Unforgettable: The Complete Series (A Sexy Cinderella Standalone Love Story)

by Nelle L'Amour

  Chapter 12

  Brandon

  The Conquest Broadcasting Executive Dining Room is a formal restaurant filled with tables draped in white linen and Hollywood types, mostly men, dressed in either expensive designer jeans or suits. Blake Burns, whom I recognize thanks to Zoey, is impeccably dressed in the latter. He could be a movie star himself with his dashing good looks and athletic build. I’m shown to his table by the maître d’; along the way many people reach out their hands to shake mine and welcome me back. It’s hard to believe an asshole like me is so well liked.

  Blake rises as I approach his table and then rounds it to give me a man hug. “Welcome back, man. You gave us a fucking scare. How’re you doing?”

  Taking facing seats, I tell him I’m doing well. I decided on the way here that I wasn’t going to tell him about the amnesia. What point would that serve? I found out enough about him and Conquest Broadcasting from the file Zoey put together to fake an intelligent conversation, something that shouldn’t be too hard to do since I’m an actor. About my age, Blake, I learned, is the heir apparent to heading up all of Conquest Broadcasting after his father retires. He began his career as a male model, did some acting, and then decided he preferred being behind the camera. Upon joining his father’s company, he started up a successful porn channel, SIN-TV, which was spun off into an even more successful women’s erotica channel by his talented colleague and wife, Jennifer. The woman whose life he saved. Blake Burns, unlike Kurt Kussler, is a real-life action hero.

  A silver-haired waiter, in the standard white jacket and black bow tie uniform, brings us menus. “Good to see you back, Mr. Taylor,” he says warmly as he hands me mine. I guess I’m a regular around this place. Blake and I peruse the menus and order, each deciding on the Conquest Club Sandwich with a side of potato salad and some Cokes. I’m hungry as a bear. The sodas, in old-fashioned Coca-Cola bottles, arrive quickly.

  “Everyone was freaking out we were going to lose our number one star,” begins Blake.

  “Nah, I’m the man of steel. Invincible,” I counter with a chuckle.

  “That’s what I tell my wife and she actually believes me.”

  I laugh again. I like Blake. He’s a real guy. A straight shooter.

  He takes a chug of his Coke. “We honestly didn’t think you’d make it to the Golden Globes. Congratulations on your nomination. We’re all rooting for you.”

  Thank God, I googled myself. I would have had no idea that I was nominated for Best Performance by an Actor in a Dramatic Series. I humbly thank Blake.

  He takes another swig of the soda. “Are you ready to get back on the set? It was quite a challenge writing you out of the show. We almost had to shut down production. Run a couple of repeats.”

  “Can’t wait. It’s a killer episode. I’ve got my lines down.” I don’t tell him that I’m still trying to figure out my character and the show. And that I haven’t finished reading the most recent script, let alone rehearsed it.

  “Awesome.”

  Our lunch arrives. Blake and I both dig into the overstuffed sandwiches.

  “Hope you can come to the focus groups tonight,” he comments, after swallowing a biteful.

  I saw those on my schedule, but forgot to ask Zoey what they were all about.

  “Definitely.”

  “Great. We’re testing out the idea you had for the season finale. We want to make sure it works. It’s quite a twist.”

  My stomach bunches. I have no idea what it is. I’m eager to find out.

  “By the way, we want to show the season finale at MIP.”

  MIP? “Cool.”

  “We think it’ll generate a lot excitement with our international broadcasters and licensors. You know, you’ve become a commodity…a brand.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Hot sexy action hero. Women love you and men want to be you. Your Q-Score is through the roof.”

  “What’s a Q-Score?”

  “Remember?”

  No.

  “Your popularity rating. You are the number one actor in the world. You’re even more popular than Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Holy shit is right. We’re going to beef up our marketing and merchandising efforts. There’s a Kurt Kussler movie in the works as well as a series of books, and Ikes Tikes approached us about developing a line of Kurt Kussler action figures. Who knows, a Kurt Kussler animated series could be next. My wife Jennifer, who’s a guru when it comes to kids’ programming, thinks that’s a great idea.”

