Текст книги "Throb"
Автор книги: Vi Keeland
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
chapter thirty-three
Cooper
Daylight has barely dawned as I make my way to the office. Leaving Kate lying in my bed, her hair splayed across a pillow and naked body beneath the sheets, was virtually impossible to do. But I’m meeting with my lawyers at seven to go over the terms of the union negotiation before I sit at the table and shake hands on the final deal.
My face is speckled with day-old stubble I had every intention of shaving until I walked into the bedroom and caught a glimpse of her bare ass peeking out. The decision to use the little time I had for other things was an easy one, especially when she mentioned she liked my five o’clock shadow right before I sunk into her.
I find myself thinking about what it would be like to wake up to her beside me everyday. To fall asleep to the sound of her light breaths and vision of her sweet mouth twitching up at the sides as she escapes into dreamland. The realization hits me when I least expect it: I’m in love with Kate Monroe.
The office is empty this early in the morning. I grab coffee, dig out my notes, and start to head to the conference room. Miles’s appearance in my doorway surprises me. “I don’t have time. I have a meeting with my attorneys in five minutes.”
“Make time,” he says with an angry bite.
“Not now, Miles,” I warn.
He ignores me and sits on the couch.
I blow out a frustrated breath, prepared to leave him in my office. Whatever he wants can wait. “What do you need?”
“I need you to keep away from Kate,” he says with an icy tone and a glare to match.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me right.”
I stare at him. There’s an eerie flatness to his voice, cold and loathsome. I freeze.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “I finally have your attention.”
“What game are we playing, Miles?”
He taps his fingers on a jewel case and then looks up to me. “You can have any woman in the world you want. Women fucking throw themselves at you.”
I stay quiet. He needs to show his hand before one of us raises the stakes.
“I let you have your fun. Fucking strolling though Barbados without a care in the world. Without a concern for me. But last night …” His fists ball at his sides. “Fucking that whore in a coat closet.”
Impetuously, I grab him by his shirt with two hands. “Don’t fucking call her that.”
“You’re ruining my show!” he growls in my face.
“It’s a stupid fucking show. She’s playing along for the camera. It’s not ruining anything.”
“You’re a selfish asshole. Dad’s not here anymore. Yet you still need to prove you’re better than me every day … purposely sabotaging my show just to prove something to a dead man.”
“You’re delusional. I’m not sabotaging anything.”
“Ratings are flat. People are tired of watching America’s Sweetheart refute Flynn’s advances. They want to see the action, need to believe she sucks his dick behind closed doors.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I spit, tightening my grip. My veins pulse with seething rage.
“Break it off.”
“Screw you.”
“My show is going to get ratings, one way or the other. We can do it the easy way or the hard way. You decide.” Miles breaks free from my grip and heads toward the door. He stops and tosses an envelope and DVD on the couch. “I don’t suspect the video of you two fucking outside of the guest house will sway you. You’re so goddamn full of yourself, you’d probably secretly like seeing your big dick flashed on every news network.” He pauses. “I knew something was going on when Damian told me you came to him for an investigation on Kate. Did you really think he wouldn’t play us against each other for a bigger payout?”
He takes a few steps and grips the doorway, turning back to drive his final stake into my heart. “I have my life invested in this show. Now you will too,” he seethes. “She lied on her character affidavit to get her brother into that clinical trial he’s in. One anonymously sent document and he’ll be out. And I’m sure the medical licensing board will frown on giving sworn testimony to fraudulently obtain medicine. Maybe they’ll let her practice physical therapy in Mexico someday.” He pauses. “You have until we leave tomorrow to decide how it plays out.” Miles walks out without looking back.
My phone buzzes on my desk again. Everything okay? It’s the third text she’s sent today that I haven’t responded to. I fail at my attempt to sidestep the mess of papers strewn all over the floor as I stagger to the bottle for yet another refill. My unsteady hand spills the amber liquid on the table, the floor … everywhere but in my glass. Frustrated, I knock over all the glasses with one angry sweep of my arm. The sound of glass breaking sends Helen running in.
