by Knight, JJ
“I don’t get it. Are you a model, or are you something else?”
“I’m whatever you want me to be.” She leans forward and brushes my cheek with hers. Her breasts push against mine. She whispers in my ear, “I’m a virgin. I’ve never slept with a man, and I never will. I only like girls. Especially pretty girls, like you.”
I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling. If Ryanna, or whatever her name is, doesn’t like guys, then she didn’t sleep with Dylan. I’m so relieved, I could laugh or cry or both.
Ryanna takes my exposed neck as an invitation and starts kissing me. I squirm to try to get out from underneath her, but she slips her arms around me. She’s holding on tight, her lips wet on my neck and her breath hot on my ear.
“Ryanna, I have a boyfriend, and—”
She presses her mouth over mine, quieting me.
Her lips are soft, and her chin is smooth. Her hands are everywhere, her body grinding against mine.
I can barely catch my breath, let alone easily push her away. She’s the height of a model, which gives her several inches on me, and she’s strong. Her thighs feel powerful as she rocks her body against mine.
She gasps and pulls away suddenly. I feel cool air on my scalp. My wig, with the curly red hair, is in her hands.
She jumps back off my lap with an alarmed cry. “Who are you?” She drops the wig. “What’s going on?”
I pick up the wig from the floor and set it on my lap. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, streaking two colors of lipstick across my skin.
“Who am I?” I let out a low chuckle. “I’m the woman whose life you’re trying to destroy. I’m Jess Rivera. I believe you know my fiancé, Dylan Wolf.”
She backs away cagily, stopping when she gets behind the wooden chair. “What do you want from me?”
I take a deep breath and let it out.
“I just want the truth.”
She stares at me. She’s still holding onto the back of the wooden chair, and her knuckles are white. She’s scared.
“Are you really Jessica Rivera?” Her voice is shaky.
I take off the fake glasses and bat my eyelashes at her. “The one and only.” I study her for a moment. How can I get her relaxed again? Besides offering her my body for another lap dance?
“This is so messed up,” she groans.
“Ryanna, when was the last time you ate? I could really use some lunch, and a friend. How about I take you out for a bite? Anywhere you want.”
She looks shocked. “Don’t you hate me? I said all those things about Dylan, and none of them were true. You should hate me. I’m a terrible person. But I was so broke, and…” She goes quiet.
“We’ve all made mistakes. But one thing my grandmother taught me is there’s no problem too big to talk about over a hot meal. So, what do you say, Ryanna?” I give her a big smile. “We already got to first base, so it’s only fair I buy you a sandwich or something.”
She says softly, “I can’t disclose information about my private clients. But I could go for lunch.”
“Lunch it is.”
I get up and cross the room to a mirror, where I put the red wig and glasses back on. I can imagine all the juicy stories the press would make up if they saw me and Ryanna having a meal together. I’ll stay in disguise.
I give Ryanna a shy wave in the mirror as I freshen my makeup. She has information, and I’m going to get it from her. Just like her, I can also be charming when I need to be.
Chapter Twenty
Ryanna suggests a nearby sushi place, but there’s a lineup, so we drive to a restaurant with panini sandwiches and a huge dessert selection.
She complains about the calories and her model waistline, so we split a sandwich. The waiter smiles as he sets down the single sandwich split on separate plates. He probably thinks we’re best friends, or girlfriends.
I crunch into my sandwich, then ask Ryanna, “Do you bring all your dates here?”
She knows I’m being friendly to get information, but she gives me a flirty smile anyway. “Just the cute ones.”
I look around to make sure nobody’s listening to us or taking pictures. I want to ask her about Dylan, but it can wait until the dessert course.
Thinking about her kissing Dylan doesn’t make me quite as angry as it did before. Now that I’ve experienced her charisma myself… and been almost powerless under her charms… I think I understand what happened to Dylan.
He still shouldn’t have kissed her back, but I can understand how it happened. I can get over it. Especially since now that I’ve kissed her too, we’re kind of even, in a weird way.
I smile to myself as I eat my lunch. My life has gotten surreal lately. It’s not always good, but it’s definitely interesting.
Ryanna is interesting as well. She loosens up as we eat and talk.
She won’t order dessert, so I order two different kinds and tell her to take as many bites as she wants.
She eats most of a cream-filled eclair, then lets out a long, sexy moan. Some people eating nearby turn to stare.
“Sorry.” She blushes. “I don’t get out much, and you’re really nice. I feel awful about what I did to you.” She helps herself to the last few bites, frowning like she’s struggling with something in her head.
“They tricked you,” I say in a soothing voice.
“They told me you were in on it,” she says. “And the money was so good. Deep down, I knew the whole thing wasn’t legit, but I believed what I wanted to believe.”
“I was in Italy. I still don’t understand what happened. Are you going to tell me? I promise I won’t be mad.”
“Dylan’s a sweetheart. I was at every one of his appearances for weeks. He was really growing on me.”
“What happened between you? Was it ever more than the kiss I saw on the video?”
She shakes her head adamantly. “No, I swear. We were just friendly. We talked quite a few times, backstage and stuff. When I finally kissed him, I think he was so confused. That might be why he kissed me back.”
