Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  This party just got interesting. Now I understand her predicament.

  “Oh... you’re so screwed,” I say without thinking.

  “I told you,” she hisses. “What could be worse than this?”

  “How about almost fucking your brother’s best friend only to be interrupted by a friend who’s hopelessly pining for her brother-in-law?”

  She turns to face me, eyebrows raised, her eyes wide and full of shock. “I thought you guys were just flirting. You’re engaged.”

  “Nope. Wes fucked two hookers while snorting crack and everything you see filmed is a lie.”

  We both fall silent, staring into the crowd with heavy shoulders.

  “We’re both screwed.”

  “Yep,” I quip. “So, your brother-in-law?”

  “Noah,” she corrects me. “His nickname is Mr. Rebound. Before he met my sister he was known for preying on broken women.”

  “What’s new? Wesley does that now and he’s supposedly committed.”

  She bumps my shoulder, laughing then quickly apologizes. “We should probably head back. Your camera crew look pissed off.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess I have to go say hello.”

  “I’ll come with you,” I offer. “You know, for moral support.”

  She chuckles. “C’mon.”

  We both step downstairs weaving in and out of the crowd until we’re standing beside Noah and his friends. I can see the awkward exchange between Scarlett and Noah, but move on as she introduces me.

  “Haden Cooper runs the publishing house who published my book,” she says proudly of the man wearing the glasses. “Lex Edwards owns a few studios in town and his wife is also my lawyer.”

  The older guy has these very green eyes, almost an emerald shade. It’s hard to concentrate and not be rude by staring at them.

  “And Noah is my brother-in-law.”

  “Nice to meet you all. I’m Emerson.”

  Haden snickers. “Oh, we know who you are.”

  I smile politely, holding back the flirtatious eye-batting. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

  Lex bows his head, hiding his smirk while Noah stands there mirroring Haden.

  “Good,” Haden responds. “We’ll leave it at that since your fiancé is over there.”

  I turn my head to look where Haden’s pointing. Low and behold, Wes is surrounded by a group of people, mainly women, who are all desperate for his attention.

  “Ignore him, please,” I say bored. “Lord knows I do.”

  “So, Emerson’s here with her brother, Ashley Chase and his friend Logan Carrington.” Scarlett sways the conversation, detecting my annoyance.

  “I’d love to meet them,” Lex speaks up. His voice is so masculine yet smooth as silk. “I’m a huge Royal Kings fan.”

  “Sure, if you can pry them away from the Playboy Bunnies,” I joke.

  The three of them laugh. “Easier said than done, right?”

  I continue to chat for a few more minutes before Josie finds me and requests that I head on outside to film some additional scenes with a few Hollywood big names who are at the party.

  I quickly excuse myself, promising Lex I will find Ash and Logan and send them his way.

  We set up outside where I clip on my mic, and film for another hour. Our discussion revolves around weddings and my relationship with Wesley. I honestly couldn’t have thought of a more mundane topic, but Cliff gave the camera crew strict instructions to film me discussing my wedding plans. Fictional wedding plans since we aren’t actually getting married!

  I make sure I don’t have any alcohol in hand while filming, but when a waiter walks past with a tray of drinks I reach out and grab a glass, downing it in one go when Josie uses the restroom.

  This wedding talk does nothing to curb my anxiety. Every time I think about it, I resent Wes even more. I bet he’s not being filmed talking about the wedding because he’s a guy. Fucking sexist bullshit.

  Karl’s now joined Josie and asks me to walk through the house and find Wesley so we can finish up taping. I keep walking and stop just shy of the fire-pit where Logan’s sitting next to some woman. He hands her a wine, and despite the bullshit he said earlier she’s a fucking blonde.

  In the corner of my eye, I see his gaze shift to meet mine. I quickly move on, ignoring the jealousy building up inside me. You have no right to feel that way—ignore, ignore, IGNORE.

