Chapter Text
“What the–?”
Kate bent down and picked up the envelope on the floor, throwing her keys to the countertop. It was the third one since she’d moved in a fortnight ago, with the same name scrawled on the front of it. A Bridgerton . She assumed he was the previous owner of the apartment, and had forgotten to let this person know that he’d moved out. Or maybe it was deliberate, and he simply didn’t have the energy to send them notice.
These letters were… infuriating, to say the least. Whoever Bridgerton was, they needed to grow a pair and stop ignoring whoever the letter sender was.
But despite the junk mail, it was her dream apartment, in every sense that mattered. A skyline view, close enough to the centre of the city that she had hustle and bustle without feeling hemmed in.
It wasn’t far from her favourite place to run, she had friends nearby, and she could just about afford a place like this for the first time in her life. The small indie production she’d starred in had made it to the Cannes film festival, and from that came a couple of other side roles; an appearance in a prime-time sitcom, an advert for a shampoo, and most recently, a part in an animated movie (which was only about seven lines). She’d be lying if she said she’d been skyrocketed to A-List. Her agent, Alice, was convinced she would get more call-ups, but so far, nothing much had happened, despite some rave reviews from critics at Cannes.
This apartment was a big step-up from her dingy flat in Enfield. Even her sister, Edwina, had declared it perfect the second she’d stepped through the front door to help her move in. She already found herself worrying about the rent, though, wondering if she’d been too hasty moving into such a nicer place.
Was it morally wrong to open somebody else’s mail? In her mind, if this Bridgerton man or woman truly cared about whoever was writing to them, they would have bothered to tell them they were moving house.
She’d left the other letters, for now. But this was getting ridiculous. They were piling up on her counter. She’d already emailed the landlord to ask him to put her in contact with Bridgerton, but he hadn’t gotten back to her yet.
“Fucking Bridgerton,” she groaned, tossing the letter to the side. She only lasted ten seconds before storming back over there, picking it up and ripping open the seal, her curiosity and annoyance outweighing everything else.
She pulled the envelope apart with an odd sense of anticipation.
It was nothing special, really; a folded-up piece of paper written in a messy hand. Then again, physically writing something with ink was personal, wasn’t it? More intimate than a hastily typed-out email, or a text.
Suddenly her mind was whirring. What if Bridgerton had a stalker, and the reason they wrote letters was that they were blocked from calling or texting? What if some random person appeared at the apartment in the dead of night to search for Bridgerton, and found Kate instead? She did not want to be the unintended target of a psychopath.
Kate bit her lip and opened the letter, frantically scanning the page for any sign of creepy or stalker-ish behaviour.
Anthony,You can’t hide from this. I’ve sent multiple warnings and you haven’t responded to any of them. I’m flying to London with the legal documents. There’s nothing you can do.
Siena
Kate blinked, then re-folded the letter and replaced it inside the envelope. Bloody hell . She finally had a name for the ex-owner of the apartment; Anthony Bridgerton. She rolled the word around in her mind, conjuring up an image of him. She pictured him as tall, in his thirties, maybe. Or perhaps older. Maybe he had an affair with this Siena woman, and now she was coming to London to get him back.
She pulled out her phone to text her sister.
K: You know those weird letters I’ve been getting?
E: Yes. Have you had another one??
K: Yep. I opened it.
E: Kate!! That’s private info
-but I would’ve opened it too 🙂
K: Sooo, it’s actually to an Anthony Bridgerton. And it looks like blackmail.
K: Attachment: 1 Image
Edwina sent a string of horrified emojis, and a few seconds later, her icon lit up the phone screen. Kate answered the call, putting her on speaker.
“That’s weird,” Edwina said immediately.
“I’m glad you think so, too.”
“You need to tell this person that he doesn’t live here any more.”
“And how am I meant to do that?” Kate bit the end of her thumb as she paced around the living room. “This Siena woman is abroad, I have no idea where she’s staying, and she’s coming back in less than a month to confront Mr Bridgerton.”
“Oh, god,” Edwina groaned. “I don’t know what to suggest. It sounds kind of threatening. Do you have the other letters?”
Kate’s head snapped up. “Yes, I do! Oh my god, why haven’t I opened them yet? I’m so stupid, hang on–”
She grabbed the two off the counter and flipped to the earliest dated one, from the day after she moved in.
“Read out what they say,” Edwina urged.
She ripped it open and started reading.
Anthony,
You never gave me your number and I don’t know where you work, but for some reason you gave me your address for when I’m back in London, so here we go.
