Dylan: Ex-Bad Boy: An Ex-Club Romance

by Stevens, Camilla

  “Right.” Vanessa stares at me, waiting for me to say it.

  “Yes, you’re right, the board at Sexton Enterprises is definitely a possibility. I pretty much told you they’d crucify you to save the company. If that means strengthening their cause this way…I suppose it’s a possibility. But, they’re such sticklers for playing it by the rules. I don’t see them exposing themselves to liability this way. Either way, if it is them, I’d rather not tip my hand until I have more of the facts in order, or at least until we’ve ruled everyone else out.”

  “Okay, then who else? The people from Can Do Town?”

  “Again, I can see them playing it just as safe, but I’ve also seen enough of the entertainment industry to know how much dirt goes on behind the scenes.”

  “So, we won’t completely write them off.”

  I sense an unspoken segue in the pause that follows, and I wait for Vanessa to get it out.

  “So what about Ginny or Pete Marx?”

  I work my jaw as I look ahead to consider that. “You had to hear her when this whole thing blew up in her face. She was ready to sacrifice herself rather than see me—or you take the fall. I don’t see her adding this kind of fuel to the fire, especially since all it does is keep it burning in the public eye.”

  “Have you spoken to her yet?”

  “Well, it’s only been a day, but I half expected her to call me by now. I did call yesterday right after the press conference, but she didn’t answer.”

  “Is that strange?”

  I shrug. “She no doubt has a lot going on, but we were pretty close. I’d figure at least a thank you would be coming, but then again, it’s still early.”

  Vanessa sighs and looks ahead. “I should try to get in touch with Kaylee again, pressure her to give up a name. Although I doubt she’d even take my phone call again. Still, I can at least leave a message.”

  “What if I made the call. She’d probably listen to me, don’t you think?”

  Vanessa shrugs. “I mean, it can’t hurt. At this point, it’s worth a try.”

  She pulls out her phone and calls up the number and puts it on speakerphone.

  A chirpy voice announces that we’ve reached the phone of Kaylee Charleston and tells us to leave a message. At the sound of the tone, Vanessa is the first to speak.

  “Kaylee, this is Vanessa Paige. I have someone here who’d like to help, but only if you give us a little more to work with.”

  She signals for me to talk.

  “Hi, Kaylee, I don’t know if you recognize the voice, but this is Dylan Sexton. Like Vanessa said, we just want some information about who paid you. I’ll do everything I can to help you out, I promise. You can call me back on my personal phone if it helps.”

  I leave my phone number, and Vanessa ends the call.

  “So, I guess now we just sit and wait.”

  “I have a better idea,” I say, grinning at her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Vanessa

  “A date?” I say, repeating Dylan’s suggestion.

  “I do remember asking you out back at Isla Escapar, and I do remember you accepting. Tonight is as good as any night.”

  I laugh. “Tonight is the worst night.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…because,” I insist with a softer laugh, trying to find a reason why. “First of all, the last thing either of us needs is the publicity of going out together as a couple. Talk about fueling the public flames. Second, I really don’t feel like being that kind of center of attention right now.”

  “So we stay in. I’m already here, so let’s just use your place.”

  “Smooth. Let me guess, you also want me to cook?” I say, smirking at his audacity.

  “Come on, Vee, do you really think that lowly of me? I know a guy. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy.”

  “I hope that isn’t meant to be as kinky as it sounds.”

  “I don’t share when it comes to the bedroom, so you’re safe on that count. Plus, I’m pretty sure the guy is gay.”

  “I should warn you, I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “So, I get to see how you really live—as opposed to the facade?”

  “Ha ha,” I say sarcastically, but I take his hand as he stands up and offers it.

  Thank goodness I’m not a complete slob. My place looks like someone lives there and perhaps isn’t anal about picking up after themselves, but at least manages to deal with the worst of it.

  “You know,” Dylan says, looking around. “This is exactly the kind of place I’d picture you living in.”

  I follow his gaze around the large main room, which is part living room, part dining room. The aesthetic is minimal but eclectic. White shelves with a mix of books (mostly art and photography) and interesting pieces. A well-worked dark leather couch I bought second-hand, a contrasting coffee table in glass and chrome. A handful of plants in bright corners and on the window sills. Colorful, large paintings on the wall (I couldn’t bear to look at someone else’s superior photographic work on a daily basis). The open kitchen is a small, efficient space, with all the standard needs but not much room for personalization.

  “And this is the bedroom,” I say, leading Dylan to the comparatively tiny room that just barely fits my queen size bed, two small stools serving as nightstands and a dresser, along with the built-in closet. It looks down on the quaint patio in the backyard.

  “So, once I make the call, it’s going to take him about an hour to have everything cooked up, then another half hour to deliver considering the time of day,” Dylan says, giving me a seductive smirk.

  “Well, I do have some playing cards, and I think my friend left a box for Monopoly the last time he was here, we could also…” I laugh as Dylan creeps his way toward me, eventually pressing his body into mine.

  “All I care about is whether or not you have condoms.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Disappointing, but I’m nothing if not resourceful. I may not have been a Boy Scout, but I think I can track my way to a corner store to pick some up.”