  Inside the house, Karl moves the camera around the room capturing what I’m witnessing. I continue walking, pretending Logan’s behavior doesn’t affect me whatsoever because it shouldn’t, and I’m terrified the camera will pick up my irrational emotions.

  Wesley’s moved to the main living room cozied up in the middle of women only. There appears to be no men around him, and oddly, it bothers me more than it should. I still care about him, and I hate admitting that.

  “Here’s my baby,” he slurs. “Come sit on my lap?”

  I don’t sit on his lap. Instead, ask the skank beside him to shove over.

  “Did I tell you girls how much I love her? She’s going to be my wife.” He laughs, grabbing my neck with his hand and pulling my lips toward his. I watch him pull back with mixed emotion written all over his face. “You smell different.”

  My instinct is to sniff my armpits, but the more he stills the more I become paranoid. I shouldn’t smell of anyone... Logan hasn’t been near me. Stop being so paranoid. “I’ve been mingling with everyone, hugging everyone…”

  He continues to watch me then follows through with a laugh. “Oh, yeah.” Sliding his hand up my thigh, he leans into my ear. “I don’t care what you want. I’m going to fuck you tonight.”

  “Stop it!” I tell him, pushing his hand aside. “You’re drunk.”

  He leans back in and I know the microphone can’t pick up too well over the noise in the room, but Wes strategically removes his mic.

  There’s a commotion near the entrance, a fight has broken out between two men. Karl turns to face them and film.

  Wes grabs my thigh, applying firm pressure. “You think someone else can touch you? Then think again. You’re coming home with me and the second we walk through that door, I’m going to take back what’s mine. I’m done waiting for you.” His demand to take me without my consent angers me beyond belief. How dare he! Wes thinks I so easily will forget what he did? I know I’m not thinking straight. I know the champagne’s not only expensive, but it is rather potent clouding any rational thoughts or any ability to remain civilized.

  He doesn’t own me.

  No one fucking owns me!

  “You’re a jerk. I’m not coming home. So, do whatever the hell you want!” I storm off and start looking for Ash and Logan. Searching everywhere, Karl tries to keep up with me, calling my name frantically. I notice Ash huddled in the corner with his head buried in some girl’s neck. I stomp to them, quick to pull him away.

  “What the fuck, Emmy?”

  “We’re going.”

  “I’m busy.” He motions with his eyes to the girl next to him.

  “He’s married,” I shout at her. “Did you know that? Or you don’t care ‘cause you just want to be known as a whore?”

  The girl stands up on her platform heels, her skimpy dress pulled up past her knees. She has on way too much mascara, so much so you can barely see her eyes in between her thick lashes. “Who you calling a whore?”

  “Uh... you?” I bark with a smile, crossing my arms firmly over my chest.

  I can see a look of shock filter out across Karl’s face.

  He wants drama, he’s damn well got drama. Emerson Chase has her gloves on ready to fight anyone who crosses her path.

  The whore launches herself right at me. Ash attempts to hold her back, while I shout profanities that would make any sailor proud. This is all his fault—he can’t keep his dick in check like every other man. I’m so sick of it, and perhaps the alcohol isn’t helping but it’s heightening my emotio
ns to the point where I have no control anymore.

  My body jerks back, a hand restraining me, removing me from the space where that ditsy whore tried to pull my hair. She fights like a fucking girl.

  “C’mon, Emmy. Just leave them alone,” Logan grits.

  I pull away from him. “Because you condone that?”

  Whore launches for me again, yelling, “You’re nothing but a reality-TV slut.”

  She shouldn’t have said that!

  Trying hard to wriggle my way out of Logan’s grasp is near impossible with the grip he has on my arms. He’s stronger than I anticipated.

  “Ash. Control her,” Logan warns him. “I’m taking Emmy home.”

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  “Well, I’m taking you anywhere but here.”

  Logan drags me away with Karl struggling to follow. We’re almost to the front door when Wes stops me, blocking the entrance.

