The Consequence of Seduction

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “He keeps it in his pants just fine.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?” Her hip jutted out. I knew that look; I knew that stance. It would behoove men everywhere to memorize it so they recognized when it was time to stop talking and take cover.

  “Just . . .” I took a few steps back. “Be careful with him. He’s British.”

  “And that means what, exactly?”

  “They, um, don’t . . . have the same . . . moral code.”

  Jordan nodded mockingly. “You’re so right. I mean, those damn accents can only mean one thing. Sexual deviants. How could I be so blind? Tell you what, you can do this with your moral code talk.” She flipped me off, Italian style.

  If I didn’t already like her, that would have sealed the deal.

  It meant she didn’t give a shit.

  Just another thing that made me like her more than I should. Wait, what? My arms started nervously itching. I did not do relationships—ever. The sooner she moved out of my apartment the sooner I could get back to being . . .

  Lonely.

  Shit.

  I was screwed.

  “Oh!” Jordan ran back toward me. “I forgot about Otis!”

  “Otis is just fine.”

  “Otis will pee all over your fancy apartment if you don’t take him out!” Her lower lip pouted. “Please?”

  “What will you give me if I do?” Yes, I just went there.

  “You know what—” She gripped her purse harder. “Fine, I’ll just be late. Forget about it.”

  “Wait.” I held up my hand. “Fine, I’ll do it, but this isn’t a thing. I mean, we aren’t a thing.”

  “What?”

  “This . . .” My hands flailed in the air between us. “This can’t be a thing where we get all cozy and I take your dog for a crap in the park.”

  Jordan looked heavenward. “It’s just a potty break, not an engagement announcement. I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon, all right?”

  She stomped off.

  And I was left feeling like a total ass. She was probably confused. Hell, I was confused. Things were getting muddled where our relationship was concerned. On one hand, I employed her. Yet I was living with her and fake seducing her, though at some point it had turned more and more real. I made a face and clenched my fists as her curvy ass made its way down the street. One minute I wanted to kiss her senseless, the next, kick her to the curb and lock my door. I needed to stop blurring the lines, both professionally and emotionally, or else things were about to get a lot worse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  JORDAN

  Casey’s bright white smile was so blinding I had no choice but to wear my sunglasses indoors. Our waitress nearly dropped her drinks after looking directly at him. Poor thing was probably going to have to wear a patch on the eye closest to him.

  “So.” He cracked his knuckles. If his smile didn’t irritate me to death, it was going to be his cracking habit. “What’s going on, Jo-Jo?” Or the nickname. Crack, crack, crack. I inhaled slowly and counted to three before answering.

  “You tell me.” I placed my phone on the table, screen up, and pointed to the picture of him kissing one stripper while another girl, stripper number two, was grabbing his man junk from behind. Empty champagne bottles were littered everywhere, along with drug paraphernalia, and the caption read, CARTER GOES OVER DEEP END AFTER BREAKUP WITH SUPERMODEL GIRLFRIEND.

  Casey glanced at the screen, his green eyes narrowing before he rubbed the back of his neck and smirked. “Make love, not war, that’s what I always say.”

  The grin was back full force.

  I was immune to it.

  Unfortunately for him.

  It hadn’t always been like this. Casey was my very first client. Both of us had been trying to make names for ourselves. I poured everything I had into him. I’m pretty sure I didn’t sleep for an entire year. After his breakout role in a superhero franchise, he needed constant supervision. He wasn’t the type of celebrity that handled fame well, and the minute his name exploded he went from a friend who brought over Chinese takeout and texted me when I was having a rough day to jet-setting to the South of France and dating supermodels. He was one of the good ones—he’d made me adore my job—but the minute the money started pouring in, he changed right along with his bank account.

  At the time, the changing friendship hurt, but I knew it was for the best. Our lives were going in completely different directions.

  Besides, we’d still celebrated birthdays together and met once a week for a coffee break.

