by LP Lovell
“What we had is over, Theo. You need to accept it!”
“No, you need to accept this: You are mine. You know it and I know it. The sooner you stop fighting it the better. The situation may be fucked up, but it doesn’t change the facts. Some things just are sugar. You and me are one of those things.”
“You can’t hold onto something that doesn’t want to stay.” She says quietly. “Let go, for both our sake’s.” She pushes past me without a word and picks up the file on the desk before moving to the door.
She keeps her back to me as she speaks. “I’ll call you when I’ve spoken to Simmons.”
“Know this sugar. I’m done letting you run from me. I’m coming for you.”
She glances back at me over her shoulder, her face set in a stony mask. “If anything like this happens again, then I will request that you be assigned to another solicitor.” Then she’s gone. Damn, the woman is like a fucking fortress, and her heart is locked up tighter than the crown jewels.
I go home and pour a big glass of scotch. I stand and look out the glass doors over the now fading light of London. Lights start to come on like fireflies glowing in the darkness. I take a gulp of the scotch. For once, it does little to calm my racing mind.
That woman is driving me insane. I want her to the point of madness, and I’m starting to think that maybe I physically can’t live without her. Damn it, why does she have to make things so difficult? Does she not miss me at all? Miss us? I tell her I love her and she just shuts me down. She’s never been an open book, but she’s like a fucking ice queen. She said she loved me once, but now she acts like I’m nothing to her. Her anger I can take, but this distant coldness she’s giving me, it’s killing me.
I need to get out of this house before I do something crazy. Attempting to drink the place dry is looking appealing right now. I need her out of my head.
I pick up my phone and dial. “Hugo.”
“Hey. Where are you?” He sounds drunk. Standard.
“Home.” I say shortly. “I need to get out of here.”
“I’m at Scarlett’s. Pop in.” Scarlett’s is a strip bar that Hugo owns. Technically I own a quarter of it, but I have very little to do with it. I’m not sure I really want company, but you can’t get much more self-destructive than drinking alone. I do however need a bloody drink. Hugo is a good distraction from my own crap anyway. He’s always up to some crazy shit.
“Are you likely to be fucking strippers all night?”
He laughs. “Well yes, but I’ll wait until you leave this time.”
“You’re a prick.” I grumble. The last time I agreed to go to Scarlett’s we were having lap dances, when Hugo’s turned into a naked penetrative lap dance. I swear to god, I’ve seen that twat’s cock almost as much as I’ve seen my own. It is not something I care to witness again, and I’m definitely not in the mood for that shit tonight. I’m not in the mood for a titty bar, but needs must.
The club is busy as usual. There are three podiums with poles that are dotted around the centre of the main club. People sit at tables, watching the half-naked dancers slide up and down the metal poles. Equally half-naked waitresses bring drinks to the tables. Although I don’t have much to do with the place, I know it makes a shit tonne of money, which is why I’m happy to remain a silent partner. I like businesses that make me money without me lifting a finger. In fact, those are the only type of businesses I’m really interested in.
I move through the club toward the private section at the back. This is reserved for private parties, or when Hugo decides he wants his own private party. He apparently has no concerns over looking like some sleazy, corrupt strip club owner who fucks his girls. Mind you, they don’t seem to be unwilling.
The back is divided into three private rooms. Each one has its own bar, pole and of course strippers. The best girls are reserved for these rooms. The front of the club acts as a normal run of the mill strip bar, but a night in these private rooms costs thousands. These rooms are what make this club so profitable.
One of the girls from the bar catches my eye and hurries over. “Mr. Ellis.” She greets me before turning on her heel and guiding me to the back rooms. She pulls a key card from…well, I’m not quite sure where she was stashing it in that scrap of an outfit. Resourceful is the word that springs to mind.