  Wes’ eyes are wild with jealousy, his veins prominent and scattered all over his red face. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

  “Get out of the way.” Logan raises his voice, keeping his grip tight.

  “I said…” Wesley almost spits, “… you’re not taking her anywhere.”

  “You know what? Fuck you! You don’t own me, Wesley Rich,” I yell into his face. “Go back to your sofa full of sluts.” The adrenaline running through my veins gives me the strength to pull away from Logan and push past Wesley until the fresh air graces my boiling hot skin. Seeking some sort of escape, I spot our limo and slide in demanding the driver take me home.

  Trying to still my heart to no avail, I bury my head into my legs. I hear the door open but ignore it. At this moment I just don’t understand life, or why all the men in my life have this need to act the way they do.

  I don’t look up immediately but smell him instantly. I hate that he smells so good.

  “You’re not going home.”

  “I can handle my own decisions,” I argue back, defeated, and on the verge of tears.

  “Why are you angry at me?”

  “Because you’re all the same. Ash is no fucking different and you’re his best friend.”

  “We’re not the same, Emerson. And I will not allow you to go home.”

  “It’s not like he’s going to get his way.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Wesley,” I mumble. “He said he was going to have his way with me and that I had no choice.”

  Logan lets out a sinister laugh. “No way you’re going home then. It will be over my fucking dead body.”

  “What do you care anyway? It’s not like you’re my fiancé. Or even my boyfriend. You’re my...” trailing off I stop talking not wanting to say anymore.

  His body slumps, his eyebrows knit together in a frown. I’m sure he feels defeated the same as I am feeling right now.

  “What are you trying to say, Emmy?”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “I-I know you,” he stutters. “You always have something to say.”

  “Not this time…” I pause, then retract that comment and voice my thoughts without any care in the world. “We agreed it was one time and that was it. I got off, maybe you got off. It was a great night. Three cheers for knowing how to get a girl off in less than three minutes.”

  Logan lifts his head, watching me with a steady yet pained gaze. Why does he have to be so beautiful? Of all the glamorous men attending the party tonight, why is Logan the one I can’t get out of my head?

  “I just want to go home, Logan. All I want is to lay down and close my eyes.”

  “I won’t take you home… not to him.”

  I shuffle a little closer, resting my head on his lap. When he begins to stroke my hair, I fight to hold back my tears but lose the battle quickly.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “Because I’m tired…” I cry openly, through thin strained sobs, “… of everything.”

  “Then don’t be.”

  It takes a moment to compose myself then sit up and question him. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re tired of the responsibility. You’re tired of being in front of the cameras. So am I, Emmy. I’m done with it, too. Let’s live a little… just you and me. No one else has to know.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Let’s throw all caution into the wind, have fun, just you and me and no Ash. He doesn’t need to know.”

  “But the show?”

  “They don’t always follow you.”

  “What exactly will we do?”

  “Whatever you want, Emmy. Whatever your fucking heart desires.”

  I smile, through my tears. “Whatever I want?”

  He nods with a grin, staring at my mouth as he runs his finger against my bottom lip.

  I push the button to extend the screen and speak into the speaker, “Ted? Take us to Hollywood Boulevard.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What exciting things are there to do on Hollywood Boulevard?” Logan asks, wiping the tears from my face with his thumb while waiting for an answer.

  “Just you wait and see.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Revenge is an ugly disease.”

  ~ Logan Carrington

  “You misled me when we pulled up at Costumes and Toys.” A wicked smile flashes on her face as her bouncing body moves in through the automatic doors.

  When we pulled up to the store, I thought, Okay, she’s kinky and maybe it’s my lucky day. How wrong was I to think it had anything to do with sex?

  I watch Emmy make her way to the wall displaying the wigs, ignoring the urge to grab her body and tell her how fucking sexy she looks in her tight black dress and the shoes. Yeah, don’t get me started.

