Lose Me: (New Adult Billionaire Romance) (Broken Idols)

by M. C. Frank

  “Anyway, he’s scared to. . . to be too English in front of you.”

  By this time I’m laughing so hard I nearly drop my cup. I try to interrupt him, but it comes out like hiccups. Ollie snorts coffee into his nose, he’s laughing so hard.

  I slap him on the back until he can catch his breath.

  Yeah. My family is all I need right now.

  We get into Ollie’s car. A light drizzle has started to fall outside the window, stray drops gliding down to the sill.

  “Did you. . . ?” I start, then hesitate. I suddenly feel shy around him. “Thank you for what you did, what you said to her.”

  “No prob,” he smiles.

  “Did you know about me that day in Drops, when you—when you took me home?” I ask, forcing the words out. Something he said today made me realize that he may have known.

  He nods slowly, looking straight ahead to the damp road. A trickle of traffic is gathering in front of us, cars stopping for the red lights.

  “I’d rather not remember it,” he replies. “But in a way it was also one of the best days of my life. I’d found out I had a sister only a few hours ago, you know. I was so freaked out I wasn’t planning on coming to the club at all, I just ran away until I was lost and Wes had to come get me. I didn’t tell him the specifics there and then, that happened much later, but he talked me into coming to the club, to forget myself, he said. I thought he wanted to see you, but I did too, so I came along.”

  He pauses for a second. “I didn’t take my eyes off you for a second that night, hoping you wouldn’t notice me stalking you. Wes knew there was some major Christina drama going on, but I hadn’t told him anything else yet.”

  I try to take it all in. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two, same as Wes. Why?”

  “Oh.” I realize something.

  “What?” His eyes cloud over with worry. He’s keeping an eye on the road, but his attention is on me. “What is it? Your face fell.”

  “Nothing, it’s just I had a thought. I’ve always assumed that she couldn’t go on with her career with a baby, that’s why she didn’t want to—to keep me. But. . . she already had one, didn’t she? Did she have a husband too? When she was with my dad, did she have—?”

  “Hey hey hey,” Ollie lifts a hand off the wheel and puts his arm around my shoulders, drawing me to him. “No, she didn’t have a husband,” he murmurs above my head. “And she didn’t have me either. I was raised exclusively by nannies until I was fourteen.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I fired them,” he answers with a smile.

  “So. It’s just me she didn’t want,” I conclude.

  He swallows hard. “Look at me.” His eyes are filled with kindness and pain. The rain keeps puttering outside the window, and I draw the sleeves of my cardigan lower, to cover my chilled fingers.

  The weather’s changing; it’s officially fall.

  “I want you,” Ollie says, gripping the wheel. “I knew I was the luckiest guy alive when I found out you were my sister.”

  I shiver and he turns on the air-conditioning. “You know, I’m used to being alone my entire life; well, not alone alone. Just sibling-less. And now you. . . I can’t believe it.”

  A stupid tear glides down my cheek. Seeing it, he steps on the breaks and leans sideways to kiss my cheek lightly. His stubble stings. For a second I think it might feel awkward, but it doesn’t. It feels safe. Familiar. As if I’ve knowing him all my life. “Crap, I can’t believe I’m crying again,” I sniffle.

  He chuckles. “I hear girls do that a lot. Actually, I don’t mind.”

  “Hey, who you calling a girl?”

  “Ah, I thought making you mad might help,” he says. He’s right. The tears have stopped.

  After ten minutes, his phone vibrates. We’re almost there. He stops at a red light and reads the text.

  “Okay, Wes is losing it. He won’t be at the shoot with us today, but he’s really bugging me about seeing you. Do you feel like going over to Kanoni after?”

  “We’ll see,” I answer, wiping my nose. I’d hate for him to see me like this.

  “No worries, I’ll tell him we need some brother-sister time. But,” he swallows and his eyes turn intense. “For future reference, I don’t think that there is anyone you’d rather trust to see you at your lowest point than him. And believe me, that’s not how he’s usually with. . . with people who aren’t me. That’s the Wes he is with you.”