She looks around at the mess I’ve spent all day making, but says nothing.
“Go home, Helen,” I mumble, slurring my words.
“I … I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“Go home!” I yell angrily and she jumps.
“Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to call Miles?”
Maniacal laughter emerges from my chest. With all the crystal tumblers broken, I grab an unopened bottle and stumble back to my desk. “My little brother has done quite enough for the day. Go home, Helen,” I say, the sadness in my angry voice poking through.
She nods and disappears.
I squint to clear my vision through my drunken haze. I wish I had some glimmer of hope that the documents were fake, but Miles’s face was all the verification I needed. I reread the Emergency Room report for the hundredth time.
Diagnosis—Alcohol-induced poisoning. Positive for marijuana consumption.
And then …
Patient brought in by—Sister, Kate Monroe.
Neither one of them could have known what the ramifications for taking a typical teenage partying junket a little too far would mean. Two weeks after that trip to the Emergency Room, Kyle was paralyzed in an accident Kate feels responsible for, even though it wasn’t her fault. Both Kate and Kyle signed character affidavits to get Kyle into the clinical trial that gave them the first glimpse of hope either of them have had since the accident.
To your knowledge, has the applicant participated in the illegal use of drugs? No.
To your knowledge, has the applicant ever abused alcohol? No.
I probably would have done the same thing—even for my brother. Nineteen years old and unable to move from the neck down. Life can be cruel sometimes. But Kate chose to put her brother first … putting herself at risk by lying for him. She’d give anything to make her brother well enough to walk again. Even her own happiness.
Unwittingly, she’s about to sacrifice that too. I take another swig from the bottle. And so am I. There’s no escaping what I need to do.
There’s a knock at the door as I step from the shower. The two voices exchange words, but I can’t make them out. Probably best. If I hear pain in her voice, I’m not sure I could go through with it. The door clanks shut and the apartment goes quiet again. I throw on sweats and a t-shirt and grab two Tylenol from the bathroom medicine cabinet. My head has the early throb of a soon to be awful hangover, only I haven’t even slept yet.
“You had a visitor,” Tatiana says, a question in her voice.
“Who was it?” As if I didn’t know.
“The girl from the reality show. Kate.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing, really. She just sort of stared at me and then asked if you were home. I said you were in the shower. Then she asked what I was doing here.” She walks to me and places her palms flat on my chest. “Nosey little thing, isn’t she?”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said I was just about to strip and join you, then I asked her what she wanted.” She tilts her head. “Such a prude. She took off after that.” Her hands lift to my neck and she clasps them behind it. Pouting, she whines, “You got done too fast. I didn’t get a chance to suds you up.”
I pry her fingers from around my neck. “Go home, Tatiana. I’m not in the mood.”
Her eyes widen with shock at being turned down. I’d venture to guess it doesn’t happen often—if ever.
“You invited me here.”
“I told you. I needed you to sign the copyright release for the DVD rights sale.”
“You could have messengered it over, instead of inviting me to your place at eleven at night.”
I shrug. “Next time I’ll do that. I drank a little too much and wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“And now you’re thinking clearly?” she mocks me, annoyed and offended.
“Have a good night, Tatiana.”
The slam of the door vibrates loudly a few seconds later.
My plan was effective, what I needed to get accomplished is now tied up in a neat bow. Yet in the end, I’ve effectively become unraveled myself.
chapter thirty-four
Kate
The visual wasn’t enough. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. My heart was already bleeding, but it was the response to my three A.M. text that eviscerated any remnant of hope I’d clung to.
Why? was all I wrote.
His response came ten minutes later. I thought I could do exclusive. I’m sorry.
I dropped the phone, curled back into the fetal position and cried myself to sleep.
“You look … like shit,” Sadie says, sliding me a cup of coffee.
