Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  A replicate of my mother.

  The person I hate most in this world.

  A Note To The Reader

  Bad Boy Rich can be read as a standalone book. However, if you fall in love with Wesley Rich and want to know how he became an asshole, check out Kicking Reality.

  It would be impossible to portray a Hollywood megastar without the cold, harsh reality that behind the scenes, this industry can be all shades of fucked-up.

  So here is, in my sweetest voice possible, a warning that you’re going to love him. Then hate him. Then really hate him.

  Sex, drugs, and a messed-up childhood.

  All the traits of the ultimate Bad Boy.

  Playlist For Bad Boy Rich

  These are some of the songs that inspired me and made my characters come alive for Bad Boy Rich.

  I Want It That Way by Backstreet Boys

  Miss Independent by Kelly Clarkson

  Help! by The Beatles

  Creep by Radiohead

  Cuz I Can by Pink

  Somebody To You by The Vamps ft. Demi Lovato

  Sway by Bic Runga

  Dusk Till Dawn by Zayn ft. Sia

  If I Knew by Bruno Mars

  In The End by Linkin Park

  I Need A Doctor by Dr. Dre ft. Eminem

  Too Good At Goodbyes by Sam Smith

  You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette

  Nobody Knows by The Tony Rich Project

  Can’t Smile Without You by Barry Manilow

  Prologue

  My fingers trace the rim of the glass, slowly gliding against the smooth edge and eyeing the amber liquid with a desperate thirst.

  The noise outside the room travels through the house—loud, blaring rock music and incessant laughter from people I don’t care to be around. The same people, crowd, pathetic excuses for human beings latching onto me for my fame and money.

  In the end, that’s all I’m worth.

  The flat screen is perched on the wall, teasing me with an image of her face. A memory which lingers and became my living nightmare. My mistakes, my regret, and every wrong decision I have ever made lead me to this moment.

  Alone. Just me, myself, and the demon who torments me.

  It’s not just her face taunting me with its incessant beauty which used to be mine, it’s his face—the man who stole my life.

  And now I’m here with my only companion—a bottle of aged whiskey—watching the happiest couple in Hollywood.

  Mr. and Mrs. Carrington.

  My mind is cruel, torturing me to watch what could have—should have—always been mine.

  But it’s too late.

  She’s gone.

  No longer mine.

  My eyes divert toward the glass table beside me, where a large pile of papers sit with a note on top. Contracts. Everything that still ties us together.

  Wesley, let’s just end this, sign your share over, and I’ll pay you whatever you want. We both need to move on.

  The desperation in her voice sparks a twisted game in my mind. Emerson needs me. Together, we are the unstoppable couple rising to the top of our industry. As long as my name is written on the contract, we are legally bound.

  My hands wrap around the glass, raising it to my lips, and consuming the whiskey in one go. It no longer burns or clouds my vision.

  No. It tastes like sweet, beautiful—revenge.

  Chapter One

  Milana

  It has been the week from hell.

  A series of unfortunate events that should have come with a warning.

  It started off with some moron from overseas trying to hack into my bank account. I had no clue it had happened until the bank notified me that my account was temporarily suspended. No big deal except I was in the middle of ordering a foot-long sub and was asking the lady serving to pack on extra olives and meatball sauce. Great—when you have money to pay for it. Unfortunately, I have no cash in my purse and a card that won’t work. It’s embarrassing, mortifying and I can go on. I walked away hungry with a very annoyed sandwich artist mouthing off profanities even after I explained my situation.

  From then on, things went downhill. The photocopy machine decided to be my arch-nemesis. A paper jam alert in some secret crevice gave me a paper cut when I went in to retrieve it. My computer did this update thing, and I lost all my contacts in the process. Then the icing on the already screwed-up cake—my boss tells me she’s retiring. Since it’s her law firm, I will be jobless in just two short months.

  It was a shitty week.

  There had to be a bottle of wine calling my name. Until I found out that the truck carrying the latest shipment of alcohol broke down outside of Anchorage, and the only thing that Billy, our local grocer, has stocked in his store is beer.

  I don’t care for beer.

  Mama, as usual, is my knight in shining armor. She knows exactly how to make me feel better, and it involves her world-class lasagne—five types of cheese are melted in between a bolognese sauce that’s so saucy it makes you drool just staring at it.

  Though, I should have known it was a ploy. I smelled the rat that followed the delicious meal.

  “I’m going to put the house on the market.”

  The lasagne that sits on the plate in front of me suddenly loses its appeal. With my fork sitting firmly between my fingers, I place it gently on the edge of the plate and raise my eyes to meet Mama’s. I’m sure this is some sort of joke, a prank to tip me over the edge after a bad week. I’m mentally scrambling to check the date. No, it’s not April Fool’s Day. Not that Mama is the type of person to pull pranks.

  My brother, Flynn, silently chews on his last bite. Upon his final swallow, his expression mirrors mine as we stare in confusion, awaiting her explanation.

