by Lia Lee
I shrug in apology. “I do have a plane to catch, Mr. Faris.” I slip as gracefully as I can off the seat and touch my feet to the marble floor.
“So you do.” He rises from his chair. His robe conveniently falls open, exposing his deliciously ripped body and oh-so-ready cock. My stomach flutters at the sight. I’d like nothing better than to march him straight back to that bedroom and…
My thoughts slip away as he steps in close and wraps his arms around me. His stiffening member grinds insistently against my belly, as though trying to convince me to stay. Oh, how I want to.
“You were bloody fantastic last night, love. A goddess. I hope you’ll remember your holiday fondly. I know I’ll never forget it.”
He tips my chin upward so that I can’t miss being swallowed by those intense baby blues of his. My knees tremble as he leans down and kisses me. A goodbye kiss. It’s sweet and gut-wrenchingly sad at the same time.
“I don’t think I could,” I say.
He smiles, and I feel as though I’ll melt into a helpless puddle on the polished floor as he releases his hold on me. “Y’know, I do get to New York on business every so often. Maybe we could see each other again.” He steps across to a coffee table and plucks something from a holder. What? He’s seriously offering to keep in touch? Or is the gesture just for show… a little token of hope, so a girl doesn’t feel completely used? How many times has he said this line?
Derric hands me a business card. It has the Network 10 branding along with his name and several contact numbers. At least this part is true.
“That is, if you ever want to. Maybe your plan is to get the hell out of Oz as fast as you can and never look back, I don’t know,” he says with a rueful chuckle. “But here. Ball’s in your court if you’d like to call me. Or text me. Add me on What’s App, whatever’s convenient.”
I stare unbelieving at the card clutched between my thumb and forefinger. It seems as precious and rare as a thousand-dollar bill to me, but I can’t let him know that. I’ll give it a few days. A week at least. Two weeks.
Then I’ll call him. Maybe.
Chapter Four
Derric
Dealing with the Devil
“G’day Mr. Faris,” the Network 10 c-suite receptionist says with a sunny smile. I should remember her name—since I fucked her in the station bathroom once or twice, but at the moment it completely escapes me.
“G’day, you’re looking lovely this morning, darlin,” I say, flashing my own signature smile. Damn, still drawing a blank.
“Always the flatterer,” she says, tossing me a wink. “What have you done this time that you need to personally pay a call on Mr. Steven?”
She refers to my father like he’s some sort of plantation overlord, and I’m the upstart runaway field hand being called in for disciplinary action. Most of the time she’d be right, but she’s out of line to say so.
“Keep it up, sweetheart. They can always use new acts down at the comedy club.” I lean one arm on her polished desktop. “Actually, the old man’s asked to see me, not the other way ‘round. Be a dear and let him know I’m here, will you?”
“Certainly,” she replies, appearing to shrink away from my physical presence and back into her professional but subservient place.
I continue on my way to Dad’s office, down a hall that feels more like a mausoleum chamber with its depressingly dark wallpaper. Despite being in command of a multi-billion high tech media enterprise, the pruny bastard still liked to keep things old school.
I don’t wait to be announced. He’s expecting me. I twist the brass handle of the oak door that separates him from the rest of the real world and barge right in.
“About fucking time,” a voice growls out from the far corner of the room.
“Nice to see you too, Dad,” I say. I’ve long since learned not to rise to his bait. I plant myself into one of his oversized and ostentatious armchairs while I wait for him to declare what’s on his mind and the reason I’ve been summoned.
A derisive grunt suffices for a greeting. “I’d say make yourself comfortable, but I see you’ve already taken the liberty,” Steven Faris says, rising from his padded seat behind a massive gumwood desk that looks like it would have to have been assembled inside the room. His iron-gray hair is as thick and bristly as ever, harshly trimmed to resemble some kind of flat-topped battle helmet. Despite my indifference to both his personality and authority, he does cut an impressive figure at the age of sixty-three, his tall frame still trim and broad-shouldered. It’s been said more than I’ve cared to hear that I’m the spitting image of the man in his younger days.
And the knowledge I am likely staring into a mirror of the future burns like indigestion in my soul.
“I might as well be comfortable when I face the firing squad,” I say.
This actually gets a laugh out of him. Or rather, an amused snort that passes for laughter.
“Just when I was beginning to like you, you’re still a sarcastic little bastard.” He plucks his eyeglasses from the bridge of his nose and folds them into his breast pocket as he saunters over to join me, lowering himself into the couch opposite my chair. “I suppose you’ve got every reason to expect a thorough lashing. But you bring it on yourself, you know. Can’t keep your pants zipped or your wallet closed.”
“My pants are none of your fucking business, zipped or unzipped. And I don’t keep a wallet with me on the beach, Steve. It’s where I’ve been most of the summer in case you haven’t noticed. Acting in the public service.”
“Oh, but I have noticed,” Steven says, crossing one long, trousered leg over the other. “In fact, it’s why I called you here. I’m afraid you’ll have to hang up your lifeguard whistle for a while.”
“What? Why? I thought you agreed it was good for my public image.” The bastard would just be that much of an asshole to change his mind. Pull the strings a little tighter, make me dance to his tune at any old time, like every other sycophant he surrounds himself with.
“Yes, and it paid off. No tabloid headlines, no arrests for public drunkenness, no property damage claims for nearly two months—a record if I’m not mistaken. Frankly, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
I scoff. “Always inspiring to know you have such confidence in me.”