  “C’mon.” She gestures, calling me over. “Pick a wig.”

  “A wig? When I said let’s have fun, what part of that screamed wig shopping?”

  She shoves a brown, shaggy piece into my chest. “If you wanna play, you gotta keep it a secret.”

  Placing a blonde wig over her head she turns to face me, seeking my approval. I shake my head instantly—I don’t want to be seen with Florence Henderson.

  She searches the wall again and grabs a wig styled in a bob.

  “It’s pink,” I say.

  “Well, duh! What do you think?”

  “The paparazzi will find you in a heartbeat,” I tell her.

  I scan the wall and notice a subtle black wig. Removing it from the hook I place it over her hair, carefully tucking in the loose strands underneath. Her deep blue eyes stare back at me oddly. With just this one gaze, I’m taken back to a time when life wasn’t complicated. When the biggest hurdle was making it home before Mom, so I could cover the gashes on my leg from when I fell over jumping off the tree to prove I could fly.

  And I got this—all from this one stare.

  “That’s better.” I smile.

  “Now you.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes,” she says firmly. “Now stop being a baby and pick a wig.”

  Considering I’ve never worn a wig in my life, the choice seems overwhelming. I settle for a dark blond wig that makes me look like Justin Timberlake from his NSYNC days. It’s either that or a poorly cut piece that will made me a dead ringer for Ozzy Osbourne.

  “Great! Now you need facial hair.”

  I point to my chin. “I have facial hair.”

  “Hmm… yeah, but you’re not hairy enough. You need to look like a man enjoying a Saturday night in Hollywood. Not like Logan Carrington, soccer extraordinaire, taking Emerson Chase out on some wild sex ride.”

  I can’t hide the smirk. “We’re going on a wild sex ride?”

  “Does it look like I’m dressed for a wild sex ride?” She pauses. “You know what? Don’t answer that.”

  I can see the blush, yet she’s quick to busy herself, picking up a mustache that will make me look like an aging porn star. “Is this absolutely necessary?” I ask for the fina
l time.

  Ignoring my question completely she finds a hideous-looking pair of reading glasses, thrown into a clearance bin. She also pulls out a bow tie.

  “We’re set,” she beams, deliriously happy for someone who looks like she should teleport back to the seventies with her glasses.

  “I’ve never looked more ridiculous.”

  “I’ll argue that. Remember that Christmas jumper you used to wear? The one our neighbor knitted for all of us, but your snowmen looked like two giant dicks?”

  She had to bring it up. That jumper still gives me the chills, yet my mom insists on keeping the photos of me posing in front of our barely decorated tree. The snowmen do look like two giant dicks. The neighbor absolutely had dick on her mind when she was knitting that piece of shit.

  “Point taken. Where to now?”

  “It’s a surprise... you’ll love it.”

  ***

  The bar’s full of people, but it’s expected for Saturation in LA. There are groups who have empty glasses littering their tables, laughing heavily as their waiter brings a fresh round. There are a few couples who are keeping quiet but engaging in conversation. The music’s loud and streaming through the giant speakers—an R&B remix with some ‘Country Grammar’ to start it off.

  There’s one small table available in the middle. We maneuver our way through the crowd, quickly securing the table which remains dirty with used glasses. The bar stools are high, giving us an advantage and bringing us to eye level with those dancing.

  Aside from the dirty glasses, there’s a menu in the middle of the table. I’m starving and can’t wait to order then I realize it’s a menu of songs—karaoke songs.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” I pull the song list out of her hands, demanding she think of something else to do.

  “We need more booze. Loosen your panties mister because karaoke is fun. It’s something I never get to do. Look at all these people!” She lowers her voice while leaning in, “They have no clue who we are. We can do anything we want.”

  Emmy has a point, not one person has recognized us so far. Everywhere you turn, someone has a cell out taking selfies or photographs of their friends.