I didn’t expect that level of compassion from a spoiled princess. I can tell she’s holding back when she talks about her work. This whole we don’t know each other game doesn’t diminish her passion. Half of her company’s success has to be because of that damn enthusiasm.
The bathroom is full of Natural Glow. Shampoo. Conditioner. Lotion. Moisturizer. Sunscreen. Every time I use a product, I wonder if it’s based on my mother’s original formula. Were her recipes the base of all these successful products that gave everyone but her a good living? Was that mascara in packaging that my father designed?
If Dennis wants to go organic then he can’t package everything in plastic. I haven’t recalled that particular drunken rant for years. Using environmentally friendly packaging drives the price up and then he gets pissed when I demand more from investors. You have a degree in chemical engineering. You can design earth-friendly fucking packaging, but we’re damn well gonna get paid for it.
Mom told me the stories. When she was lucid and not lost in the pills that helped her forget what she did for Sully’s clients, she talked to me about all her big ideas and how she used to play with formulations when I was a baby and give the final product to friends to test. Dad was the idea man and she was the scientist.
And London wants nothing between us. There was an entire lifetime of lies between us and she’ll hate me for them.
She’s too innocent for her own good. Look how easily she trusted me.
She looks over her menu. “Everything sounds amazing.” She closes her menu. “I found a pasta dish. I’m going to try that.”
I rarely eat pasta. Too much macaroni and SpaghettiOs growing up. “Sounds like a plan.”
“What are you going to have?”
“The sea bass.” I want to have her. Spread out before me like the most glorious meal I could feast on. Her impassioned speech about Natural Glow didn’t diminish my sex drive or how our time in the breakfast nook is burned in my brain. I could’ve kept her in the room for the next week, doing what we’ve been doing for days, but she’s getting too far under my skin.
The server comes by and we order. I pass on the rice.
When the server leaves, London asks, “When did you get so strict about your diet? I mean, I get the no processed foods, but it’s like you’re maintaining a photo shoot ready body at all times.”
I live a regimented life. If I’m going to keep earning enough to live on my private beach in Malibu then fucking around isn’t an option. I get up, work out, eat right, and my brain is clear for a long day in front of the computer. There’s one more reason.
Because I can.
She reads into my silence. “I’m not judging. I’m only curious. It’s a lot of discipline.”
I go for a casual shrug. To her it was an innocent topic. For me, my diet is the exact opposite of how I grew up and I keep it that way for a reason. “I like to stay in shape, and eighty percent of that is accomplished in the kitchen.”
“I’ve heard those statistics before. I guess I keep a sixty-forty split. On vacation, that goes down.”
I wouldn’t know about vacations. “I feel good when I eat better.” No more stomachaches when I go to bed and my migraines don’t happen as frequently. And I don’t have to remember what mac and cheese tasted like when Mom didn’t have the money to buy butter to make it the right way. Forget about having real cheese.
That mollified her. “So, I know we’re not going to share a lot about ourselves, but what kinds of things are you interested in?”
She’s been my number one interest for longer than is healthy. Beyond her, the list is short. “I like to swim and I’m a gamer.”
“You do not have a body that sits on the couch all the time playing games.”
“My chair happens to be very ergonomic, and I make sure I get up periodically and move around.” I don’t play very often anymore. Gaming chats led to swapping hacking stories and a whole new world opened up. My passion is making millions and proving that I’m the best at my job. But I doubt London will understand. She grew up with millions. I’m done with this topic. “What do you like to do?”
“I have some friends I hang out with. Two. I met them in high school and we’ve been inseparable since.” Her fond smile tugs at my conscience. I want to hate these friends based on principle but she clearly adores them. “They even accept Diana as one of the group.”
“You do facials and pedicures and—”
She tosses a chip at me, laughing. “Maybe sometimes. They’re actively keeping me single. Even trying to get me to have a quick hookup that won’t lead me to being…” She buries her face in her hands. “So embarrassing. You’re too easy to talk to.”
“A hookup that won’t lead to you being stalker girl.”
Her wince is cute but irritates the fuck out of me. “Yes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone in your life to feel special.”
“I come on a little strong.”
“Or they were too weak.” I take a sip of water as she stares owlishly at me.
“I… I never thought of it like that.”
“There ya go.” Why was I even building up London anyway? I should be siding with her exes, making her feel worse. But I only imagine beating the hell out of them for insulting her and not appreciating her sweet gestures.
“What about you? Any best friends forever?”
“There’re a couple of guys.” Two, like her. I’m a little surprised she doesn’t have a bigger inner circle than me.
“How’d you meet?”
“Not in private school.”
She flushes. “Is it obvious I went to private school?”
“No, a good guess.” And that was the truth. I don’t know how women who went to private school act, but I know that Dennis Vanderbeek cheated everyone to give his daughter the best. As for my friends, she could never know how I met either of them. “I met them in college.” Online. Because I didn’t physically go to college.