I clench my hands into fists under the table. I promised I wouldn’t get mad, but I am not happy.
“He was very passionate,” Ryanna says. “No tongue or anything, but his lips said yes.”
I look around and wave for the waiter to bring the bill. I may have Ryanna’s word that she never slept with him, but hearing about his side of the kiss is killing me.
“You did it for the money. I get that. But why did Morris Music hire you to kiss him?”
“To make Dylan look more like”—she curls her fingers into air quotes—“a bad boy.”
“That’s stupid. So stupid.”
She frowns, looking offended by my words. I don’t care about her feelings, though. If you don’t want to be called stupid, don’t do stupid things.
I lean in and ask, “Were the bruises real? Did he hurt you?”
She looks down at the table, still frowning. “The bruises were real.”
“But were they from Dylan?”
She looks up at me, her blue eyes burning steadily into mine. “If you have to ask that question, maybe you shouldn’t be getting married to him.”
I curl my hands into fists again.
Through clenched teeth, I spit out, “You don’t even know him. He’s my fiancé.”
“Yeah? Then why isn’t he here right now? Why are you here, making me feel like dirt? I thought I was doing a publicity stunt. I didn’t know I’d be getting pulled into someone else’s drama.”
I bite my tongue to keep from screaming at her about drama. The memory of being dumped in Italy returns with a vengeance. I want to slap her, but I also want to hug her and cry on her shoulder about my broken heart. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.
Across the table from me, Ryanna’s expression changes. Her cheerful mask slips away, and I see sadness and tears in her eyes.
“The bruises are from my boss,” she says. “He gets rough when the girls don’t do as they’re told
.”
“What?” My mouth drops open. “Ryanna, that’s abuse. You have to get out of that situation.”
“I’m trying.” She blinks rapidly and looks away, out the window. “It’s not that bad. Just a few bruises.”
“That is bad. It’s the worst. Someone controlling you and making you live in fear is the worst thing that can happen.”
She sighs. “I’ve got to save up more money to move. Just a few months longer.”
“You’re a gorgeous girl, though. You don’t have to be in that situation.”
“Thanks for lunch,” she says cheerfully. “Can we not talk about that stuff anymore? Please?”
“Sure.” I take a sip of my sweet coffee to keep from bugging her about her abusive boss. She’s a grown woman, and I can’t force her to do anything, as much as I’d like to.
We sit in silence for a few minutes.
Finally, I say, “Going out for lunch is nice. I’ve been working too hard lately, and most days I eat at my desk.”
“They work you hard at Morris Music? I can see that. They never took me to lunch. It was all just emails and weird text messages from a blocked number.”
“Who was your contact at Morris, anyway? Was it a woman named Bridget?”
Ryanna shrugs. “I dunno. But it was a man, not a woman. Not the same guy who hired me to give his wife a massage. This guy had a deep voice.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“Uhhh.” Ryanna bites her lip. “John, I think. I don’t remember. Anyway, he gave me all the instructions over email and the money went straight into my bank account.”
“You’ve got the money already? Good. Now you can go to the press to take back everything you said.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and her eyes get glossy. All of a sudden, she’s crying.
“I tried,” she sobs. “I talked to the same people, and they wouldn’t believe me. They said I was a liar.”
“But you did lie.”
She sobs again. “I swear, I thought it was just a publicity stunt at first. I didn’t know. I should just move back home and give up.”
As angry as I am, my heart is breaking just a little bit for Ryanna. I’ve been in her shoes, emotionally shattered. And I would have given up on my dreams and returned to my hometown, if it hadn’t been for my best friends.
Chapter Twenty-One
After I drop Ryanna back at her apartment, I start driving toward the office.
I think I know who hired Ryanna. With every block I drive, I get more worked up.
It wasn’t just someone at Morris Music. It was Morris himself. Chet Morris. And he was probably taking orders from his uncle, Carter Morris.
Carter Morris always said Dylan wrote better songs when we were apart. He tried to break us up before, and now it’s happening again. The idea would be ludicrous… if I didn’t know it was exactly the kind of thing Morris did.
It had to be an order from the top.
After she stopped crying at the restaurant, Ryanna told me how much she got paid. Even if Bridget was involved, it was way more than she would be authorized to spend.
Someone honks at me. I look up. The light is green and I must have spaced out.
I hit the gas and speed toward Morris Music.
* * *
I’m still twenty minutes away from Morris Music when my phone starts ringing. I pull over to the side of the street and answer the call.
Riley says, “I hear traffic. You’re not at home resting, are you?”
“Nope. I’m just heading into the office, and I’m going to get myself fired.”
“Jess, are you crazy?”
“Yes. This whole thing has driven me crazy.” I quickly give her the run-down. I found the model with the bruises, confirmed she lied about Dylan hurting her, and discovered Morris Music was behind destroying my life again. “And now I’m going to give Chet the hell he deserves.”
“What? But Chet’s a sweetheart.”
“And he’s the one who dragged me off to Italy for a month, so I wouldn’t get in his way when all this went down.”
