Mr. Big Ego (Dirty South Book 3)

by Kat Addams

  “Want to feel better?”

  “Your dick is hard again? Wow!” I pushed my hips into him.

  “No—I mean, yes, it is. But what I’m trying to say is, I can make you feel better about your story.”

  “How so?”

  “I can tell you mine.” He stroked my hair back and pecked me on the forehead.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything. We don’t have to get deep. It’s just business.”

  “But it’s not. You know it. I know it. I like you. And plus, maybe you won’t think I’m one of those assholes once you hear what happened to me—and how amazingly I handled it. I might be Victor Beaumont, but I’m not an asshole-in-chief, not all the time anyway. Some days, I have to wear that mask, but it’s not me, and I’m certainly—certainly—not a narcissist.”

  “Go on.” I narrowed my eyes.

  “My ex was this chick named Kelsey. I met her while I was in Oxford, Mississippi, for a business meeting. She lived with me for a while. We were engaged.”

  “Oh? I’m surprised that wasn’t all over the news!”

  “That’s because we were only engaged for two days.” He tightened his jaw and growled. “Kelsey wasn’t fucking my best friend. She was fucking my brother.”

  I sucked in my breath. Ouch. “Let me guess … Malcolm?”

  “Malcolm.”

  “Damn. That’s—I’m—fuck. I’m sorry.” I tilted my head in his direction and gave him an awkward pat on the back. I was never good at comforting people.

  “It’s okay. She was a narcissist anyway. I had no idea and didn’t know about all of the red flags until after the fact.”

  “Did you catch them in the act or …”

  “Yep. My parents threw us a little celebration dinner. I drank too much—probably because I was marrying her—and I passed out a bit early on the couch. When I woke up, everyone had left. I knew Kelsey wouldn’t leave me like that, so I went looking for her. I thought she was in the bathroom or something. Maybe she’d drunk too much too. She was in the bathroom all right, but not because she wasn’t feeling well. She was on her knees in front of Malcolm, giving him a blow job with her new dick-sucking lips.”

  “Her new what?”

  “Her dick-sucking lips. A few days earlier, I had bought her the lip injections she’d been wanting. Guess she wanted to test them out on him. She never offered to test them on me.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Malcolm was videoing her from above. Probably for one of his 3-D Virtual Reality porn videos. I hate to say that he’s been successful at that, but of course, he has. Asshole.”

  “So, that’s why you guys don’t get along.” I nodded.

  My story was bad, but poor Victor’s story was terrible. How could anyone—literally—fuck over their family like that?

  “It goes back further than that, but yes. I’ve never been able to forgive him. I try my best to play nice now and move on for me, but, you know, it’s like you said; those images get ingrained in our brains. I still think about it even though I’m over her, and I couldn’t care less about what Malcolm does these days. I did end up knocking him over, pushing his head in the toilet, and giving him a swirly. Kelsey just stood there with her duck lips out. She and I never said a word to each other after that. She just got her shit and left.”

  “You gave him a swirly?”

  “Yep. It didn’t help me feel any better. Well, maybe just a little.”

  “Gross.” I laughed. “Remind me not to piss you off near a bathroom.”

  “Samantha Masson piss me off? Pfft. Yeah, right!”

  He reached down to tickle me before I grabbed his hands and held them around me tight.

  “Um, yeah. Don’t you remember? I’m your event planner. You are constantly giving me shit, and nothing is ever good enough for you. So says Sara.”

  “Ugh. Sara. Most of that is from her. Some might be from me, but mostly, that’s her. She’s got the hots for me.”

  “No way. Does she really? How do you know?”

  “It’s obvious. Besides, she tried to crucify Kelsey when she was getting too close to me. Something about her having a picture of herself in a bikini top and jean shorts posted online. Sara didn’t like that. Said it was inappropriate of Kelsey. Even though Kelsey is a bitch, Sara was just being a jealous cow. There wasn’t anything wrong with the pictures. But Sara made it her life mission to slander Kelsey as a whore all over the place. That was before I knew she really was a whore. Both Kelsey and Sara are terrible, but at least Sara gets shit done and keeps me put together.”

