Promiscuous

by Missy Johnson

  “Let’s just say I know how to get my way into a few places others don’t.” He narrowed his eyes, and smirked at me when I blushed at his comment. If he was referring to me right then, he obviously didn’t read the gossip. Apparently I offered easier access than—

  “Would you like a wine?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He ordered a bottle of Pinot noir. “So, tell me about yourself.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” I admitted. “I’m actually a pretty boring person.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second,” he murmured.

  A shiver ran down my spine as I watched his eyes sweep over me. Was that . . . excitement I felt? I glowered at him, embarrassed by the way my body was reacting to his attention.

  “We all have our secrets, don’t we? Little things that make us who we are. Things that set us apart from everyone else, both in good and bad ways.”

  I wonder what secrets he’s hiding?

  “I guess you’re right.” He was, but I was also hesitant about sharing anything about myself with someone I’d known for two minutes, no matter how devilishly sexy he looked slouched in his chair across from me.

  “So, then tell me something. Tell me something about Beth that nobody else would know.”

  “I hate drugs.”

  He looked as surprised as I felt. Where had that come from? He waited for me to continue.

  “Most of my adolescence was spent living with my sister. She was hooked on some pretty heavy stuff. Coke, heroin . . . she overdosed when I was fifteen.” I reached for the water, gulping down a mouthful. I’d shared much more than I’d been wanting to. Even Coop didn’t know this shit about me.

  “Wow. That must have been really rough,” he said softly.

  I shrugged. It had been, but it happened, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  “Your parents?”

  “Mom died when I was twelve. Cancer. Dad—hell, I’ve never even met him. Apparently, he was some deadbeat who ran out when I was young.”

  “That’s a lot for a child to deal with.”

  “It is. But going through what I have was a big part of getting me where I am today.” Well, not so much messed-up Beth. Or maybe my childhood had an affect on that too. Who knew? I pushed my chair back and stood up. “Bathroom,” I explained, smiling at the confused expression on his face.

  “Do you want me to order for you?”

  “Sure. A chicken Caesar salad, thanks.” I hurried off toward the bathrooms, the urge to pee coming out of nowhere. That’s what I got for starting the day off with two coffees and a glass of wine.

  “Beth?”

  I froze in the hallway just up from the bathroom. Please, no.

  “Beth. I . . .” Coop’s voice trailed off. He shook his head, clearly shocked to see me. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered. I leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy, like I was about to faint. For weeks I’d imagined to myself what I’d say if he were in front of me, and here we were. His deep blue eyes bored into mine, as if he was searching for something.

  “I’m here with . . . never mind that, why have you cut me out of your life? I thought we were friends.” He frowned at me as my mouth gaped open. He thought we were friends? I pushed past him as the tears began to sting. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here.

  “Beth, wait!” His voice echoed down the hall, a sense of urgency noticeable in his tone. I rounded the corner back into the restaurant area and rushed toward Roman.

  “Can you take me home, please?”

  He nodded and stood up, taking my arm as he scanned the room. Was it that obvious that something had upset me? Thank God he didn’t ask questions.

  He just led me toward the exit, my hand clenched firmly in his.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, my fingers fiddling with the silver dress ring that donned the middle finger on my right hand. Anything to take the focus off what had just happened.

  He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. We drove the few blocks to my place in complete silence. As we reached my front gate, I gathered my things, ready to make a quick exit.

  “Beth, wait.”

  I jumped as his hand touched my thigh.

  His brow furrowed as he studied my face. “Will you talk to me?” he asked gently.

  I shook my head, and forced myself to smile. “I’m fine. I-It was just a panic attack.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Can I call you?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Six

  Beth

  I leaned over the bathroom sink, struggling to breathe. I couldn’t believe he was there. After two months, seeing him had shocked me. He’d looked good. Who was I kidding—he had looked fucking incredible. He was Coop: tall, sexy, with the deepest blue eyes. My heart ached for him.

  “Fuck.” I lifted my head and stared at myself in the mirror. The small amount of mascara I’d put on was now streaked down my cheeks. “Why can’t this just be over?” I muttered. I’d do anything to rewind to that night. I just wanted the old me back, only I didn’t know how to do that.

  The intercom rang. I splashed cold water on my face, patting it dry with a hand towel. I still looked like a mess, but not nearly as bad. As I approached the intercom, I wondered who it could be. Did I want it to be Coop?

  Yes…No…I felt so confused.

  “Yes?”

  “Beth, it’s Roman. Can you buzz me in?”

  I pressed the button, wondering what he wanted. I paced by the door while I waited for him to knock. When he did, I opened the door, leaning against it.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave you like this. Something is obviously wrong. Look at you, you’re shaking.”

  “I’m fine,” I stammered, my heart pounding. I was both shocked and touched by his concern.

  “You don’t look fine. Call me overprotective, but I cannot leave you like this. Either you let me inside or I’m sleeping on your porch for tonight.” He glanced around, folding his arms across his chest. I scowled at him. “Pretty cold out here already.” It was barely two in the afternoon and the sun was still out.