  “Wow!” I lift my Coke bottle to my lips and take a long sip while he tells me I have a hefty profit participation in all ancillary merchandising. I make a mental note to share this information with my business manager Scott. Feeling comfortable with Blake, I change the subject. Maybe he can offer me some insight into my personal life. “Do you know my fiancée, Katrina Moore?”

  Blake’s blue eyes darken. He pinches his lips and then responds curtly, “Yeah. What about her?”

  “Do you know we’re getting married live on TV? It’s a ratings stunt for her reality show.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Brandon.”

  “Getting married live on TV?”

  “No, getting married to Katrina.”

  I’m taken aback, but before I can ask him what he means by that, he apologizes.

  “You know what, man. Forget I ever said that. It was totally out of line. I wish you and Katrina much happiness, and if we’re invited, Jen and I will try to attend.”

  I ponder his interesting choice of the word “try.” Wouldn’t most people say, “love to attend” or “would be honored to attend?” Maybe, I’m reading too much into it. I mean, they’re a super busy power couple and probably have tons of equally important overlapping events. I let it go. But not soon enough.

  “Well, there you are!” That voice. I recognize it immediately and so does Blake. His face goes ashen. I look to the right, and there she is striding toward us in her six-inch stilettos and a thigh-high pencil skirt. Katrina! With her bouncing hair, pearly white smile, and long-legged gait, she exudes sex and confidence. Every eye is on her.

  “What are you doing here?” asks Blake before I can. His raging eyes narrow and his fists ball so tightly his knuckles turn white.

  “I thought I’d stop by and say hello to the two of you.”

  “How did you know I was here?” I ask as she slinks into the vacant chair next to mine.

  “You shouldn’t be so careless, darling. You left your schedule at the pool.”

  Before I can reply, Blake jumps in. He’s still glowering at her. “How the hell did you get on the lot?”

  She tuts. “Blake, darling, does Mommy have to wash your mouth out with soap?”

  Blake is clearly seething. His lips flatten into a thin, angry line.

  “How did you?” I repeat. Security at the gated entrance is extremely tight. It doesn’t matter who you are.

  “Easy peasy, as Blake would say. Money talks, people walk.”

  She must have bribed the security guard. I bet Blake is going to fire his sorry ass.

  My eyes fix on her as she bats her cat-green eyes at him. “It’s been a long time, Blakey, hasn’t it?”

  Blake inhales and on the loud exhale, he says icily, “So, Kat, you’re a big star now.”

  Blakey? Kat? Do they know each other intimately? Former fuck buddies? This is not the time to ask. I keep my big mouth shut.

  Katrina sneers. “I would have been a bigger star if you’d picked up my show instead of that rinky-dink cable network.”

  “It wasn’t a good fit.”

  “I’m sure it was a better fit than your wife’s skanky little pussy.”

  Blake’s cheeks flare and I can feel my own reddening. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Jesus, put a lid on it, Katrina. What’s wrong with you?”

  With a smirk, she slides out of the chair and saunters off. “See you later
, Brandy-Poo.”

  I’m mortified. How could she embarrass me like that in front of my boss? The second most powerful man at Conquest Broadcasting.

  “Man, I’m sorry for that. I don’t know what got into her. Maybe she had too much to drink.” Which I know isn’t true because there was no trace of alcohol on her breath, and she sure as hell couldn’t walk in those heels sloshed.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I can’t help myself; I need to know. “Did you and she have some kind of thing?”

  Blake tightens his lips once more. “My father always says: ‘Sometimes the past is better left behind.’ I’ll leave it at that.”

  The irony of his words gets under my skin. If only I could remember mine. In the meantime, I’m going to find out what their story is.

  Chapter 13

  Brandon

  I’ve barely stepped inside my house when Katrina comes sprinting up to me. She’s dressed in a very skimpy bright red bikini that exposes her voluminous tits and her long, toned legs that seem to extend to her armpits. Her eyes are bloodshot and her face is streaked with tears. Looks like she’s been crying.

