Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  And I know myself well enough to know that his voice, alone, will lure me into his sinful ways. He will tell me this is nothing. I don’t have to worry and fuck ’em. He doesn’t care, so why should I?

  Without realizing my hands are shaking, I dial Mama’s number, desperate to speak to her and seek the reassurance I need at this moment. The cell rings, and rings, until it hangs up on its accord.

  I try again, closing my eyes and praying she will pick up. Nothing.

  Fighting back the tears, I send Wesley a text. It’s all I have to say at this moment.

  Me: I can’t do this. It’s not me. I’m sorry.

  My cell is hidden away in my purse, switched to airplane mode and out of sight, out of mind. The plane begins to fill with passengers, some walking past me without interest and some watching me followed by whispers to the person next to them. The announcement is made for all passengers to take a seat. Minutes later, Emerson sits down beside me without saying a single word.

  After the safety presentation, the engine roars as we take off and head to the sky.

  Emerson has organized for me to sit at the window so I can experience the city from above. It’s beautiful—another piece of the world that I wouldn’t have experienced had I not taken this job with Emerson. Resting my head against the chair, I think about all the things I have done in the past month that have both terrified and excited me at the same time.

  And they all lead back to Wesley.

  “How long?” Emerson asks, keeping her voice low.

  “Only three weeks.”

  “Three weeks with Wesley Rich is enough to send anyone over the edge.”

  She isn’t telling me anything I haven’t experienced. Though part of me questions how much she will truly understand. Yes, they had a relationship, but it was so tainted that she saw nothing but black. Or perhaps, I’m living a lie behind my set of rose-colored glasses.

  “I d-don’t understand…” She stumbles on her words. “Why on earth would you want to be with him?”

  I’m slightly offended. “Emerson, you dated him once upon a time. In fact, you were engaged to him. You were willing to spend the rest of your life with Wesley. I’m sure you still remember something about him that kept you there.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Well, that’s your own opinion.”

  I hate arguing with her. I respect her as my boss and a friend but the jealousy, it gets a hold of me and knowing that she once had something with Wesley becomes my focus, again.

  “It’s just that Wesley is so infuriating. You deserve better than him.”

  “What if he deserves better than me?”

  “Not possible. Do you even know what he did to me? Not only did he go to Amsterdam and get high while sleeping with someone… plural. He cheated on me with multiple girls in some gang-bang hurrah. He’s not good for you.”

  I hold back the tears that stem from anger, not hurt. Emerson can’t possibly understand what Wesley and I have. Nobody can. I want to tell everyone, I love him and it’s stupid, right? After three weeks, how can I be so in love with a man who I know isn’t good for me? Everyone has an opinion on Wesley, and majority rules that he’s nothing but a bad boy.

  “I think I can decide what’s good for me. I don’t expect you to understand. You see Wesley the way you want to see him. It’s different with him and me. He’s different when he’s with me.”

  Emerson laughs, shaking her head and acknowledging her own private joke. “That’s what all the girls say. Why don’t you have a chat with Farrah? I’m sure Wesley has spun the same story, and that’s how he wooed you into bed.”

  I turn to face her, quick and sharp. “What makes you think that Wesley wooed me into bed? You don’t think it’s possible for two people to be sexually attracted to each other and make a joint decision to be intimate with each other?”

  “Milana. Trust me when I say this to you… Wesley is no good. He will hurt you. He’s destructive by nature. You’re smart, you’ve got good morals. Run while you can.”

  “If you think he’s so destructive, then why are you still business partners? Why won’t you let go of him? Are you still in love with him? Is that why you’re so worked up about us?”

  With an incredulous look, Emerson stiffens her shoulders and crosses her arms with a slight huff. “I love Logan. I love my family. I’m offended that you’ve suggested such a thing. We’re business partners because he won’t let go. I’m not giving up what I built from nothing. This is my dream, not his. And, of course, because he’s being an asshole, he holds onto it. Or maybe, because he’s still in love with me.”

