My mouth fell open in shock that she'd mentioned me getting on my knees for Killian. And in such a civilized manner, as if we were discussing promo materials for an upcoming red carpet.
"You need balls in this business, Miss Watson. Hell, you need big balls to survive in a city like this. And unfortunately, you just don't have them. I will have to fire-"
"No." The word shot out of my mouth before I could think.
Her eyes flashed with surprise, but she stayed silent, challenging me to go on.
"Ms. Bennett, I'm not going to lose this job. My aunt may have pulled some strings, but I’m here because I plan on succeeding in this industry. I've been kicked down and yes, I dropped the ball and for that I take full blame. But there is also something to be said about having your back against the wall. The only thing you can do is fight. So let me fight."
Her expression was unreadable, the giant wall clock ticking so hard in the silent room that it was grating on my nerves.
"You might have some balls in those pants after all. Fine, you'll stay. But you're still working exclusively for Killian Ramsey. You should have never become that story, you should have rewritten it. Let’s see if you still can." She went back to typing on her computer, not uttering another word to me.
I took that as my cue to leave, my heart beating with adrenaline and relief as I stood. As my hand reached for the door handle, she spoke.
"Killian has an appearance at Zoo Bar tomorrow night. I expect you to be there. Doing your job."
I nodded without turning around, letting myself out.
When I finally made it down to the lobby and out the doors, I dragged in breaths of the cool street air as I fought the tears I'd held back up in her office.
Jasper lounged against the car by the curb. "How did it go?"
That thing happened, where I couldn't talk over the lump in my throat, my emotions threatening to burst if I uttered one sound. I blinked, staring off to the side to try to wish the tears away.
When he took a step closer, saying my name as if it was a question, I finally broke down and fell into his arms.
13
"We're going out." Heidi came into the living room, sans pants, as I was trying to ignore the world and binge watch a season of One Tree Hill on my computer.
Except the internet in our apartment was non-existent and my headphones were making this weird, tunnel in a bottle noise.
And my roommate was badgering me, and I couldn't get my mind off of the shitty day I'd had. But besides that, things were great.
"I'll pass." There was no way I was getting off this couch. Especially to go out into the world where the paparazzi were having a field day with my reputation.
"Yes, you are. Look I picked you an outfit and everything." Emma came out next, holding dark jeans and some sort of fabric that was supposed to be a top.
"And I've got the alcohol covered!" Bridget yelled from where she stood at the counter, her brogue already tinged with the cocktail she'd consumed.
All three of them pinned me with their stares, and I directed my eyes at the buffering wheel on the screen in front of me. It still wouldn't load.
I could sit here all night, probably moping around about Killian and Cressida and the new life I'd wished for in London not panning out. Or I could suck it up and go out with the first girlfriends I'd encountered since I'd broken up with Taylor.
With Taylor, I didn't have time for friends. Didn't even think to want them. I spent all of my extra time, and even the time I should have been studying or in class, with him. He took over my life, consumed every part of it. I was one of those girls. The ones who dropped all of their friends the moment they met a guy. Except in my case, I'd done it for five years.
My friendship with Jaycee had suffered immensely. Thank god she was a good enough person to be there to pick the pieces of my heart up when he'd dumped me. I don't think many friends would have waited around that long.
"Fine. But those cocktails better be strong." A good drunken night was exactly what I needed. It only took about one cocktail for me, so it wouldn't be long before I was blissfully unaware of the rain cloud of problems floating over my head.
* * *
"To arseholes and wankers! May your willy's get hit by a double decker!" Bridget screamed over the music, raising the whiskey shot above her head as we mimicked her, our four hands forming a drunken circle.
She downed the arsenic like water. Lucky Irish bitch. Meanwhile, I was having a hard time feeling my throat or internal organs swallowing the third, no fourth, glass of the poisonous liquid.
