Exposed: A British Bad Boy Romance

by Sennah Tate

  My face is still pressed to the table and tears begin to run off the tip of my nose, dripping steadily to form a little puddle under my cheek. I nod without picking my head up, smearing my tears on the table, “Yeah. Of course. I fucked up everything.”

  Al sighs and rubs my back between my shoulder blades. Her hand moves in slow rhythmic circles and soon my tears have stopped.

  “Look, this is a really really shitty thing happening right now. But I don’t think either one of you should be trying to get through it alone.”

  “There’s no way he wants to talk to me, Al. I’ve ruined his whole fucking career. Everyone’s saying his new restaurant’s gonna be closed before it’s even open. He’s gonna hate me. There’s stuff in there I didn’t even write! I think Ivan got someone else to make shit up.”

  I feel her stiffen for a moment, “You’re talking about those girls they quoted? The waitress that said he pressured her for sex? The bartender that claims he drugged her? You don’t think he did those things? He’s kind of got a reputation...”

  “Of course not, Al!” I see red for just a moment at even the suggestion that Jasper could do something like that. I know those girls were paid off. I’ve seen it happen a hundred other times. “Ivan just wanted to make huge headlines. Jasper’s not like that… And you weren’t at that cook-out — everyone loves him.”

  Her hand is still soothing me, running up and down my spine and she mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like ‘they’re not the only ones’.

  “He’s ruined. They’re destroying him 24/7 on cable news and the internet. Women’s Rights groups are boycotting everything. He’s got the fucking plague and it’s all my fault.”

  She sighs, “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you. Have you tried… Oh, I don’t know, talking to him? Once you tell him that you tried to get Ivan to pull it and you didn’t write half of that shit, he’ll have to understand.”

  I look at her with disbelief, “Will he though? This isn’t some little misunderstanding. This is huge. Monumental.” I shake my head and let it fall back to the table with a heavy thunk, “Face it, it’s over. It’s all over.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jasper

  Opening night is a fucking disaster.

  With the whole building being hounded by the press — including my fucking staff, morning, noon, and night — half of my servers have had nervous breakdowns or quit and the kitchen isn’t faring much better.

  There’s enough coverage of the madness outside that our high-profile patrons don’t want to be seen here. Ninety-fucking-percent of our reservations canceled or plain didn’t show up.

  The ten percent that did show is being treated to the most pathetic fucking service I’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

  By the end of the night I’m in twelve places at once. Taking orders, cooking them, bussing tables and ready to make bloody heads rolls for one wrong move.

  Of which there are many.

  It’s a fucking disgrace. I’m beyond humiliated, my name tarnished beyond repair.

  But the worst part of it all?

  The worst fucking part of it all is that every time someone walked through that door tonight, I held my breath, hoping for Suzette.

  But she never came.

  I’ve been wondering if our relationship was all a farce. If anything with Suzette had ever been real. If our reconciliation was all an act. Or maybe the whole bloody thing was an act.

  I’ve been wondering that a lot in the past few days.

  Here’s my fucking answer.

  She didn’t come.

  She did this to you and then she didn’t come.

  What more do you need?

  It those thoughts that have me wanting to punch something — anything.

  Not my tanking reputation.

  Not my career going down in flames.

  Not even dissatisfied customers.

  No. What has me ready to destroy everything in my line of sight is Susie’s absence and the gnawing aching hole it leaves in me.

  It’s worse than any of the things she wrote.

  Worse than the lies.

  Worse than all the doubts in my mind.

  Because this is real.

  She’s really not here.

  By the end of the night I don’t even want to stand any more. My body is so tired. My mind even more so. I’ve been tormenting myself all fucking night and all I want is a bottle to drown myself in and a second for breakfast.

  I doubt there will be a second service.

  Press from tonight will just snowball with all the rest.

  It’s all over.

  Part of me thinks it’s almost funny — the mighty Jasper Wild brought down by mousy little Susie Q. — but it’s not funny.

  It’s fucking heart wrenching.

  I cared about her. I may have even loved her. And that’s the real tragedy, isn’t it?

  The only woman to ever make me feel anything and she absolutely crushes me.

  I guess that’s just the way life goes sometimes.

  “Well, Jasper ol’ boy,” I say to myself as I clear off the last of the tables, “you had a good run of it. Most people would kill to have a taste of the life you had. Better to smile cause it happened than cry that it’s lost.”

  I don’t even believe myself. Not a single word of it.

  “You don’t really think that, do you?” a tiny voice from behind me makes my heart screech to a stop before it slams into my ribcage.

  “Lot of fucking nerve you have showing up now,” I say hating the way Susie shrinks back from my words. They’re out before I can stop them and she’s already getting teary.

  “Jasper… I’m sorry,” she says.

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  It’s not what I want to say. I want to say ‘I’m so fucking happy to see you.’ I want to wrap her up in my arms and never ever let her leave my side again.

  Instead, I’m a prick.

  She wraps her arms around her body, hugging herself tightly.

  That should be me holding her.

  But I’m on the other side of the room.

