Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2)

by Hazel Grace

  “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but—”

  “You don’t deserve me,” Reagan proclaims, still facing the door. “And I don’t deserve you. I want to figure this all out in my head and keep you out of it. I have more important things to do right now than deal with you and your kind of insanity.”

  "I know," I concede. "I know you have a bunch of shit going on. With your mom...I know that you're hurt, and you don't want to be near me. But I love you, I would inflict everything on me if I could. I didn't mean for you to become collateral damage, and I tried to—"

  “I’m not collateral damage,” she retorts softly. “I’m your worst nightmare.” She suddenly yanks open the door, her back hitting my chest to round it, and slams it shut behind her.

  I know that she is. Always has been. Now I get to live through it in real time, real life, and in real shit.

  ♫ Bow Down — I Prevail ♫

  Twelve—that’s the number of clients that have canceled their events with A Series of Fortunate Events after Demi released the video of my allegedly sleeping with men at parties.

  Eight—that’s the number of days Mama has been in the hospital.

  Six—the nights Marty has stayed at my house.

  Four—the number of awkward conversations Marty and I have had.

  One—the most powerful number of all.

  Wade is standing outside my door right now, banging on it like a madman. Dogs started barking somewhere in the neighborhood with his loud voice, on the verge of waking my neighbors.

  The loud slams to my metal door sound like he’s taking a battering ram to it. And the longer he stays out there, the longer he’s at risk.

  He’s in danger of exposing himself here.

  He’s a hazard for my mental health and the fractured heart that I’ve been trying to handle with care. And every single hit that lands on my door splinters it deeper.

  His pleads are ones of mercy, as though a man has a gun to his head right now, and he's begging for his life.

  I can’t listen to him anymore—literally. My hands tremble as I make my way into my bedroom to grab my headphones and turn off all the lights inside my house.

  Shoving them in my ears, I search for my rock playlist on Spotify and hit shuffle.

  Bow Down by I Prevail filters through my earbuds, and I crank it to the max, ignoring my headache and the fragile line my body is walking right now.

  Lying on my bed, I close my eyes, focusing on my own kind of silence. The voices, drums, guitars, everything plays in a perfect melody of what I call serenity.

  It’s something that would calm me down at night when Marty was out dealing or when he went away to the Marines.

  And now I feel that same shift and tilt.

  One more degree to the side, and I'm a goner. I'll fall down that deep hole again, and I don't want to.

  Not for Mama.

  Not for Marty.

  But because I can’t keep on doing it. I can’t be that girl anymore. I have to take care of my family, not go off the rails when I can’t handle things anymore.

  My playlist skips to the next song, and I can hear him, my name being repeated over and over again.

  Please go home.

  I can’t bear to look at you.

  Nothing that he said feels true anymore. He could've just gotten rid of Chase the first time, but he came back. He brought an imaginary being in my life, made me comfortable, then deceived me.

  Then there’s the marriage thing.

  The Demi thing.

  Mama’s house burning to the fucking ground thing.

  Fake sex tapes of me screwing old, privileged men thing.

  Then it hits me so hard that I sit up in bed.

  I’m done here. There is no way my business will ever survive another scandal or if Wade gets caught outside like a fucking lunatic.

  The next thing I need is him attached to my name. I could give a shit about his career, he did that to himself.

  But mine?

  Yeah, I can’t take any more nails to my coffin.

  Wade: Please talk to me.

  I fight the urge to chuck my phone across the room but refrain. I don’t feel like going to the store to buy another one. I don’t want to have to redo everything. I don’t want to do anything.

  Getting out of bed is a struggle all on its own. I skipped breakfast and peek into Marty’s room that hasn’t been touched.

  He didn't come home last night, more than likely stayed with Mama at the hospital. The driveway is clear of Wade's SUV, and I'm starting to think it was a dream.

  Well, a nightmare.

  “Do these pants make my ass look fat?” I glance up to see one of Jed’s groomsmen peering over his shoulder to look at his butt in the full-length mirror, moving from side to side.

  I roll my eyes.

  I’m playing babysitter to a bunch of grown-ass men because Jed was afraid they’d all show up in different colored suits just to give the bride-to-be a damn stroke on their wedding day.

  Now I can see why he’s worried.

  I’ve had to slap away wandering hands from one dude who tried to touch one of the store associate’s ass. Smacked another upside the back of the head while he peered down the shirt of a brunette who bent over to help him get his shoes on.

  This is what Jed gets for being too damn nice.

  He has idiots for friends that are now part of his wedding.

  Glancing down at my phone, I check my calendar to scope the things I have to do for the rest of the week.

  11 AM tomorrow—lunch with Tracy Renshaw. I can cross that out because she canceled.

  2 PM on Thursday—Schedule taste testing with Martha for an art opening, which was put on a "temporary hold" because more than likely, they were trying to find another party planner but wanted to make sure they could get another in such short notice.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stan (and the only reason why I know his name is because he keeps singing Eminem’s “Stan”), grabbing the bottle of Patron again out of his leather bag.

