Chasing Fate: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Dark Love Series Book 5)

by Kat T. Masen

  My God, yes! She likes pussy. Such a waste, but it wouldn’t stop me from jerking off to an image of her and some woman eating each other out.

  The door opens, and Presley bustles through, apologizing for taking longer than anticipated. With Presley in the room, Ms. Bentley talks more animatedly about the project, even laughing on occasion.

  Huh, I wonder why she was so stiff with me? Probably because she can sense how desperate your dick is to find her boss. Plus, she’s not into dick, so she’s awkward around attractive men like myself.

  “Well, then, it was really nice to meet you, Ms. Bentley,” Presley says, standing up.

  “And you,” she replies with a genuine smile.

  Presley shakes her hand and moves around the chair. I follow her lead and extend my hand, making sharp eye contact with her.

  “Thank you, Ms. Bentley, I look forward to working with both you and Miss Winters.”

  Ms. Bentley hesitates, unlike with Presley, and reluctantly extends her hand. I move in closer and shake it, holding on for a bit longer and never breaking her gaze. Just in case she does like men, and Kate’s theory is true, I give her a good handshake so she knows what I’m sporting below.

  She looks at me for a brief moment, breaking my stare and pulling away. “Likewise,” she responds coldly.

  Presley has left the room, and just when I’m about to walk out, Ms. Bentley calls my name. “Mr. Mason?”

  I turn around, surprised to see her leaning against her table in a suggestive pose. That or my brain is desperate to conjure up that image.

  “Please, call me Noah,” I say.

  “I’ll be in touch, Noah.” This time, she smiles softly, cocking her head to the side before walking around her table.

  “Looking forward to it, Ms. Bentley.”

  I step out of the room to Presley who’s waiting for me. That was odd, whatever that was. Talk about multiple personalities. Or, she’s afraid of me.

  It doesn’t matter, anyway.

  I’m this close to finally meeting Scarlett Winters.

  NOAH

  “What was she like? Did she have the red lips on? Is she as tiny as the magazines depict her?”

  Kate and Charlie are throwing a thousand questions at me, interrupting my meal. Charlie’s an excellent cook. Tonight—chicken parmesan. It looks so delicious, the cheese melts to perfection on top of the breaded chicken. I take a bite, ignoring them for a moment, hoping Lex will save me from the interrogation.

  “What about her face? Does it look like she’s had a nose job? Because those before-they-were-famous pics floating around look nothing like what she is today,” Eric says in one breath. “Word on the street is that she was sleeping with Beverly Hill’s top plastic surgeons.”

  I lift my gaze to meet Eric’s waiting stare. We met last week during one of his so-called impromptu visits, and after several warnings from both Charlie and Kate, he’s exactly who they described him to be.

  Lex shakes his head while enjoying his dinner. Throw me a lifejacket, I beg him with pleading eyes. I attempt to sway the topic to something else, but every time I try, we wind up right back where we started.

  Finally, after much deliberation, I tell them, “I haven’t met her yet.”

  The girls look at each other confused, then focus their attention back on me. Eric is tapping his fingers on the tabletop with an annoying beat.

  “What do you mean, you haven’t met her? I thought that was today,” Charlie expresses with disappointment.

  “She was tied up with some movie shoot. We met her assistant instead.”

  “Argh, movie stars. So unpredictable,” Eric complains.

  “This is so exciting,” Charlie squeals, changing her tune. “Can you imagine if you marry her? You’ll be Mr. Winters. And imagine the guestlist at the wedding? It’ll be like an episode of Dynasty.”

  “What the hell is Dynasty?” Both Eric and I say out loud.

  “Never mind. Not a TV show from your generation. Something my mom used to watch,” Charlie rambles on. “I could be related to Scarlett Winters. She could end up being my BFF, which would bring me closer to Leonardo DiCaprio because they star in that new movie together. It’s like six degrees of separation.”

  “What exactly do you think will happen if you meet Leonardo DiCaprio?” Lex questions her, jealous, and clearly not impressed by her enthusiasm.

  Charlie grins. “Two words for you, baby… Hall. Pass.”

