Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2)

by Hazel Grace

  I barely recognized myself. My love for the woman in front of me used to be more powerful than anything I could contain. The toxicity of how I would do anything to make sure she was protected and happy.

  “Go fuck yourself. You’re not going to kill me, Wade. You don’t have the backbone.”

  “I don’t need to kill you. You shouting in the hallways full of employees is probably being tweeted about and texted around amongst themselves right now. Then it’ll just spread from there.”

  “If you have a mistress, Wade, I—”

  “That’s enough,” Em rebukes, unfolding her legs from underneath her. “There is a level of respect that—”

  “Shut up,” Demi rants, snapping her neck to her. “He’s probably fucked you too.”

  “Wouldn’t you know?” I challenge, regaining her focus. “You have your own little spies in on my shit.”

  About that...they fucking blow balls. I threatened them with jail time, and they report back to her with what I want her to know.

  “People could be wrong.”

  "Then, you need to hire new ones." Glancing down at my watch, I rise from my chair. "You have to go."

  “Wade.” My name is a calm, soothing rhythm off her lips. “Can’t we be civil? I thought we were thinking about having a baby. And—”

  "How can I take you seriously if you're yelling at my men, who are doing their job, and now my assistant? You're not changing, Dem. You have people spying on me like I'm your sideshow. You're screaming in the halls when it's not just us anymore. And, on top of that, there's—" She extends her hands in front of her.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it. Now get the fuck out of my way, I’m in the middle of eating and watching this show. If I find out tomorrow that you’re bitching at the staff, I’m going to have your ass.”

  Her jaw tightens. “Where are you going?”

  “New York.”

  ♫ Million Dollar Man — Lana Del Rey ♫

  “Did you want me to buy you that painting?” I take the flute of champagne from Enzo and hit him with a blank stare.

  He knows I hate that shit.

  He knows I’m going to say no.

  He knows that the next thing out of my mouth is going to be some smart-ass comment about him stopping his shit and just be here with me. Enzo has had his own horror stories with love, but he's strong enough to keep his walls down and let his vulnerability show.

  Not me.

  I might have thought that I was a strong-ass bitch before, but I'm as weak and broken as the next one with breakup issues.

  Actually, I’m so much worse.

  Instead of eating a gallon of ice cream and crying over sappy movies, I get eaten out by two brothers and cry out for more of them fucking me into Dopey from Snow White. Anything to be rid of what I can’t fix, what I can’t and couldn’t change.

  “Champagne is fine. Unless it’s a pizza, don’t mention buying me anything.” I take a sip of the bubbly liquid and continue to stare at the painting that I’ve been looking at for the last few minutes.

  It’s illustrated in shades of black and white, a woman with calm eyes right above water while her dark locks float around her perfectly structured face. Underneath the surface is her mouth open and screaming in agony or maybe frustration. A two-sided coin of what you can see out in the open and what lies underneath, screeching out for someone to hear them.

  It's me. The facade she wears so the world can’t see what’s beneath the skin. The pain that simpers below my flesh and within the walls of my heart will forever remain there.

  My immunity for certain things or people has withered into nothing. I like to think that over the last year, I've been doing well, that I've been attempting to keep my sanity grounded and my pain buried deep. But it's reemerging, and I can't block it. I'm not able to build a higher wall because it's too far of a climb. One that I'm too exhausted to go through again.

  “At least let me grab the name of the artist,” Enzo quips, wrapping his arm around my waist. “So that you can keep up with them on social media. Then maybe you can buy a piece of hers later for your modest apartment.”

  He can try and throw shade around all he wants, but the reason I haven't decorated my flat is because it's not home. I won't live in New York forever. When Marty comes back, so will I because my backbone will be there.

  Enzo’s lips land on my temple. “I’m sorry, I did it again.”

  “Maybe we should get you a shock collar.”

  He presses his kiss deeper for added effect. "Kinky, but no thanks. Tonight has inspired me to use paint to fuck you in and draw on."