She holds the door open for me and I step into the dark room. The sounds of rock music being played fairly quietly fills the room. The room is intimate. Dark walls and furniture are lit by small uplighters on the walls. The bar is sat to the extreme right, with a girl standing behind it, ready to serve anything the patrons should desire, quite literally. In the middle of the room is a pole, surrounded by leather sofas. Hugo is currently sat on one of them. His arms are stretched along the back of the sofa, his legs casually splayed as a brunette straddles him, writhing on his lap. So this is how tonight is going to go.
Hugo spots me and slaps the girl’s arse before tucking a few notes into her g-string. She stands and moves away.
He grins. “You look like shit dude.”
“Thanks dickhead. Nice to see you too.”
He laughs. “Oh he’s grouchy. Get him a stiff drink somebody.” He waves dismissively toward one of the girls. I’m soon offered a short glass of scotch. I down the burning liquid in one. I’m pretty sure you earn immediate membership into the arsehole club, when a strip bar knows your drink.
“Fucking hell. It must be bad.”
I shrug. “I’m past bad. I’ve concluded that life is shit.”
“Seriously? When was the last time you got some you miserable fucker? Jesus.”
“Not since Lilly, obviously.” I say as I watch the brunette girl saunter across to the bar.
“What the fuck?! I thought your right arm was looking a bit over-developed.” He laughs as I roll my eyes at him. “It is a sad state of affairs when the only thing your dick touches is your own palm. You’re a disgrace to the male species.”
“Fuck you. Getting laid hasn’t exactly been at the top of my priorities.”
“Fuck that. Getting laid should be at the top of everyone’s priorities at all times.” He beckons a blonde dancer over to him.
“I think your priorities are fucked. You’re definitely not the right person to take advice from on this. You may actually be a sex addict. You have issues.” I look at him just as the blonde comes to stand in front of him. He hooks a finger into her non-existent underwear and pulls her forward until her knees hit the edge of the sofa and she falls into his lap. Literally. It’s weird, especially given the situation, but I find this comforting. Banter with Hugo, his standard drinking and naked women, it’s all familiar. It takes my mind off my own shitty world right now.
“I am the only sane person left in this world. People prioritise their jobs, their family, whatever other bullshit they decide upon. I am as nature intended. I act on animal instinct. I want to fuck, so I fuck. I’m just giving my body what it wants, in the same way it wants food and air to breathe. You should always work with instinct. It’s healthy.” He grins. “Plus, sex is directly linked to happiness. Look at me. I’m never sad.” The blonde girl is now on her knees on the sofa straddling him. Her stomach is level with his face. He grabs her hips and she grinds them toward his face. His eyes remain fixed on the scrap of material at her crotch, a small smile permanently etched on his face. “You on the other hand are a miserable twat. No sex. Are you starting to see the pattern here?”
I shake my head. I have to give it to him though…he is always happy. “You’re a fucking animal.” I say as he skims his nose across the line of the girl’s g-string.
He laughs. “Sweetheart, you smell fucking amazing.” She smiles at him. Now don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with strippers. I would never fuck one, the same as I would never fuck a hooker, at least not intentionally. My private investigator informs me that Cassie was a stripper, because she was looking so desirable before…not. Let’s just say she was a monumental fucking mistake on
every single level. Anyway, I just don’t believe in paying for it. To me a girl who gets paid to take her clothes off isn’t much better than one who is paid to suck cock. There’s always been that egotistical element whereby women come to me willingly, more than willing in fact, some begging. Therefore, why would I ever pay for it? Hugo has no such qualms. Every hole is a goal as far as he’s concerned. In fact he see’s paying for it as quality assurance. He once told me that anything free is always shit, so why should sex be any different. I almost envy him and his loose attitude. I’ve never been an angel, but now more than ever I really wish I was an unscrupulous bastard with no morales. I want to go back to not caring. I wish I could erase Lilly Parker from my mind, because I know that no matter how many times she kicks me, I’ll still go back for more. I’m unhealthily fucking addicted to the girl. I wish I could rid myself of this gnawing guilt and aching loss. I need to forget. I need another drink.
