by Candy Gray
They say that things said in a drunken stupor aren’t lies, just unfiltered thoughts because your guard has been brought down.
So, who the fuck was Kimberly Moore?
Chapter 15
Bridget
I woke up that morning with my head pounding. My body ached, and my mouth was dry. I cursed the amount of alcohol I’d drunk at that party. The sun was shining brightly through the windows, and I had to shut the blinds or suffer a worse fate than I was already experiencing. Had my stomach not been so empty, I probably would’ve thrown up the moment I went to the bathroom.
I splashed some water in my face before I swallowed down some from the sink. I needed to take a shower and put myself together before lunch with Rachel today. I promised her I would meet up and tell her all about the dinner. I reached into the shower and cut on the hot water, letting the bathroom fill up with steam before I stepped in.
The water ran over my skin, and the night began to come back in patches. Thomas in his suit, the way he eyed me in my dress, the glasses of wine we drank. I smiled at his memory, thinking about how beautiful it was that we matched. The foundation had been so ecstatic at the donation I’d given them last night, and I vaguely remembered giving someone my information so they could contact me at a later date about something. I’d probably have to get Thomas to fill in some of the details, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have let me give my number to someone he wasn’t sure about.
My vision was pounding from my headache. I washed my hair and lathered up my body, hoping my hangover would lift before lunch with Rachel. I was beyond ready to update her on how things were going with Thomas, but I didn’t want to do it feeling the way I currently was. I focused on the water cascading down my back and how it reminded me of Thomas’s fingertips. I allowed the steam to envelop me while it reminded me of Thomas’s breath on my neck. He was messing me up in ways I’d never felt before, and I was ready for the advice Rachel had to give me.
I got out of the shower and shoved my head back underneath the sink. It felt like someone had shoved rolls of cotton down my throat. After I’d guzzled my fill, I went and sat on the edge of the tub. I needed to find some headache medication, and I needed a strong cup of coffee. If I couldn’t get this hangover to settle down, I’d have to call Rachel and have her come here. I couldn’t be seen out in public feeling this bad, nor could I subject my best friend to the complaining I would ultimately do if I had to go into public with my head hanging against its own concrete foundation.
“Shit,” I whispered.
I dried myself off and put some clothes on before I made my way downstairs. Jeans and a flowing shirt would have to do it today because it wasn’t getting any better than this. I wanted to take Rachel somewhere where the paparazzi wouldn’t bombard us, but I knew there were very few places in L.A. that would take me in jeans and a shirt just to get away from them. I brewed a pot of coffee while I chugged another glass of water. Then I grabbed a slice of bread and doused it in peanut butter.
I looked over at the kitchen table and couldn’t get my mind off Thomas. That seemed to be his routine, lately: he’d come in while I was sleeping, have something in the kitchen, and then sit at the table and become absorbed in his phone until I woke up and came downstairs. I was getting used to him sitting there, with his tailored suits and his shining forehead greeting me first thing in the morning. I enjoyed our playful banter and the way the sun illuminated his face from the window that sat directly in front of him.
I couldn’t have been more elated when the coffee pot went off. I poured myself a massive tumbler of the beautiful black liquid before I doused it in creamer. Then I went back upstairs in search of my phone. Rachel would be calling any minute to confirm our plans, and I wanted to make sure I could tell her we were going out instead of staying in.
I sipped my coffee while I worked my way up the stairs. Pieces of the night continued to come back to me. I giggled at how Thomas wanted people’s photographs, and I thought back to the compliment he paid me when he first saw me. He told that the English language didn’t have the words to express how beautiful I was that night, and my stomach rolled with butterflies just thinking about it again.
I wondered if he meant what he said.
I entered my room just as I heard my phone ring. A part of me was hoping it was Thomas, but I knew who it was before I even got over to my phone. Rachel’s name was scrolling across my screen, and I sighed with a breath of relief when I finally felt my vision stabilize from my headache.
My hangover was slowly going away, which meant I could take her out for lunch.
“Hey, Rach,” I said.
“Hey! How you feeling after last night?” she asked.
“Like death warmed over, but it’s dissipating,” I said. “Still up for lunch?”
“I suppose I should ask you that same question,” she said.
“After I finish this half gallon of coffee, I’ll be good to go.”
“Well, don’t let your heart explode before you get there. I wanna know all the details. Where are we headed?”
“There’s this place downtown that serves a wonderful French lunch,” I said. “You know what I’m talking about?”
“I think so. On the same street as my sister’s place?”
“Yep. That one. You up for going there? They’ve got a room we can sink back into without people taking pictures.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “See you in an hour?”
