Daring Play (Dangerous Book 3)

by Romi Hart

  He stares and so I repeat myself loud and clear.

  “I said, you only get once chance with me.”

  “I realize that. And I swear to you, I didn’t know you and Renee were friends. I thought you were work buddies, you know?”

  “And so what if we were work buddies? What right does that give you to just fuck all the people around me within a twenty-yard radius?”

  “Look, the truth is, I honestly didn’t KNOW I was attracted to you. When I first met you, I was preoccupied with business. Then you started harassing me in the press…”

  “I liked you!” I say defensively.

  “That’s how you show it?!” he shoots back. “How was I supposed to know you were playing me? Look, the point is…I DO like you. You’re smart. You speak your mind. You’re not afraid to speak up and make your point. That’s admirable. I’m sorry I messed things up between us by, well, you know.”

  “You like me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ohhhh, I see how it is.” I fold my arms and scowl back to him. “So even though you JUST said this is not about sex and you don’t want to date me…you’ve now turned this into an ‘I like you’ thing.”

  “What are you saying?” he replies in confusion.

  “I’m saying shame on you, Zander. The ONLY reason you’re here is because you want to have sex with a woman who despises you. The only reason.”

  “That’s not true…” he says, lying through his empty, BUSTED gaze.

  “Yeah right. Well, I’m not interested. And for your information, I’ve already met another guy that I’m thinking about seriously dating. A nice man, a gentleman.”

  “Oh? WHO?”

  “What the hell business is it of yours?”

  “Well, I’m fascinated to know, is all. You say you like me, I finally start to like you and now you think I’m scum of the earth.”

  “Yes. That is an accurate assessment. Congratulations on picking that up,” I shoot back.

  “Well now I want to know what kind of a guy you actually like. You know, maybe by observing him, I can finally figure out how to act around women, you know, so I won’t be such a sexist pig.”

  I sigh in frustration. “He’s the opposite of you, Zander. All of your instincts are wrong. Everything this guy does is the opposite of what you do. So if you really want my advice, just start doing the opposite of what a guy like you does every day.”

  “Well…”

  “You know, fucking every woman you meet. Treating people like they’re the rabble of society.”

  “You know what?” Finally, Zander huffs and puffs and delivers a dramatic THUD to the table. “I’m tired of this. Maya, I’m tired of this argument.”

  “Good! So leave!”

  “I am going to leave. But before I go I deserve my say.”

  “Oh sure, why not. You NEVER get to have your say, right, Zander? You’re not constantly all over the news carefully polishing your reputation.”

  “ENOUGH!” he says, loud enough to disturb the other people in the store.

  I am fuming but decide to hear his bullshit out one last time.

  “I don’t have to take this,” he says. “I get it, okay? We’re from two different worlds. You’re from this little world where you judge people on TV and fantasize about how you would run things if you were king of the world. I actually am king of the world and it’s a lot of responsibility, a lot of decisions to make. I don’t judge anybody.”

  “But you sure determine what they’re worth, don’t you?”

  “Look, we’re never going to respect each other, so why bother? But what I want to know is, why did you like me in the first place if you knew what I was?”

  I quiet down and stare at him in angry judgment.

  “You knew what I was. I’m Zander Troy. You know what my life is. Why were you so interested in meeting me, anyway?”

  “Maybe because—”

  “NO, Maya,” he interrupts. “Stop arguing for a minute. Your answer to me doesn’t matter. What I want to know is, what were YOU expecting out of any of this? Did you really think you were going to change me? Is that what…girls like you think?”

  My anger stops seething and I lose my furl. I take my eyes away from him, letting them fall back down to reality. Away from his lofty arrogance. Just in front of the reflection of the glass, a vague image of my own poor and misguided self.

  “Good point, Zander. Maybe I don’t know what I was expecting. I knew when I came there that first day to meet you that you could never want someone like me. I wasn’t rich. I wasn’t a movie star. Not even really pretty, you know, like the other girls you date. The truth is…I never expected to be loved. But I thought maybe you were capable of giving me at least one special night. I’m a virgin and I wanted you to be my first.”

  His eyes shoot open, as if he suddenly realizes everything that’s wrong with me, and wrong with the idea of us as a couple.

  “I just wanted Valentine’s Day to be special. I chose that day to lose my virginity. I know it’s not realistic to think I’m going to fall in love with my first boyfriend…but every girl wants to feel like a queen on that special day. I guess it’s something you’ll never understand.”

  “I do. But what I don’t understand is why you were disappointed in me if you actually DID accomplish your goal of getting my attention. I mean I thought by now every woman in the country knew what kind of person I was…”

  “I heard the rumors, Troy,” I say spitefully, but this time not staring at him directly. I don’t hate him. I’m letting go of my resentment because it’s not really him at fault. It’s me for believing in such a lowlife. “I just kind of hoped they weren’t true. I believed your commercials. You know, your carefully simulated public image. The idea that you were a dashing prince. Romantic, maybe a little wild and crazy…but the type of guy who could look at a woman and make her feel loved. At least…for a moment, at least for one night. You just did such a great job acting like a hero on camera I actually believed it was true.”