Five glasses of scotch later and the brunette, who is apparently called Maria, very un-stripper like, is now dry humping my lap. Her naked tits are bouncing in my face, her hips sway and thrust in time to the rock music now playing in the background. My vision is blurred, and the room is spinning. I don’t feel miserable. I feel numb. The key to happiness is booze and tits apparently. I’ve just discovered Hugo’s secret. Turns out distraction may be my only hope now. Maria’s double D’s are certainly a step in the right direction. I glance across the room at Hugo and laugh. He’s attempting to pole dance. Don’t ask. He’s been trying to hold onto the pole with just his legs, as per blondie’s instructions, and fallen flat on his face three times.
“Damn, this shit is harder than it looks. Theo you try.” He’s grinning like a kid. That grin has got us into more trouble than I can remember, including many over nighter’s behind bars and a lot of angry boyfriends. I remember one night when that infamous grin led us to tag team this woman who was gagging for it. She was married to some older rich guy and got off on having sex when he might discover her. Weird. The guy came home and we had to climb out of the second floor window. I was okay, but Hugo lost his trousers and broke his arm jumping from the first floor window. Good times.
“I am not pole dancing.” I laugh.
“You’re a fucking pussy.”
“No, I’m not a pussy, which is why I’m not grinding up and down a pole. I worry about you sometimes.” I shake my head. Fucking Hugo.
“Pfft. Whatever. I think, that you could be our very own Magic Mike.” He smiles and wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Don’t you think ladies?” That earns some very enthusiastic nods from the two girls. He’s a dick. “We’d make a killing.”
“Not enough for me to run around in fucking budgie smugglers looking like a prize prick.”
“I think you’d look hot.” Maria says, putting every ounce of seduction into her voice. I look at her, really look at her. A few months ago this is the kind of woman I would have slept with without a second thought, if she weren’t a stripper of course. She’s not the kind of woman I would have sought out, but if it were offered I wouldn’t have denied it. Now though, she’s just cheap, easy and obvious. I want to fuck her. I don’t want Lilly to be the last woman I touched, kissed and fucked. I want to distract myself from my depressing thoughts by burying myself balls deep in Maria, but I just can’t bring myself to fuck her, so instead I drag her to the toilets and let her blow me. As soon as she’s done I zip my jeans and leave. I hear the clipping of her heals as she follows me out of the toilets.
“Where are you going?” She asks indignantly.
I place a wad of notes in her hand. “Home.” She takes the money and then shrugs, suddenly very unbothered by my departure. I can’t believe I just paid for a blow job. The worst part; I feel worse now than when I came in here.
Chapter Six
Lilly
“Come on, sulky Sue. Enough with the depressing moping. We’re going out.” George waltzes into my room being far too chirpy, and flops down on my bed next to me.
“I’m not moping.” I whine. I am moping. I was getting out of this funk, and then Theo had to corner me in that room. He said those three simple words, words that ripped me apart. His kiss ripped me apart. His kiss made me burn for him the way I always have. That kiss reminded me of everything we were, everything we are together. We’re perfect. We’re devastating in a way that only something that powerful can be. We’re ruined.
I still want him so much. I can’t help myself around him. What if he hadn’t broken that kiss? Would I have let him take me right there in the conference room? I remember the feel of him touching me, the possession in his lips…yes, I would have. Damn it.
The whole situation is so complicated. I want him. I love him, but I hate him for what he’s done to me, to us.
“I’m just keeping my head down.” I grumble. I’m not feeling strong right now. When I’m out I feel I have to be bad bitch Lilly Parker, and trust me, that is exactly what they think I am. After my little statement outside the court house they all think I’m some kind of hard arse with a heart of stone. I’m just not up to keeping up the façade right now.
“Sweetie, I’m going to give you some tough love.” Oh god. “Theo is gone, it’s over, done, finito. You have hashed it out… To. Death.” He gives me an exasperated look. “But I cannot bare you being this bloody depressing. There are plenty more fish in the sea. Anyway, you should be celebrating, not moping.” I’ve never thought about it before, but why, when you’re post break-up, do people think it’s appropriate to make the fish in the sea comment. I’m not so much of a ho-bag that I’m going to jump the next man I see. Although perhaps that would help.