I never drank like this. I could barely get through a glass of wine without my fingers and toes getting tingly. I was a lightweight, I knew that. But tonight was about fun and no responsibilities. Those would have flown out the window anyway after the first gin & tonic Bridget made us before we left our flat.
She'd taken us to Tiger Tiger in Piccadilly, and with the beat of music in my veins and the alcohol swimming in my head, I felt invincible.
"Come on let's sit, its only 1 a.m. If we are going to make it until 4 we have to rest." Heidi strutted towards the table she'd secured us by flirting with the bouncer.
"4 a.m.?" I questioned, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth.
The girls just giggled at me.
"Leah, you really are so American." Emma chuckled, throwing her petite form into the purple booth lining the wall.
"I hear it enough from Killian, not you guys too."
One of Bridget's eyebrows rose in a suggestive expression. "Killian, huh? The new athlete you snagged?"
I knew she was joking about the articles. "Shove it, Ireland."
"The media is bloody rubbish anyhow. Don't listen to it." Heidi looked bored, swirling her cocktail with her pinky.
"Says the girl who is a media darling. Except for that one thing..." Emma looked nervous but giggly drunk as she trailed off.
"What thing?" I didn't take the hint that this probably wasn't a topic to pursue.
“Heidi broke up with a very public businessman in a very public way. If you ask me she still wants in his trousers.” Bridget smirked from across the table. She didn’t even seem tipsy.
Heidi scowled and pointed a finger at me. “Rich men, whether they’re athletes, men who rule empires, movie stars, they’re all the same. Wealthy, sadistic arseholes who make it so that you’re eating out of the palm of their hand by the time you realize you’re in love with them. And then they pull the rug out from under you. They’re selfish, worthless twits. Don’t ever fall for one.”
“Here, here!” I shook my fist in the air, the alcohol and her impassioned speech making my chest swell with feminine pride. I was about to shout “GIRL POWER!” and go into a Spice Girls ballad.
“Let’s dance!” Emma pulled my hand out of the air. She was surprisingly strong for such a small woman.
And so we did. The four of us wriggled, body waved, grinned and twisted our bodies until we were sweaty and breathless. And even then we continued.
The music was like an antibiotic. It spread through my veins, my blood, and made me feel better than I had when I arrived.
I’d also forgotten what it was like to hang out with just girls. I’d never had many friends, Jaycee was it really. The companionship, the inside jokes, the hilarious moments and side splitting laughter. I found out Emma had terrible but fantastic moves, that Heidi could get guys to buy us drinks at the crook of her pretty fingernails. And I found out the hard way that Bridget was the enabler…just when I’d sworn off any more drinks she was pushing one into my hand.
The entire night was gloriously carefree. It was exactly what I needed. It was what I’d come on this adventure for…and I was finally getting it.
14
Killian
Another day, another picture of Leah’s face smack dab in the middle of my morning paper.
This was getting old, didn't the press have anything else to do besides talk about women I haven't even touched? Okay, so I did
touch her, saw her beautiful pussy, stuck my fingers in her wetness and...
Okay. My cock needed to stop getting a rise every time I even pictured that blonde goddess spread out on my bed.
I turned the page, hoping to get a preview for the coming week's matches. "Wait a bloody second..."
There, in full color, wasn’t the photo I’d expected of her. Instead, it was a picture of Leah in front of the 73Bulbs building, her face shoved into some guy's neck as he held her tight. And that guy was clearly not me.
"KILLIAN RAMSEY'S AMERICAN EX GETS COZY WITH NEW BEAU"
For Christ's sake, my ex?! The girl had barely been here for a week. We hadn't even dated. The tabloids really were a crock of shit.
But who was that guy? And why the hell was Leah all over him?
I shouldn't care, I hadn't seen the woman in more than a week. Except my hands were balled into fists and I had the sudden urge to drive over to Paddington and give Leah's ass a good spanking.