  “Fine.” I let the door swing open. He flashed me a smile and walked inside, shutting the door behind him.

  “I knew you wouldn’t let me freeze.”

  I rolled my eyes and motioned for him to follow me.

  “I was just about to make some lunch, if you want some.” Cringing, I thought about Coop and having to race out of the restaurant.

  “Sounds good. But you sit down and let me make something. Please?” he added when I opened my mouth to protest.

  I sighed. It would be easier just to give in and let him help. It was obviously the only way to get rid of him. "Fine," I sighed.

  He busied himself in the kitchen as I sat at the table, my head resting in my hands. My mind was still on Coop. Seeing him had been such a shock. He'd looked good.

  "Do you actually have any food?" I glanced up. Roman was leaning against the kitchen counter. He looked amused. Shit. I still hadn't gone shopping.

  "I'm really not that hungry anyway," I replied.

  "You have to eat, Beth. Let me order a pizza."

  "Okay," I agreed.

  He pulled out his phone. "What do you like?"

  "Whatever," I muttered. Right now, I couldn't care less about what toppings were on my pizza.

  After he'd ordered, he convinced me to join him in the living room. I followed him in there, sinking down into one of the black leather recliners. Roman picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

  "Seinfeld?" he asked. I shrugged, resting my head on the armrest. He sat down and quickly became engrossed in the sitcom. I loved that he didn't try and force conversation on me. The last thing I felt like doing at the moment was talking. We watched the TV until lunch arrived, then continued to watch it while we ate. I managed about half a slice of pizza.

  "I might go to bed," I
said, pushing my plate over onto the coffee table. "I think what I need is a good night’s sleep."

  He studied me for a moment and then nodded.

  "You can go if you like. I promise I'm fine."

  "Okay. I'll leave you alone. But promise me you'll call if you need anything?"

  I nodded. I stood up and walked him to the door.

  "Sweet dreams, beautiful." He kissed me on the nose. I locked the door after him and trudged down to my bedroom.

  Stripping my clothes off, I climbed into my huge empty bed, pulling the covers up tightly around my neck. I hoped what I was feeling could be cured by sleep. But somehow I doubted it.

  Chapter Seven

  Roman

  Arriving home, my mind was still on Beth and this afternoon at lunch. One minute she had been happy and laughing, and the next she was in the midst of a panic attack. The urgency in her voice when she’d come back from the bathroom had scared me. My first thought was that she’d been attacked or confronted by someone, but then she kept assuring me she was okay . . . now I didn’t know what to believe.

  Throwing my keys on the kitchen counter, I grabbed a can of soda and went straight into my study, kicking the door shut with my foot. I shrugged my jacket off and hung it on the back of the door, and then I sank into my chair. Sighing, I reached up and curled my fingers around my tie, yanking it loose and throwing it onto the desk.

  Fuck. I ran my hands through my short hair, lacing my fingers together behind my head. I closed my eyes and tried to remember how important this job was to me. How important it was for me to get paid. And then I thought about her.

  Beth.

  I knew more about Beth than she probably knew about herself—a side effect of my job. I knew she’d started her singing career when she was fifteen. I knew she had no family, that her mother had died when she was twelve, and that her father had left when she was two. I knew she had been cared for, for most of her life by her sister—if you could call it caring. She had been through so much shit, I got angry just thinking about it.

  I knew every little detail that had ever been written about her, things in her history that even she didn’t realize. I felt as if I’d known her all my life.

  Even with the little connection we had, I felt bad about what I was doing. We were forming a friendship, one based on lies. This girl had been through so much hurt, and here I was adding to that.

  There had been nothing in my contract about befriending her. That was all on me. Watch and report was what I’d been told. That was what I was being paid to do.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Hale?” I muttered, flicking a rouge rubber band off the desk. I watched as it flew across the room, landing just short of the door.

  No matter how much I told myself that everything was fine, I knew somehow I was going to fuck this up. I always did. It was like my trademark. I had more secrets buried under my layers than the fucking Playboy Mansion. Nothing was what it seemed when it came to me, and things always seemed to backfire at the worst times.

  My whole life depended on this going to plan. If I fucked this up, I could kiss the club goodbye, and probably several of my fingers. Carlos didn’t mess around.

  I could do this. I could keep my distance and not do anything stupid. I laughed loudly, knowing already that there was no way in hell I was going to sit back and do nothing. I had to figure this girl out.

  Cursing, I reached for a glass and sloshed it half full of whisky, single malt and aged—only the best for me. Everything about me oozed money, but I knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving. There had been a time when I’d been that person; a man who had everything he could ever want for. That felt like a lifetime ago. I sighed as I drank the entire contents of the glass in one mouthful.

  A few years ago, I had been that guy. The one everyone wanted to be. The guy with more than a few hundred dollars in his bank account—but all that had changed. And that was the thing I had to remember: things could change so quickly, with no warning. One minute you’re happy and carefree, and the next your whole world is falling apart around you.

  A soft rap on the door got my attention. I looked up and saw Scarlett standing there, a mug in her hand.