  “Is she that good? I mean … is her shitty attitude toward everyone and off-putting personality worth it? You can’t find someone a little more upbeat and positive?”

  “Been toying with that idea. How about this? I’ll get Sara to back off of you, and since you still think I’m an asshole-in-chief, I will back off you, too, for this next event—as much as I can. If I have an idea, I’ll reach out. But other than that, I’m going to trust you and let you do your job.”

  “Deal. But just because you’re trusting me doesn’t mean I can trust you—yet. I’m not as good at throwing caution to the wind. Even though you can trust me because, let’s face it, I rock at my job and always blow your socks off.”

  “I’ve got something else you can blow off too.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s still hard?”

  He hopped up out of bed and onto the other bed, gyrating his hips and swinging his dick around like a helicopter blade. I was going to be sore for a week.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I laughed.

  “Showing Ms. Samantha Masson the only swirly I’d ever give her if she wanted it.”

  He raised his brows and gave me his trademark smirk, sending butterflies bubbling up in my stomach.

  Damn it! I frantically searched for my brain. Hello? Brain? Please check in!

  “I can’t believe I’m watching Victor Beaumont dangle his goods in front of me like they’re some kind of jewels. Family jewels. Actually, you know what? I can. I can totally see you thinking that all you have to do is jiggle your jewels, and I’ll come running.” I sighed.

  “Is it working?”

  I clenched my jaw and muttered through gritted teeth, “I’m just here for the risky business.”

  “You can tell yourself that, Ms. Masson, but I see your mask slipping.”

  It had been three days since Victor and I had our rendezvous at the hotel, and every day since then, he’d texted me about everything other than business. He’d asked me how my day was going, if I was still putting myself out there and using any dating apps, if I’d given Mike a second chance, and if I’d give him—Victor, asshole-in-chief—a second chance.

  Victor: You told me you were putting yourself back on the market, and I volunteer as tribute. So, how about a real date?

  Me: You do realize you’re still my boss, right? A date would make it not “just business” anymore.

  Victor: If you prefer to call it a business meeting, we can. But we both know we can’t stop ourselves from screwing, and I don’t know if you felt this way, but telling you my story was relieving for me. I want to get to know you more and for you to know me. Real me. Voodoo Victor or Phantom Man. Whatever name you want to scream out during our next “business meeting.”

  My heart pounded in my chest.

  How the hell did I put myself back on the market and fall for exactly the type of person I’d promised myself I wouldn’t fall for? I hadn’t had a terrible childhood or grown up in a broken home or had daddy issues. I didn’t think I needed any therapy, but maybe Douche Who Must Not Be Named had fucked with my head so much that I should go and get straightened out by a professional.

  I tried to rack my brain for any red flags I’d noticed from Victor.

  Sure, he was hot as fuck. Also, he obviously took good care of himself because those abs of his were no joke. He was successful in business and motivated in life. Even though those things were typical for alpha males, he didn’t behave l
ike one—at least, not when he was alone with me. In public, he put his mask back on and became a boss. Sometimes, annoyingly so.

  Boss mode made him picky and demanding and a bit of a control freak, but he had blamed that on Sara—mostly. He had been true to his word this week. He hadn’t mentioned the circus event anymore. He had even reached out to the vendors and me for another in-person meeting, scheduled for next Monday.

  My head hurt from the pros and cons of dating this man. I felt like what little red flags I had seen were just as fake as the front he put on for the masses. Mr. Big Easy was just a little boy waving his wand around and creating illusions for everyone, especially for himself.

  Me: I’ll take a date with Victor Beaumont. Not a business meeting. No masks allowed.

  Victor: Friday at 8? Dinner and shenanigans? I’ll leave the mask at home.

  Me: I can’t Friday. Saturday?

  Victor: Saturday it is.