But I didn't. Instead, I drove myself over to the practice fields for Windingham. I worked myself through a demanding practice and then an even more grueling weight lifting session afterwards. I worked my body to the point of exhaustion so I wouldn't think about her and that fucker on the cover of the newspaper. So I wouldn't think about her skin, the color of warm sand on a Caribbean beach, or her eyes, emerald and flashing with desire as she writhed on my sheets.
But even still, when I finally got home and heaved my fatigued body into the shower, I couldn't help my dick from lengthening at the thought of her spread wide, open for me to do whatever I had wanted to her.
I took hold of myself, tugging gently upward and using my other hand to pull my ball sack down. I repeated the rhythmic motion, making sure to hit the sensitive tip of my swollen head, sending an aching surge up my spine and down into my already weary thigh muscles.
I stroked my hard, scalding dick as I pictured Leah on her knees in front of me, those pretty peach lips open and waiting for me to feed myself to her. A hiss escaped my lips as I imagined what the back of her throat would feel like, the sucking, gagging and slurping noises she would make as I pulled out only to shove back in deeper.
I came with an audible roar, my come shooting out in thick ropes and splashing onto the stone tile of the shower. I had to put a hand against the wall to steady my shaking body as I gasped for air. It was the hardest I'd come in a solo session in a long time, and all because I'd been thinking of her. What the hell would it be like if I actually got inside of her?
Banishing the rest of those elicit thoughts, I hurried through the rest of my shower. Dressing in a dark blue suit with a metallic sheen to it, I was five minutes late getting downstairs when the car arrived to take me to Piccadilly. Damn Leah Watson, always throwing me off.
I had a rare appearance tonight, since I'd told Jimmy years ago that I did not want to do these ridiculous nights out. The free booze, the fake girls, the small talk that had to be made. But the party at Zoo Bar was for one of my sponsors, and so I had to show up.
The car dropped me in front of the nightclub, the exterior all black with thumping music coming from inside. Gathering a deep sigh, I posed for some pictures before being whisked into the bar. I was immediately engulfed in house music, crowds and scantily clad women. Getting through this was going to take alcohol, and a lot of it.
I made my way downstairs, seeking out the least crowded bar in the place. Motioning to the bartender, I ordered Don Julio on the rocks. If I had to be here, might as well take advantage of the open bar and top shelf liquor.
"Can I just get a Coke?” I heard the familiar voice to my left and my pulse instantly sped up. I took a gulp of tequila before I decided to turn my head, my eyes landing on a sight that had my cock, who had already been dealt with earlier, locked and loaded like a bloody shotgun.
Leah stood against the bar, vast expanses of her rose petal skin visible for everyone to see. Her black dress wasn't form fitting, but it was so god damn sexy that I was having trouble seeing straight. It hung from her willowy frame by three thin straps, two over her shoulders and one holding them together across her back.
And Jesus, her back. I almost had to shove my fist in my mouth to stifle the groan itching to burst from my throat.
I could see her entire smooth, arched back. The black material finally appeared just over her ass, but ended again midway down her thighs. The dress was like a beautiful, shiny sack shielding the view of her amazing assets.
Her hair, she'd curled it and piled the whole thing in a sleek style on the crown of her head. I was dying to unravel it, or shove my fingers into it and ruin it. Those lips, the one I'd crashed my mouth roughly onto just a week ago, were painted a deep red. Darker than the most crimson blood. I wondered how it would look rubbing onto my skin as her lips milked my shaft.
I was having trouble controlling my breathing, my dick straining so hard that I thought it might bust the zipper on my trousers.
Not only was her body on full display, but her posture was different. In just a few day’s time, I didn't quite recognize the woman in front of me. When I'd met her, she seemed unsure of herself, timid and second guessing her every move. The creature before me exuded a confidence that could be felt in every corner of the bar.
And I couldn't help but try to jostle that. I took a sip of tequila, gently placing the glass back down on the bar, before speaking without looking at her.
"What, your new boy toy couldn't make it tonight?"