“What time is it?”
“It’s 11:30,” she said, giggling.
“Shit. Yeah, in an hour. I won’t be in anything fancy ,though, so don’t worry about doing yourself up.”
“Something tells me you’re gonna sound better than you look, and you sound like hell.”
“Thanks, dick. I’ll see you soon.”
I called Bernie and told him my plans before I downed the rest of my coffee. I was looking forward to lunch with Rachel because it meant I got to tell her all about Thomas. She hadn’t had any updates at all since the night we went to the club. I hadn’t told her about what happened, even though she had stayed over that night. I wasn’t sure how Thomas would’ve felt about something like that, but I knew she knew something was brewing.
And I was anxious to tell her what it was.
I went downstairs and hopped in the car, and by the time we pulled up, it was just shy of 12:30. I had closed my eyes in the back and thrown on a pair of sunglasses before chugging the rest of my coffee, and I finally got my headache to dissipate. I hadn’t put on any makeup or done anything with my hair, so I smoothed my fingers through it a few times before I gave up on how it looked. If the paparazzi caught me, they caught me, and I could just tell them I wasn’t feeling well and was just running in to get some soup.
It would be a hell of a lot better for my image than telling them I was hungover from the charity auction.
I walked into the restaurant, and the woman behind the hostess stand simply pointed me to the back. Apparently, Rachel had already gotten here and explained the situation, and I was thankful that she had. I walked past a few people who I could tell were scrambling for their phones, but I slinked back behind the door before they could catch any good pictures of me.
“Bridget!” she exclaimed. Rachel threw her arms around me, and I dug my face into her hair. She felt so comforting, given how I felt this morning, and I couldn't wait to indulge her in all the dirty details of me and my bodyguard.
“Do you want the whole story or the punch line?” I asked.
“Gimme the punchline,” she said. “Then, if I have questions, I’ll ask.”
“I fucked Thomas.”
She pulled me away from her body, with her eyes as wide as the moon. Then she tugged me to our table and sat me down. The waitress brought me my regular drink before she sat down a glass of wine in front of Rachel. More memories drifted into my brain from last night. Thomas carrying me up the steps and laying me down into my bed. Him taking off my shoes and jewelry an
d trying to make me comfortable.
Shit, I wish he’d stayed.
“Back. The fuck. Up, woman. You slept with Thomas?”
“And it was perfect,” I said.
“At the club?” she asked.
“No, but he did finger me until I came at the club.”
“Why am I just hearing about this now?!”
“Because I wasn’t sure he’d be too thrilled about it, especially being my employee. And he wasn’t for a little while, until I talked him around.”
“You mean to tell me someone was pissed that they slept with Bridget Meyers?” she asked.
“I think he was pissed because he was under my employ, and he has a daughter, but yes,” I said.
“He’s got a kid?”
“And she’s adorable, Rachel. You’d love her. She’s had a rough time of it because of her bitch of a mom, too. I’ve met her, and she’s phenomenal.”
“Wait, he fingered you in the club, and then you met his daughter?” she asked.
“Well, not like, right after,” I said, smiling. “And after dinner with them, we slept together, yes.”
“Girl, what the fuck are you doing?” she asked.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re entangling yourself with a man who’s got a kid. If she gets attached to you and the two of you fall apart, it’s gonna devastate her.”
I hadn’t thought about that, and then I remembered the promise I’d made myself. I had to tell him about me, and I had to tell him soon. There was this feeling lurking in the back of my mind, like time was counting down on a clock I didn’t know existed. The way Rachel was looking at me caused a shiver to run up my spine.
“You think this is a bad thing,” I said.
“Depends. How do you feel about him? Is he just a nice fuck? Or something else?”
I thought about her question and how definitive it sounded. I didn’t realize I’d have to define whatever it was we were doing on this lunch with her, and honestly, I didn’t know what we were. I loved being around him, and holy fuck, I loved sleeping with him, but did it have to be any more than that?
My heart fluttered at the memory of his dick sinking into my body before my cheeks heated at the memory of him kissing my forehead last night. He’d tucked me in after making me comfortable, and he had kissed me goodnight. I’d even thrown myself at him, begging him to fuck me, and he’d simply turned me down because I was too drunk.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I think so,” I said. “I mean, I took him to the charity auction with me last night, and he was a complete gentleman. Never put his hand too low on my waist, despite the fact that we’d slept together, and when we got home, I was absolutely hammered and practically threw myself at him, but he turned me down because I was too drunk.”
“Sounds like a man to me,” she said.