You left early that morning. I thought you’d have the decency to say something. Goodbye, maybe.
I hope you realise this wasn’t my idea. We need to talk about it and sort it out.
Siena (Vegas)
“Vegas?” Edwina practically screeched. “What happened in Vegas?”
“I don’t know.” Kate gritted her teeth, tossed the letter to the side and picked up the next, which was dated a week after the first. “God, this woman must’ve spent a fortune on postal shipping. Whoever this man is, he probably doesn’t deserve all this effort.”
Edwina laughed, and then went quiet to listen again as she read the second letter.
Anthony,Stop ignoring me. You and I both know what happened that night, I have the documents to prove it. Someone showed me who you are. You’re a producer, right? Would’ve been nice to know. I’ve read stuff about you. You’re a jerk, always in the newspapers for something.
Wouldn’t they love to know who got you to settle down?
If you don’t get back to me with a solution, I’m breaking this little secret of ours wide open. I’m serious.
Siena
“Holy shit, this is worse than I thought,” Kate murmured, scanning over the words a few times. Whatever Anthony Bridgerton had done, it was enough to make this girl fly back to England to sell the story to the press.
“It sounds like he got married in Vegas,” Edwina announced suddenly. “Think about it. Whatever happened in Vegas was bad, and made him run away the next day. And she said she made him ‘settle down.’ To me, that sounds like a drunk wedding.”
Kate paused. “You might be right. This is why you’re studying law.”
There was a giggle down the other end of the phone line. “All jokes aside, Didi, I think you need to find this man.”
“Probably, yeah,” Kate sighed. “Sounds like he’s pretty famous, though, so I don’t know whether–”
“Found it!” Edwina cut her off. “I’ve found the address of the headquarters he works at, for his music label. I’ll send them to you now.”
Sure enough, a text came through with a link to a webpage.
“Fuck, he’s rich.” Edwina breathed. “Kate, he’s worth a lot of money. Like, millions.”
“What?” Kate clicked on the link and it opened up to a Wikipedia page on his record label. His own profile was underneath, with a small image of him taken on a red carpet. She found herself zooming in without thinking.
He was, frustratingly, rather handsome. Gorgeous, even. He was tall, and had his arm slung loosely around a woman’s waist in the picture, an easy smile on his chiselled face. His stance was one of well-practiced confidence, and even the small lock of chestnut hair which fell out of place simply added to his magnetism.
“He…” Kate shook herself, clicking off the window. “Yeah. I didn’t know that’s who the letters were for.”
Edwina cackled. “If I’d seen him before, I would’ve told you to get off your ass right now and go and find him. He’s hot.”
He was hot. But she was never going to admit that, especially if he’d broken this poor Siena girl’s heart.
“I’m searching him up,” Edwina said, before gasping. “Okay, Siena wasn’t lying about the headlines. The guy’s a bit of a player.”
That wasn’t particularly a surprise, Kate thought.
“But,” Edwina continued, “even if he is a jerk, he deserves to know about this. He probably has no idea that this woman is coming for him. She might try to ruin his image. And if he’s so rich, she could easily blackmail him for money.”
Kate pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stop her head from swimming. “I know, I know, but I don’t think I should get involved.”
Her younger sister was too nice. She was also extremely convincing whenever she decided to argue, which was why Kate could hardly ever say no to her. This was one of those situations.
“Kate,” Edwina said, almost pleadingly. “If someone was threatening you, wouldn’t you like to know? And it would stop Siena from sending these weird letters to your place. Then you won’t have to worry about her showing up and thinking you’re Anthony.”
Kate considered this.
It was true, she was sick of the confusion with Siena. It was time to set the record straight, and Edwina was right. Anthony Bridgerton did deserve to know that he had accidentally gotten married in Vegas to a woman who was threatening to blackmail him.
“Fine,” she groaned. “Tomorrow, I’ll pay a visit to whatever the record label is called.”
“EBR,” Edwina replied, cheerily. “Wikipedia says it’s named after his father. Let me know how it goes, alright?”
“I will.”
She ended the call and fell back onto the sofa, her head pounding. Fucking hell .
Anthony Bridgerton sat at his desk, watching as the time went from eight o’clock to nine. It was too late for him to still be at the office, but that was how the day usually went.
Simon Bassett, his best friend since college and also one of the city’s most sought-after lawyers, opened the door without knocking. He was one of the only people who ever did that, and Anthony instantly sat up in his seat.