  The words cut deep exposing a wound that’s surfacing slowly. My silence speaks volumes, my stare outside equally painful. For the rest of the flight, I run every moment with Wesley through my tired brain. The way he treats me, the way he smiles, our intimate moments when it’s just him and me. Alone with our souls. The way he laughs at my silly jokes. The way he romances me and opens his heart. All things he can’t have done if he’s in love with her.

  Halfway into our flight, I fall asleep. I dream of Mama sitting on my bed watching me read to her. She laughs, holds me tight, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, she falls asleep beside me.

  The voice, loud and rudely awakening me from my blissful sleep, is the captain announcing our descent. I rub my eyes, unaware that I had fell asleep for hours. Beside me, Emerson is sitting, still staring at the chair in front of her.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m sorry,” Emerson apologizes, quietly and keeping our conversation low again. “I don’t know where that came from. That’s Logan talking, not me. He has an obsession with Wesley. I get it, sort of. He’s my ex, and Logan’s jealousy is unruly at the best of times. But what I said, Milana, it was uncalled for.”

  It doesn’t erase the humiliation that follows. I have no words to say despite her apology. Part of me so desperately wants to apologize to her. She risked her reputation and gave me a job. It allows me to support Mama and Flynn. But I can’t say the words. They’re trapped, buried beneath a pile of jealous resentment that creates this undefined layer between us.

  “Milana.” Emerson places her hand on my arm, resting it gently. “If Logan finds out, which he will, it will be very difficult for me to work with you.”

  “Then I should quit.”

  “C’mon, let me talk to him. I don’t want to lose you. Not just because you’re a great assistant but because you’re a friend. This hurts, okay? I feel betrayed.” Her voice wavers, the warmth of her hand removes from my arm.

  She has no idea what it feels like.

  She feels betrayed? I am humiliated.

  Everywhere I turn, I’m doing something wrong. Losing friends because of my actions, losing a perfectly suitable job because I allow my personal life to interfere.

  And it all has one thing in common—Wesley Rich.

  All I have left is my family.

  As soon as the plane touches the tarmac, I switch on my phone. I have nothing from Wesley, a dozen texts from random people in my contacts list asking me about my relationship, and a voicemail from Mama.

  “Sweetie, it’s me. I’m sorry I missed your call. I’ve been tired lately. It must be the change in weather. I hope it is nothing too important. I miss you, and your brother. Maybe a trip back home might be in order. I know you’re busy but maybe Grandpapa can come over and cook for us. We’ll talk soon. I love you.”

  Around me, voices call my name. My vision is blurred, spots of colors that make no images or sense. Everything is echoing. I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring it all, and shutting down the noise by covering my ears.

  “I know you’re busy but maybe Grandpapa can come over and cook for us.”

  “Grandpapa? Grandpapa…”

  He’s gone.

  He’s a memory.

  And just like that—my nightmare begins.

  Mom’s Alzheimer’s is fast becoming a reality.

  Chapter Twenty-Three
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br />   “What you’ve experienced is called a panic attack.”

  The doctor, summoned to our hotel by a worried Emerson, explains how stress is a huge element, and my first, yet short, panic attack was induced by everything going on in my life that overwhelms me and snowballs into one intense moment.

  She speaks in great depth about well-being, the measures I need to take to reduce, if not eliminate, this from happening again. She calls them triggers—something, a warning sign, that will prompt me to find a coping mechanism before I reach that point again.

  I understand, but so much of what she says seems so far-fetched and unreasonable. So I have some personal problems. I’m not a kid. I can face these problems and move on. I don’t need help from professionals, nor do I need to schedule an appointment with some overly expensive doctor, who will listen to me talk for an hour and charge me a fortune.

  Doctor Peterson prescribes some medication and recommends I spend the day resting. That piece of advice I welcome with open arms.