  “Not to worry. I think I may have some around here somewhere.”

  “Good, because I don’t think I’d last long enough to make it to the corner store.” He presses himself into me, as though I need more evidence than what’s already practically impaling me through his pants.

  “So I see. Hold that thought while I go get them, before you get me pregnant through my clothes.”

  “Mmm…I kinda like the sound of that.”

  “Don’t completely lose your head, Mr. Sexton. We aren’t that official yet.”

  He laughs and pulls back. “Let me get this dinner ordered so I can focus on…other things.” He lets his eyes wander over my body as though informing me what “other things” he has in mind.

  Even though I’m in nothing more than a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt and TOMS shoes (Simone would be appalled), I feel like the sexiest woman on Earth under that emerald gaze.

  He pulls out his phone, and I escape to the bathroom. Once there, I search under the sink, where I’m almost sure there’s a box of condoms, hopefully not expired. I hiss under my breath as I miss them the first time around, shoving everything (I seriously need to cut down on buying soap in pretty packages) out of the way as my search becomes more frantic. I breathe a sigh of relief when I find them.

  Thank God for Andrew, the guy who always “conveniently” forgot to bring condoms when he came over, forcing me to start being prepared ahead of time.

  I head back to the bedroom just as Dylan is giving my address to the person on the other end. He grins when he sees the condom I hold up for confirmation.

  “Great, so about an hour, hour and fifteen?” he says into the phone. He hangs up, and his grin widens.

  “So, what’s for dinner?” I ask, feeling my hunger begin to hit me.

  “That’s a surprise,” he says, coming in closer after putting his phone back in his pocket. “But I can show you what
’s for dessert.”

  I groan. “Ugh, that’s so corny.”

  “You love it when I’m corny,” he says, taking hold of my hips. “All the better to get you in the mood since we only have an hour.”

  “Only an hour, huh?”

  “I know, I’ll have to work quickly.”

  I laugh as he shrugs out of his hoodie, revealing the oddly contrasting dress shirt underneath. Then, I get to work on my own clothes.

  We tumble onto the bed, and even under the circumstances, I feel my desire supersede everything else. He’s just so damn sexy, especially when naked. And he makes me feel like the most stunning woman in the world, especially when naked.

  It’s playful and frantic and pure ecstasy. The way my body reacts when he enters me and fucks me senseless, just like he did all those nights back at Isla Escapar, I’m ready to lose my head and announce to the world that he’s mine.

  Afterward, we lie tangled up in the ruined bedsheets, enjoying the last bit of twilight that seeps through the curtains of my bedroom window.

  “I’m glad you called, not just because of this thing with Kaylee.”

  “Oh?” he hums, tilting his chin down to his chest to stare at me as I rest mine on top of it.

  “Yeah, I missed you.”

  A crooked grin curls his mouth. “Even after only a couple of days?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I say with a smile.

  “Well, you know what that means?”

  “What?” I ask with a soft laugh.

  He taps my nose, and I wrinkle it with annoyance. “That means you’re mine, girl. Better update that Facebook status of yours.”

  I roll my eyes and smile.

  “So, now that I’ve had dessert, do I get to know what’s for dinner?” I ask, resting my chin back on Dylan’s chest.

  “And ruin the fun just when we’ve got started? No way.”

  I laugh and press in closer to him. Just when I’m thinking of maybe extending that fun, his phone rings.

  We both groan in protest.

  “It’s probably the food,” Dylan says. “He’s damn early.”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re probably a VIP client,” I say, rolling away so he can retrieve the phone from his discarded pants. Damn, but the man has a fine ass!

  “I was right when I first met you,” I say, admiring his naked butt. “This is still your best side.”

  He turns around to expose his front and raises one eyebrow tauntingly. “You sure about that?”

  “Well…” I say, raising one eyebrow of my own.

  He smirks and answers the phone before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”

  I watch his face change almost instantly, all hint of amusement evaporating like the last blink of the sun before it sinks beneath the horizon. His eyes flash up to mine, hardened with focus.

  “Hey, Kaylee…”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Vanessa

  I sit up straight on the bed, for some reason clutching the bedspread up to my chest in balled fists.

  “Hold on,” Dylan says. “I’m with Vanessa right now, is it okay if I put you on speakerphone?”

  There’s a pause as I’m sure she protests that suggestion.

  “No, I promise it’s just the two of us.”

  There’s a pause before he speaks again. “That’s fine.”

  He pulls the phone away and pushes the button to put it on speakerphone.

  “Kaylee?” I say in a loud voice as he comes closer to the bed.

  “Yes,” she says in a mildly petulant voice.

  “Thank you so much for—”

  “How do I know this is really Dylan Sexton?” she interrupts.

  Dylan and I both stare at each other.

  “I mean, at this point, I don’t really trust anyone. For all I know, Vanessa could have—”

  “How about FaceTime?” Dylan blurts out.

  I shoot him a wide-eyed look, making sure he follows my eyes down the length of his naked—but very spectacular—body.

  “I guess…” Kaylee says, back to that petulant tone again.

  “Can I call you back? We’re…not exactly in a place that’s fit for it right now.”