“Can’t we celebrate here?” I’m of course, thrilled about my new job, if not a little suspect. Interns don’t just get handed clients like Ellis and Hardy. I still think Theo is responsible, even if he didn’t say anything. My guess is Simmons knows that Theo likes me and asks for me personally. That guy must not read the papers…or have noticed the press that were no doubt hanging around the offices after the break. I didn’t have the balls to tell him about me and Theo, but I really feel I should. He should probably know that my presence is now actually more likely to deter Theo’s business than lure it. He only wants me for one thing. I’ve made it clear he’s not going to get it, so he’ll get bored and find a new play thing, I’m sure. I don’t even want to admit to myself my thoughts on that.
George sits bolt upright on the bed, eyeing me sternly. “Right, that’s it. The Lilly I know would go out there with her middle finger erect to the world!” I laugh. He’s right. I need to remember who I am. “So you are going to get dressed, slap on some lippy and come dancing. I’ll even buy the first round.” He raises an eyebrow before he rolls of the bed and strolls out the door. He must be desperate if he’s buying.
I decided in the end to wear some skin tight black jeans, heels and a red camisole top. It’s basic, but it works. “Oh my god, the bitch is back and ready to break hearts all over London town.” George grins.
“Pft, that’s your job.” I smile. “Where’s Molly?” I ask.
“Hugo’s.” He grunts as way of explanation.
“I can’t believe she’s still seeing him. Seriously, he’s got fuck and chuck written all over him.” I shake my head. She’ll get burned.
“Sweetie, you don’t ‘see’ boys like Hugo, you fuck them.” He winks.
“Precisely.” I say deadpan. “If she’s trying to make it more, then her and I are going to be having a little imparting of advice. She can learn from my mistakes.”
“Oh no, don’t even go there. Tonight we are partying, not moping.” He shakes his head as he marches me to the door.
George and I hit Soho. We go into Aloha, a cocktail bar which serves the best cocktails you will ever have. I can feel eyes on me as we sit at the bar sipping mojito’s. I slip into the façade I’ve spent years perfecting easily. I haven’t changed, I’ve just been stripped a layer. I can still maintain the front, it just takes a lit
tle more effort.
The bar has a Hawaiian theme, with palm trees in the corners, and all the bar staff draped in flowers. I’ve always liked it in here, although I can’t remember the last time we came here. The music is not too loud, so you can actually hold a conversation.
“Oh, hotties at three o’clock.” George says in my ear. I look up to see two guys eyeing me from across the bar. They’re the classic Chelsea trust fund types. Not my type. I laugh at the irony of that.
“Really George? They look like they could barely wipe their arses without mummy or daddy’s help.” I roll my eyes.
George snorts. “Fucking hell I’ve missed you.” He laughs. “You’re right, but he is a classic TDH. Plus, he won’t be able to handle all your woman.” He wiggles a finger in my face. “…Which means you can use and abuse away.” He smirks, he knows me far too well.
“George. I don’t want to use and abuse.” I whine. “Especially not with that.” I eye the guy again. He’s really not that bad, but it’s hard to judge when you’ve spent the last three months fucking the god of the male species. Yeah, I just said that. I’d never tell him that to his face. Fuck no.
His eyes bug out as he sucks on the straw of his drink. “Oh, hell no. You have clearly not drunk enough!” I laugh as he waves a barmaid over. “Give me six shots of your strongest.” He orders. Oh god, I’m going to be so trashed.
The shots of unknown origin are placed in front of us. I slam the first one and cough as a violent shudder wracks my body. “Ugh, I fucking hate absinthe! Do you not remember the last time George!?” He grins.
The last time we drank absinthe we slept on a park bench and I woke up with a hangover so bad I actually thought I might need to be hospitalized. Tomorrow is going to be horrible.
Tall, dark and handsome decides to be brave and saunters over with his friend in tow. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asks. Ugh, really? Maybe I’m just a bitch, but I hate guys who are just unimaginative.