  She flings her arms around my shoulders, clinging to me, pressing her firm breasts against my pecs, so I can’t take another step without taking her with me. In her mile-high mules, she’s eye level with me.

  “Let go of me, Katrina.” My voice is gruff. I’m still reeling from her mortifying behavior in front of Blake Burns.

  She runs one hand along the side of my jaw and bats her eyes. “Oh, Brandon, you have the right to be mad at me. The way I behaved today was so out of line. I’m so, so, sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

  She holds me in her feline gaze imploringly. I draw in a sharp breath through my nose and exhale. “We need to talk.”

  She nods. And then a seductive smile slithers across her billowy lips.

  “Let’s take it outside.” Her cloying floral cologne is smothering me. I need some fresh air.

  “Can I pour myself a glass of champagne first?”

  “Fine.” I stab the word at her while she ambles to the kitchen with the grace of a gazelle. Her platinum mane cascades down her back and bounces along.

  Five minutes later, we’re seated on my terrace, my back to the guesthouse where Zoey resides. The January air is balmy. I cut to the chase.

  “So, what’s the story with you and Blake Burns?”

  Seductively folding one bare leg over the other, Katrina takes a sip of her champagne. “I never really wanted to tell you about him, but I suppose I have no choice.”

  “Level with me, Katrina.” My voice is authoritative. I’m all ears.

  She sets the crystal flute on the small table between us. And with a lick of her upper lip, she begins.

  “Blake and I have known each other almost our entire lives. Our families were best friends, and we went to the same schools right through high school. During a vacation in Capri, we fell in love. And I never stopped loving him. I thought I was destined to marry him and so did Mommy. It was a match made in heaven. Like royalty. We were practically engaged.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Then that repulsive peon, Jennifer McCoy, stepped into the picture, and when he chose her over me, it totally broke my heart.”

  My eyes bore into her. “Are you saying you’re still in love with him?”

  She flings her head and huffs. “Hardly. I hate his guts for what he did to me. And I hate his wife even more. The bitch did something really evil and manipulative that I can never forget. Or forgive.”

  “Like what?”

  Her face darkens and her voice grows cold with fury. “I can’t talk about it, but let’s just say it’ll follow me everywhere.”

  She brushes her long manicured nails across a faint scar below her collarbone that shimmers in the late afternoon sun. I’ve never noticed it before on account of the high necklines she favors. It looks like the remnants of a former tattoo. A five-letter name. I can vaguely make out the first letter—a “B.” “B” like in B-L-A-K-E? While curious, I fold my arms in my lap and let her continue.

  “So, darling, when I found out you were having lunch today with Blake, I couldn’t resist.”

  Despite her explanation, another surge of anger blasts through my chest. “It was an important business lunch, Katrina. You had no right to be there. Your behavior and the things you said totally mortified me.”

  “I couldn’t help it. I was just acting out my anger.” Her pouty expression begs for sympathy. “I hope you can understand.”

  No, I don’t understand, but the past is the past. Not dwelling on the irony of that thought, I blow out a breath. “Just don’t let anything like that ever happen again.”

  “Is that a threat, Brandon?” Her voice is pitchy, as if she’s challenging me.

  “No, it’s an order.”

  Tears cluster in her cat-green eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m working on my anger issues with my therapist.”

  “That’s good.” My voice is monotone.

  “Can you forgive me?” She returns to the champagne.

  “Yes.” I don’t tell her that I’m not going to forget about this incident. Forgetting anything is the last thing I want to do in my amnesiac state.

  “Thank you, darling.” A few fat tears roll down her high cheekbones, taking some of her mascara with them. My eyes stay on her as she rises and repositions herself in front of me. Squatting down, she works the button of my jeans and then yanks down my fly. My big flaccid dick sits parked between my legs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to make it up to you,” she purrs.

  I don’t stir. And then without warning, she dumps the remainder of her champagne on my shaft, soaking my cock, my balls, and my jeans. I jolt from the sudden cold sensation.

  “Jesus, Katrina. What the fuck?”

  “Do you still love me?” She rolls her tongue around the circumference of my dripping wet crown.