  “Stan, if you crack that bottle open,” I warn without glancing up. “I’m going to crack it over your head.”

  Another two hours go by, and all eight guys are measured and tailored. I make sure all of them are out of the store before leaving myself just so I'm there in case I need to scold another one again.

  Next stop: Jed’s house.

  He sent me a text about an hour ago to meet him because he had some things to go over with me. Then warns me that Grant will be there too.

  Awesome, let’s tack some more bullshit to this week.

  Hopping in my car, my phone buzzes in my cup holder, and I wish I never looked at it. I envy not being able to be a cold-hearted bitch right now, so that he’d leave me alone.

  Wade: Just let me know you’re there and okay.

  I’m not here, motherfucker.

  And I’m dead to you.

  ♫ Dancing With A Stranger — Sam Smith feat. Normani ♫

  "What's up with you?" I watch Grant lean on Jed's desk in his small study, cryptically quiet. Usually, he's running his mouth, making stupid-ass comments, and pissing me off.

  But today, he let me in, told me to come into Jed’s office, and poured me a drink without asking.

  “Just busy,” he replies, filling his tumbler halfway. Pivoting on his heels, he sits on the coffee table ahead of me in black dress slacks and the cuffs of his blue shirt unbuttoned. “What’s up with you?”

  A mirthless laugh escapes my lips. “You know what’s been going on with me. Everyone knows.”

  Grant brings his glass to his lips. “It’s bullshit.” He takes a sip and smacks his lips together from the burn of the liquor. “Who leaked it?”

  I blink at him. “Who are you?”

  “What?”

  I rid the explanation out of my head. Grant was a finger pointer, always loved to believe gossip or shit he imagined in his head about me.

  He once thought I gave
a waiter a blow job because I was in the bathroom for too long. I mean...I had to take a shit so, not sure what I could've done differently in that circumstance.

  "Not sure who leaked it," I lie, taking a sip of my own drink.

  Grant waves his free hand in the air. “Let it blow over.”

  “Since when do you hand out good advice?”

  He peers down at the brown liquid in his glass. “Since I had to follow it to become a role model.”

  “A role model?”

  His brown eyes hit me with a sullen look. “Yeah. You know, one of those things you never had.”

  “Touché.” I raise my glass and take another drink.

  "Damn, sorry." He rakes his hand through his hair and blows out a heavy breath. "I'm dropping out of the Republican delegates, and I still have to tell my father."

  My brows furrow. “Why?”

  “I don’t want to do it.” He follows with a shrug. “Simple as that.”

  I want to lift the back of his shirt and see if he’s a clone or some battery-operated robot because Grant Hardison has always wanted to be in politics.

  It was simple—he loved power, being spoken about, and being loved. Probably needed the latter because I gave him none.

  “You always did follow what your father told you to do,” I reply. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  I study him, looking for a lie or truth to spill from his face. “You going to be okay with that?” I ask him.

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m good with just being a senator. I don’t want the White House. Took much bullshit, responsibility, I’ll get gray hair by the time I’m forty-five and—yeah, no thanks.”

  “What are you going to do then?”

  “Just take care of me, take some chances.”

  I nod. “Sounds like living your life, Hardison.”

  “Might not make it out alive after I tell my father,” he surmises over the rim of his glass. “But, at least I tried.”

  “Are you finally growing up or something?”

  He chuckles. “Hell no. I’m still an idiot, Rea. Don’t give me too much credit.”

  “Oh, I’m not—not yet anyway. You’ll have to show me more than that.” I down the rest of my drink and welcome the burn down my chest.

  Grant takes my glass. “I’d love to show you more, Vixen, but our time has passed.” He stands and walks back over to the small table where the brandy is patiently sitting.

  Studying the room, it's modest with gray walls and older furniture. The three black bookshelves are filled with old books with spines that are fading and worn. A vase of flowers sits on Jed’s small desk with barely anything on it but a laptop and some pens.

  Pushing from the couch, I notice pictures on two of the shelves behind his quaint desk. Only two small picture frames, a baseball in a clear display case, and his diplomas are propped on it, but when I see the first photo, my heart drops.

  It's a picture of Grant, Jed, and I—before everything happened.

  We were babies; Grant was in college already, and Jed and I had just started dating. I don't remember what we were doing or where we were, but it was a park. And the fact that he kept it…

  “Funny how shit changes so drastically,” Grant states behind me. I pivot in his direction to find my glass filled closer to the brim this time. “We both lost you for different reasons.”

  I take the glass that he has reached out for me. “I wasn’t good for either of you anyway.”

  Grant lifts a shoulder. “Who the fuck knows. I think being in our settings made us who we are. Whether we wanted it to turn out that way or not.” He pulls back on his brandy and glances over my shoulder at the picture before averting his gaze. “How did the fittings go today?”

  “Jed’s friends are idiots.”