“Good morning to you too.” I skipped the mirror after the shower. But I don’t need my reflection to confirm what I look like … I feel it inside of me.
“Sad because you’re leaving one god behind to run off to a tropical island with another god?” She eyes me over her mug as she sips her coffee.
I stutter to say the words. “Cooper is sleeping with Tatiana Laroix.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He wasn’t answering my texts all day, so I went over there last night.” I make a sound that’s close to a laugh, even though it isn’t funny. “I was worried something happened to him. Tatiana answered the door.”
“Maybe she was there on business.”
“She told me he was in the shower and she was about to join him.”
Sadie’s eyes bulge, then she does what I did half the night after I left … she grasps at straws. “Maybe she was lying. You told me yourself the woman was trying to dig her claws into him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, he’s got it bad.”
“I texted him at three in the morning.”
“And.”
I slide my phone over to her. Her eyes go wide. “There has to be a mistake.”
“What part of ‘I’m sorry. I thought I could do exclusive’ do you think I’m misinterpreting?”
Sadie sighs. Her shoulders slump, her posture looks every bit as dejected as I feel. “I’m sorry, Kate. I just … I thought he was different.”
“So did I.” A tear slips from the corner of my eye and streaks down my puffy face.
Seeing me cry, Sadie’s face reflects the pain I feel inside. “I want to rip his balls off.”
I swallow back sadness and allow anger to seep through in its place. “Could you bring them to me on a silver platter when you do that?”
“You got it. But you know what we need to do today, right?”
“Pack? My flight is tonight.”
“Absolutely not. We need to go get makeovers.”
“I’m not really in the mood.” The mope in my voice depresses even me to hear.
“That’s exactly why we need to do it.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“Pffstt.” She waves her hand. “I make the rules.”
“Don’t the partners whose names are on the letterhead make the rules?”
She winks. “I just let them think that.”
We spend the next few hours at the salon. Sadie insisted I get the deluxe package, threatening the poor girl at the front desk if she didn’t accept her credit card over mine. Everything I chose, Sadie overruled. I asked for a French manicure, Sadie made the girl paint them bright pink, saying it was more island appropriate. I told the hair stylist to give me a trim. I wound up with four inches cut and bold highlights, a heavy streak of blond brightly contrasting with my tanned skin.
I said regular bikini wax, Sadie demanded Brazilian … we settled somewhere in the middle on French. Pretty much the only thing we didn’t argue over was the shape of my eyebrows. In the end, I have to admit, Sadie was right. Although I still felt like shit, the primping and pampering made me look good on the outside, which raised my spirits somewhat.
It’s nearly four o’clock when we finish. I study my reflection in the mirror as Sadie goes around and tips the dozen people who worked their magic on us. They really did do a remarkable job. The makeup artist even managed to bring the swelling down under my eyes and hide the dark circles.
“Looking good is the second best revenge after a breakup,” Sadie says as she comes up behind me, admiring my new appearance.
“Should I bother asking?”
“Fucking a hot rockstar.”
I smile and shake my head as we exit onto the street. “I’m not sleeping with Flynn.”
“Why not? It might make you feel better. I know it would make me feel better to fuck him.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“I hate Cooper right now. But I’m also in love with him.” I finally admit it out loud. Figures it takes me until after he breaks my heart to come clean with myself.
“I know.” Putting her usual sarcasm aside, my best friend takes my hand in hers as we walk. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”
“Thank you.”
“But you know the old saying. When life hands you lemons, grab the salt and tequila.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘make lemonade.’ But I get the idea.” I bump shoulders with her.
“Seriously. Turn this into something positive. Remember the reason you agreed to do the show to begin with. I’ve been watching you walk around silently blaming yourself for something you had no control over for years, Kate. I can’t even imagine what it will do to you if your mom loses the house and Kyle has to stop his therapy. The grand-prize money won’t just help them. It will go a long way to make life easier for you to go back to living. Focus on winning. Don’t let Cooper take that from you too.”
