Filthy Desires: A Romantic Suspense Collection

by Parker, Kylie

  “Then why didn’t they kill me instead of her?” James inquired, his voice squeaking up an octave.

  “That’s a very good question.” Rick commented. “If they did that, they’d start a war with the company. Wars are bad for business. By pinning a murder on you, they’d make the company spend a lot of time and resources, trying to get you out.”

  “Wouldn’t killing one of their singers start a war?” James posed yet another question.

  “Laurel Thomas hadn’t signed any papers yet.” Rick heaved a long, heavy sigh. “She was going to, tomorrow morning.”

  “Let me know if you find something.” James requested. “I have to go.”

  “Oh, before I forget.” Rick said. “The company’s interested in someone. Her name’s Michelle Adams. Look her up on YouTube. You’re meeting her tomorrow morning. I’ll text you her address.”

  “I will.” James assured. “Goodnight.”

  15

  A sense of helplessness overwhelmed James as he made his way out of Rick’s apartment building. His friend’s theory, although farfetched, could well be correct. It would not be the first time that somebody rich and powerful used someone to achieve their objective, and it would definitely not be the last. Nonetheless, it was only that: a theory. Rick had no evidence to back up his claims. Unwilling to believe it or be consumed with speculation, James decided to put it aside. In a matter of minutes, he would be reunited with Olivia at her workplace; that thought alone was enough to put a smile on his face.

  Sadly, though, as he crossed the street, he couldn’t help but notice a feminine figure, inside the bar, pinned against the glass front of “Jodie’s” club. An average-height young man was in front of the woman in question, with a smug look on his face, his arms over his head and his palms against the glass. Another tall, slender redhead was standing behind him, screaming at him. A few men were next to the bar, watching, but none of them seemed willing to intervene. As he reached the sidewalk, his ears were filled with Olivia’s familiar voice.

  “Ryan, get the hell out of here!” She cried. A split second was all it took to make James’ blood boil in his veins. His girlfriend’s terrible predicament enraged him. An intelligent man like him knew very well that a fist fight in the club could cost Olivia her job. So, he opted for another approach. He gently pushed the door open, his gaze locked on Ryan, drawing Olivia’s attention. The fear in her eyes sent his adrenaline into the ozone layer. James strolled up to them and folded his arms across his chest, as if he was trying to intimidate Ryan with his sheer size.

  “Achem…” James cleared his throat to get his attentin.

  “Something you wanted?” Ryan groaned, looking up at him. It was then that his temper erupted. James unfolded his arms, reached towards Ryan and grabbed him by the wrist. He dragged him across the floor, but, before making it to the door, Ryan threw his other arm. James ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow. He pulled the door open and jerked him outside. Clenching his fists, he threw his right arm, rotated it in mid-air and laid a thundering blow to Ryan’s jaw, sending him fifteen feet across the road, into the path of an oncoming car. The driver stepped hard on the brakes. Tires screeched, as his vehicle was brought to an abrupt halt. The left front wheel stopped inches away from Ryan’s head, as he moaned in agonizing pain. James cast one last glance at his defeated opponent, his chest pumping up and down.

  He turned around and returned to the bar, only to discover that he had just become a local hero. Indeed, most of the bystanders were applauding and cheering for him. Before he could even scan the club and start towards the bar, he caught a glimpse of Olivia out of the corner of his eye. She hurtled towards him, jumped onto him, and snaked her arms around his neck, her weight almost knocking him off balance. James opened his arms and grabbed her in midair, as she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Thank you so much…” She spoke, her voice broken as she tightened her grip.

  “Are you alright?” He asked, and found himself short of breath as her scent flowed into his lungs.

  “I’m fine now.” Olivia claimed, slowly pulling back. She smiled at him, as their gazes met. “Your timing couldn’t have been better.”

  “I’m just glad I was here.” said James, his voice soft as he eased her down on the floor.