  I don’t really know what to reply to that and if he says anything more I’ll start feeling guilty again, so I just nod silently.

  After the shoot we meet up again, and I introduce Ollie to Coach, who looks him up and down, like he’s seizing him up. As soon as the awkwardness is over, we head to the Matchbox. Grandma showers him with kisses and pies and grandpa meets my eyes with deep, unmasked pain in his.

  “Look at our little doll, all happy,” he says in Greek, as he kisses my forehead, pulling me in for a tight hug.

  Ollie’s face breaks out in a huge smile as he watches us. “I’ll have to start taking classes in Greek, if I’m going to hang around you guys,” he tells my grandparents.

  “You would do that?” I ask him in a whisper. My eyes begin to mist again. He nods as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. He nods, in a what-else-would-I-do way. I turn my head away.

  Right then the tiny door bursts open and Wes’ tall form fills the doorway. “Sorry,” he says, his eyes searching for mine. “I couldn’t wait.”

  Ollie just looks at him, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Dude.”

  Wes nods to my grandparents, his gaze darting to my red-brimmed eye, but he doesn’t walk towards me, waiting to see if it’s okay that he’s here. I feel my chest constrict. All of these wonderful, amazing people, each one more precious to me than the next, their focus entirely on me, and I’m hurting them all.

  I turn to smile at Wes, and he comes in. “Hey,” he slides a hand around my waist.

  “Hey yourself. I’ve got an idea. Are you free?”

  “As a bird.” He has a wary look on his face, as though he wants to ask me what’s wrong, but he’d rather I tell him on my own.

  “What are you planning?” pappous asks me in Greek, noticing the tension between us, so I tell him. His eyes sparkle mischievously. “Do you need me to come along?” He’s been asking me that since I was five and arranging a play date with Katia. The answer is usually no, and he so knows it, but he loves to pretend he didn’t have any idea he’d be in the way.

  “I’m going to ask if anyone wants to play soccer,” I tell him, and grandma bursts out laughing.

  “That’s the way to a man’s heart,” she says.

  Pappous looks at Wes’ skinny jeans and pinstripe fitted Oxford shirt and shakes his head. “This one looks like he belongs in a magazine. You’re never gonna get him to get dirty,” he says.

  “He’s a good guy.”

  “Do you like him, Ari mou?” he asks me in the same tone. I nod. “He’ll never deserve you,” grandpa says. Then he walks over to Wes—Wes is more than a head taller than him, still he looks absolutely terrified—and grabs him in a breath-stopping hug. It actually looks as though he’s hurting him.

  But Wes’ hands come up slowly around my granddad’s back, and he hugs him back just as tight.

  “Na tin agapas,” he whispers into Wes’ ear—‘love her always’.

  “Yes, sir,” Wes gasps, all somber and serious as though he understands exactly what my granddad told him. And somehow, I think he does.

  “Okay,” I say, wiping my wet eyes discreetly. Grandma looks at me. Her eyes are red too. “You guys play soccer?”

  There’s five of us when we get to the field.

  Coach and dad have joined us too, and then it turns out Matt is crazy about soccer as well, so I call him and he says in this calm, quiet voice of his that he’d be really excited if he could join us.

  As soon as we’ve all changed into sweats and shorts,
we meet up in a soccer field in the centre of town, big lights illuminating the rapidly falling dusk all around us. Wes pulls me aside.

  “Why do we need all those other people?” he asks me sullenly. He looks gorgeous in a pair of dark gray sweats and a black tee that accentuates the green of his eyes.

  “It’s going to be a bonding experience,” I tell him.

  “So I’ll to have to wait an eternity to find out what this is all about,” he says softly, running a finger down my damp cheek.

  I try to shrug it off, but he puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me to look at him.

  “Ari,” he whispers hoarsely.