  “So, what happens to me, your original BFF?” Eric asks with a slight hurt expression.

  “One problem at a time,” Charlie huffs. “You’re the OG. You’ll never be replaced, so chill the hell out, drama queen.”

  Lex mumbles something which prompts a mini argument, and to stop the pettiness, I throw in my two cents.

  “Listen, can you guys seriously lay off the marriage talk?” I warn them. “You’re jumping the gun a little, don’t you think? Plus, do we even know if she’s single?”

  “According to her Glamorous Stars interview, she’s single. She just broke up with that guy, the one who was photographed naked in Cabo and hung like a horse,” Charlie informs us, spreading her hands to measure the length. Thank God, the girls are busy playing in their toy room.

  “Oh,” Eric mouths, followed by a cheer. “Hung, like hung?”

  “Hung,” Charlie drags out with her eyes wide open.

  Lex stops the conversation. “Will the two of you stop saying hung? I’ve completely lost my appetite.”

  I nod, agreeing with Lex. The image alone is disturbing. Is this what women really talk about? Again, the only woman I spend a lot of time with is my mom. If she spoke about hung horses, I think I’d send myself to a mental institution.

  “Interesting,” I voice curiously. “So, Scarlett just broke up with a hung horse, which means the next guy she’s with will be somewhat of a rebound. I thought I was supposed to stop prowling for the broken-hearted?”

  “This doesn’t count. It’s Scarlett Winters,” Charlie repeats. “This is where your experience will come in handy. Sure, she may be looking for a rebound, but why not turn that rebound into something more?”

  How convenient for Charlie. It wasn’t long ago she was all up in my business about my past, but now, she’s encouraging me to fall back into my bad habits for the sake of finding true love. I feel like a pawn in their sick and twisted game.

  “Uh, are you forgetting the deal?” Kate interrupts, lifting her head from her cell.

  “No,” I groan. “The deal is to find someone to settle down with. It doesn’t have to involve marriage. De facto relationships are up fifteen percent in the last year.”

  Both Charlie and Kate stare back at me with confused faces.

  “It’s true,” Lex intervenes, his eyes diverting from his cell.

  Thanks. The lifejacket—five minutes too late.

  “I don’t even know where to begin with that.” Charlie shakes her head. “Of all the facts you can retain in your head, it’s the percentage increase in de facto relationships? Yet, when it comes to the car keys, you have no idea where you’ve placed them.”

  “That’s because car keys have these tiny legs like a robot and move when you put them somewhere,” Lex states seriously, shortly after breaking out into a silly smile.

  “Do you see who I married?” Charlie says, laughing, grabbing his chin and bringing his face close to hers.

  Ugh, honestly, these two are so in love it’s sickening.

  “Yes. A guy with a logical answer,” I respond, distracted by the beep of my cell. Opening the message, I see an unknown number sitting on the screen.

  Unknown: I’ve got an opening tomorrow afternoon if you’d like to begin working on the marketing plan for Miss Winters. Regards, Morgan Bentley

  Morgan. Cute name. It’s a very formal message, and with Charlie and Lex talking in the background, and Kate on her cell, as usual, I think of an appropriate way to respond. Eric is watching me like a hawk. It’s quite bothersome, so I shift m
y glance back to the screen.

  Me: I’ll take your opening. Just name the place and time. Sincerely, Noah Mason

  After hitting send, I regret it and worry that it came off as unprofessional. I’m glad she finally has an opening. I just wonder if she can read between the lines. I’d love to see her opening. Fuck, you need to let this one go.

  Jokes aside, I want to text her back and see if she has an affirmative date for when I’ll meet Scarlett. I decide against it and check my emails instead. There’s an email from Presley. She says that Ms. Bentley has contacted her for a meeting. The same meeting she just invited me to.

  I scroll through the email, wondering why she chose to message me rather than include me in the email—odd behavior from the frigid lesbian. Morgan texts back moments later with a place and time. Bored with the uneventful text, I respond with a ‘see you then’ and tuck my cell back into my pocket.