  “I guess it’s meaningless to apologize then. Maybe we should just go our separate ways.”

  “Yes, you’re right about that.”

  “You know, Maya, for what it’s worth…”

  He finds my eyes but loses all his rage and his cocky, bratty smirk. His breathing is calm. His face showing boyish regret. Is this “real”? Is this real vulnerability or just another commercial for his flawless reputation?

  “Don’t stop believing in love. Don’t…judge all men because of me. I like what you said. I know…I know there’s a better guy out there than me. Someone that deserves you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know…we smile for the camera because it’s a show. We do it to sell product, to establish trust with people we’re never going to meet in everyday life. It’s marketing…it’s brainwashing. But you’re right. None of it is real. I wish we could figure out how to connect more…not just with an audience, but people. Person to person. My advice, and meaningless though it is coming from a monster like me…If you want something real, stay away from empty, broken people.”

  I smile and nod, amused at his speech. Hokey enough to be used in a commercial but still more of the Zander I liked.

  “You have to carry the fire, Zander.”

  “What?”

  “You have to carry the fire.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  I smile back at him. “Yes you do. It's inside you. It always was there. I can see it.”

  “Is that a quote or something?”

  “I guess. Or something. Goodbye, Zander. And thanks for being my first and most memorable celebrity encounter.”

  He looks away in confusion then finds my eyes. He slowly walks away, realizing that he can’t “break” my code, can’t even descend from his lofty throne to understand the thinking of a commoner like me.

  I watch him leave this common place, like a prince avoiding riffraff as he oversteps a dirty sidewalk. He loo
ks surreally out of place. Not just a successful man juxtaposed to a portrait of fast food and miserable surroundings. But like some imposter human being trying to simulate human behavior. Who can know him? He’s made sure no one will ever learn who he really is, protected behind a fortress, the mythos of his sexuality, the only passive-aggressive slap he has ever given to anyone.

  4

  Zander

  Days have passed since I walked away from the ONE experience I haven’t had and probably never will have again. To have the heart of a virgin, indeed, the unjaded heart, the flawless diamond of a woman who’s truly mad for you. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that before. Sure, I’ve had women throw themselves at me. For money, for sex, or for just a moment of fame, a brush with celebrity.

  But as I watched Maya slowly disappear from my life, I realized that no one has ever actually seen the “good” in me. Not that there is anything good inside of me. I never claimed there to be. But Maya saw something, a mirage, an optical illusion. Namely that I have a heart, I have a brain…I’m not just am empty corporate symbol of wealth and sex appeal.

  She was so idealistic, so pure! I didn’t even believe her when she said it.

  Now, all I know is, all I feel is, I need to recreate this feeling. This strange dynamic. This spiritual discussion of my amorality and what redemption there is left in my soul. I know I can never regain Maya’s trust. But maybe I can learn something about myself by following this strange feeling.

  I ponder these deep thoughts while glancing at the “lineup” of escorts arranged for me. Nothing new, of course, though I usually opt for the cheapskate option—just fuck groupies for free. Escorts are pricey and they always have a little bit of an attitude. Like they’re not grateful. Like they don’t need to stay a minute longer than what I’ve paid for.

  I should admire that, since I do so much enjoy Maya’s feisty personality. But for some reason, none of this feels genuine. It’s all artifice, it’s all fake.

  Women with perfect bodies, each one staring at me, smiling and smirking. Knowing exactly what I want. To empty my soulless balls into their soulless snatches. Meaningless sex. They know I don’t want the sex to matter. It’s just a release. It’s barely a connection. I’m an animal looking for feeding.

  I suddenly feel weak at the knee and a little winded in the heart. None of these girls are right. None of them are virginal, that’s for damn sure. I can tell just by the way they compose themselves. No one’s shy, no one’s looking at me longingly.

  “I changed my mind,” I say to my assistant, avoiding eye contact with all the pretty rejects. “Arrange for a new lineup. No escorts. I want younger women…you know, groupies who want to hang around me. Get lucky. That sort of thing.”

  I want, above all, to be adored! Maybe that’s what I miss about Maya. She adored me at first. She thought I actually was the Hero from my company’s commercials. She thought I had a soul worth saving. Now if only I could I find someone who could recreate that portrait of compassion…

  * * *

  I look at the group of young “apprentices” up and down, all too aware that they want me. They’re groupies…young girls who want to be sugar babies. They want to be spoiled, toyed with and paid handsomely…if not in money then in gifts. Lavish vacations. Most of them might even let me cum inside of them for free…what better career investment then getting preggers by a billionaire?

  But once again…even though their dainty little eyes are all glued on me…I still smell the scent of pity. They pity me. They know I’m just a decadent, debauched fool running from something.

  Finally, after spending several awkward and silent moments looking each one up and down, I narrow down my selection.

  A brunette, almost virginal looking. There’s a certain sweetness in her eyes, the unmistakable look of discomfort. None of this is familiar to her. She’s afraid of me…she’s hesitant to go and experience life. She dreads growing up, abandoning her youth and perfection.