  “Some of it is joy,” I tell him. “Pure joy.”

  He nods. “I’m so glad to hear it. And the rest?”

  “The rest has to be there, or I wouldn’t be able to recognize the joy,” I say.

  He crushes me to his chest, lifting me off my feet, and kisses me, shutting his eyes tightly. “What have you done to me?” he whispers in my ear so quietly that I almost think I imagined it. But I didn’t. My breath catches.

  He lowers me to the ground and I see the way he’s smiling down at me.

  You’re it for me, his words from the other night haunt me and for the first time I’m certain he actually means it. Is it possible he’s falling for me as hard as I’m falling for him? But. . . he’s Wes Spencer. And I’m no Elle or Chris or TJ. I have my dad’s nose, for crying out loud!

  Wes leaves me and heads for the guys who are huddling up on the other side of the field, but he changes his mind and turns around. He runs back to me to cup my cheeks in his hands, kissing me hungrily.

  And that’s when I realize it.

  I may not be any of these girls, or anything like them, but right now I’m the girl he wants. That’s it.

  And I can’t even let myself enjoy it.

  “Okay, kids,” Coach yells and we part, panting. “Let’s play ball.”

  I team up with Dad and Matt. Coach insists that whichever team gets him will have a huge advantage and it will be unfair to the others, and Ollie tells him that’s he’s a bit up himself, to which Coach replies that he—Ollie—is an okay kid, after all.

  And so we start.

  Matt calls referee—we’re not playing properly, because our numbers are too weird, but who cares. The other team kicks off. I steal the ball from Ollie and then feint to the right, easily scoring the first goal. Wes tries for their team, but dad—he’s our goalie—blocks him.

  “Too bad you lost to a girl,” I yell at Wes from across the field and he runs over and tackles me to the ground. He’s being careful, but he’s also being an overgrown mass of limbs. It’s okay, I can take him.

  Ollie jumps in and lands on top of us, and we fall in a sweaty mess on the damp grass, all tangled up.

  “Hey, cut it out,” my dad calls and I can hear it in his voice that he’s worried I might get hurt or sick. But he’s wrong this time.

  I could exactly echo Wes’ words from the other day.

  “I’ve never been happy before today,” I tell him as he grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet. He leans in to lift a twig off my ponytail and twirls his fingers around the little hairs that have escaped at the nape of my neck.

  “God sure answered my prayers the other day,” he says, leaving me flabbergasted. Say what?

  The next second he’s running back towards Matt again. “Bring it on!” he yells and the match resumes, so I don’t have time to ask him what he meant.

  “Pass me the ball,” I call to Matt.

  I start to jog across the field, keeping the ball in line with my feet and Ollie steals it from me, but not for long. I score a second goal. Coach lifts a fist in the air, as though it was for his team.

  “That’s my little girl,” he says. “Damn, I’m good.”

  Dad scoffs. “Excuse me. I was teaching her how to kick when she was in diapers. You weren’t even out of high school yet.”

  “Diapers, huh?” Wes lifts an eyebrow and I kick him in the shin.

  “I don’t know if someone did a good job on teaching this one how to kick,” Matt says, “or a really lousy one teaching the rest of us.”

  Ollie looks him in the eye. “This means war.”

  We agree that whenever someone scores a goal the other team will drop a hundred push-ups and vice versa. “Easy there,” Coach says, “what happens if we score a goal?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I tell him. “And just for what you said, you’ll have to drop three hundred our next goal.”

  Which comes after two minutes. We only end up having to do the hundred push-ups once because they score one goal. I’m the first to complete them, as expected. Yeah! Still got it. Coach looks sheepish.

  Ollie times me as I do the hundred push-ups. When I finish he and Wes start whistling like they’re in a freaking boxing match.

  “All right, Ari!” Ollie screams.

  “That’s my girl, ‘Babe’,” Wes tells him, and he, Ollie, jams his knee into his stomach, sending him sprawling on the grass. In a second Wes is on his feet again and Ollie punches him in the back, yelling at him to stop calling him that.