  “Let’s get you a drink.” She suggested. The redhead had already seated herself, when he hopped on a stool close to her.

  “I’m Gina Myers.” She said, with an appraising look in her eyes as she offered her hand. “I’m Olivia’s friend.”

  “Best friend,” Olivia corrected her, pouring whiskey in a tall glass.

  “James Farrell.” He introduced himself, shaking her hand.

  “I’m officially impressed.” Gina admitted. “That little jerk had it coming for a while now.”

  “That’s true.” Olivia sighed. “He’s been bugging me for weeks.”

  “How’s life on the mountain?” Gina attempted a more mellow tone. “I hear it’s pretty rough.”

  “It takes a little bit of getting used to.” James spoke his mind. “It’s really great, though. No noise, no traffic...”

  “No girlfriend.” Olivia teased him. “Are you going back tomorrow?”

  “I’d like that, but no.” James maintained. “I’m meeting someone tomorrow morning. Michelle Adams. There’s a good chance I’ll work with her.”

  The two friends glanced at each other. Olivia bit her lower lip, trying hard not to laugh; to no avail. In a matter of seconds, she burst into loud, hearty laughter, clutching her stomach, whereas Gina covered her mouth with her hand, giggling.

  “God, no …” Olivia chuckled, shaking her head sideways. “No way.”

  “What did I say?” James wondered, puzzled by their reaction.

  “Michelle Adams is a twerking queen. Her videos are…” Gina faltered, “quite offensive.”

  “What’s ‘twerking’?” The curiosity in his voice evoked Olivia’s profound amusement. She laughed even harder, banging her hand against the counter. However, the glare James turned on her soon made her laughter die away. She returned it with a gentle smile.

  “I’m sorry.” She stated softly, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. “Twerking is a type of dance. Girls shake their hips and squat…”

  “… In a sexually provocative manner.” Gina stepped in and finished her friend’s sentence. “It’s popular these days.”

  “I don’t think you’d tolerate her for a second.” Olivia continued, as she spoke her mind. “She looks like a total slut; she talks like one, and …” she paused. “She’s just not singer material, in my opinion. Not to mention, all she keeps singing about is sex.”

  “I don’t understand,” James complained. “Why would they want me to write anything for her?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” Olivia said. “YouTube is full of her videos. I’ll show you when we get home.”

  James did not need to watch many videos. As a matter of fact, he only managed to watch the first two minutes of the first video, before requesting Olivia to stop it. She was right about everything; Michelle was a 5’7”, voluptuous blonde, dancing around in skimpy outfits, shaking her ass, squatting up and down, singing in a voice that was too deep. She sounded like a narrator of a sexual fantasy, rather than a singer. Furthermore, the lyrics were offensive and kept mentioning female and male genitalia. Olivia laughed at the video, but James’ face remained stiff for the duration of it.

  “Ass, pussy, dick, tits… Oh, man. This is not singing. You shouldn’t be in this business. You belong in a strip club, not in the music industry,” James thought quietly to himself.

  16

  Rick’s text later that night irritated him but also triggered his curiosity.

  “2637 Rockport Street, Southampton Village.

  Call me if you need any directions.”

  “Could he maybe have come across a promising singer living in Southampton? That’s odd. Is she rich or something?” He thought to himself. “I’ll have t
o battle New York City morning traffic. What a nightmare.”

  James’ worst fears were confirmed. Indeed, the traffic was insane. Still, he did not worry at all about being late. In his mind, he could as well not go to his appointment at all. It was more than clear to him that working with someone like Michelle would be next to impossible. After all, he wrote actual lyrics, not sleazy, sexual innuendos.