  “I know. I wanted to just hide and never show my face again, but… You deserve an apology. In person. I didn’t want any of this to happen, Jasper, you have to believe me. I went to Ivan’s office and begged him not to run the story. I didn’t even know about all of that extra stuff, I swear.”

  I don’t say anything. I just go back to wiping down tables.

  “Jasper,” she says my name again and I hear her voice cracking. I hear the tears constricting her throat.

  God damn it, lad, get over yourself.

  “I tried to get my version — my real version — published, but no one would take it. It was too late.”

  I hear myself laughing now and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

  That’s it. I’ve finally fucking lost it.

  “You think that I’m mad about the story?”

  She blinks back tears and takes a step closer to me, still hugging herself. My arms ache to hold her.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “I’m a bit miffed about the story, sure. I’m more angry that you didn’t fucking show up for my Opening Night.”

  “I didn’t think you’d want me here,” she says meek as a mouse before a lion. “And I… I was busy.”

  Another bark of laughter spontaneously erupts from me, “Doing what?”

  Then I think better of it, “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You not being here told me everything I need to know about you Suzette. Just…” My hands fly up in frustration, “Fuck it.”

  I start to turn away when that meek little voice that sends my heart racing speaks up again.

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  I shake my head, “I assure you, I’m in no laughing frame of mind, luv.”

  “I wasn’t here because I was getting a birthday present for you...” She takes another step toward me like she’s walking
on thin ice and extends her arm.

  She turns her wrist over and there she’s got a fresh tattoo.

  Or… rather half of a tattoo.

  My other half.

  “You cheeky little…” I can’t help smiling now. I feel like I’m on a fucking roller coaster.

  She steps into me and my hands instinctively go around her, pulling her close. She looks up with a watery grin, “I’ve been looking for a new job, too.”

  “Why?”

  “I… kind of quit when Ivan wouldn’t pull the story. I really am sorry that all of this is happening.”

  A rumble of laughter rolls through my chest and she looks up at me with concern like she’s worried for my sanity, “I’ve told you, luv. I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of me. Except you.”

  I’m leaning in to taste those sweet lips I’ve been dreaming about for months now and a bellowing shout startles us “YOU!”

  Elliot’s marching across the empty restaurant, his face purple, his entire body trembling with fury. He wags a finger at Susie as he stalks toward us.

  “This is your fault. You’re responsible for his ruin! MY ruin!” He’s frothing at the mouth with pure rage.

  I step up in front of Susie before he lunges at her and I just cross my arms, letting my reputation — and my biceps — do the intimidating.

  “I think you ought to go, Elliot.” It’s interesting to see his true colors. Now that his gravy train is derailing he seems to have lost his refined airs.

  His eyes widen and I’m sure he’s going to pop a fucking blood vessel, “You are not going to defend this little… tramp!”

  “Indeed I am,” I say, still shielding Suzette with my body. “She only gave you what you wanted, El. Guess there is bad publicity, eh, old chap?” I clap him on the shoulder firmly and his knees buckle slightly from the weight of my hand.

  That’s all I have to do. He knows not to push it further.

  “Jasper,” Susie whispers, “what are you doing?”

  Elliot looks properly flummoxed too, which only makes me find the situation that much more entertaining.

  “You know, the Jasper Wild thing has gotten much bigger than me. It’s more than I ever wanted. Too much in fact.”

  “Jasper, think about what you’re saying, lad,” Elliot says in a warning tone, his eyes wide as his whole life comes crashing down around him.

  “Oh, I’ve given it quite a lot of thought, truthfully.”

  I turn to Susie, leaving Elliot forgotten behind me, “I’ve been thinking about something more casual. You remember greasy Lou’s? Or maybe a shack on the beach like that Jamaican place we went…”

  Susie’s grinning from ear to ear, still wiping at tears that she can’t seem to stop. Elliot makes a bunch of flustered noises, but I give him a withering look and he knows he’d best leave us alone. I have no need for him. There’s no career left to manage.

  And frankly, I’m not too pleased with his management lately. Everything that came between Susie and I seems to link back to Elliot.

  “Why are you crying, luv?” I ask, dabbing at the fat tears trailing down Susie’s cheeks.

  “I just… I thought for sure that you hated me after all of this. How do you not hate me?”

  I squeeze her so tight in my arms, so happy that she’s there.

  Then I back up enough to look her in those big doe eyes with a cheesy grin on my face, “Are you mad? Can you not tell that I’m hopelessly besotted with you? I love you, Susie.”

  Her eyebrows shoot into her hairline, “You do?”

  “‘Fraid so, luv. You’re stuck with me.”

  The tears start again, “Jasper… I love you, too.”

  When we kiss it’s like a first and last kiss all at once. A bittersweet kiss for the man I’m leaving behind and a warm and tender kiss for the man she makes me. The man I want to be for her.

  My sweet Susie.

  EPILOGUE

  Susie

  Six Months Later

  “What’s that?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at Jasper’s latest creation.

  He gives me an impatient look and just waves the plate under my nose, “Have you ever disliked something I made?”

  I frown, “Don’t go getting cocky, you still can’t beat that oxtail we had in Miami.”

  He rolls his eyes, “You’re never going to let me forget that place, are you?”