“Only Diana knows about this trip. I don’t know what I’m going to tell them after I get back.”
A flare of overprotectiveness burns through me. She shouldn’t be telling a guy she just met that only one person knows where she’s at. “You didn’t tell your friends you were taking a vacation?”
“A sudden vacation, and no. I would’ve chickened out if they were here. They can be a little forceful. And they would’ve wanted to know why. I said it was a business trip and didn’t mention where.”
Cannon and Kase know all about London. They’re the type of guys who don’t blink at the stipulations of the contract London signed. Which is why London can never know how I met them. “Tell them you wrapped up business early and had to unwind.”
She wrinkled her nose. “They wouldn’t believe me. I don’t vacay alone. No, I’ll figure out what to say after—” A beat of panic darkens her bright eyes and she squeezes them shut for a heartbeat. “After the wedding.”
“They don’t get to be there?” As if I don’t know the answer.
She shakes her head. “Enough about that. I love my friends, though. Better to have only two close friends than a bunch of fake friends. My exes taught me that.”
I should’ve stayed in the room, fucking her brains out. When she says shit like that, my guilt flares up. She’s not relatable. She can’t be relatable. She grew up with money that should’ve been mine. She has no idea what my parents gave up so she could have everything.
Is that what bothers me the most? That she’s oblivious and the more I’m around her, the more she seems like the type who’ll be horrified to hear what her dad did?
I guess I’ll find out. Because after being with her for a week, I’m not willing to give up one more thing that would’ve been mine.
London Vanderbeek.
Chapter 9
London
“Want to try sailing?”
Jake’s massaging my foot as we’re sprawled across the bed. All we’ve done the last two days is sle
ep together and go out to eat. I’m trying to coax him to have a few more experiences before his time in Cabo wraps up.
As for me, I’m trying not to think about the end. I could get used to having this guy around and not just because of the physicality of our relationship. He listens. He makes me feel good about myself. I wish I would’ve known him when I got dumped by Jonathon.
I get a message from Penni. I caved and told them that I took a quickie detour by myself and that I planned on living up to their advice.
Their messages have been non-stop. Doing something this momentous by myself shouldn’t be so hard to believe.
Picture or it didn’t happen. This one from Penni.
Where? Tell me where or I’ll break into your place and find out for myself. I didn’t answer Holland’s message or both of them would show up. They’re like that and I usually love them for it. If they arrived in Cabo, it’d cut into my time with Jake and I can’t tell them why that’s an issue.
Even without the impending marriage, I’m a bit territorial about my time with him.
“I can sail another time.” He squeezes the ball of my foot and I groan. The man is amazing with his hands.
He’s also commanding and rigid about swimming lessons. That’s the third thing we’ve been doing. He’s dragged me out to the pool twice since that first time.
“Ooh, how about Lover’s Beach?” I bring up information on an excursion. “We can put all those lessons to good use.”
He doesn’t look excited, but I’m starting to think that’s him. He holds his emotions in and doesn’t have the word spontaneous in his vocabulary. “Aren’t all public beaches the same?”
“Not like this. It’s on the list. We won’t have time today.” I keep scrolling through ideas. “How about a sunset dinner cruise?”
His interest perks up. The guy likes his food, however strict he is with it. And we’ve worked up quite an appetite. “Sure.”
I go through the process of registering before he changes his mind. “We have to be there by six.”
My phone goes off again. Jake switches to my other foot and I’m about useless from the magic of his hands.
“Go ahead and answer them. They’re worried about you.” He works steadily on my heel, massaging up to my calf.
“They want a play-by-play and I can’t give them that.”
“Ah, the big secret.” His fingers work lazy circles along my skin that make me want to throw my phone and forget the rest of the world.
But the rest of the world will come looking for me and I don’t take that kind of dedication lightly.
I shoot a message to both Penni and Holland. Getting a massage today, then taking a sunset cruise.
Penni’s reply is immediate. By yourself?
I make a frustrated noise. “Is it so hard to believe that I’m here alone?”
Jake kisses the side of my ankle. “You’re not exactly alone.”
“I know! So I can’t even prove to them that I’m capable.”
He chuckles. “So you’re really upset that they’re right.”
“Yes. And I can’t just tell them and get them off my back. They’ll do just the opposite.”
He ditches my legs and crawls up my body. But he doesn’t claim my mouth, or start lifting my shirt. He snatches my phone and turns the camera on, then takes a selfie while he’s kissing my cheek.
He gives me my phone back. “Send them that.”
In the picture, I look stunned, but radiant. My bed hair forms a halo around my makeup-free face. I don’t tan the easiest, but my skin is glowing and flushed from the extra sun exposure. Jake’s face is turned in, his strong profile on display and his shoulders bare. The wall of the room is behind us, making it obvious we’re not on the beach, at a restaurant, or anywhere else but a hotel room.
Biting my lip, I send the picture with a note. Fine. You caught me. But I came here by myself.