“Ready to fly out to Singapore next week?” He asked.
“Sure,” Anthony lied. He was sick of the travelling. Not long ago he’d flown back from Vegas on business, and it had taken a week to get rid of the jetlag. He barely remembered anything from that trip, except for the fact he’d gotten drunk, gone gambling and woke up in a stranger’s hotel room in nothing but a sailor’s hat.
It had taken fifteen minutes to locate his clothes, but thankfully the girl in the bed hadn’t stirred, so he made his escape unnoticed. Simon had teased him about it for four days after his return.
“Sounds like it,” Simon said, sarcastically. “Want a drink?”
“Yeah, go on.”
“You’re in the paper again.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Anthony rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. “What for this time?”
“Nothing bad, for once,” his friend grinned, pouring them both tumblers of whiskey. “Some tiny report on the biggest names in business this year.”
“Oh.” Usually, headlines meant bad press; either a blurry shot of him climbing into a taxi with someone after a night out, or another clout-chasing fan giving a fake quote on how they’d hooked up. Those ones seemed to have ceased lately, which was nice. He’d learned quickly to deal with them, but that didn’t mean he liked having his name plastered on the front covers for his entire family to see.
“You alright, Ant?” Simon pushed the glass over the desk.
He took a gulp. “Fine, thanks.”
“There’s something on your mind, I can tell.”
Anthony gripped the glass tightly, overturning the thought in his mind which had kept him awake for three nights in a row.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just feel like I’m forgetting something important. Something I need to remember. Ever since Vegas.”
“Oh, god,” Simon snorted. “Did something happen when you were blackout? You didn’t sign over a million dollars to a random guy you met in a casino, did you?”
“I don’t think so.” He ran a hand over his chin. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is. It’s annoying me.”
“Hey, I’m sure it’s fine.” Simon tipped his head back and downed the rest of his glass in one.
“Yeah,” Anthony echoed, doing the same before setting his drink down. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
He couldn't have been more wrong.
The next day, Kate took the tube over to where EB Records had their offices. The directions on Google Maps said it was a fifteen-minute walk, which turned into twenty-five by the time she’d located the front doors of the huge building. It stretched up into the clouds, the huge windows facing outwards towards the Thames.
She supposed it was a beautiful place to work.
When she stepped inside through the revolving doors, she was surprised at how busy the reception area was. There were people milling around in suits, then some dressed more casually, holding CDs (demos of their own work, she guessed) and a couple waiting in leather chairs on their phones.
The main desk was in the centre of the back wall, with a tired-looking receptionist behind it. Kate thought that was probably her best bet, so she made her way over, trying to look like she knew what she was doing.
“Hi,” she said, brightly.
The woman eyed her, her cold expression unwavering. “Can I help you?”
“I need to speak with Anthony Bridgerton, please.”
The corner of the woman’s mouth twitched up, as though there was an inside joke which Kate wasn’t a part of. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” Her hand reflexively felt her pocket, where the letters were folded up.
“Then, my answer is the same.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “Mr Bridgerton is an extremely busy man, do you understand? He has no time for nuisance calls.”
“This isn’t a nuisance call,” Kate argued, her frustration building. “It’s important. I think he’d like to hear what I have to say.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I disagree,” the receptionist said, in the same level tone. “If this is so important, you’ll have to book an appointment. Expect a four-month waitlist.”
“But–”
“It’s a no,” she said, a touch more harshly.
“Danbury,” called out a deep voice from somewhere behind her, “she’s with me.”
The woman’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Kate didn’t need to turn around to see who was behind her.
“My apologies, then,” the woman said, still eyeing Kate with suspicion. “Go on up.”
Kate nodded, finally turning away from the desk to see Anthony standing a few feet away from her, a curious expression on his face. He was dressed as smartly as he had been in the paparazzi pictures; a neatly pressed suit, his hands casually in his trouser pockets as his eyes roved over her from head to toe.
She stepped towards him, finding her legs were shakier than a few minutes ago. He started walking towards the elevator in silence, his jaw clenched in thought. She could only follow him.
“Thank you for that,” she said quietly as he pressed the button on the panel.
“You have fifteen minutes,” he responded.
Her eyes narrowed. The papers had been right; he was a jackass, but she understood why so many women fell for his charm. He practically dripped sex appeal. His biceps visibly strained against the material of his suit jacket when he raised his arm to select the top floor, and when he noticed her looking, his lips tugged into a small smirk.
She mentally shook herself. This was not the time to be distracted by Bridgerton.