  I scoff, which leads to a light chuckle. "I hope at your place."

  “If you agree—” He shrugs. “—then fine. I’m down.”

  I cast my gaze over at him. “Why do I deal with you?”

  "Because I have a big dick." I roll my eyes, which has him turning my body in his direction so that he has my full attention. "What's up, you've been super quiet."

  Too bad the inside of my brain can’t say the same.

  “Just tired.”

  And fatigued over the fact that I sucked Wade's dick, and he pulled away from me. That he could give a rat's ass that I removed a brick from said wall and gave in.

  To the point where it's tough to look at Enzo right now. I haven't kissed him on the lips since I've been back, it didn't feel right. I don't want to contaminate him in any way after what I did in Mexico.

  “Why didn’t we just stay in tonight? We could’ve ordered carryout or pizza, whatever—”

  "I've really wanted to see this opening," I allude before touching his forearm. "I pass it every day to the office, and I've just been so curious to see what these artists capture in their head."

  “Alright, Rea Rea—” He wraps both of his arms around me. “—whatever you wanna do. Just let me know when and I’ll have the car pulled around.”

  "Does that include dessert too?" He smirks then opens his mouth before I clasp a hand over it. "I walked into that one."

  He laughs underneath my palm.

  “Shut up,” I growl with a smile before removing my hand off his lips. “I want chocolate.”

  “Still not helping with what you just said.”

  "Not helping your self-esteem thinking you have to con me with food to get me to fuck you," I tease before a wave of black hits the right side of my periphery and right in front of the painting—and stands there.

  Glancing over, a man in a black suit with massive shoulders and girth stares at me. Another stands next to him, and when I look back at Enzo, my left side catches the same thing. Two more suited linebackers with solemn faces stare straight over my head. As though this isn’t weird as hell.

  My champagne glass is then plucked from my grasp, drawing my attention along with my next exhale.

  My whole existence suspends as Wade sips my champagne nonchalantly, his blue eyes locked on me. Dressed in a New York Yankee tee and hat, he finishes my drink in one gulp and hands the empty glass to one of his suits.

  “Miss Shelton,” he finally greets in a dull tone. Then his eyes flick to Enzo’s hands still on my hips, the proximity of our bodies, and back to me. “I didn’t know you were into the art scene.”

  “Are you—holy shit,” Enzo gushes as his fingers tighten around my skirt. “You’re President Lockwood.”

  Wade returns his attention back to Enzo with an unimpressed and he-could-give-a-shit look. “Yep.”

  Dead air falls around us, and it's then that I notice how quiet the gallery is. That pretty much everyone has been cleared out or has been issued out by the man now standing in front of me.

  Enzo’s hand shoots out towards Wade like a jack-in-the-box. “I’m Enzo Junus. It is beyond a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President. I voted for you.”

  Oh, my fucking God.

  “Thanks,” Wade deadpans, giving his hand a curt shake before dropping it. His gaze cuts back to me. “Good
to know.”

  Wait. Wait. Wait.

  What does THAT mean?!

  “Hold up.” Enzo’s eyes widen in excitement. “You both know each other?!”

  I clench my eyes shut, pleading to Enzo in my head to shut the hell up. He couldn’t stroke Wade’s self-admiration anymore if he got on his knees right now.

  "I'm a little taken back," Wade remarks. "I definitely would've thought Reagan would have mentioned me. We did work very closely there for a while."

  When my eyes snap open, my expression says it all. I hate you. He must catch on to it because Wade’s lips lift.

  “Damn, Rea,” Enzo gapes, tugging me closer into his frame. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you worked for the President of the United States.”

  “He was a governor back then,” I convey. “There’s a million of them.”

  “But he’s the president now.” He throws out his hand in added effect. “Damn, woman, there is so much more I need to learn about you.” He shifts his next comment to Wade. “She’s like a clam, all closed off, but when she opens up, it’s like a blast of—ouch!”

  Shit, I pinched him.