  Emerson listens attentively, asking questions on my behalf while I continue to lay here like a vegetable. I’m exhausted. My limbs feel like jelly, my eyelids are barely able to remain open and acknowledge that Doctor Peterson is leaving.

  The whole ordeal has been one giant blur. I can’t even remember how I got here. What I do remember is listening to my voicemails, hearing Mama’s voice, and feeling overwhelmed by fear as she mentioned my Grandpapa.

  Then, there’s the issue of the media finding out about Wesley’s and my relationship. The paparazzi are relentless, and if my memory serves me correctly, a few were stationed outside this hotel. I don’t recall their faces, nor their questions, but their invasive behavior annoys our security guards. Thankfully, Emerson is a pro at avoiding them, dragging me with her and covering our faces with immensely large sunglasses she has in her purse.

  Sitting on the edge of my bed dressed in her sweats, a sad smile shadows Emerson’s normally positive aura. Letting out a deep sigh, she places her hand on top of mine and rubs it gently. “I’m here if you need to talk. I won’t judge, and I’m sorry I judged you earlier. It took me by surprise. I’m sorry.”

  She loses herself for a moment, deep in thought. Much like myself, she has dark circles under her eyes from the grueling trip and our big night out. Though, she’s still beautiful—natural and flawless—in her own right.

  “When I first signed up to Generation Next, the reality show, I had no clue what it was like to be in the spotlight. My brother, Ash, and Logan had just been scouted. They were famous for their abilities, lived and breathed soccer. Me… I was on television and didn’t expect the level of fame that came with it. I also didn’t expect the intrusion.”

  I listen, resting my head against the pillow and pulling the blanket up closer to my chin, keeping my body warm.

  “I guess it’s why Wesley and I were right for each other, at the time. He was going through the same thing, and we both felt trapped. If our lives would play out on television, wouldn’t it be easier to be with someone who was experiencing the same thing?”

  “Tell me…” I ask, softly, “… about you and Wesley. I want to know it through your words, not the tabloids.”

  She shuffles her legs onto the bed, crossing them beneath each other. “He was gorgeous. Every time I was around him, we had this flirtatious thing we would do, and I loved it. I wasn’t stupid, women wanted him, and I guess, if I’m being honest, I wanted to be the one who had him, not them.”

  I smile, without the bitter attachment, because I understand exactly what she means. This possessive hold over an unattainable man is a force to be reckoned with. I have never felt anything so powerful.

  “He’s charming.” She grins, adding a small laugh. “When he’s in a good place, he is so creative and driven. Do you know that part of our dry-fit technology concept is because of him?”

  “I thought he had nothing to do with it?”

  “He came up with the basic concept, then we passed it on to a technical team to move forward with the rest. I just wish he didn’t mix with the wrong crowd. As I said, when he’s on, he’s on. But when he’s in that dark place… it’s hard to pull him out.”

  “And his mother, what do you think of her?”

  Emerson’s laugh is short but full of contempt. “She’s determined, that’s for sure. Unfortunately, I don’t trust her. She’s so hung up on wealth that she doesn’t realize she has a son who needs attention.”

  Gina struck me as exactly that—gold and fame digger.

  “But I don’t think Wesley wants her attention.”

  “I think you’re right, to a certain extent. You can’t erase the past, and she’s done her damage. But I guess, being an optimist, it doesn’t have to be that way in the future. She needs to find her way, and Wesley needs to find his without her constantly bringing him down.”

  I bite my lip, holding back my fears but at the same time, desperate to unleash what my heart so eagerly wants to communicate. And if anyone will understand what it’s like to walk a mile in my shoes, it will be Emerson Chase.

  “It hurts me to see him that way. I can never imagine living a life without a supportive mother. I just… I just don’t know how to help him. I know he wants more from me, but I can’t give it, Emerson. All I have to give is to my mama. She needs me, not him.”