The stretch limousine waits ten minutes while I finish packing. Between my jumbled mind and fragile emotional state, I’m not even sure what the heck is in the sixty-pound suitcase.
Sadie walks me to the car and peeks her head inside. “Wanna French kiss and totally blow their three empty minds?”
“Maybe another time.” I hug her tight. “Thank you for today. For every day.”
“Enjoy yourself,” she whispers. “And focus. After everything you’ve been through, at least win the prize for your family.”
chapter thirty-five
Cooper
The sweat drips from my brow as I turn the machine higher. It’s been two days—two days of conjuring up ugly pictures in my head. Day one was thoughts of Kate being upset. Of her coming to the realization that I’m a total scumbag and crying over the loss of a man she thought she knew. It shredded me.
Then I started to dream up how she would get even. The visions of her in Dickhead’s arms make me run faster. I press the button again and my run turns to a full-on sprint. I run faster and faster, chasing something I can never catch.
A knock at my door saves me from myself. It’s Lou. I open it while I struggle to regain my breath.
“Working out hard, huh, Mr. M?”
“Just running. Helps me decompress.” Usually it does anyway.
“Delivery guy dropped this off from Mile High. Figured it might be important.” He hands me an unmarked small brown package.
“Thanks, Lou.”
I consider tossing the thing in the garbage, actually getting as far as opening the drawer with the hidden trash can and almost dropping it in. Almost. But my curiosity wins out. What the hell could Miles send me after the shit he’s pulled? Begrudgingly, I open the package. It’s a clear jewel case with a DVD inside. I turn it over and find it marked. Day 1 Barbados. That sick, sadistic bastard. He’s going to continue to send me the dailies.
I make it almost a full hour before I’m staring at the monitor. I mutter a dozen curses as I hit play. Five minutes in, the camera zooms in on her. She’s sitting on the beach alone wearing a flowing cover up staring out to the ocean, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks sad. Lonely, even. I freeze the video and stare at the screen like a stalker.
I miss the feel of her skin and the sounds of her laugh. The way she comes back at me with a jab every time I challenge her. It pains me to see the feistiness gone from her eyes. Eventually, I muster the strength to hit play and, within minutes, I wish I could hit the rewind button and unsee what flashes on my screen.
Dickhead cozies up next to her. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he pulls her close to him, his hand rubbing her shoulder intimately.
“You feeling better today?” he asks.
“Yes. Sorry about not joining the welcome party last night. I really didn’t feel well.”
“You didn’t miss much. Mercedes got drunk and Jessica decided to go skinny-dipping.”
“Sounds like at least you had some fun.”
He strokes her hair. “There isn’t much fun when you’re not around.”
“Thanks. But I’m not very much fun these days.”
“Well, I’ll have to work on that.” He grins at her and I get the urge to smack the con-artist dimples from his face. “My new sole mission in life is to see a smile on that beautiful face.” Yeah, and to fuck three other women. Dickhead.
“Come on.” He stands and offers her his hands.
“Where are we going?” She hesitates but puts her hands in his. He tugs her up and then, in one swooping motion, lifts her over his shoulder.
“Flynn!” she warns as he takes off running toward the water. She flails around and he splashes as he hits the water, but he doesn’t stop until he’s chest deep. He shifts, adjusting her from over his shoulder, and cradles her into his arms. Scowling, I clench the laptop in my hands so tight my knuckles go white.
I have to walk away to compose myself for a few minutes before coming back to shut the damn laptop off. I should have just let it play, because what I see hits me like a kick to the chest when I return. They’re coming out of the water, holding hands, and she’s smiling.
chapter thirty-six
Kate
It’s day three post Cooper Montgomery and, while the world didn’t end, there’s a little piece of me missing. I’ve been doing better, smiling when it’s appropriate, interacting with people—well, the staff and Flynn at least—and taking every available opportunity to leave the guest house.