  She’s wearing all white, a racer back long dress with long curly locks. Something very…unique about her. Yes, she’s the one.

  “You…at the end, tell me your name, please.”

  “Melanie.”

  “Good. Meet me in my office. The rest of you head downstairs for free drinks and gifts.”

  The girls are cheerful, good sports. They knew the odds of me picking a single one of them were slim. Billionaires have very particular tastes, after all. No, we don’t have types. We have obsessions. We become obsessed with something and spend absurd amounts of money trying to recreate that obsession. Sometimes these obsessions last for years. I always thought it was just a rich eccentric old man’s thing…but now it appears I am feeling it too.

  We have fucking therapy sessions, not types. That’s what we have.

  * * *

  I enter my private office, having just freshened up, making sure my cock was rock hard and ready to go. I could feel it on my fingertips. The chase. The passion, the danger. The seduction of innocence. Yes…

  I look at the girl, at Melanie, and wonder just how much she fears me. What would it take to make her feel less afraid, to feel compassion for me…to even learn to love me?

  I begin to flinch as I notice Melanie tightening her smile.

  “What’s wrong?” I say curiously.

  “What?”

  “Something’s wrong. Your mood changed. What is it? Do you regret coming here?”

  “No, sir. I just…”

  “What?”

  “I want to show you my pussy.” She squints her eyes and licks her lips.

  “What? Where did that come from?”

  “I…I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “What I wanted? I just wanted to be with you. I wanted you to be you. The real you.”

  “Yeah but…I figured you wanted someone sexy, you know.”

  My smile lights up. The excitement builds deep in my gut. “I don’t want you to pretend. I just want you to be comfortable.”

  “Okay…” she says with a goofy grin. “I think you’re going to like what I look like down there.”

  “Oh? Well that’s very confident, isn’t it?”

  “Like for real,” she says with a prideful little giggle. “I spent thousands so it better look legit.”

  “Come again?”

  “Oh, I will!”

  “No, I mean…you spent thousands on what?”

  “Well, you know…hymen-restoring surgery. I got my cherry rebuilt. Just for a rich, strong man like you. So you could tear it all over again.”

  My heart sinks. How grotesque…and yet it’s exactly what I deserve, isn’t it? Exactly what I asked for. For the simulation of a virginal experience. Something I surely am not fit to have authentically. Not after being the scum of the earth for so long.

  “Look kid…just take your check and go.”

  “I’m not a hooker!” she says snidely, but not really as feisty as Maya would say it.

  “I know. It’s just…you’re too good for me, kid.”

  “Ohhh…okay…” she says cluelessly, probably thinking I’m some guilt-ridden eccentric fool with a barely-functioning dick. But the truth is far more shameful. She’s exactly what I deserve. Exactly what I ordered. And realizing what I am, the quintessence of my perverse character, has made me sick to my stomach.

  We are roaches, we are sycophantic fakers and scam artists. We don’t deserve the blood of the innocent.

  * * *

  “Soooo,” David says, pouring me coffee as always to wake me up from a terrible desk-night-sleep. “You broke another poor girl’s heart, buddy boy. That’s two in just under two weeks. You have a talent at being a schmuck.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well from what I hear, the girl named Melanie that you hand-selected for her illusion of purity stormed out of our castle, crying about how she wasted all her savings on something called ‘Hymenorrhaphy’. And after all that brilliant artificial hymen artistry, you STILL rejected her. That
’s got to be hard on a poor little escort who’s just trying to learn the ropes.”

  “Fuck me,” I growl in disapproval. “I just can’t get through a day without pissing someone off.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about Melanie. She did seem to cheer up again after we gave her a gift basket of goodies to take home. And a nice check to compensate for all that precious cherry-restoring surgery. You know what they say…a hymen is a terrible thing to waste!”

  “Ugh. This is the part where I’m supposed to score with two Brazilian models and feel better about myself, David. So why do I feel like shit?”

  “Kid, you just screwed yourself in the ass and didn’t like how it felt. You want a nice innocent girl but you don’t like the way they’re made. With love, with attention, with sacrifice and trust. None of which are for sale, at least not for escort prices. You find fake virgins disgusting for their artifice and real virgins like Maya find you disgusting for your insincerity. It’s a vicious cycle of pussy-cock hatred!”

  David laughs that weird parrot noise that he always seems to do, reinforcing my humiliation.

  “The real question is, David, how any virgin could stand me in the first place? I’m incapable of love or basic human decency. It’s almost like, Maya was the first person to actually look at me and see nothing but the smile on my face. She really saw my potential. Not the money, not the greed…just the smile I gave her.”

  “True! And then you screwed it up, kid.”

  “She really is a girl you don’t meet every day, isn’t she?”

  “Listen, you’re not going to get very far trying to recapture a moment you lost. Maybe what you should do is give the person you like another chance.”

  “But she hates me, David. She told me so.”

  “Then use that genius head of yours to think of a Plan B!” David says with a sarcastic smile on his face. “Adopt, adapt and improve! Prove yourself an evolutionary wonder and grow some goddamned creativity, Zander!”