I saw her jump out of her skin, my voice surprising her. But she masked it quickly, reaching for her soda and slyly taking a sip before turning to me. I still wouldn't look at her fully.
"You know as well as I do that the media twists things. What they captured was no more than a moment of weakness that a friend helped me to recover from. Not that I owe you any sort of explanation. I'm just a slut, right?"
Her tone was professional at first, but she just couldn't hold herself back from getting those barbs there in the end.
I finally turned my body, facing her head on. I had to grit my teeth before I spoke she looked so edible. “You said it, doll, not me. Tell me, what does it feel like to make blokes fall at your feet on every continent?”
“Oh, so I made you fall?” Leah rolled her eyes and turned away from me, leaning her elbows back against the bar. She surveyed the party, bobbing her head when the Rihanna song played over the speakers.
“That’s such a chauvinist pig kind of thing to say.” She turned those big eyes on me, their mossy color highlighted by the neon lights flashing around the club. “But then again, you’re the typical asshole athlete, Killian. You might have even written the book.”
15
Killian
Woah. I chuckled, completely taken aback. Finishing off the tequila in my glass until I heard the ice clink against my teeth, I motioned to the bartender to fill me up. This was a completely different woman than the one who was begging me to fuck her on my bed a week ago.
“So why are you here, Leah? You clearly haven’t bothered to show up for your job. I thought you’d quit.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’m here to manage you, Killian. Set up interview opportunities, make sure you don’t get into hot water with the press. I might have let you and the media circus get to me, but I came here for me. To take hold of my future. Not you or anyone else is going to deter me from that.”
My chest swelled a little with all of the ego and pride coming through in her voice.
"Well then, I leave you to do your job. I think I have an interview with that brunette over there."
I downed the rest of my second drink, slamming the glass on the bar as she gave me a look that could slay even Hercules. But I ignored it, instead deciding to play a little game with the woman who was the ultimate game player.
For someone who was supposedly after me and all the things that came with being a WAG (a new term I'd learned from the media buzz around Leah, it meant Wives and Girlfriends of Athletes
), she sure wasn't acting like it. She wasn't trying to defend herself or charm her way back into my bed. Leah was being downright professional and cold, causing doubt to creep in on the matter of her being everything the media said she was. Jimmy's earlier remark echoed in my brain, that I barely even knew her. The media wrote things about me all the time that weren’t true. Hell, they'd reported facts about Eve's death that were so far from the truth I'd almost burnt our mews house down.
But I wasn't thinking anywhere near rationally enough tonight with almost half a bottle of Don Julio already in my system. I wanted to rub my cock on someone, and if it couldn't be Leah, then I'd make do with the brunette shimmying her nearly naked form and batting her fake eyelashes at me.
I circled her, coming to rest behind her and wrenching her hips back, her bony ass landing in directly the spot I needed it. Rotating my hips in time with her seductive movements, we began a slow, agonizing roll of our bodies. Anyone watching could see that we were doing way more than dancing, her tailbone grinding down onto the pulsing, dripping head of my staff.
"You're Killian Ramsey, aren't you?" The brunette slurred, and I finally looked up at her face.
Makeup caked her cheeks, one false lash hanging by a thread and drooping over her eyelid. Her lips were an unnatural shade of pink, neon and shiny and disgusting. I realized I could feel her hip bones through her dress, and not in a sexy, curvy way but in a "she hasn't eaten for weeks" way. She smelled like the worst kind of fake body spray, sickly sweet mango invading my nostrils.
I hated it.
My dick began to fall, turned off by this woman who was nothing like Leah. Glancing up, my gaze connected with a slice of skin through the crowd, soft and pale as moonlight. Leah stood immobilized by the bar, hurt stinging her eyes as she watched us. She straightened when she saw me watching her, turning her nose up and quickly averting her gaze. And then she started to move, walking at first, but breaking into a trot when she thought I could no longer see her.
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