We may have only been here for five days, but there’s a memory at every turn. At night, after everyone goes to bed, I lay in the yellow room, replaying the last couple of months with Cooper over and over. Hindsight is supposed to be twenty-twenty. Yet I see nothing clearer as I look back than I did when it was happening in front of my eyes. Perhaps if I had seen it coming, it wouldn’t cut this deep.
Yes, I was “dating” another man. The word hypocrite may even seem appropriate from the outside looking in. But we both knew what I was doing … and why I was doing it. We’d even made promises to each other—rules we would follow until the show ended. No kissing on the mouth, no sex with anyone but each other … he’d been the one to make the damn rules.
I believed him. I trusted him. Three days of looking for the clues I missed, has left me nothing but exhausted and clueless. Why now, when I look back, can’t I see it coming? The only logical answer crushes me—I can’t see the change because he never really felt what I thought he felt to begin with. I was seeing what I wanted to see all along.
I try the Sadie school of thought to get myself out of my state of perpetual melancholy. If you don’t feel good, at least look good. Finally losing the ponytail I’ve worn since we arrived, I spend a full hour and half getting ready for our group date. I blow out my hair, do my makeup and put on a beautiful blue dress the show wardrobe designer swears was made with me in mind. Looking at my reflection boosts my spirits as much as it can.
When Flynn arrives, I hang back and watch from the hall doorway as the ladies greet him one at a time. Each fusses over him, making physical contact as they speak, flirting in that way that screams he wouldn’t have to work very hard to be in their bed tonight. Flynn stands there, a sweet smile on his face, but the way he looks at them isn’t a mirror of what they’re feeling.
After getting a greeting from the third beautiful woman, I watch as he scans the room. His smile lights up when his eyes fall on me. He does that overt flirty sweep of me that he always does, and comes to me.
“You look gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear after kissing my cheek. Unexpectedly, goose bumps break out on my arms.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” He’s wearing a linen dress shirt with an ocean blue knotted tie that brings out the azure in his eyes even more than usual. Perhaps it’s the tattoos sticking out from the expensive shirt, but somehow he manages a look that screams casually elegant blended with rockstar. It works for him, and he wears it well.
We all pile into the SUV limo and head out for our first group date on the island. My heart lurches when we pull into a parking lot. Of all the places on this island, Miles had to pick the Saturday night beach fish fry. The same one Cooper and I went to the last night we were here.
“What can I get you to drink?” Flynn yells, his hand at the small of my back, leading me through the crowd to the bar. It’s way more packed than the night I was here with Cooper.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“You sure about that?” he questions. “I was about to order vodka tonic and I seem to remember you getting tipsy off a glass of wine.”
I look around, the memory of Cooper and me slow dancing on the grass while everyone around us danced to a fast reggae beat causes a new wave of pain. Pain I need to dull, even if just for a little while.
“Vodka sounds good to me.”
The effects are quick, my mind already numbed as I swallow the last bit of poison from the glass. “Let’s dance.” I grab Flynn’s hand and lead him to the packed dance floor. Closing my eyes, I soak in the energy of the crowd and the heavy beat of the steel drum and begin to let my body sway to the music.
Bodies close in tightly around us—strangers reveling in the warm night air, moving with the sensual verve of the music.
“That’s it.” Flynn wraps his arm tightly around my waist and takes lead of my body. “Let the music take whatever burden you’ve been carrying for a while.” In the moment, surprisingly, it’s easy to do. The alcohol released some of the tension in my body, and the loud, hypnotizing beat of the drum, coupled with Flynn’s hand leading my movement, allows me to forget everything else. By the end of the third song, I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in days. Even when Jessica cuts in, I’m still feeling no pain.
“Thank you. I needed that,” I whisper and kiss him on the cheek as I leave him in Jessica’s quite capable hands.