  “I thought you could use a coffee.”

  “Thanks,” I sighed. She walked in, placing the mug in front of me, then stood awkwardly by the desk. “You can sit down.” I chuckled. She flushed, and practically fell into the large leather recliner. I had to stop myself from laughing. Scarlett oozed confidence, especially at the club, but when we were alone at home, all that changed. She became a different person.

  “Are you scared of me, Scarlett?” I asked, amused.

  Her eyes widened as her pretty little mouth fell open. “No,” she replied indignantly. “It’s just . . . well, I never know what mood I’m going to catch you in. Y-you’ve changed since . . . well, since it happened.” She quickly glanced away as my face darkened.

  Ah, yes, the incident. At least, that was what the police called it. I knew better, though. I knew that had it not been for my actions. Louisa would still be here. Now only God knew where she was.

  It had been three years, six months, and four days since that day—the day I changed into the man sitting here, drowning his sorrows in a bottle of scotch worth more than he had in his bank account.

  Beautiful and young, Scarlett had been my assistant for the last three years. She was my right-hand girl who handled most of the frontline promotion for the club. I much preferred to run things from behind the scenes.

  Scarlett possessed many of the traits I looked for in a partner: she had a willingness to learn, and an eagerness about her that excited me. She was like a lost little puppy, desperate for praise from her master. Whatever I asked, she’d do it—even seducing drunken pop stars.

  Between the odd hours of the club and my need for companionship, it seemed logical for Scarlett to live with me. She doubled as my housemaid, preparing meals and doing light cleaning in exchange for lodging. It had suited her at the time, freshly evicted and looking for somewhere to live. Slowly, we had become used to our arrangement.

  I won’t lie and say I hadn’t thought about fucking Scarlett, because I had. Many times. But I had never stepped over that line. If there was one rule I followed religiously, it was keeping my work and private lives separate—not always easy, especially in my case. Watching her the other night in the club had been for purely professional reasons. Well, maybe not entirely professional, but it hadn’t been Scarlett I’d been paying attention to.

  I don’t know if that made it better or worse.

  “Do you still think about her?” Scarlett asked, her voice soft. Her question hit me like a brick over the head. Right away, I knew she was talking about Louisa.

  “Of course I do,” I replied gruffly, angry at the ridiculousness of her question. “But what happened, happened. I can’t change that. God knows I paid for it. So I move on, and never make the same mistake again.”

  Sensing that our conversation was over, Scarlett mumbled an excuse and left the room. I sighed, and tossed my empty glass at the wall, wincing as it shattered into tiny pieces. I had no idea where Louisa was, or if she was even alive. She had made no attempt to contact me, which pissed me off as much as it concerned me. She’d been seven months pregnant with our child. Didn’t I at least have the right to know about him? I could accept that I’d done wrong by her, but nobody deserved to be shut out from their child’s life.

  ***

  Pushing my way out from my desk, I stood up. I was unsteady on my feet, and my stomach was woozy from the combination of lack of food, and an overdose of alcohol. I stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me.

  “Scarlett!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the quiet house. My quiet house.

  Restored to its original beauty, this was the very house I was born in, that I’d inherited once my parents had passed. My brother had no interest in keeping the place, so I’d bought his share.

  I
gazed over the antique staircase that wound up to the second floor. This place had class, something so many properties lacked these days. With its polished redwood floors and beautifully high ceilings, you couldn’t help but marvel at the design and the intricate details of the hand-carved cornices and delicate architrave.

  I glanced down the hall as Scarlett came running, her bare feet softly thumping against the floor. Her long blonde hair was twisted into a bun, and she wore a short floral sundress that highlighted her long, slim legs.

  “Yes?” she said, her breathing labored. My neck stiffened, the burst of color in her cheeks stirring something inside of me. Arousal. I pushed it away and kept my expression emotionless.

  “I’ll be out for the next few hours. Please redirect any calls to my cell.” She nodded, and retreated back into the kitchen. I watched her go, my eyes lingering on her ass. “Oh, and Scarlett?” She turned, waiting for me to speak. “I dropped a glass in my study. That will need cleaning up.”

  ***

  I headed outside, pulling on my jacket as I walked to the car. It was a clear, sunny day, but the morning frost was just present enough to put a chill in the air. I opened the door of my Porsche 911 and slid into the driver's seat, the smell of leather and grease engulfing me. God, I loved that smell. I had a passion for cars, and this baby had been my dream for many years—since I was a child. The Porsche had been the only positive thing I had taken out of my relationship with my father. That sounded harsh, but it was the truth.

  Nothing had ever been good enough for him or my mother, right up until their death in a car accident six years ago. After years of fighting for their love and approval, it became easier to be the rebel of the family. I lived to break the rules. I was forever pushing boundaries, and the result was that they eventually gave up on me, saying I was a lost cause. Their love and attention was focused on my younger brother, William.

  At thirty, he was two years my junior, and different from me in every way. His perfect grades, and long list of extracurricular activates had paid off with a full scholarship to Boston Med. William had been the poster child for everything my parents held dear.