  Mama pushes her chair out and walks to the counter, where she retrieves a yellow envelope that has been sitting around for weeks. She carefully removes the contents and places them in the middle of the table. It’s a brochure—Rose Meadow Care Facility. I flick through the brochure, pages of people sitting around with smiles on their old faces. Mama is only fifty-five, and this place appears to be a senior citizens’ gateway to death.

  “Mama, I don’t understand. You want to sell our house?”

  She nods, keeping her lips tight and emotions restrained. “It isn’t supposed to be this way, the two of you taking care of me. I can’t live with myself knowing that. I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

  “Mama.” I push my chair back and fall onto my knees, clasping her hand in mine. “You’re not a burden. Please don’t do this. I’ll find another job. Granted, it may not pay as well as now, but I can pick up a third job. Many people have three jobs, and if that’s what I need to do to pay for a full-time nurse, I will, too.”

  She shakes her head, ignoring my desperate pleas. This is just another one of her episodes. This will pass. Tomorrow we will all wake up, and this conversation will be forgotten.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Milana, and this won’t pass. I’ve spoken to a professional who will follow through with my plans despite my condition. I can’t do this anymore. You have to understand that I only want the best for you both, and that’s not staying here.”

  She called me by my full name. She only does that when I’m in trouble and when she’s dead serious about something. On its own accord, my head is shaking left to right, fear turning into anger, refusing to allow her to do this. She isn’t thinking straight. This is our family home. A home that my grandpapa built with his bare hands. He will be rolling over in his grave if he knows his only daughter is selling this prized possession.

  “This isn’t the best for us!” I raise my voice, pulling away from her. “You’re our mother. Taking care of you is our job. Just keep the house, and we’ll sort something out.”

  “Full-time help is costly, and frankly, I’m tired.” She lowers her head, keeping her gaze down. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow let alone five minutes from now. I need to be somewhere with people who
know how to help me.”

  Flynn is quietly sitting at the table, offering no words to stop Mama from making this rash decision. I glare at him, demanding he speak up and help me convince her this is stupid. When he doesn’t say a word, I begin to panic at the thought of this going ahead. The knot in my stomach is tightening, and my fingers twitch while I hold down the urge to dry heave from the tightness in my chest.

  “I promise you we can keep the house. Like I said, I’ll just get another job.”

  “About that…” She pulls another piece of paper out of the envelope. “One of the ladies at the facility has a daughter-in-law who owns a recruitment agency in California. She’s looking for a personal assistant, and it pays four times the amount you earn here. I’ve recommended you for the position.”

  She hands the paper to me. It has the name of the agency and a description of the job.

  Personal Assistant to a well-known client. Must have extensive organizational skills with the ability to multitask and handle all matters in a confidential manner.

  “I can’t move to California!” Arguing, I almost throw the paper back at her in disgust. This idea is ludicrous. “As if I could leave you here… and what about Flynn?”

  “Your brother will go with you. Besides, you’ve come a long way from your teenage rebellion days. I think this will be good for you.”

  Flynn’s chair scrapes along the wooden floor as his body reacts instantly. “Move to California? Us?”

  “You always said you wanted to become a musician. This could be your chance.”

  “Mama, he plays the drums, as I’m sure a million people in California do. No, we’re not moving. End of story.” My arms fold, demanding this conversation stop.

  Mama remains quiet, lowering her brows and retaining a concerned expression. She’s deep in thought, staring at the two of us with her motherly stance. She knows we’re angry, she knows that all we know is this house and her. Change doesn’t exist in our world, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

  “If you’re hired for this job, I’ll reconsider selling the house. Perhaps we can rent it out to a family, and that can pay for the facility.” She clears the plates off the table and places them in the sink. Running the water slowly, she turns back around with a stern look on her aged face. “Otherwise, I’ll put it on the market.”

  I want to scream at her. Tell her to stop being selfish and think about our needs. It isn’t just about the house, it’s about her. I need her. The thought of her Mama being alone terrifies me. Yet deep inside, underneath all the resentment and rage, I know that she wears the burden on her shoulders every day, and no matter what we do, nothing can erase the diagnosis we were given.

  Mama has early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, and nothing in the world can stop it.

  Not me.

  Not Flynn.

  And no amount of money in the world.

  Chapter Two

  I am taking the mature road and said yes to moving to California.

  That lasted one day.

  I spent hours researching places to rent before stumbling on crime statistics, which had me retracting my words faster than you can say ‘gunshot wounds.’

  Apparently, it’s too late. Mama put a down payment on a small condo in the facility and bought us one-way tickets to Los Angeles. For weeks, I tried to find another job, but no matter how many interviews I have been to, the reality is that nothing pays as much as the jobs in California.

  The change brought on a new wave of emotions. I mourn the life I once knew. The nights are hard, lying in bed and counting down the days until this room becomes a distant memory. I fall asleep dreaming about a different time when things weren’t complicated, and life was just simple.

  Flynn barely says a word, keeping quiet and distancing himself from me like this is all my fault. Instead of spending these last moments with Mama, he chooses to hang out with his deadbeat friends down at the local billiard place. I don’t bother to scold him like I normally do. Leaving Mama behind is punishment enough.