  His movie roles became more demanding and suddenly he wanted to be taken more seriously. As his publicist I told him it wouldn’t be a good idea to alienate all of his avid female fans by taking a year off to do an indie flick none of them would even see. He saw Academy Award, I saw flop. I was right, and things had only unraveled since then.

  “Aw, come on, Jo-Jo.” He reached for my hand, smile tight. “I was lonely.”

  “Buy a dog.”

  He laughed. “Guys like me don’t get dogs.”

  The arrogance I could really do without. What happened to the guy who used to pull out a woman’s chair and open doors?

  “No, guys like you are dogs. I’m saying get one to keep yourself from turning into one.”

  “You’re funny.” He grinned and cracked his knuckles again. My right eye twitched. Oh, hell. “Hey, tell you what, why don’t we share a bottle of wine like we used to and forget this ever happened?” Was he really trying to use our past emotional connection to manipulate me? My throat ached with the swell of emotion as it continued to mount. I was ashamed that it had worked before. That a year ago I would have made it all better while he promised to be a better friend and client.

  Clearly, I wasn’t the same person anymore. Was I that insecure? That attention from a good-looking man was enough to make me forgive a multitude of sins?

  Casey reached for my hand again.

  “No.” I jerked my phone back and tossed it into my purse. “This is the sixth time you’ve been out partying this month. A new stripper each time, and the paparazzi are having a field day. You wanna get taken seriously? Stop hitting on women half your age and buy a dog.”

  “What’s with you and this dog thing?” He raised his voice. “I’m not getting a damn dog.”

  “It’s like this,” I said slowly. “I’m trying to teach you how to be a responsible adult rather than a man so obsessed with his own penis he had a mold made of it to put in the middle of his apartment!”

  Casey shrugged. “I’ve never gotten complaints about my art.”

  “It’s not art.”

  “It’s art.” He nodded. “Ask the ladies.”

  “Look.” I held out my hands. “Parents buy their kids dogs to teach them how to take care of something other than themselves. Maybe it would be cruel to the dog. Maybe I’ll grab you a goldfish, because at least if it goes belly-up I won’t feel like a puppy killer.”

  “Huh?” He snapped to attention. “You want me to kill a puppy?”

  “Lower your voice,” I hissed.

  He blinked, his eyes a little too wide.

  I sighed. “Are you high?”

  He paused and then chuckled. “Maybe.”

  “Forget the goldfish—you couldn’t even take care of a Tamagotchi!”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind.” I waved him off and gripped my purse tightly with both hands. “I won’t keep doing this with you, Casey, I can’t. I’ve been with you five years. You were my first client, and I don’t want to quit, but you’ve left me no choice.”

  “No!” Casey shot to his feet. “Jo-Jo, damn it, just sit! All right? Look, I’m sorry, I’m just . . . it’s been a bad month.” A bad month? Try a bad year!

  “So stay sober, stop getting high, and make better choices. People will never respect you if you don’t respect yourself.”

  He shrugged. “It’s just a little fun.”

  “Is it fun when you�
�re no longer drunk or high?”

  He stared at the tablecloth.

  “Right.” I nodded. “Look, I’m going to go. I have a meeting with another client. Shape up. This is your last warning. If you can’t do it, I’m dropping you.”

  “You don’t drop me!” he sneered. “I made you!”

  And there it was. What was left of our friendship shattered in front of my eyes.

  “What was that?” I said in a lethal tone. “You made me?”

  Casey paled. “Jo-Jo, I didn’t mean that, I’m just—”

  “Save it.”

  “Wait!”

  “’Bye, Casey.”

  “You’re just pissed because I didn’t sleep with you!”

  I froze while the restaurant fell silent. This from the man who used to tell me to wait for the right guy, the man who kissed my tears away when my college boyfriend dumped me like yesterday’s news. Casey and I never went past friendship. He’d tried kissing me once, but I told him I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. Pain filled my chest as I tried to breathe evenly and think professionally.