“Okay,” she said, swallowing. “Here’s the thing. I think I moved into your old apartment.”
“Okay.”
It was annoying that he was staring at her with such intensity that she found it hard to focus on the matter at hand.
“I got some letters, addressed to you.”
For the first time, his eyes sparked with interest. “Oh, really? That’s thoughtful of you to bring them, but they’re probably junk mail.”
“They’re not,” she said quickly.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You opened them?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” She hissed. “I had no idea who ‘Mr Bridgerton’ was unless I opened them.”
He nodded shortly, which she took as a signal to continue.
“They’re not junk mail.” She exhaled, deeply. “They’re kind of… threatening.”
“What?” His eyes hardened instantly. “Someone is threatening me? I don’t want you to be put in danger just because you’re living in my old apartment.”
That surprised her. She didn’t think he would care much about her wellbeing, considering she was a stranger and he was… well, a much more important figure in the world.
“Do you want to see?” She took the letters out of her pocket, and offered them to him. His brow furrowed as he accepted them, his fingers lightly grazing her skin.
The doors finally opened to his floor, and he gestured for her to follow him out as he read. The crease between his brows deepened as he thumbed through the letters.
“See,” Kate said, “I think they’re serious. I don’t know what you did, or why–”
“When did you get this?” He cut her off, sharply.
“The most recent one came yesterday.”
“Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit. I… Can you wait here for a bit? Are you in a rush?”
Kate blinked, taken aback. “No, I guess not.”
“Alright.”
Suddenly, the man seemed flustered, like he had no idea what to do with himself. He took out a phone from his pocket and held it to his ear, pacing up and down the hall as she watched.
“Si,” he called, “thank god you picked up. How quickly can you get here? It’s urgent.”
Simon arrived less than twenty minutes later. Anthony left the mystery woman out in the hall as he pulled Simon into his office, before wordlessly handing him the letters and collapsing into his chair.
Simon read through them quickly. “Jesus, is this what you couldn’t remember about Vegas?”
“Well, apparently yes, because I got fucking married to some psychopath who wants to make some money off me.”
There were a few moments of silence, aside from Anthony's panicked breathing and Simon thumbing through the pieces of paper. He hadn't seen his friend like this ever since he'd become the head of the label.
“This is serious,” Simon said, rubbing a hand over his face. “This Siena girl… If you’re legally married, she could sue you for half your fortune, Ant.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“It’s alright,” Simon replied, unconvincingly. “I’m the best lawyer in the city. We’ll get you out of this.”
Anthony lifted his head. “I trust you, but I don’t see how.”
Simon continued pacing, the silence stretching out between them. Unfortunately, since he was good at his job, he knew a way to get his best friend out of trouble. But it was not an easy fix.
He turned to Anthony. “Who knows about this? Just you, Siena and the girl in the hall?”
“Yes.”
“We can work with that. We just need to be quick.” Simon’s mind whirred as he checked the door. “Do you know her name?”
“No.”
“I have an idea that might solve this farce,” he said, quietly. “But you won’t like it, and I doubt she’ll agree.”
“Just tell me,” Anthony said, laying his elbows on the desk. “Anything. I can’t let Siena get away with this. I can’t allow half my father’s fortune to go down the drain because of what I did when I was drunk.”
There was more than simply rage in Anthony’s eyes. Simon could recognise pain and shame, too. It was the guilt and embarrassment of what he’d possibly done, especially if it would result in tarnishing his late father’s name. Edmund Bridgerton remained one of the most important people in Anthony’s life, and disappointing him even in death would affect Anthony deeply.
Simon nodded in understanding. “Alright, well, here’s the thing. You can prove she’s lying and get her off your back, if…” He trailed off, and Anthony leaned forward.
“What?”
He sighed. “If you can prove that you’re already married.”
Anthony’s heart dropped to his stomach. “ What? ”
“We can get some documents made that require your and my signatures, and your bride and her witness. It’s simple, really.”
“And who would be my fake wife?” Anthony barked, his head pounding.
The realisation dawned on him a few seconds later as Simon’s gaze travelled to the other side of the door, where the woman was still waiting, typing something on her phone.
She must be close to his age, he thought. And she was beautiful; he’d noticed the second he’d entered the reception just in time to catch Danbury threatening to throw her out. Long, tanned legs; curly hair which he itched to run his fingers through; and eyes he would happily drown in.
She was dangerous.
She was also his only hope.
“Fucking hell,” he whispered.