  The sobs remain trapped in my chest, my tears unwillingly fall silently against the white pillow as I remember the voicemail from Mama. I can’t bear to see this happening. The woman I love and look up to is deteriorating at this slow and agonizing rate.

  “I miss my mama every day, and it hurts.” I wipe my tears against my sleeve. “God, I know I look stupid. I’m too old to feel this way.”

  Emerson pats my leg, comforting and listening to me. “No, you’re not. I miss my mom, too. We talk almost every day on the phone. When I leave her, I cry, too. It’s hard being away from your family, but on the bright side, one day, you’ll have a family of your own, and your kids will feel the same way.”

  Slow and steady, I open my heart and tell Emerson what I have never admitted to anyone else. Not Mama, not Phoebe, and maybe, not even myself. “I don’t want kids. I’m terrified that I’ll have the same disease as Mama. And you know, I just can’t do it to another human being. It’s not fair to have to worry all the time whether or not they’ll remember you tomorrow.”

  Emerson keeps her judgment at bay, nodding her head and understanding my fear to procreate. A huge part of me feels relieved, and it lifts a heavy weight off my shoulders.

  “I understand how fear plays a huge part in the decisions we make. But, if for some reason you meet that guy you want to be with for the rest of your life, don’t shy away from creating a family. Blessings can come in all forms.”

  My gaze wanders to the window, watching the sunset in the horizon. It’s stunning and perfect in so many ways.

  “I love him. I don’t know why but I do.”

  The bed moves slightly. Emerson is sitting by my side with her arm around my shoulder. I bury myself into her chest, grateful for her support in this moment.

  “I shouldn’t, nor have the right, to question why someone loves someone else. But Milana, I will tell you this. Be careful, please. As much as I love Wesley for what we once had that was good, he also has a side to him that isn’t. And I don’t wish that on you. Just follow your instincts. In the end, what happens, happens.”

  I could have gotten angry at her for throwing him into the negative bin again, but I know the truth behind her words because if there is no truth, I wouldn’t be feeling this way. I’d be on the phone to him, happy and telling him how much I love him.

  Instead, I’m here confiding in his ex-fiancée.

  Emerson’s cell vibrates in her lap, and it’s Logan, FaceTiming her.

  “You should get that. Tell him I’m sorry, please.”

  She stands, pursing her lips and smiling but only just. “I will deal with him. You deal with your own worries, okay?�
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  Emerson leaves the room the same time I hear Logan shouting over the speaker. Quickly climbing out of bed, I hover toward the door and listen to the conversation as Logan is yelling at Emerson.

  “I fucking told you to end this! You never fucking listen to me. You always want to do your own thing and defend him. I swear Emerson, you need to fucking choose once and for all because I’m done with him being in our life.”

  “You’re angry, but this isn’t my fault. I can’t control people’s feelings,” she says, raising her voice in frustration.

  “You know what? I asked Milana to deal with Wesley. I don’t want him around you anymore. But hey, I didn’t expect her to spread her legs and fuck him.”

  “You’re being an asshole right now. I will talk to you when you calm down, you understand me? And you can kiss having another baby goodbye!” She ends the call, letting out a loud groan and stomping her feet with anger.

  It’s all my fault.

  If anything happens to Emerson and Logan, I can only blame myself. The same feeling I have with Mama. I shouldn’t have left home. If I didn’t, she wouldn’t be this way. She’d remember that Grandpapa died years ago. Everything would just continue on.

  I drag myself back to the bed, thinking about what Logan said. He makes me sound like a whore. I contemplate calling him directly to explain myself but quickly change my mind.

  Beside my bed is a nightstand with a fancy lamp. My cell, sitting on top, shows nothing from Wesley. I’m not sure if I should be relieved or worried.

  I scroll through my contacts, in a clouded and frazzled state, and dial the number.

  “It’s me.” I cry softly into the speaker. “Are you there? Say something.”

  There’s a long pause. Each second that passes hurts more and more.