by J. L. Leslie
“I have never met anyone as heartless as you, Julian Havoc.”
My eyes widen at the use of my first name. I thought I knew the sound of disappointment, but I had no idea. She has fucking gutted me. I step back, letting her go, impressed with the way she fights back the tears that are in her eyes as she opens my door and leaves with her head held high.
Rage bubbles inside me and I slam my fist against the wall, punching the sheetrock over and over until my hand goes through. It doesn’t matter, though. The pain in my hand does nothing to ease the pain in my heart.
Seventeen
Frankie
I heave out a deep sigh of relief after I get into Kyle’s truck. I’m surprised he didn’t get a citation for being double-parked. He pulls from the curb as I buckle my seatbelt.
“You good?” he asks, and I nod. “You throw it like I showed you? You’re a lefty, so the southpaw is your advantage.”
“I did. Busted his lip, too.”
“I can go back and kick his ass, Frankie, I don’t mind. No one messes with my family.”
I laugh a little because his comment confirms my suspicion that he gave Elliott that black eye and busted lip all those years ago.
“I made myself clear. He won’t be coming around again.”
Knowing that breaks my heart even more. Yes, he was wrong for what he did. He is an engaged man and he cheated on his fiancée. That is despicable, unforgivable, heartless.
It isn’t real, but this, this is real, la mia fiamma.
I still don’t know what that means, and I’m afraid to look it up now. What if it’s some sweet endearment and knowing it will only make things harder for me?
This is supposed to be easy. I had one night with him. It was only one night. I can get past this. I hardly even knew him. You cannot fall in love with someone in one night. You can fall in lust and that is definitely what I did, and I blame that on the fact that I haven’t had a real man in my life since my fiancé cheated on me.
That’s why this shit stings so badly. Finding out my fiancé was cheating on me is one thing, but to be that other woman is an entirely new feeling. I am filled with guilt and shame and deep hatred for myself for wanting to find a way to pretend I don’t know he’s taken and be greedy. For once, I want to be greedy and selfish and indulge myself in all things Julian Havoc.
But I never was good at playing pretend. Never was the selfish type.
“Thank you for bringing me.”
“Not a problem. I’m picking Seth up from school today anyway.”
“And let’s not tell Claire. I know that breaks your marriage code to tell each other everything, but I promised her I wouldn’t speak to him ever again.”
“You had to know.”
“I had to know.” I look over at Kyle. “She told you everything, didn’t she?”
“He took advantage of you, Frankie,” he says, confirming that she did. “You deserve better than that.”
“He said he’s only marrying her as part of some sort of business arrangement. Basically, it’s only temporary and not really his choice. Do you buy that?”
“The man has all the wealth he needs. Why marry some chick to gain more?”
I nod. “You’re right.”
I’m unsure why I’m attempting to make sense of this. He is a very wealthy man. Hell, I compared him to Edward for Christ’s sake. That man, fictional though he may be, was not hurting for money and would not have married a woman to gain more. Why would Julian feel the need to do so?
Julian. Now that I know his first name, I can’t imagine calling him Havoc again, even though that name suits him and what he’s done to me much better.
Maybe that’s why he prefers it. His life is in a state of havoc. He’s in a loveless relationship, being forced into marriage. Havoc is what he knows, what he leaves behind.
When we met, there was this undeniable force that pulled us together. He felt it; I felt it. That is what I want to rationalize. It’s fucking stupid and romanticized and so unrealistic that it almost makes me laugh.
The truth is, he’s a grown man who is trying to have his cake and eat it, too. Oh yeah, and he wants to lick the icing off that cake and do all kinds of delicious things to that cake and pound that damn cake, but in the end, that cake will be obliterated because a cake can’t handle being eaten, licked, and pounded.
It will crumble and fall completely apart and I sure as fuck can’t repair such a catastrophe to a fragile cake.
Eighteen
Havoc
Picking up Anneliese from the airport is most certainly Daysha’s revenge for having her cancel the Matteo meeting. She knows I despise Anneliese and that I would’ve sent a car for her instead of personally picking her up. If she weren’t such a great assistant, I’d fire her over this Anneliese bullshit.
Nonetheless, I am here now, even if I’m running half an hour late. Although I didn’t explain to Daysha exactly what happened to the wall of my office, I did have to let her schedule a repair. I also, begrudgingly, had to ice my jaw and knuckles.
“You’re late,” Anneliese says when I open the door.
“I’m aware.”
“Put everything in the trunk,” she orders the valet and slides onto the passenger seat, facing me with a look of pure annoyance. “What happened to you?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
The valet closes the trunk, and I hand him a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill, tipping him generously, before pulling off. If he had to wait with Anneliese for half an hour, he deserves a grand.
“I leave you for a couple of days and all you do is get into trouble,” she says, taking my wounded hand in hers. I snatch it out of her grasp, and she chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart, how I missed this tension between us. This hate simmering just beneath the surface. It makes for a good fucking later.”