  I set my phone down and continued dressing for the day. I was available on Friday, but I didn’t want Victor knowing I was that pathetic. Aside from Lisa, I didn’t have any friends, and I had no life. Mike, the guy I’d met for coffee, had been friendly enough—until he asked me if I would make a good housewife. I’d somehow left that part out when Victor asked me how that date went. It had gone great up until that point.

  Who asks a woman if she would make a great housewife? What exactly was he planning for me? Did he think I was going to quit my job and spoon-feed him? Maybe wash his dirty underwear and iron his work pants?

  That was the quickest ghosting I’d ever done.

  I had only been in the dating world for a few weeks, and I already wanted back out of it. I had wanted to scream, This is why you’re single, from the rooftops within the first few minutes of chatting with men on the dating apps. I couldn’t keep up with how many jerks, perverts, creeps, and weirdos I’d come across. The only one—the only one—who was even remotely worthy of my time was Victor.

  Ugh! I hung my head.

  I had two minor events I’d been working on besides the Beaumont circus. One event was a bar mitzvah, and the other was a client appreciation party for a local business. These smaller gatherings were usually a piece of cake. There were never any outlandish requests, such as bats and coffins. Everything so far had been routine—food, music, cake.

  The simpler events usually didn’t pay me nearly as well as Victor’s parties, but if I worked enough of them, I could stash away more cash for a down payment for my own place. Lately, I had scouted homes in Lakeview and fallen in love with two of them. They both had actual yards, something I hadn’t had since living with my parents. I wanted a yard, garden, and peace. If I only had a little bit more money stashed away, I would be able to put my down payment down and hopefully move into a home before the end of the year. I was counting on the circus to fund my dreams. This circus needed to be the biggest and most badass event yet.

  “Squawk! Sookie-sookie,” the fuck parrot called from the other side of the wall.

  My neighbor had had a new visitor stay over last night. He was so predictable. First came the stupid parrot’s chants. Then came the bedsprings squeaking, and then the headboard would start to hit the wall, followed by more chants from the parrot and too-loud-and-close-for-comfort dirty talk from the neighbor. Sometimes, it was a turn-on, but mostly, it put me in a pissy mood because it woke me up.

  Thankfully, he didn’t last too long in bed because after about eight minutes—yes, I had watched the clock—he would let out a, “Hurrah,” and then there would be silence, and I could fall back asleep.

  I always felt sorry for whatever woman he was banging. He must have been a shitty lay because the women never made much noise. The parrot was louder. I had learned early on after living next to them that I needed to buy a white noise machine. I kept it on all day and night, but with these paper-thin walls, it didn’t make much of a difference.

  “Squawk! Bend over. Squawk!”

  “I am so out of here,” I muttered to myself as I grabbed my keys and left for work.

  Lisa and I shared a tiny, windowless office downtown. Our cracker box, as we liked to call it, was in the back of a building that smelled of mothballs and shoe wax. Lisa rarely made it into the office. She did most of her work from home because it was easier for her children. But I needed a space away from home to work.

  “Hey you! What are you doing here today? Getting ready for the big circus meeting next week?” I asked Lisa, who was sitting at her desk with her head in her hands.

  “Oh. Hey. My mom’s dealing with the kids today. They were driving me batshit crazy. I dropped them off at her place last night, polished off a bottle of wine, and slept like the dead. Now, I’m here, trying to get everything lined up for Dicktor’s big bash.”

  I wanted to tell Lisa that Dicktor wasn’t so bad, but how would I explain that I knew that? I couldn’t exactly tell her I was banging him. Wasn’t that against some kind of rule? She might claim I was getting special treatment or something even though I didn’t think she would be the type to do that. I had come too far in my career to risk it.

  “It’s going to be ridiculous, but maybe we’ll get those fat bonus checks again. I’m counting on it, so I can finally move out of my apartment and out toward Lakeview.” I opened my laptop and began scrolling through my e-mails.

  “You’ll get there. Your apartment is a prime location. It will sell fast.”

  “I sure hope so. I want to sign a contract on a home as a Christmas present to myself.”