The problem with drinking alcohol when you’re depressed is that you’re always chasing that initial feel-good buzz. Sobriety starts to rear its solemn head, so you have another drink. But the second one doesn’t affect you like the first, so you have yet another. And before you know it you’re somewhere between feeling no pain and ostensibly obliviated.
I watch from a stool at the bar as Flynn dances with the three women surrounding him. He’s having fun, but the more I get to know him, the more I realize he can pretty much turn anything into a good time. The antithesis of Cooper, Flynn is a free spirit—one who goes with the flow and emanates a casualness that sets the people around him at ease. Cooper, on the other hand, makes people sit taller when he walks into the room.
I order another drink to drown the thoughts in my head. A break in the music draws my focus to the stage. Flynn is peeling off his sweat-drenched shirt. The tattoos on his hard-ridged abs glisten, to the delight of the audience. The local women who had been dancing up a storm scream their praise in heavy island accents and catcall whistles. A dimple-baring crooked smile on his face, Flynn shakes his head, enjoying every minute of it, and takes the microphone from the bass player.
He doesn’t bother with an introduction. Instead he begins to sing. Starkly different than the singer on stage just moments ago, his voice is incredibly soulful and seductive. A woman next to me comments to her friend how she’d like to trace his tattoos with her tongue. Staring at the stage, I can totally see the appeal. He’s a ridiculously handsome man with an undeniable youthful charm. And that voice … it’s throaty and sexy and travels straight through me.
I’m here, you’re there.
Same time, same place,
Yet a million miles apart.
One last cry, let it go, release the pain of the past.
Feelings change, people change
I want your tomorrow, not your yesterday.
Feelings change, people change.
Take my hand, let me lead your way.
Standing beside you, lost in the forest.
Shadows of past bury you deep.
The sun glimmers in the distance
Mending broken dreams.
Feelings change, people change
I want your tomorrow, not your yesterday.
Feelings change, people change.
Take my hand, let me lead your way.
Sacrifice the past, give me today.
Walk to me, don’t walk away
Hear the music, my words are a plea
Open your heart and let love sing.
Feelings change, people change
I want your tomorrow, not your yesterday.
Feelings change, people change.
Take my hand, let me lead your way.
The crowd goes crazy as the last note fades. Then the band picks back up with a song that has the mesmerized crowd grinding with heightened sexual appetites. I finish my drink and stand, but the sky begins to spin and my feet grow unsteady.
Flynn catches me as I wobble. “Woo … you okay?”
“I’m great.” I fling my arms around his neck.
He smiles.
“I liked your song.”
“I’m glad.”
“It was sexy.”
He chuckles, amused.
“Just like you.” I push up on my tippy toes and lean into him, pressing my lips to his. He doesn’t kiss me back.
“You’re drunk,” Flynn says when he pulls his head back.
“So? If Jessica tried to kiss you when she was drunk, I bet you wouldn’t say no.”
“That’s because Jessica would kiss me when she’s sober.”
A little while later, I fall asleep in the SUV on the ride back to Sugar Rose, my head resting on Flynn’s lap. He helps me out of the car and into my room.
The door closing behind us is the last thing I remember in the morning when I wake with a pounding in my head. I’m snuggled into Flynn, his arms tight around me.
“Morning,” he says with a broad smile.
I’m quiet for a moment as I wrack my brain trying to remember what happened after we came into my bedroom. But my mind is completely blank. “Did we?” Too embarrassed to say the words, I motion between the two of us.
He responds with a devilish glint in his eye. “Did we what?”
“You know.”
“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”
I roll my eyes. It’s enough movement to cause my headache to worsen.
“Sweetheart, trust me, if we did, you’d remember it.” He kisses my forehead and hops from the bed.
“Well, then, thank you. For … being a gentleman.”
“Better look under the sheets before you call me a gentleman,” he says sheepishly.
My eyes go wide and, hesitantly, I lift the sheet and look down. I’m wearing a t-shirt and underwear. I look up at Flynn and he shrugs and smiles.
“I might have helped you change.” He winks and disappears.