  I brush it off with a forced laugh. “Enzo, he’s married. He knows all about that, goodness. It’s been like, what, almost ten years, Governor?”

  “Rea, he’s the pres—”

  "Just about." I can see the tightness in his jaw, but he keeps his body placid. “Which brings me to why I’m here. Would you mind giving us a few moments, Mr. Anus? I’ll give her right back.”

  My eyes thin, but Enzo doesn't seem to notice that he fucked up his last name because he's already kissing the top of my head and being escorted away by two of Wade’s brutes. The other two, Wade nods away, leaving us alone but still out in the open.

  I’m uneasy, more than I was before.

  He’s where I live. Where I feel safe, well, not anymore. There is not one inch of this country where Wade can’t insert himself. I’ve fucked with a man who’s now one of the most powerful in the world.

  “What are you doing here?” I seethe. “Are you stalking me now?”

  “Throwing the first pitch for the New York Yankees game.” He hits me with a solemn look. “You remember how much I like the Yanks, don’t you, Sox?”

  “Stop.” My chest starts to heave, each mouthful of air is like something going down the wrong pipe.

  I clamp my mouth closed, not wanting him to see me pant. Not allowing the most powerful man in the country to know that I’m bothered by his proximity—which is arm’s length right now.

  “What do you want? The answer is already ‘no’.”

  He quirks a brow. "You sure? I'm pretty sure that if the question was, can I fuck you, the answer would be...yes—please.”

  My cheeks blaze. My thighs crush together, and his confident demeanor only makes me feel like more of an idiot than I already do.

  That he’s over this—me.

  I loathe the burning at the back of my eyes. My brain telling me to fucking move before I make more of a fool of myself in front of him.

  Stepping to the side, I begin to walk by him and back to Enzo, who’s standing at the entrance of the art gallery, conveniently blocked from us. Until Wade’s next words cement me to the glossy hardwood floors.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I spin on my heels. “What?” Wade doesn’t turn to face me, admiring the painting I was just staring at.

  “This depiction looks like you,” he vouches, shoving his hands into his tattered jeans. “Beauty on top of chaos. The pacified woman who is covered with wounds from life lessons and love. Along with disappointment—” He steals a glance at me. “—something you hide well.”

  When was I someone you could see through?

  "You're wasting my time," I assert, brushing my hair away from my face. "What are you here for?" He responds by taking a step closer, making me immediately want to run to the front where Enzo is.

  It's laughable. Utterly and sadly comical that I think Enzo, a pharmaceutical rep, could save me from Wade Lockwood. Shit, one look, and Wade's suits could stuff him in the back of a blacked-out SUV, and he'd never be heard from again.

  Still doesn’t stop me from peering over my shoulder to see if he’s still there—and safe.

  “I don’t know about that,” Wade admits. “It looked like you wanted to kill yourself from boredom with that wannabe me. So don’t act so interested in him when clearly my dick was what you wanted the other day.”

  “Enzo is nothing like you. You want me to start naming off the differences?”

  Wade gives me a passive look. "Besides his self-esteem issues since he keeps stealing glances at you from across the room, go for it, Sox." I glare at him so hard that I hope it leaves a dent in his forehead.

  But alas, no dent, just facts.

  Enzo isn't Wade, but in certain ways, I wish he were. It beats at my soul, trust me. I wish that I could aspire to get rid of everything I remember of the man standing in front of me, but I can't.

  Especially after Mexico, it’s even worse now.

  “Why are you here, Wade?” I press. “How did you find me?”

  “I’m here because I was in town.”

  “Just because you—” I point my index finger at him. “—forced us to run into each other doesn’t mean you get to look me up whenever you’re here.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Shelton. You’ll embarrass yourself.”

  “Leave Enzo alone,” I continue. “He’s the future, you’re the past.”

  “Oh, Sox,” he coos with a cocky hoist of his mouth. “How quickly you disregard good ‘ole Jed Hardison again.”