Anneliese reaches over the console and begins to massage my dick through my pants. All it would take from me is a bit of encouragement and she would be on her knees in her seat, my cock in her mouth. She unzips me and pushes her hand inside, stroking me until pre-cum beads at my tip.
“Stop.”
I clench my jaw as I say the word, annoyed that I let her get as far as I have. She pumps faster, determined to make me find my release as she begins lowering her mouth to my dick.
“Fanculo!” I snap and grab her, flinging her back to her seat.
She lets out a laugh. “Someone’s cranky.”
“Non toccarmi!” I warn and she leans over, propping her elbows on the console.
Anneliese trails her fingertip down my chest and then reaches up, grasping my face before she licks my cheek. “I hate when you speak Italian ― unless you’re balls deep in my pussy.”
“Do not touch me,” I growl.
“Is that what you said to me? You don’t want me touching you? We’re going to be married, sweetheart. Touching you is a given.”
“Why do you want to marry me, Anneliese? You know damn well I don’t love you.”
She sits back in her seat. “I want the fairytale, Havoc,” she answers. “Not the one where the princess meets her prince and they live happily ever after. That fairytale is bullshit, and everyone knows that. I want the fairytale where my prince is handsome and rich and knows how to fuck, and guess what, you meet that criteria. I want the fairytale where I can take off to Paris whenever the fuck I feel like it. The one where money is no object. You think I give a damn about love? No, having money and power is my fairytale. Let’s not pretend that we aren’t exactly the same. The only difference is, I have a pussy between my legs.”
A few weeks ago, I would’ve completely agreed with her. We were the same. I was marrying her because she was good for business. Fucking her was satisfying. I didn’t desire anything more.
Then, I met Frankie Conn. I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. La mia fiamma. My flame.
She stole a piece of my heart, and now I can’t function without it. I’m not the same man I was before. Money a
nd power don’t mean shit to me anymore. She’s made me weak, vulnerable.
I don’t know how to be this changed man.
Nineteen
Frankie
If I had it my way, Claire would do all the deliveries, and I would do all the cooking. But since we would both rather be in the kitchen, splitting the duties is only fair. We can only afford part-time help at the moment.
Today I’m on deliveries and when I see the address for HLS, I want to drive the delivery van off a damn bridge. Why didn’t Billy pick this one up? Havoc went two weeks without contacting me after we had sex. Now, I punch him, and he can’t wait to see me? What the crap is that?
“Good morning, I have a delivery from F&C’s Catering,” I inform the blonde at the front desk and she instructs me to take the elevator up to the tenth floor.
I carry the three boxes I’m holding to the elevators, grateful they didn’t have a huge order, and press the button for the tenth floor. Once I reach it, I’m directed to a young, attractive black woman, Daysha.
It’s easy to see why she’s his assistant. She’s dressed impeccably in a black and white pinstriped pantsuit. She has a no-nonsense aura about her, and I’m sure anyone working for him would have to have that.
“I’ll inform Mr. Havoc of your arrival.”
“Actually, can I please deliver these wherever he needs them? I have another delivery to make. I can email the invoice or leave it with you. No need for me to see Jul ― Mr. Havoc.”
“Certainly. The conference room is right this way.”
I follow behind her, thanking her when she opens the door for me. I make quick work of setting out the sandwiches and condiments, desperate to be out of here as fast as humanly possible. When I’m done, I brush off my hands and pick up the boxes.
“Are you going to punch me again?”
He should not have the power to stop me dead in my tracks, but he does. He stands against the door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his way-too-expensive suit. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and I ache to run my fingers through it and mess it all up. I like it messy.
Ignoring him, I walk toward the door, figuring he’ll move once I get there. He doesn’t. He stands there right in my way, gazing down at me.
“Move.”
“I thought about begging you, la mia fiamma,” he says, reaching up to caress my cheek. “Getting on my knees and downright begging you, anything it took until you know how serious I am. Anything until you’re writhing beneath me again, your nails raking over my back. Your moans echoing in my ears.”
He takes a step toward me, and I raise the boxes until they press against his chest. Lord knows if he touches me, I’ll be the one begging.
He chuckles at my defensive posture, the deep rumble emitting from low in his chest before he takes the boxes from my hands and tosses them onto the table. He uses his fingertip to tilt my chin up and I avert my gaze, unwilling to look at him. Knowing if I do, I’ll cave.
“But I don’t beg, Frankie.”
I jerk my face away and walk around him, not caring about the boxes as I leave the room. My cheeks and ears are heated as I hustle down the hall and past his assistant, briefly thanking her as I hurry to the elevator.
I punch in the floor number and pray that the doors close before I see him again. Of course, I remind myself that I have nothing to worry about. If he doesn’t beg a woman, he sure as fuck isn’t going to chase after one.
Twenty
Havoc
“Which one do you prefer?” Anneliese points to one of the pictures in the album and I give her a look that clearly portrays that I give zero fucks about the table centerpieces she chooses for our wedding reception. She turns back to the wedding planner and says, “That one.”
A camera flashes in our direction and I squint my eyes. This is all for show. All an act. Just like our engagement is. Just like our marriage will be.