  As he turned left onto Rockport Street, he realized that she was indeed very rich. Michelle’s mansion was located at the end of the street, surrounded by lush greenery. As his blue Escalade rolled down the road, the windows began to vibrate. His ears picked up loud, beating music and Michelle’s voice, singing:

  “If I like you I will stare

  Smack my ass and pull my hair”

  “What a load of crap!” James yelled, noticing commotion outside the house. There were three, high-end cars, blocking the road: A green Dodge Viper, a black Lamborghini and a red Ferrari. Four cameramen were scattered around them. Michelle had bent over the hood of the Lamborghini, shaking her ass as she sang. He didn’t have to wait for more than a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

  James only got out of his SUV after the camera crew had left. Three men emerged from the house and drove off in the expensive cars. He was still struggling to maintain his composure, as he knocked on her front door. A short, elderly man in a butler’s uniform answered.

  “Good morning, sir,” he greeted James with a clear, British accent. “How may I help you?”

  “Hi. I’m looking for Ms. Michelle Adams. We have an appointment.” James said.

  “Who is it, George?” Michelle’s modulated voice bounced off the walls of her house. The butler fully opened the door. She was standing at the bottom landing of a big staircase, wiping her hair with a pink towel. “You’re not Jimmy X, are you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.” James murmured.

  “It can’t be!” She grinned. “You’re too young! Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” He said, closing the door behind him. “Great house.” He added, sweeping the massive room.

  “I wish it was mine,” Michelle sighed. “It’s my uncle’s. Sorry I had to drag you all the way to the Hampton’s. You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. This won’t take long, anyway.” James declared. “Ms. Adams, why did you request to see me? I doubt you need my skills.”

  “Actually I do, Jimmy,” she responded, as she attempted a businesslike tone. “I’m past the point where I can just sing about T&A. It sells, but eventually, someone else will come along and people will forget about me. Do you care to follow me to the living room?”

  “Sure,” James croaked while he tried to reset his thoughts. “Lead the way.”

  “Ok, I didn’t see this coming. Now, let’s see if you have what it takes, Blondie. Real singing is a lot tougher than shaking your ass.”

  “Have a seat.” Michelle pointed to a grey armchair on the right. The living room was as extravagant as the rest of the house, but James’ gaze was drawn to a piano, in the upper left corner. The first thing that came to mind was to ask her if she played, but he rejected that notion in a heartbeat.

  “If you mock music, you just can’t play; it’s as simple as that.”

  “I’m having doubts over this.” James voiced his concern. “Do you really think anyone’s going to take you seriously? ‘Smack my ass and pull my hair’? Really?”

  “To be honest with you, I enjoyed it at first.” She confessed, seating herself on the couch. “The social media buzz, the pictures, the interviews… But, like I said, it’s not going to last forever. I don’t regret what I did. It was a good way to attract attention.”

  James smiled to himself, but did not dignify her last comment with a comment of his own. He pulled his backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it, before taking a notebook and a pen out of it.

  “Now…” He began, putting his backpack down on the floor: “… a good way to write some really moving lyrics is by picturing a situation. I’d like you to describe me your most painful experience, as best you can: a breakup; a goodbye; either will do. Tell me where it happened: how it happened; things you said; and especially, how it made you feel.”

  “Where should I start?” Michelle peered towards the ceiling, rubbing her chin. “The place: Malibu, ‘Wild Rocks’ beachside bar: and the when was July 2009. I was there with Eric Jenson, my boyfriend at the time; we’d just graduated from high school. We’d been going out for almost two years. We’d both been accepted to Stanford. I thought we loved each other. I know I loved him. Anyway, it was a beautiful night: warm; not too hot. We were dancing, hugging, kissing. You know, having fun and all. At some point, he went outside to talk on the phone. I found it a little weird that someone would call him so late at night, but I didn’t mind. Pretty soon, we’d be walking down the beach, sweet-talking each other. But…” Her voice cracked, as she dropped her gaze to her feet. “He didn’t come back inside. I waited for about thirty minutes and then went looking for him. He hadn’t gone far. He was standing in the sand, staring at the water. I asked him what was wrong. Then…” Michelle drew in a sharp breath, as tears welled up in her eyes. “He told me everything.”