  “That’s it.” I licked my lips and tried to keep my shaking to a minimum. “We’re done.” Forget that I was going to lose a crap load of money. Sadly, I was also losing a friend. Then again—I took another look at him—he’d stopped being my friend a long time ago. I’d just chosen to ignore the fact that on the road to fame, he’d given up his soul and sold it to the devil.

  I should have seen the warning signs, but I was making money too and I was proud of him.

  So proud.

  And now he was nothing but a high stranger, so obsessed with himself I half expected him to check his reflection in the damn spoon.

  “I’ll send the terminated contract to your manager by fax.” I whispered under my breath, “’Bye, Casey.”

  His eyes shuddered as he stood and flipped his chair over onto the ground. “You bitch!”

  I walked away.

  And when I heard dishes shatter against the floor, I began to run.

  He wasn’t my problem anymore.

  By the time I reached the corner, I was full-on sobbing. Hating myself for taking it so personally.

  It was my fault that I’d gotten too attached.

  And now . . . I was in danger of doing it again.

  I looked up. As luck would have it, Reid’s face was plastered across the nearest billboard—THE TAMING OF THE SHREW: RELEASING SPRING 2016.

  A vision of Casey’s first movie billboard popped into my head. Already, Reid felt more like a friend than a client. What was worse? Both of us had crossed those lines, and now it just felt like history was repeating itself, and it would, because it was Reid. What girl wouldn’t get obsessed? What director wouldn’t notice his obvious talent? Not again. I couldn’t go through it again. I wouldn’t. Why the hell didn’t I tell Ren no and save myself the heartache of watching someone else I cared about succumb to fame and fortune while I did what I did best and stayed in the background, invisible?

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and wiped the tears from beneath my eyes.

  Head held high, I hailed a taxi, more determined than ever to make sure Reid was a success. Maybe I needed to prove it to myself more than anyone else, that I could handle it, handle him. I needed to keep my personal feelings on lockdown, even if it meant I had to completely sacrifice my heart in the process.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  REID

  Something was wrong with Jordan. For one, her hair was pulled back so tight it looked like her eyebrows hurt. Two, her eyes were puffy. And three, well, her smile was off and seemed forced. Pathetic that I knew which of her smiles were real and which were fake, but there it was.

  She’d bulldozed herself into my life three days ago, and now I was concerned for her welfare, all because she looked like she’d just watched the latest Nicholas Sparks and was pissed because he killed someone off—again.

  “So.” Jordan cleared her throat. “The segment is on love and sex. They’ll ask you questions about the movie and then some personal questions about relationships. Make sure you sell the whole ‘I’m taming a real-life shrew’ thing, and lucky for you I’m in a hell of a mood so it won’t be a hard sell to the host. Got it?”

  I frowned. “Are you sick?”

  “What?” She jerked back. “No, why?”

  Her hair looked like it hurt. It wasn’t soft or tame—hell, I would have even taken the wild sex hair over the bun she was currently sporting. It also irritated me because it made her look too professional. My eyes greedily searched for some stains on her shirt.

  Nothing.

  Pristine.

  “Did you have a bad day?”

  Her shoulders tensed.

  “Holy shit, did Casey hit on you? Swear I’ll kill him. Where is he? Give me his number, I’ll break his leg in half!” I started pacing in the elevator.

  “Whoa, there.” Jordan braced my shoulders just as we reached the fifth floor. “He’s no longer my client, no breaking necessary.”

  “If he touched you—”

  “Nope.” Another forced smile. “Creative differences. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

  She swept past me and greeted the host, made introductions, then shooed me into the small room.

  “Today on Sirius Sex and Love, we have Reid Emory. You may know him from his long stint on Broadway as the Phantom. His debut film releases next spring, The Taming of the Shrew.” Mikey M had a deep voice that I’m sure many a woman listened to on a daily basis. He laughed. “Early reviews are saying this is going to be a breakout role for the young actor, and I gotta say, the buzz surrounding you these last two weeks has been out of this world. So, if you don’t mind, Reid, let’s jump right into it, shall we?”

  I took a seat in front of the microphone. “Sure.”