  My time is filled with tying loose ends at my current job and countless interviews for this new role. The recruiter, Jan, preps me as much as possible, giving me a head start when it comes to the interview process and what the role entails. I did pass the first round of interviews which were conducted over video conference. It lasted for two hours, question after question. By the end of it, I was beyond exhausted. Never have I experienced an interview so formal.

  There is still a chance I won’t get the job, but as Mama points out, I have more opportunities in Los Angeles than I will in this town, and it isn’t just about me, Flynn has a talent which needs nurturing.

  So, it comes to this—the final goodbyes.

  Aside from when my grandparents passed away, I’ve only ever said goodbye to one person—my father. I was seven years old when he officially left for good but I barely knew the guy. He had worked on an oil rig somewhere in Asia and came home every couple of months. My grandparents didn’t approve of him. They thought Mama deserved better and someone not Korean. My grandpapa’s words to his only daughter still ring in my head, “You have Russian blood. How dare you dishonor us and marry a Korean!”

  Despite his racial slurs and creating this great divide between himself and Mama, he loved Flynn and me like his own. His death was like the loss of a father, and at the age of fifteen, my coping mechanism was not of mature thinking.

  I did things I shouldn’t have.

  Boys, weed, and anything I could get my hands on that involved danger.

  My dad made an appearance a year later, showed me photographs of his new family like I would be excited to know that I have a sister he actually spends time with. Flynn was different. He craved a father figure in his life and begged to move to Hawaii with him. Stupid moron said no. Mama was thankful, and for the next year, we dealt with Flynn and his anxiety. The doctor suggested he take medication, and for that, I hated my so-called father and welcomed the goodbye.

  This isn’t a real goodbye, though. This is a see-you-soon type of goodbye. Maybe that’s why I don’t shed the tears or drink the entire bottle of wine like my best friend, Phoebe. This trip to California will be short term—a year max. I will return once I’ve saved enough money to keep the house and maybe start my own business or something that will allow me to take care of Mama.

  This isn’t a goodbye forever.

  “I hate this…”

  Phoebe throws a pile of clothes into the suitcase in her normally overdramatic way before pretending to faint on my bed. The bedposts creak from the sudden weight of her body while I choose to ignore her plea to make me stay home, carefully organizing my precious belongings into a separate carry-on bag.

  “You only hate it because you’ve got no one to vent to on Friday night while drunk on cheap champagne you bought at Billy’s.”

  Phoebe sits up, then lays back against my pillow with her ginger hair in a tangled mess. Whenever she gets frustrated or angry, she unknowingly bites her hair while silently trying to regroup her thoughts.

  “That’s not true.” She shakes her head, spitting out a mouthful of hair. “You make a good vomit buddy. You pull my hair back so tight that it’s such a neat spew into the toilet bowl.”

  I throw a pair of socks at her face before plopping down beside her. “I hate this, too.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else you can do? Could you take another job or something?”

  I wish it were that simple. I work two jobs now to support our family including a full-time role at Mason’s Law Firm as personal assistant to Mildred Mason, one of Alaska’s top female lawyers. I took the job straight out of college and pretty much got thrown into the deep end. To be honest, I won’t have it any other way. It distracts me from the real problems I face with Mama and gives me the direction I need.

  “The pizza shop can’t afford to keep me on for weekends anymore. Why pay a twenty-six-year-old wages when you can pay a sixteen-year-old?” I complain. “And Mildr
ed is retiring.”

  “So, get another job. There’s plenty of personal assistant jobs here.”

  I laugh at her suggestion. “Uh, hello? You do know we live in a small town? It takes me ninety minutes each day to travel to work. There are no other jobs.”

  “Surely, there’s something.” Phoebe leans over to my nightstand and grabs the local newspaper. “Okay, look. There’s plenty.”

  “Fine, go ahead, tell me what I can do.”

  “How are you with gutting fish?”

  “The same you are with gutting fish.”

  She takes a giant swallow. “Gross. Okay, so fish guts ain’t your thing. Here you go…” Her eyes scan the paper, quietly reading before speaking. “Looking for a physically fit young woman to help with caring for ailing father.”

  “Pass.”

  “Why? The money looks good.”

  “Because it’s caring for Old Man Wilson, and we all know his wandering hands are no accident. I think his daughter gets some sort of advertisement discount for the number of times that job has been posted.”

  “Who would have thought an eighty-year-old man would be so frisky?” Phoebe questions with a cheeky grin. “He has an eye for your red miniskirt. By the way, can I have it?”

  “Clearly, not any of the women who applied for the role.” I move to the closet, open a secret compartment, and remove the miniskirt, throwing it at Phoebe. “All yours. The last time I wore this was in high school, smoking weed under the bleachers with Bobby Houseman.”

  “Those were the days.” Phoebe continues to troll the newspaper, turning the page with frustration and causing the paper to crumple between her fingers. Her frown turns into a smile, and I wait eagerly for her pathetic attempt to sell me a role that involves selling my soul to the devil.