  “And what would that be?” James inquired, leaning forward, eagerly anticipating her response.

  “He’d had a one-night stand with someone.” Michelle’s voice dripped with emotion, as a tear rolled down her cheek. “She’d just called him to say she was pregnant with his child.”

  “Unbelievable,” James murmured, shaking his head.

  “It was the worst day of my life” she sniffled, as her gaze shot up to meet his. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I always thought I’d yell at him if I found out that he’d been fooling around with other girls, but I swear to God, I couldn’t even speak. I just stood there. I lost my faith in men after that.”

  “You wondered where to start earlier,” James remarked. “Is there anything else you’d like to share with me?”

  “Yeah; lots of things really,” Michelle said as she wiped the tears off her face. “This breakup got me into music, that’s all.”

  “How?” James voice reeked of sarcasm, while he waited to hear the same old sob story of how music saved her life.

  “I took piano lessons in college. I got pretty good at it, but every time I tried to sing a love song, I’d get so emotional that I couldn’t finish it. A friend of mine suggested the twerking thing. It’s true, it is pretty stupid, but it helps pay the bills. Plus, I got to prove my point.” She put a little force in her voice with her last statement.

  “Oh? And what was ‘your point’ exactly?” James smirked.

  “Simple,” Michelle responded with a nod. “Men are just sex-crazed animals, who don’t think with their head.”

  “I think I’ve heard enough,” he grumbled, tossing his pen into his backpack. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Jimmy X…”

  “What?!” His stentorian voice rumbled like thunder, as he jumped from his seat. “You can’t sing like this: not ballads, anyway!”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re angry!” He lowered his tone, his heart pumping as if ready to explode. “Do you have any idea how calm and focused you need to be to perform an actual love song?”

  James’ outburst and his question obviously put her in a difficult position. Michelle locked her gaze on his, at a total loss for words. He would not force another word out of his throat, either. He was not offended by her childish opinion about men; he had heard those words before. It was her profound ignorance about his music and what was needed to perform in that genre that made him fume with rage. Grabbing his backpack from the floor, he flipped around and stormed out of the luxurious mansion, regretting his decision to show up for their appointment.

  “You need to just stick to shaking your ass, you stupid, immature bitch. It’s what you’re good at.”

  17

  Afraid that he would take his frustration out
on Olivia, James decided not to drive back to Manhattan. She would probably be at work by the time he got there, and he was unwilling to discuss anything work-related in public. Of course, he could always return to Slide Mountain, the only place in the world where he could find some peace of mind, but the fact that it was more than four hours away deterred him. James had to settle for something much closer. The text message he sent Olivia in the early afternoon revealed his intentions:

  “Hudson River Park, Pier 46, west end. 8:30pm. We need to talk.”

  The night was cold and drizzly, and the benches under the trees were empty. Still, James would not even consider sitting. He chose to stand behind the pier railing, gazing at the small boats across the river, as the tiny rain drops fell onto his head.

  “It’s so close to the buzzing city, yet so peaceful. It’s just mesmerizing. It should be better in the summer, but way more crowded.”

  “It’s a little cold to be out here.” Olivia’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. There was something different in it. The sweetness in her tone had vanished. She sounded businesslike and aloof. Her footsteps were slow as she approached him. There was no hug or kiss. Olivia preferred to stand next to him and gaze across the river as well. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t we do this in my apartment? I mean, it’s a lot warmer.”

  “What’s wrong?” He asked with a tension filled voice,as he looked down at her.

  “This.” Her response was sharp, as she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Michelle’s twitter page was on the screen. Her latest tweet made his blood boil in his veins and pound in his temples.

  @MADAMS: Met Jimmy X today. Hoooooooooooooooot! He’s huge, masculine… Gorgeous! He got me wet just by looking at him!”