  My team, of course, destroys them.

  When night falls we go to sit at the dark, deserted beach, cooling off in the sand and drinking beers. It’s dark all around, and there’s a chill in the air, but the quiet is welcome after the craziness on set. Wes picks up a bottle casually and takes a small swig. I slide my hand into his, hoping he can’t tell I’m shaking a little bit, and take the bottle from him.

  “I’m good,” he tells me, his voice calm.

  “Okay,” I say, giving it back to him quickly.

  “But you should probably hold on to that,” he adds. “Thank you.”

  My cheeks turn red, but I don’t have much time to feel embarrassed, because next thing I know, he’s picking me up in his arms and running into the sea with me, sweats and all, threatening to throw me in the water.

  “Don’t you dare!” I squeal.

  His hands tighten around me.

  “I’ve got you,” he says, laughing. He lowers his head, and his lips come down to meet mine.

  ◊◊◊

  The next days pass in a blur of training, shooting and Wes.

  I’m happy. That’s all that matters, right? Right?

  Everything goes well and the time passes along smoothly, with no accidents or bad surprises.

  I almost forget myself.

  No headaches, no pain. I have no appetite, but I don’t even notice. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat, but there’s almost always a text from Wes waiting on my phone, at all hours, telling me he’s thinking about me, or a stupid joke he made up, or what he’s planned for us to do tomorrow. And I’m distracted from my fear.

  I don’t try to believe that everything is going to be fine. I don’t even try to tell myself lies. I try not to think of anything other than this moment. And it works. It works so well it’s almost a miracle.

  It works so well it turns out to be a curse.

  phone call

  “Hello, Weston, Andy here.”

  “Whatever you’re calling for, the answer is no.”

  “Well, that’s not a very nice way to talk to your manager now, is it? Is shooting going all right?”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “You’re not doing what?”

  “Whatever it is you called to get me to do.”

  “Look, Weston, we’ve been talking about the promotional plan for your newest film, and Hugh and I, we both think that the time is perfect for a photo op between you and Elle Burke in that picturesque island, very romantic. Perfect for you two, the tabloids will love it!”

  “Did you tell Hugh I said I’m done?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I said I was done being photographed with Elle, and I mean it. I don’t know if she’s got a hand in this or not, but I made it perfectly clear both to you and my agent, that I will cut all ties w
ith Elle after walking away from the Wars.”

  “Elle Burke is your co-star and as such—”

  “Elle Burke bought and threatened and blackmailed her way into this movie, and if I’d known she would be in the film before I signed, I wouldn’t be here right now. I mean it. I respect Tim and I’m grateful for everything we’re doing right now, but make no mistake, I’m done with the Wars crap.”

  “Weston, come on, you know this goes with the territory. The media has covered your story with Elle since day one, since you were kids, we’ve been over this.”

  “No, they’ve covered the fake story, the one you fabricated, and made us play out. It wasn’t enough that we were kid actors, we should act that we were a couple in real life, too. Well, I’m not doing it any more.”

  “It will be just a spread in a few magazines, a few blogs, and that’s it. Just to get the word out.”

  “Are you even listening to me? There will be no photos, nothing featuring me with Elle. She can lie to the media by herself, if she wants to.”

  “Weston, listen. . . ”

  “No, you listen. I know you’re doing your job, Andy, and you’re pretty good at it, but this is as far as it goes. Things will be different from now on, and if you want to stick around I’m all for it. But we’ll be doing things my way. No relationship tabloids, no more lies. I’m done with that. There is. . . There are real people in my life, people I care deeply about, and I’d sooner quit my career than see them hurt by the media.”

  “Quit your—Whoa, okay, come on now, you know we’ll never do anything you aren’t comfortable with, no need to start talking about quitting.”

  “Sorry if I gave you a heart attack. But I mean every word.”

  “Just think about it, will you just—?”