  “Now, your real-life Taming of the Shrew with your publicist has been all over the media. Hell, the little video you two shot last night already has over a million hits on BuzzFeed.” Really? Did Jordan not think I should know that little tidbit before going on live radio? “The arch is officially the second-highest trending topic on Twitter, and I just have to ask . . . this thing between you two, is it real?”

  “Y-yes.” Oh, great. Stuttering was super helpful. “I’m—” I stopped talking and glanced at Jordan. She wasn’t even paying attention! Her face was ducked and she was typing furiously on her phone. I smirked. Fine, two could play that game. She was embarrassed by me? Trying to ignore the fact that she had responded to me sexually? “Can I shoot straight, Mikey?”

  “Sure thing!” He chuckled.

  “It’s going horrible.”

  I heard Jordan suck in a breath while Mikey leaned forward. “I’m sure our listeners are curious to know why.”

  “It’s work. I mean . . . I try to kiss her and she pulls away. The video last night isn’t even the half of it. After we shot it, I took a shower and she got pissed because I forgot to put my clothes in the hamper.”

  “So you’re living together?”

  “Yeah, and let me tell you, it’s not a cakewalk. The woman basically beats me in my sleep.”

  Jordan jumped to her feet and marched over to the microphone while I ducked and covered my head with my hands.

  “Whoa.” Mikey shook his head. “Um, listeners, you can’t see this, but it looks like the shrew has a violent streak.”

  “I have the bruises to prove it.” I nodded.

  “Domestic violence isn’t something to joke about,” he said soberly.

  My lower lip quivered. “Sometimes, I make her a sack lunch. I mean, that’s romantic, right? Making my girl lunch. And if I don’t cut off the crust . . .” I shivered.

  Mikey held out his hand. “Do you think she takes out her aggression on you because there are issues in the bedroom?”

  “Ha.” Jordan kicked my shin, then pulled a seat out and spoke into the microphone. “He jokes . . . it’s what Reid does, right, Reid? You’re joking?”

 
I smiled shamelessly. “Mikey, I think you hit the nail on the head . . . the bedroom is . . . well, it’s where we should be connecting on both a physical and emotional level. Instead, she wants to take control . . . which frankly just takes all the pleasure out of it for me.”

  Jordan blushed furiously.

  “Oh, wow.” Mikey laughed. “Our phone lines are lighting up right now. We’ll take a few questions in a minute. Let’s talk a little bit about the sex life between you two. Now, Jordan, why do you think you need to control everything? Have you always struggled with that?”

  I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Yeah, Jordan, why so controlling?”

  She gave me an I’m going to kill you look and then spoke sweetly into the microphone. “I wouldn’t have to if he knew how to use his equipment.”

  “What the hell!” I roared.

  Mikey laughed again. “And when you say equipment . . .”

  “It’s like . . .” Jordan tapped her chin. “He has the hammer, and he sees the nails, but doesn’t quite know where to hit ’em in.”

  Oh, shit. She just took it too far.

  I kicked her under the table. “Now who’s joking?” I laughed awkwardly. “I’ll have you know, I am fully aware of where to hammer, though it needs to be said that a man’s very sensitive about his hammer, protective, even. How do I know she’s going to allow me to do my job if she’s constantly yelling the instructions at me!”

  “Please!” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Like men ever read instructions. Maybe if they did they’d be able to actually complete a project with some satisfaction!”

  “Are you saying he doesn’t satisfy you, Jordan?” This from Mikey.

  “I’m sure he has the equipment to.” Jordan eyed me up and down. “The question is . . . does he have the ability?”

  “Want me to prove how much ability I really have?” I whispered. “Because I have nothing against public displays of affection.”

  Her cheeks reddened.

  “Let’s, ah . . .” Mikey coughed. “Take a few calls. You’re on the air with Mikey M and Reid Emory.”

  “So . . .” The voice was familiar. Oh, shit. “Our mother favored me over him when he was a child, and I think it left him feeling . . . small. If you get my meaning.”