really know each other.”

“Well,” I insist, my voice stubborn, “they appeared to be as thick as thieves. I know what I saw.”

“I’m not doubting you,” he says at once. “Not even in the slightest. I know how eager Juliette is to get this deal done.” His voice is grim. “I just didn’t think she’d stoop to this level.”

To be honest, neither did I. Yeah, Juliette’s ambitious and intense, but I didn’t think she’d resort to leaking photos of us to the tabloids. For starters, the plan makes no sense. Sebastian isn’t going to be more cooperative if this photo is front page news.

“I’m going to sort this out,” Sebastian promises. He hasn’t said anything for a while. “Bailey, if Juliette did do this…” His voice trails off. “I’m so sorry.”

“Will you stop?” Exasperation tints my voice. “God, you are just as bad as Daniel. Stop blaming yourselves for things that Cyrus and Juliette did. I’m not annoyed at the two of you. I’m saving my anger for the people that caused this situation.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a long time. Finally, Sebastian speaks, his voice very quiet. “We don’t deserve you, Bailey,” he says. I hear a phone ring in the background, and Sebastian picks it up. “Helen? What’s going on?” he asks. “Bailey, I have to take this call. Talk to you later?”

“Bye,” I tell him. “Daniel, you still there?”

“I am,” he confirms.

“You said you loved me earlier.” My heart is in my throat as I speak, but I have to know. “Was that a slip of the tongue?”

“Of course I love you, silly.” His voice softens. “Though it’s a rotten time to tell you that.”

A smile breaks out on my face. He loves me. One down, one to go. Now, I just have to confirm that Sebastian feels the same way. Because there’s three of us in my version of happily-ever-after, and I’m not going to settle for anything less than both of them.

“I love you too, billionaire boy,” I reply. “Now, go fix this. And if it turns out Juliette planted the camera, I will punch her.”

“Stop calling me billionaire boy,” he grumbles, though there’s a smile in his voice. “I hate that nickname.”