“But my favorite part of the night was the compliment he paid me in my dress. He told me that the English language didn’t have the correct words to accurately tell me how beautiful I was.”
“Holy shit!” Rachel said. “He knows how to lay it on.”
“And god, he knows how to do it in bed, too.
“Does he have a big dick?” she asked.
I nodded. “And expert fingers. I haven’t given his tongue a ride yet, but I plan on it.”
“Oh, if he’s got the monster trio going, you’re done for,” Rachel said.
“But, to answer your question, I can’t say I’m in love with the guy, but it’s definitely not just a hook up,” I said. “I really do enjoy waking up to him in the house and having him around.”
“Well, then here’s my advice that I know you didn’t ask for: talk to him and tell him all this. It is a bit scandalous because he is your bodyguard, but that shit’s easy to keep under wraps from people. But he’s got another factor with his daughter, so he should know how you’re feeling, in case he’s not feeling the same. Yeah, you might be swooning over him, but he might just be fucking you.”
She had a good point, and it was a point I couldn’t deny. I had no idea how Thomas was feeling about all of this, and we needed to talk.
About several things.
Rachel and I finished up our lunch before we hugged and said goodbye. My hangover was completely gone, and I even took off my sunglasses before I walked through the restaurant. Someone had tipped off the paparazzi, so cameras were waiting outside for me. However, Bernie was kind enough to part the waves and get me to my car. Thomas would be pissed when he saw the pictures of me going out without him, but I needed him at home for this conversation so I could properly have it with my best friend.
I’d deal with his bitching later.
Today was the day. I was going to call him up and tell him we needed to talk. Then I was going to spew everything over the phone. I really didn’t know if I could have this conversation up front with him, so the phone was the second best option. I rehearsed my speech in the mirror for both subjects before I picked up my phone, but when he answered, I felt my blood run cold in fear.
“Hello, Kimberly.”
“Wait, what?” I asked.
“I’m just messing with you,” he said. “I know it’s you, Bridget. I just wanted a bit of a laugh.”
“What?” I asked. “What laugh?”
“When I was leaving you last night, you were completely out of it from the wine. You told me your name was Kimberly Moore for some reason.”
I felt my body sway, and I had to lean against the bathroom counter. How the fuck did I not remember that little bit? I’d remembered everything but the one thing I had actually needed to remember.
“Kimberly, you there?”
“Don’t call me that,” I said.
“It’s just a joke. I’ll stop.”
“It’s not a joke. I…”
“Bridget. Are you all right? Is someone there? Is—”
I heard him do something on his phone before a sharp intake of breath happened.
“You went out without me?”
Holy fuck, the paparazzi worked quickly.
“It was just a friendly lunch with Rachel,” I said. “Nothing serious.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked. “What’s going on, Bridget?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just called to see how you were, and you called me another woman’s name. What the fuck’s up with that?”
“It was just a joke. I take it you don’t remember much from last night.”
“Not really,” I said, lying.
“Well, consider this me scolding you. Don’t go out without me. Even if it’s just a friendly lunch, call me. You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Now, why did you call?” he asked.
“Honestly, I can’t remember,” I said, lying again.
“Then go lay down and get some rest. You sound like hell, so I can only imagine what you look like.”
“Thanks, dick. You’re the second person to say that to me today. See you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow, Kimberly.”
I gave him a playful laugh before I hung up the phone, then I threw it across the bathroom. I was shocked when it didn’t shatter against the wall, but with my body shaking the way it was, I probably didn’t throw it all that hard.
“Fuck!”
What the hell had I done? Had I really been that drunk last night to have told him something like that? This situation was getting completely out of control, and I had no idea how to rein it in.
Tomorrow.
When he came over tomorrow for work, I would sit him down and tell him all of it. Start to finish, front to back, no details left out. I’d tell him about me, about what I did when I was eighteen, and even about how I was feeling. Then, he could make an educated decision based on that information. Then he could decide what he was going to do with me going forward.
But I knew for sure he wouldn’t be staying.
Shit.
Thomas
I got to Bridget’s that morning, and she was already standing outside waiting for me. Today, she started shooting one of the three movies that her agent had thrown at her, and she was tapping her foot like I was late. I got out of my car before sliding right into hers, and she began rambling away while Bernie pulled out of the parking lot.
“This movie should be done pretty quickly,” she said. “It’s a low-budget movie that’ll be sent straight to DVD once it’s done. Doing movies like this is really good for my career because it gives me connections in the indie movie industry, which means I could potentially go to some of the indie festivals, like Sundance, and promote other things. It doesn’t pay me too much money, but it’s still fun.”