  I shake my head, rubbing my stomach absently. Still too soon to know for sure, but I’m pretty sure. “I’ve been craving it lately. I have dreams about the curried goat you ordered.”

  He grins, “Maybe when you finish your book we can take the drive up north and get some.”

  I groan, “Don’t tease me. You know it’s never going to be done.”

  Ever since quitting my job, I’ve been doing the odd freelance gig while working on a side-project: a romance novel — maaaaaybe loosely based on Jasper and I, but that’s irrelevant, really.

  He sets the plate down on the tiled bar — just long enough to accommodate two cracked and faded barstools — and wraps his arms around me.

  I’ll never get tired of this. Of him.

  “That’s nonsense, luv,” he says in a low husky tone, sweeping back a strand of my hair. “It’s perfect. You’re just scared.”

  His hands slide over my ass and he brings me up against him — I can already feel him hard, pressing into me — and I catch myself against his chest with a little gasp of mock affront, “I am not scared. It just doesn’t quite have the right ending…”

  “Hmm,” he murmurs against my throat, barely grazing his lips against my skin. “Is running away from their humdrum lives off into the sunset together not a satisfying enough conclusion, luv?”

  I laugh, not knowing if he’s talking about us or the characters in my book.

  Maybe both.

  I never actually thought he’d remember our conversation about running away to the Keys. I never thought he was really serious about a fish shack on the beach. I never thought Jasper would just come home one day with a deed and a key to a restaurant 100 miles away.

  And I never thought I’d be crazy enough to pack up my life and move south with him.

  But here we are.

  Calling this place a restaurant is a little charitable really. It’s a rickety little place on the water with a bigger capacity at its dock than its parking lot. Locals and tourists alike bring in their fresh catch for Jasper to do something amazing.

  There isn’t any glass in the windows, allowing for a steady salty breeze to blow through, and — unlike places on the mainland — we don’t require shoes for service, mostly because our floor is more sand than concrete. Or maybe it’s the other way around, maybe it’s sandy because we don’t require shoes.

  “So what is that?” I ask again, changing the subject with a look towards the plate of fried food. I’ve learned not to trust anything with breading — Jasper has a tendency to hide things I wouldn’t otherwise eat beneath a crispy coating.

  “Conch fritters and key lime mango salsa, try it,” he says, offering the plate to me again. I love the way his eyes light up when he’s waiting for me to try his latest experiment in the kitchen. Like he just wants to impress me.

  Still… conch?

  “Isn’t that those big snail things? With the shells?”

  Jasper looks disappointed in me, “It’s not just a snail Suzette. It’s tradition. A local delicacy!”

  I’m not convinced.

  “You know that ‘conch republic’ stuff is just made up, right? There isn’t some long ancient history of eating snails here. You don’t need to honor the ancestors or whatever.”

  He growls and picks a piece off the plate, shoving it toward my lips, “Will you just eat the bloody thing?”

  I sigh, “Fiiiiiiine.” This isn’t the first time we’ve had this argument. I take a bite of the fritter and chew.

  “Well?” Jasper’s nearly perched on his tiptoes waiting for my verdict.

  I dip the rest of the f
ritter in the salsa and eat it, taking my time to belabor the chewing and pondering to drive him crazy.

  “Suzette.”

  Full name. He’s getting annoyed now.

  “It’s okay,” I say with a shrug.

  He’s instantly deflated and pouting. He doesn’t believe me, but he plays along anyway.

  “I guess you’re going to have to get rid of me. If I can’t cook I’m not good for anything.”

  I smirk spotting the devilish glint in his navy eyes, “Oh, I can think of some things you’re still good for.”

  He turns his nose up at me, “I don’t know. You said my fritters are only okay.”

  I roll my eyes, “You big baby. You know it’s delicious.”

  He’s grinning from ear to ear and I get the feeling that he’s just bursting to say something else.

  “So, you want to know the coolest part of that?”

  “Um… The coolest part of eating a snail?”

  Jasper doesn’t even pause to acknowledge my snide remark, “I found that conch while diving yesterday.”

  Diving, fishing, it’s all a way of life here and Jasper’s taken to it like… Well like a fish to water.

  “Oh, that is pretty cool,” I say. “So you have the shell?”

  Though I didn’t think it possible, his grin grows, “I was hoping you’d ask that.”

  I’m thoroughly confused now and giving him a very skeptical look, “Jasper…?”

  From the kitchen, he produces a conch shell the size of his hand, mottled orange and white with a gorgeous glossy pink interior.

  “That’s a really nice one,” I comment, wondering why he’s so excited about this shell.

  “Aren’t you meant to be able to hear the ocean in it, or something?”

  I nod and he hands the shell over, “Have a listen.”

  This is getting a little weird, but I love the guy so I humor him. I take the shell and as soon as I raise it to my ear, I hear not the sound of the ocean, but a high-pitched rattling.

  “What’s—” I’m shaking the ring free of the shell the same time as he’s falling down to one knee.

  “Jasper… You’re not serious.”

  He’s just grinning like he’s won the fucking lottery. But that’s not possible because I won the lottery.