There’s a pause, and I can see Riley in my head, getting her serious face. She’s going to give me a Big Sister speech, I know it.
Her voice comes out low, like a growl, “If Chet Morris did this, then you’d better give him hell.”
“Are you serious?”
“Give them all hell. But make them fire you, so they have to pay you off. Whatever happens, don’t quit.” The line clicks. “Hang on, that must be Dylan again.”
I gasp, “Dylan?”
She puts me on hold, and I wait for an eternity.
When she finally returns, she sounds funny. “Uh, Jess?”
“Now what? What did Dylan say?”
“I’m not sure. His phone was cutting out. He said he missed you, though. I tried to tell him what you just told me, but I don’t think I explained it very well. He sounded really mad. I think he’s going to Morris Music right now.”
I quickly thank Riley for checking up on me, toss the phone in my bag, and punch the gas. Another car honks as I squeeze into traffic. I don’t even wave in apology.
Dylan has a talent for getting places quickly in this city. If I want to get to Morris faster than he does, I need to drive like I’m him.
I punch the gas and change lanes without signaling. I feel bad for cutting people off, but this is an emergency. If Dylan gets to the office before I do, something terrible is going to happen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I park the car and race into the elevator. My finger is damp and slips when I press the button for the tenth floor.
The elevator doors open and I run toward Chet’s office. I can see him through the glass walls of his office, alone. He’s leaning against the window with his arms crossed, looking thoughtful. He sees me coming to his door and holds his palm up, signaling me to stop. But I don’t stop. I slam open his door and storm inside.
“What the hell are you up to?” I yell at Chet. “I know about everything. I know what you did. I just don’t know why. How could you do that?”
Chet’s face moves through a few expressions before he gets the first words out. “Okay, first, I have no idea what you’re talking about. And you’re yelling. Everyone on the tenth floor can hear you.”
“I don’t care who hears. Everyone should know what a scheming bastard you are!”
He looks hurt. “Jess, I don’t know what you think you know, but—”
“I know about Ryanna Lambert.”
He looks confused. “Who?”
Another person answers for me. “The model.”
I jump back in shock. Chet wasn’t alone in his office. There’s someone sitting in a high-backed visitor chair. The chair slowly turns toward me.
I know it’s Dylan. Even from just two words, I know his voice. I’m going to see him, be facing him, in seconds.
Chet says, “What model?” He looks genuinely confused.
“Ryanna Lambert,” I spit out. “The girl you hired to make out with Dylan at Avalon Hollywood, then lie to the press about how he beat her up.”
The chair turns all the way around, and now I’m facing Dylan. He doesn’t get up from the chair. Chet crosses the room, moving away from the window, and sits at his desk. He repeats Ryanna Lambert’s name and starts typing on his computer.
Now Dylan and I silently stare at each other. As the shock of seeing him subsides, I start to notice details. We haven’t seen each other in twelve days, since he left me in the hotel room in Italy.
By the look of his beard, he hasn’t shaved since then. And by the look of the dark circles under his eyes, he hasn’t slept very much either. He’s still handsome, my gorgeous wild wolf, but he looks broken.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“What do you think?” His voice cracks, as broken as he looks.
I have to clench my jaw to keep from breaking down right here in Chet’s office.
Chet is still tapping away on h
is keyboard. He pauses and says, “I can’t find anything in my files about this girl. Why would you think I had anything to do with this?”
I look to Dylan, for him to chime in and tell his side of the story. His mouth doesn’t move. He slowly swivels the chair to face Chet and avoids meeting my eyes.
I clench my jaw again. This is happening right now. And I’ll get through it. I’ve been in stressful situations before, and I know I need to stay calm and keep moving forward.
I feel like grabbing the fancy awards and trophies off Chet’s open shelves and smashing them on the floor, but I can’t do that. I slowly walk over to the other guest chair, a few feet away from Dylan, and take a seat.
Chet frowns at his computer screen and clicks some more.
I turn to Dylan and calmly say, “You look like hell.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Slowly, he turns to face me. His brown eyes are deep and smoky today, with only a trace of his usual fire.
His voice still cracked and broken, he says, “Since when do you wear glasses?”
I reach up and adjust the fake glasses that were part of my disguise. The wig is back in my car, but I forgot to take the glasses off.
“These are silly,” I say. “And they’re not real.”
I start to take them off, but he reaches over and gently takes my hand. “Don’t,” he says. “You look cute in glasses.”
He holds my hand loosely, his thumb against my palm. After twelve days without speaking, being in the same room with him doesn’t seem real. Is this really his hand on mine?
I look into his eyes. How can I tell him all the things I’m feeling right now? How I’m so sorry? It wasn’t my fault that he saw the men’s clothes in my hotel room and jumped to the wrong conclusion. But it was my fault I didn’t try harder to calm him down. He was angry, and then I was angry, too. I yelled at him for working too hard, which I didn’t really mean. I said it only because a part of me wanted to hurt him.
Then he left me, alone in Italy. I spent entire days curled up on the bed with the curtains closed and the world shut out. The housekeepers at the hotel would come in and start cleaning, not realizing I was there, motionless.