  “Well, surely, Dicktor will pay us a big bonus for the holidays alone. Have you heard from him much? He hasn’t asked me for anything lately! It’s weird.” She chewed on the end of her pen and leaned back in her chair.

  “He’s been pretty quiet about it all. Even Sara has been quiet.” I shrugged.

  “Uh-oh. That sounds fishy. So, you’re telling me you thought of the tigers, and that wasn’t his idea? Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe. Just a bit. It was all me. I figured he would like it. You know how he is. Go big or go home!”

  “He might be going home in a body bag after a tiger has had enough of his crap.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine. I’ve got plenty of handlers booked and only three tigers. We’ll survive. I think.” I double-checked my contracts, making sure I wasn’t lying about the handlers.

  “You sure do have a creative brain, kid. I’m glad that’s all you. I’ll just stay back, barking orders to the chefs and vendors—the usual. I’m not getting my head chewed off by a tiger! My kids get on my nerves, but I still have to be around to tie their shoes and wipe their snot!”

  “I got it; I got it. Hey, the bar mitzvah, did you get the band scheduled on that one? I never heard back from them.”

  “Got it, sister.” She nodded and closed her laptop. “I’ve been here since six. The sun wasn’t even up yet when I woke. I think I’m going to go home and catch a nap before my mom drops the kids back off.”

  I said good-bye as I watched Lisa drag her feet out the door. I continued to work, scheduling calls, meetings, and tigers. My head was in my comfort zone—busy—when a notification crossed my screen. Sara wanted to add me on Facebook. This couldn’t be good. If I denied her, it would be awkward, but if I added her, she could see my personal life. Not that I had a personal life, but I didn’t want to have to mix business with what little life I had. Plus, what she had done to Victor’s ex made me nervous. What would she do if she knew I was banging her dream husband?

  I scanned my profile for anything that stood out as terrible and hit Accept. Friend, my ass, I thought.

  I clicked on her profile and scrolled through her pictures. Most of them were from her wonderful life at work. She had an obnoxious amount of posts about how much fun she had been having and how she was so blessed to have this opportunity, blah, blah, blah. But I knew her. I knew she’d had a terrible and stressful time at a lot of those events.

  “Typical Fakebook,” I said, rolling my eyes.


  I was just about to shut my laptop when I spotted a recent tagged picture of her and a familiar face—my neighbor. I clicked on the image and zoomed in.

  “No way!” I started talking to myself again. “She’s banging him? Gross!” I shivered.

  I no longer felt sorry for the lousy lay that my neighbor had probably been. Sara could eat a dick for all I cared.

  Six

  Victor

  Waiting for my week to finish up had been like waiting on my eighty-two-year-old grandma to finish her rum; it was gone before I knew it. Somehow, I had made it a few days without screwing Samantha, and now, the opportunity had arrived, in a little black dress with cleavage plunging down the valley of fuck me tonight titties.

  “Hop in.” I motioned for her to come inside while my driver held the door open.

  “Fancy! So, whose funeral is it? I’ve only ridden in a limo once before, and that was when my great-aunt passed,” Samantha said, crawling in beside me.

  “That’s a bad limo experience. Let’s hope this is a better one. We won’t be going to any funerals, but we are going to a dive bar, if that’s okay?”

  We were a tad overdressed for a dive bar, but I’d heard all week about some famous singer, Jason Jones, down from Nashville. Of course, I had pulled some strings and gotten the best seats in the house—luckily. I had tried to get front-and-center seats, but the manager had said something about his wife being there, and she wouldn’t like that. I had still managed to reserve decent seats with a little bit of bribery and a whole lot of cash. I hoped if I took Samantha somewhere that wasn’t so stuffy, it would cool her jets on this alpha-male crap she’d kept harping on about.

  “What dive bar is it?” She situated herself beside me as we took off.

  I couldn’t help but notice that her dress kept riding up so high that I could see a peek of her panties underneath. Lilac and lacy.

  Fuck.

  “House of Blues. Some famous guy is—”

  “Jason Jones? You’re taking me to see Jason Jones?” she squealed, clapping her hands together as if I’d answered her prayer.