  My breath hitches. I seriously don’t know the answer to that question. And it’s like my drenched cock is rolling its eyes and saying: Don’t look at me. I have no clue.

  “Show me you love me,” she lilts, gripping the base. Her billowy lips descend on my length and then make their way back up. She repeats the movements, picking up speed. My soft cock doesn’t respond. I just want to tuck it back into my jeans and get away from her.

  “Dammit, Brandon. What’s wrong with you?” she growls before going down on me again.

  Squeezing my eyes, I groan loudly and almost leap up from my chair. “Christ. What the hell are you doing?”

  An unexpected answer. “I’m delivering your sides—the lines you need to rehearse for this week’s upcoming shoot.”

  My eyes pop open. Shit. Zoey.

  She slaps a folder down on the table. “I’m sorry to interrupt something so important.”

  “Zo—”

  She cuts me off. “I’m off to a meeting with my dad. I’ll have my phone with me so call or text me if anything else ‘important’ comes up.” In addition to air-quoting the word important, she puts a sarcastic emphasis on the last two words.

  “No, wait.” My voice takes on urgency that borders on panic. Like I’m silently saying, “Please don’t leave me alone with Katrina.” My cock smarts.

  Too late. She stoically marches off after her eyes clash with my fiancée’s.

  Sliding my sore cock back into my soaked jeans, I jump up from my chair to tell her what happened, but lithe Katrina springs to her feet simultaneously and shoves me back down.

  She snaps at me like a rabid beast. “We have business to finish up here.”

  I leap back to my feet and this time I shove her out of the way.

  She gasps. I curse under my breath. Zoey’s gone. I grab the file on the table.

  “I’m heading back in. I’ve got lines to figure out.” And that’s not all I need to figure out. My mind’s confused; my heart’s confused; and my cock’s confused.

  “Fine.” Katrina fling
s the word at me and then dives into the pool.

  Chapter 14

  Zoey

  A trip to the precinct is just what I need to banish the image of Brandon and Katrina. Right before I caught Bratrina in that lurid sex act, I got a call from Pops, asking me if I had time to come in for some questioning. The timing was perfect.

  I haven’t been here in ages. The last time I was here was when I was in high school. When the kids in my civics class found out that my father worked for the LAPD, they all wanted to see what that was like. After learning this, Pops arranged a field trip to the precinct with my teacher. My classmates loved every minute. Especially the part when they got to look through a one-way mirror and watch Pops question a suspected murderer—a wealthy woman whose millionaire husband had mysteriously been poisoned. Pops was so good at squeezing information out of the suspect. My very own Columbo! All of us gasped when the suspect broke down in tears and finally confessed everything. It was just like a scene out of CSI—of course, the husband was having a secret affair, and the vengeful wife wanted him dead to inherit all his money.

  The downtown precinct is bustling with a colorful cast of characters, and phones don’t stop ringing. I walk up to the bulletproof front desk window and tell one of the busy clerks on duty that I’m here to see Detective Billings. Her name, Alma Lopez, is on her badge. I give her my name and tell her I have an appointment. She scans her computer and calls my father to let him know I’m here.

  “You’re Zoey Hart, Pete’s daughter?” she asks, filling out a visitor’s badge for me.

  I smile at her. “Yes.”

  Her eyes brighten. “The one who works for Brandon Taylor?”

  “Yeah.” There’s little enthusiasm in my voice.

  Alma grows animated. “Oh my God! You’re so lucky! I’m so jealous! What’s it like to work for him?”

  Taking the badge from her, I paste it on my short-sleeved tee. “Trust me, you’re much better off working here.”

  At that moment, Pops bursts through the door, chomping on a fat sandwich. As usual, his shirt is rumpled with the sleeves rolled up, and there’s a mustard stain on it. Jacketless, his holster is crossed over his torso. My adoptive dad may be a loveable schlub, but there’s something so powerful about him carrying a gun. After my mother’s horrific murder, I felt he could protect me. I only wish he’d found her killer. It’s still an unsolved case that haunts us both.