  “Wade, it was my idea. Don't you have other shit to do than worry about what I've done? Like, run a damn country or something?"

  “Or something,” he deadpans.

  “You need to go.” He remains planted to his spot, clearly not going to be taking orders from me.

  "Stay away from me. Keep out of my business. Leave the Hardisons alone." I swear when the words leave my mouth, Wade appears larger and broader.

  It could be the single step he took in my direction or the fact that I know I'm on the wrong side of him right now.

  “You said that I’ve never fucked with a bitch like you,” he mutters, eyes trailing to my lips. “You wanted to fuck two men and make a video just to send to me—fine, Shelton, well fucking played. But then you wanted to make a sequel—” Blue eyes slam into me. “—so now I’m going to play out the next scene in your movie. Sorry to steal your leading role, baby, but I’m looking to make fireworks at the end of this.”

  “I didn’t send you—”

  “Watch it,” he quietly fumes. “Your level of petty doesn't fuck with mine.”

  “What are you going to do?” I taunt. “Destroy some lives, Mr. President? Use your almighty power to take down another man I slept with because you didn't like it? I never sent you another video, so I don’t know—”

  “I might be a cocky son of a bitch, Reagan, but I’ll get what I want in the end.”

  “And cause me all sorts of pain.”

  He rolls his eyes. "Jed might be someone you care for...but I'm the one you can't seem to shake. Your affliction is me."

  “You think too highly of yourself.”

  “And if you think highly of Jed, you’ll end it. And you’ll do it within the next forty-eight hours.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “How did that alleged sex tape work out for you?” My jaw aches from trying to keep a straight, emotionless facade, but my eyes give me away. They widen, and his lips perch higher on his face.

  “You’d do what your wife did to me?”

  “I’d blur all of you out.” His eyes take me in slowly. “We don’t need to attract more attention, do we?”

  “Then what?”

  He checks his watch on his wrist. "Then, we'll see."

  “We’ll...see? Motherfuc—”

  "The only one I'll be fucking, Miss Shelt
on, is if I decide to keep you after this." He gives me a bored look. As though this conversation isn't worth having—it's not. Hence why I'm super confused about why he's even here to seek me out in the first place.

  He suddenly pivots on his feet, dismissing me like he does, and can, everyone else.

  But not me.

  My hand latches on to his tee, and I yank him back in my direction.

  Wade doesn’t stumble backward but peers over his shoulder at me. “Was there something else you wanted?”

  “You’re not going to step into my life and start telling me what’s going to go down,” I seethe. “The Hardisons are something you’ll never understand.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t need to. I’m not the man who turns the other cheek.”

  “You’re not understanding the whole picture here,” I impart through clenched teeth. “So let me paint it out for you. I fucked both of them to keep you away from me. The point of all of it was to get you to fuck off. So, fuck off, Lockwood. I’m never going to be kept by you again. You’ll never touch me, feel me, see me ever again.”

  “Wade!” His name is exclaimed from behind me like it’s the best thing ever echoed in the history of mankind.

  But it’s his shit-eating grin that makes my stomach drop.

  A body rushes past me and jumps right into his arms as he picks her up. Her legs wrap around him, possessive and knowingly, making my heart wretch at the sight playing out before me.

  Her lips crash into his, and he openly accepts, hands adhering to her ass like an anchor. She clearly could’ve given two shits about me, and everything else, because he was all she saw. I can relate to that feeling wholeheartedly because he sucks up the room like a Hoover, and I'm the speck of lint on his T-shirt that just got thrown around by the bristles and dumped with the dust and dirt.

  She slides down his body, arms still wrapped around his shoulders as she peers up at him—probably with a shit-eating grin on her face.

  “I’m so beyond happy that you made it,” she beams softly. “Thank you. It means the world to me.”

  "I'm happy I was able to," he replies, placing another kiss to her lips. When they break off, after what seems to be all four years of high school to me, the female turns around, sending me a "sorry" look with her eyes and a beautiful smile.