I’m relieved I can tell them part of the truth. He nestles into the covers beside me.
“They’re going to blow up my phone.” I set it aside and lay beside him, curling his head into my chest. He drapes his arm over my waist.
My phone continues to buzz but I ignore it. I’m growing increasingly comfortable with Jake and we lay side by side. It’s getting harder not to ask him about himself. About how his parents died. Where he grew up. Where he worked and how he lived.
Despite the wall we formed between us, I’ve never been more secure with someone.
“What are you thinking about?” His rumble goes through my body.
“How I want to ask you questions but we can’t really get to know each other.”
He was quiet for a moment, then he says, “My favorite color is blue. The blue of the ocean.”
“Which blue?” I run my hands through his hair. “The blue when there’s a clear sky or the deeper blue of a stormy day?”
“Yes.”
I smile. “My favorite color is soft pink, but only as an accent color. If I see full-on pink, then I want bubble gum.”
He cups my ass and gives it a squeeze. “Your pink bikini and pink flip-flops accent your body well.”
“Thank you. I don’t think it’s the best color on me, but I love it and wear it anyway. What about music?”
“I don’t listen to music.”
“Seriously?”
He looks up. “I concentrate better when it’s quiet.” His brow crinkles. “When I moved to my house, it took me months to get used to the quiet, to not having traffic and sirens going off all hours of the day and night.”
Sirens. We grew up so differently. “What’s your new place like?”
“It’s not exactly new. I bought it when I was done with school. That was nearly ten years ago.”
“Oh, I forgot that you’re really old.”
He growls and tickles me until I can’t stop giggling and wiggles until I’m underneath him.
He towers over me and starts to roll my shorts down. “I’ll show you what this old man can do.”
“We’re supposed to be getting to know each other without getting to know each other.”
“You’ll know me.” He shoves his shorts down and I never tire of seeing the magnificence of his erection, big and solid, and for the next five days, all mine.
He shoves inside, filling me completely. No protection. I do know him. I feel like I know him better than anyone I’ve ever been with. Nothing can take away this experience. I’ll treasure it. Always.
Jacobi
“Holland said she’s proud of me.” London’s smile is full of mischief. “I told you I don’t normally do this.”
I would’ve believed her even if I didn’t know full well that this kind of experience was new for her. She really is a bad liar and her face shows everything she’s thinking. It’s… refreshing. Other than a couple of friends and the staff that works in my house, I’m not close enough to anyone to glean what they’re thinking just by talking to them.
But I’ve been following London. Tracking her movements the last six years would test most men’s tolerance for boredom. She went out with her friends, worked at least six days a week, and dated men that few parents would turn away. There was nothing scintillating or scandalous in her background other than what her dad and Diana set in place.
But I wasn’t most men and I watched with avid interest.
The wind ruffles her hair as the boat we’re on cruises deeper into the ocean. We’re sitting under a canopy on the upper level. Savory smells surround us. Our meal hasn’t arrived yet and I don’t really care. London’s giggling over her friends’ messages and her humor is infectious.
It’s gotten me wondering what if. What if before we part ways, I tell her who I really am? What if I tell her why I made her sign the contract? What if… she forgives me, and we have something real?
But then I remember how much I’m hiding from her and realize it’s a dream for another man, and that I don’t want another man to have London. Even worse, I’m starting to w
ant London to be with me in spite of everything I’ve done or tried to do.
The boat rocks gently as it hits a wave. She’s been intent on filling my time here with experiences, and I’ve never been one who cared about any of it. I have my private beach and my big house. That’s all I need. Yet I can’t argue that I’ve been missing a little fun in my thirty-one years.
With London though, I’ve enjoyed these little excursions. New restaurants. Walks outside the resort. A dinner cruise. She made me laugh and not as a ploy to get her to trust me.
She sends a reply and puts her phone down. It vibrates again. “Ugh, I’ll shut it off. Sorry.”
“No, go ahead. I’m sure you’ll lose signal soon.” Call it research, but I like watching her interact with her friends. I’d done searches on her friends years ago. Neither of them intrigued me and I only cared about them in regards to London. They seemed genuine and that was good enough for me, but they might cause problems after I marry London.
While she sends another message to Holland, I peek at my phone, more for something to do than because I thought someone was actually trying to get a hold of me. But there’s a message. I frown. With a picture.
Who would send me a pic? I wouldn’t put it past Cannon to shoot me a dick shot just because, but if he hasn’t done it by now… I open it and my world slams to a stop.
It’s a photo of my mother with glassy eyes and a dreamy smile, shooting up in a dark club that I don’t recognize but has the garish neon decor of the nineties.
My focus narrows onto that photo until a roar begins between my ears.
I can only think of one person who’d do this. My mom’s pimp. Sully Macklemore was fucking dead. He got out of jail six months ago and fell off my radar, but I figured it was only a matter of time before he lands himself back in. My business with him is done—or so I thought.
Ruined (Ruined and Redeemed Duet Book 1) Page 9