  “Okay, this is why it sucks having two males in the house,” Charlie goes on.

  I have no idea what they’re talking about, having been engrossed in the boring exchange of conversation with Morgan Bentley.

  “So, I was thinking of apartment hunting this week,” I say casually when their conversation dies down to silence.

  “Really? Are you sure?” Charlie asks, her expression concerned. “Don’t you think it’s too soon? Plus, there are so many bad neighborhoods in LA. I really think you should hold off.”

  “I have a spare room,” Eric offers with a wide-spreading grin. “And a nudity clause. As in free feel to make yourself at home, clothes off.”

  Kate snickers, shaking her head while throwing a napkin at Eric.

  “C’mon, guys. You know I think you’re awesome, but I don’t want to impose any longer.”

  “Impose is far from it,” Lex reassures. “But if you need a pad to let off steam, I feel your pain, brother.”

  Charlie pinches Lex’s arm, scolding him once again for encouraging my behavior. “Just hold off for a while. And if you really need a “letting-off-steam” pad…” she air quotes, “… I’m sure Lex can hook you up with a suite downtown.”

  “Okay, guys, I’ll hold off for a bit. More time to have tea parties, right?” I joke.

  She smiles, putting down the sippy cup in her hand, and wraps her arms around my waist to hug me. “Except the next time we play tea parties, I promise it won’t be air but tequila instead.”

  “Now you’re talking,” I laugh. “Desperate for a drink, much?”

  Charlie nods her head, rubbing her stomach, which looks like it has gotten bigger overnight.

  “You have no idea.” She lets out a huge breath before composing herself. “So, what are you two up to tonight? Or should I brace myself again?”

  “Hey!” Eric pouts. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

  “You’re a cockblocker,” I tell him with a smirk.

  Kate covers her mouth while trying to hold in her laughter, knowing all too well that in the short time I’ve known Eric, it’s way too easy to rile him up for amusement.

  “I’m so offended.” Eric places his hand on his chest, glancing toward his left to ignore us. “Plus, annoyed you’re stealing my BFF.”

  “You said I was your BFF?” Charlie berates him.

  “One drama queen at a time!” Eric yells before leaving the table and exiting the room.

  I turn to face Kate, shrugging my shoulders. It’s her last night on the West Coast before she takes the red-eye back to New York.

  “I have something planned.” Kate winks, yet I’m wary of her so-called ‘plan’ after our last incident.

  “Does it involve nudity?”

  Kate shakes her head. “No… we’ll keep all clothes on.”

  “Does it involve drinking?”

  This time, she nods her head. “Sure, something old-fashioned, perhaps?”

  “You’re an impossible woman with your cryptic clues,” I tell her, grabbing my wallet and phone. “Can I at least drive?”

  Kate lets out an annoyed huff. “What’s wrong with my driving?”

  “I don’t have a death wish…” I mutter beneath my breath. “Let’s go.”

  Charlie calls our names as we both walk away. “Behave, or you’re both grounded.”

  A laugh escapes Kate as she leans into me, “Did you hear what mommy said? Behave, naughty boy.”

  I knock her shoulder, making our way toward the garage where our argument continues on who will drive.

  This time, I win.

  KATE

  “How did you seriously not know John Cryer was in Pretty in Pink?”

  Noah walks alongside me, ice cream cone in hand as he shrugs his shoulders. I question his choice of flavor—mint chocolate. He might as well have been eating toothpaste.

  “The Two and a Half Men guy?”

  “Yes, the Two and a Half Men guy,” I repeat, walking beside him while indulging in my own delicious choice of butter pecan. If Americans do anything well, it’s their ice cream. “He played Ducky.”

  “Is this like some rom-com movie?”

  I stop mid-step, yanking him back to me, which almost causes his ice cream to topple over. Annoyed, he performs a balancing act before expressing an annoyed look.

  “Just to be clear,” I state, passionate about the subject we’re discussing, “You’re telling me you’ve never heard of the movie Pretty in Pink?”

  Again, he shrugs his shoulders, oblivious to the serious nature our conversation had just turned. I’m mind blown while observing him. Watching him carry on like this isn’t a big deal.