  He chuckles. “College buddies who think they are still in college." He takes a step away from me, and lets himself hit Jed's desk to lean against it. "Decent guys, though. Even though Belle can't stand them."

  “She sounds...very proper.”

  “She’s boring as fuck. At least I got lucky for a while and had someone with a mouth. Belle nags like a mother figure. I’d take someone like you over her any day.”

  I furrow my brows. “Thanks.”

  “At least you have the hot thing going on. Belle acts like she’s about to enter the nunnery.”

  I roll my eyes. “Just because her fashion style isn’t running around with her tits out doesn’t make her a prude.”

  “They haven’t slept together, Rea. Call me a pig but...c’mon. Don’t deny that you’d want to try it out before purchasing it.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you there.”

  “She has Jed wrapped around her finger and—” he sighs. “—he lost his balls.”

  “Is that your only problem with her? I think it’s safe to say she’s not your type.”

  Grant smiles for the first time tonight. “Nah, she’s definitely not my type. I like a woman who knows what she wants and is not afraid to take it.”

  "So, like that one receptionist, Kylee, that you slept with that one time."

  “I never slept with her.” He perks a brow. “I was faithful the whole time I was with you.”

  “I know you were.”

  “Then why ask me?” I smirk, not bothering to hide it behind my glass.

  “Because I just wanted to make sure.”

  “Trust me, Vixen, no one compared to you.” His eyes trail down my chest. “Not even now.”

  I take a step forward and eye him. “Why aren’t you with anyone now?”

  “Maybe because my last relationship ended pretty badly.” He lowers his head, possibly thinking about how I’ve called him every name in the book during that time.

  “That was over a year ago.”

  “You can’t time that shit. There’s no limit, besides, what’s the rush?”

  “No rush. Just curious.”

  He leans forward. “I’m curious.”

  “About?”

  “If you still taste the same.” He pushes off the desk, his Armani cologne making an appearance to my nose. “Why aren’t you with anyone?”

  I was.

  “No time limit, remember?”

  “What are my chances of you slamming that glass over my head if I kiss you?” I answer him by finishing the contents inside mine, feeling the buzz sift through my body.

  I haven’t eaten today even though my stomach feels like it’s chewing itself alive. It’ll survive, just like I’m going to make it through this.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I have a feeling I know who it is.

  Let me go, Wade.

  “You won’t get wet,” I mutter, handing him the glass. He immediately takes it from me and sets it on the desk before his lips are on mine.

  If you would’ve asked me a month ago if I’d be standing here with Grant’s mouth on mine, I would’ve told you to go get your head checked out. I still can’t stand him, no matter what kind of quarter-life crisis he’s going through right now.

  But he’s here, a distraction.

  And I don’t want Wade’s lips to be the last ones that have touched mine while I go through the motions of fighting this. If it’s one thing I’m good at—it’s self-destruction. Doing anything I need to get past something or someone that has a hold or stamp in my life.

  And Wade is painted all over my life.

  Grant keeps a steady pace with his lips, careful not to push too far. He pays special attention to my bottom one, letting his mouth linger with mine before opening his again to take another, possibly dangerous, kiss.

  My hands grip his hips, keeping him there because I'm getting used to him after so long. It's been, like I said, over a year since Grant and I have touched each other.

  And this time, his arrogance isn't seeping through his body because I know what that feels like. His hands would already be roaming my body, his tongue would've already made a debut, and I would've already pushed myself away.


  I know who’s kissing me right now, I’m just choosing not to fucking care at the moment.

  "Thanks," he mutters as he breaks away from me but only slightly. We're still breathing in each other's air supply, chest to chest right now as I'm sure his mind is reeling.

  Mine’s not.

  Mine wants to forget.

  “You’re done?” I breathe. “I don’t remember you being so careful with me.”

  His mouth breaks into a smile. "Not trying to scare you away. I'm—" My mouth presses into his, letting my tongue do the talking.

  Where no words come out, where feelings are left at the door.

  Where only our bodies express how we’re feeling because it's all I can muster right now from the tunnel vision of my life, and I don't want to be there right now.

  It's dark, the walls coming together closer and closer, and Wade is at the end, calling my name, trying to get me to come back to the light.

  “What the hell?!”

  That’s not Wade’s voice.

  Breaking from Grant, we both peer over to see Jed standing in the doorway of his office with wide eyes and his jaw almost to the floor.

  “Oh, hey,” Grant voices, his arm still around my waist that I don’t remember being there before. “How did dinner go?”

  Jed’s eyes slam into his brother as the shock on his face still remains there. “It fucking sucked.”

  I break from Grant slowly and round the desk. “What happened?” Jed’s head slowly turns in my direction then soaks me in like he hasn’t seen me in years. We’re past that, I’ve seen him about a handful of times already.

  “I broke off our engagement.”

  I bellow out a “what” as Grant says “what the hell”.

  “Dude,” Grant transmits. “Why?” He comes to stand next to me, just as puzzled as I am as Jed slowly comes out of whatever trance he’s in right now.