My jaw clenches in frustration. I would rather be anywhere else on the fucking planet than here. Fuck that. I would rather be with Frankie.
Anneliese flashes me a perfectly crafted smile, and the leash she has around my neck tightens and shortens. Five fucking years. The thought is suffocating. I haven’t signed my life away yet, though.
When another camera light flashes, I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving her to decide on flowers and decorations. None of it matters to me.
I go to the first unlocked door I can find and step inside. It’s a storage room, but it’ll do. I pull my phone out of my pocket and calm my breathing before I dial her number, knowing the odds of her answering are slim to none.
“Aunt Frankie’s phone!”
It’s the kid again. I swear, this woman must never keep up with her phone. At least this works in my favor.
“Hello. Rory, isn’t it?”
“Is this Havie again?” the girl asks.
“Yes, it’s Havoc.”
“Aunt Frankie said she was never going to talk to you again. I heard her tell my mom that. She called you some names that I’m not allowed to say, too like asshole and dickhead. I have to put money in the cuss jar if I say those words.”
“Well, that wasn’t very nice of her, now, was it?” I am fighting back my laughter at this kid. I can tell she’s something else.
“I said I wasn’t ever gonna talk to Bella again, but I did. So, I bet Aunt Frankie will talk to you again.”
I hear muffled voices in the background and Rory tells me goodbye before the phone is obviously taken from her. Seconds later, Frankie is on the line and at the sound of her voice, my heart pounds in my chest.
“Hello?”
“And already, Rory is proven correct. You are talking to me again.”
She huffs. “Did I not make myself clear earlier today?”
“Do you mean when you rushed out with your panties soaked?” She huffs as if I’m not speaking the absolute fucking truth. “You left your boxes behind. Would you like for me to return them to you?”
“They’re only boxes. I may not be as well off as you are, but I’m pretty sure I can afford to count those as a loss.”
I chuckle at her snark. “Unfortunately, they don’t exactly go with the office décor. I’m going to have to insist you return to collect them. In person. Preferably naked.”
“I would suggest that you take them to be recycled then. Unless you and your fiancée aren’t into being eco-friendly.”
“Were you this mouthy before?” I ask. “Or was that mouth of yours preoccupied.”
“Goodbye, Julian.”
She disconnects the phone and I smile. I’m pretty damn sure I heard her laughing as she was hanging up. I can ignore the fact that she was calling me a selfish prick.
Twenty-One
Frankie
I hate arguing with Claire. She’s my twin sister but she is also my best friend. Her disapproval of Julian is very clear and unfortunately, Erin agrees with her. It’s two against one or whatever. No one is against me. It’s not like I’m rooting for him or anything.
“He’s a fucking snake. The lowest life form there is on this Earth,” Claire says.
“Yep,” Erin agrees.
“I understand.”
We’ve already had this conversation multiple times since she found out he called yesterday and that I actually spoke to him on the phone. I’m almost ashamed to admit that I tried to put the blame on Rory. If she hadn’t answered my phone, I never would have spoken to him. Just because a phone is on the counter and it rings doesn’t mean she should answer it.
I can admit it isn’t entirely her fault, though. I know deep down I would’ve answered his call.
Well, Claire told Erin all about it, even though Erin doesn’t know who my mystery guy is. Erin only knows that the guy I’m hung up on didn’t tell me he has a girlfriend. That’s all Claire and I would divulge to her. I don’t want it getting out that I slept with one of our clients ― an engaged one at that. Besides, I doubt the happy couple would want anyone to know either.
/> “If you understand, then why did you talk to him? You should’ve hung up the moment you realized it was him on the phone, Frankie.”
“But I didn’t, and we’ve already discussed how colossal a mistake that was. I suppose I’m pretty damn good at making them lately. Look at me, Frankie, the giant fuckup.”
“Then stop fucking up when it comes to him!”
“I’m going to take these out to Billy,” Erin says, grabbing the order we just prepared.
Claire’s tone softens after Erin leaves. “I didn’t mean that. You aren’t a fuckup, Frankie. You are beautiful and smart and compassionate and someone like him will take advantage of that. Shit, he already has.”
“I know,” I agree.
“You know I don’t want to see you get hurt like you did before and their wedding planning has been all over social media. There hasn’t been any mention of their engagement being called off.”
I don’t bother with social media platforms, but we have social media for F&C’s. Since we catered their engagement party, our page has been tagged by whoever handles their pages, and Claire follows everyone who is anyone because she believes it’s good for business. It certainly hasn’t hurt ours to be connected to them. We had a record number of orders come in this week.
“I won’t speak to him again,” I vow.
I blocked his number. I did it immediately after I disconnected the call and before I became too weak. His voice is still lingering on my mind. His little jab at how my mouth was preoccupied is making me want to preoccupy my mouth on his.
Christ, I have killed the batteries in my vibrator and made my fingers cramp trying to achieve a fraction of the orgasms that man gave me.
No wonder Anneliese Deviline wants him for five years.
“Promise me that,” Claire says, breaking my thoughts on what I could do with Julian if I had five years with him. “Promise me you are completely done with him.”