  “Fine,” she says with a heavy sigh, as though she’s the aggrieved party here.

  “Great. Give us about five minutes.”

  She hangs up first, without saying goodbye.

  “Holy shit, she actually called!” I say. “I didn’t think she would.”

  “Now, we just have to get dressed and hope she doesn’t change her mind. Quick,” he says, nodding toward me, still clinging to the bedsheets. I scamper off the bed and throw on the shirt I was wearing, not bothering with a bra. Dylan pulls on his pants and quickly buttons up his shirt.

  Five minutes later, we’re halfway decent, and he calls her back, this time using Face Time. I’m not even remotely surprised to see that Kaylee has used the time to make herself up. She is a pretty enough girl, so it doesn’t take much—not that she’s ever gone the minimalist route.

  “It’s you,” she says, blinking in surprise when her eyes land on Dylan in the frame.

  “Right, it’s me,” he confirms.

  “And you,” she says in a decidedly less impressed voice as her eyes slide to me.

  “It’s me.”

  She rolls her eyes slightly, then gives us a questioning look, as though waiting for us to make the first move. I’m smart enough to leave it to Dylan, who I’m sure has more sway with the girl than the lowly photographer she was happy to throw under the bus. Well, her and her co-conspirator.

  “Like I said, Kaylee,” Dylan says, using that same tone of voice he used with Ginny right before he convinced her to out her actions to me. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you in all of this. Considering who I am, I think you know how much power that is.”

  “I heard you were about to be kicked out of Sexton Enterprises.”

  “Yes,” he says, completely unfazed. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have a shit ton of money.”

  She smirks with amusement, encouraged by the winning grin Dylan flashes her way. I try to keep from rolling my eyes.

  “I’m assuming that whoever paid you, made you sign a nondisclosure agreement?” he continues.

  I’m surprised to find his face transformed into one of sympathetic concern. He looks almost like an older brother, looking out for his little sister. Something about that expression has my heart swelling with warmth and affection—despite the less than worthy target of this display. It taps into that part of me that was first struck by the revelation of his past, which made him seem less iconic and more human.

  “A hundred-thousand dollars if I tell anyone!” I see the panic in Kaylee’s eyes begin to bubble to the surface. “I can’t ask Dad for that kind of money! He’s already paying my rent here, and he made this big fucking deal about my allowance. Now that I don’t even have Instagram, I’m going to have to go back home and—”

  “Kaylee.” Dylan’s voice is firm, but somehow soothing. Like a therapist talking an agitated patient back from the ledge.

  It works, and Kaylee goes quiet, now looking at him like a student awaiting her class assignment.

  He’s so good at this.

  Even though I of all people should be focused on the mission at hand, I can’t help but think about what a great father Dylan would make, despite his own past. Or maybe because of it. He has this fatherly appeal that isn’t too stuffy or corny, the kind that knows how to use a firm hand, covered by a velvet glove. It’s the kind that will work well with both sons and daughters, either of whom will be all the better for it. It’s the kind that would die before ever abandoning them—or the mother that brought them into the world.

  Good grief! What the hell has come over me? It’s too early for PMS, and I’m the last woman on earth who’d have “daddy issues.” I also have a few years before the big 3-0 hits, so surely it isn’t my biological clock suddenly ticking to life.

&n
bsp; Maybe I more than like the guy? Maybe I—

  “I’m pretty sure I can cover the hundred-thousand dollars. Hell, I could even throw in a few grand just for your trouble.”

  “How much more?” she asks, perking up.

  I mentally groan. Based on the way Dylan shifts next to me, I can tell he too realizes his mistake, but he seems to recover quickly enough.

  “How about this? If you have bona fide proof of the person who paid you off, then I’ll not only pay any penalties for violating the NDA, I’ll give you fifty thousand on top of it.”

  “Dylan,” I hiss, shooting him an irritated glance.

  He sets the phone down, officially cutting Kaylee off, visually. “If she has a name and proof? That’s valuable to both of us.”

  As much as I hate to somehow reward her actions, he’s right. Besides, she’s practically still just a girl, still in her early twenties, who was easily manipulated with that golden chalice that entices many a young, attractive female these days: fame and followers. Not even money is as great a lure these days.

  “Okay,” I say in resignation.

  He brings the phone back up, and we’re both met with a Kaylee who isn’t hesitant to hide her displeasure at being momentarily dismissed.

  “How do I know you’ll follow through?” she asks, her nose lifting slightly in a haughty way.

  “Because for all I know, you could be recording this right now,” Dylan says.

  There’s something in his voice that indicates he’s almost 99% sure that isn’t the case. Even I know that’s unlikely. Kaylee has a lot of admirable qualities; smarts isn’t one of them. The way her eyes blink in a slow, measured way, tells me that she’s mentally kicking herself for not doing just that.

  “Listen, Kaylee,” Dylan says, slipping back into that big brother knows best mode. “I’m not bullshitting you. Me paying you fifty grand is the equivalent of buying dime store candy to most people.”

  “What does that mean?” Kaylee asks, wrinkling her brow in confusion. “Dime store candy? Is that like the Dollar Store?”