  Sure, he’s a guy, but Pretty in Pink is like a rite of passage into adulthood.

  “The movie has the word ‘pink’ in it,” he complains, furrowing his brows together. “Die Hard doesn’t have the word ‘pink’ in it. Now, that’s a great movie.”

  “Oh, Noah.” I sigh, continuing to walk with my head shaking. “There’s so much I need to teach you, young grasshopper.”

  We stroll along the boardwalk, welcoming the sea breeze. I’d only ever been to Santa Monica Pier once, and the experience was extremely enjoyable. It reminds me of a lot of Brighton Pier, a seaside amusement venue in East Sussex. My parents took us there as children, and along with that came great memories.

  As we stroll along the pier, the sun begins to set, sinking into the Pacific Ocean, which surrounds us. The view is amazing, cathartic, and easing the stress building within me as the time ticks closer to going back to Manhattan.

  Various shops line the pier, snack shacks to shops selling trinkets as well as souvenirs. We’ve already hit the old-fashioned soda shop, but nevertheless, I still enjoy looking at each store and seeing what they offer for sale.

  A few local fishermen are hovering by the edge, toying with their yarn in hopes of scoring the catch of the day. They don’t appear annoyed by the noise of the children running around or the screams echoing from the thrilling rides surrounding us.

  We head toward the large Ferris wheel called the Pacific Wheel. Noah buys us two tickets, and then we stand in line behind two other patrons. It’s been years since I last rode a Ferris wheel, the novelty of it all somewhat amusing in my head.

  “Are you looking forward to going back home?” Noah asks before the attendant opens the carriage door to let us on.

  We sit side by side as I lace my arm into his to block myself from the sea breeze knocking the carriage about. Holding onto him feels comfortable, and unlike other men I’ve been around, he never makes me feel uncomfortable when our bodies touch. Perhaps our misadventures that first night broke all tension between us. Though funnily enough, Noah and I never feel any tension—the two of us just gel.

  I purse my lips, staring into the ocean and admiring the panoramic views as we begin to rise. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  “You don’t like New York City?”

  Letting out a sigh, I think about his question. Noah has this odd way of reading my mind before I’ve even said a word. In ways, he’s much like Charl
ie. The two of them are very intuitive, or perhaps I’m just too comfortable around them, and my body language is readable.

  “Home isn’t Manhattan…”

  “Then what?” he questions. “England?”

  I shrug my shoulders, the void in my answer only raising more questions within my racing mind. What’s wrong with being a nomad? Perhaps I don’t need a home. My purpose in life can be to wander the earth alone. Gee, can I sound any more pathetic and morbid?

  “Does it have to be a place?” I pose the question back to him. “What if you don’t know where home is because it’s not a physical destination?”

  Noah nods with his distant stare. Like me, the ocean view becomes magnetic, almost as if with every crash of the waves onto the shoreline, a piece of us washes away.

  “So, this guy, Dominic,” Noah mentions the name with slight animosity. “If that’s what you want to call him.”

  I laugh, knocking his shoulder trying to lighten my mood. “Do you think I faked a name? That’s his real name.”

  “You’re in love with him.”

  “I’m not…” I stammer, hating the words ‘love’ and ‘Dominic’ in the same sentence. “It’s not love, okay? Yes, I feel something, but I’m not “in love” with him.” I use air quotes to accentuate it.

  Rather than speak, Noah nods his head knowingly, a habit of his when he either tries to think of something inappropriate to say or has nothing to say at all. I watch his profile, admiring his sharp jawline. He has the kind of face that stops you in your tracks—handsome and striking like an iconic movie star.

  “So, help me out here. Connect the dots… you’re not in love with him?” Noah asks, raising his brow while watching me. “But you’ve still got no response, and you’re pining for him?”

  “Pining for him?” I laugh again, his choice of word humorous. “Who are you? Danielle Steel?”

  His eyes gleam as his chuckles softly, making him even more handsome.

  “Look, I spent this week with a bunch of romance authors, so cut me some slack. I’m trying to understand this whole love thing.”