“Alright, shut it. Before you go off on one of your ‘daddy never loved me’ tirades, shut the fuck up and listen. We’ve just gotten the go-ahead for Network 10’s U.S. affiliate station.” He leans forward to deliver the famous Faris death glare. “You understand what that means?”
I divert my gaze. The look has long lost its firepower for me. “Yeah, it means you’ll have your head even further up your arse and sitting even higher on your horse than usual. What’s it to me?”
“You’re the goddamn executive producer, that’s what,” he snarls out. “Time you earned your fucking paycheck.” The old man stabs a gnarly index finger straight down on the antique coffee table between us. “This is a huge move, into the biggest market in the world. It’s important, Derric. To the network, to the family. And I won’t have you be an embarrassment to the family any longer. You’ll be leaving for New York at the end of the month to handle the launch.”
For a change, I have no acid retort to fling back at my father. Network 10 has been trying to crack the American market for years. It really is a milestone; one I never thought the old man would accomplish. And I’m shocked as hell he’s actually giving me a shot at it. There must be some catch, if I know the bastard at all.
“Family? Since mum passed, we’ve hardly been a family. Why send me? Why not one of your other pet executives—ones you can trust not to screw it up like you obviously think I will.”
Steven sinks back into his seat. The lines of personal history on his face seem etched deeper than the last time I saw him. His years of being a corporate, not to mention paternal, tyrant might finally be catching up with him. Maybe there’s even a sliver of regret as I mention my mother.
“As
disappointing as it may be for both of us, you are still my son. It’s imperative that Network 10 is represented by family,” he states matter-of-factly. “The Faris name must have a face in order to succeed in a youth-worshipping, celebrity-crazed environment. And my sorry mug isn’t going to cut it. You’re the face, Derric. You’re goddamn Helen of Troy. We could launch a thousand networks with it. So don’t you fuck it up. For your own sake. And her memory.”
It’s the first time he’s spoken of mum with any kind of reverence, and I’m taken aback. He’s serious. He genuinely wants me to succeed in this venture. It occurs to me it has the added benefit of putting thousands of miles and two oceans between us.
“Okay,” I say evenly, without emotion. I can be the prodigal son; for her honor, not his.
“Your word, Derric. No screwing around; no pissing dosh down the dunny with booze and broads and cars. And if I have to post bail for you, I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself. Make no mistake. I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”
“You have it,” I say, rising to my feet. If I stay in this room a minute longer, he’ll be the one getting taken out. On a stretcher. I’d give almost anything for him not to have been the fucker who brought me into this world, but like the saying goes, you can’t choose your parents. My upbringing hasn’t given me much incentive to settle down and start a family of my own. But if I ever do, I’ll show the insufferable prick what being a father should look like.
Steve glowers as I leave his presence with my promise to be a good boy hanging in the air, knowing it probably won’t matter what I do while in the States. He’ll find something to crucify me for, eventually. He always does.
So, if I happen to look up a certain curly-haired brunette who’d given me the fuck of my life while I’m there, who cares? I’m no altar boy. At thirty, I am already thoroughly jaded by the all the sins and pleasures the world has to offer. I’d be up for a rematch with her. Maybe she won’t even want to see me; she sure as hell didn’t try to contact me since she left. A fact that bothers me more than it should. I find myself thinking about her a lot. And maybe that’s why. Plenty of women hate me. Some of them claim they love me. One thing they never do is ignore me.
Fuck it. In a few weeks, I’ll have a whole new continent of pussy to check out. I can put the dirt, dust, and flies of Oz, in addition to my overbearing dickhead of a father far behind me.
And with a little luck, I’ll find a reason to never come back.
Chapter Five
Mila
Reality Bites
“Oh, my God. Don’t tell me you’ve been here all afternoon.”
I look up from my laptop screen as Claire bursts into the living room of the apartment we share. I knew she’d come looking for me sooner or later. It wasn’t like me to stay away from the shop, but today I just needed my own time and space.
“Guilty. Sorry I didn’t call you after lunch.”
Claire tosses her oversized designer purse on my couch and flops down next to it. “I don’t mind you working from home, you know that. But did you have to leave me holding the bag when you knew we had a meeting with Starla Banks at two o’clock? The woman’s a soul-sucking harpie. I nearly threw her pencil-skirted ass out of the studio after all the revisions she asked for.” With a gasp of relief, she pries her four-inch heeled shoes off her feet. “I could have really used your moral support, Mils.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put extra stress on you. I just wasn’t feeling well after picking up the new paper samples, that’s all. And I did get a lot done on the new brand package for Lump & Grind. What do you think?” I swivel my screen so that she can see the layouts I’ve drawn up for a new coffee bar that’s opened up down the street from us.
“Nice!” Claire exclaims, rubbing her soles. “Brilliant, as usual. I forgive you.”
“Thanks.” I save the files and shut down my computer. I don’t think I can work anymore today, anyway. I feel bone-tired. Even my brain is exhausted. I’m ready for bed, and it’s not even five-thirty. I yawn and rub my eyes.
“Are you okay? You said you didn’t feel well... Are you coming down with something?”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” I say. It’s far worse.
“Well, maybe you should see a doctor. And by doctor, I mean a shrink. You’ve been like—depressed—ever since we got back from vacation. I miss the sun and sand too, but jeez, you gotta snap out of this, girl. We have a business to run.”
“I’m not depressed,” I insist. “Not clinically, anyway.”
“Well then what is it? You’re not still moping about that lifeguard, are you? For heaven’s sake, it was a one-time-only deal. A fling. I thought we agreed that what happens in Australia never happened?”
My stomach gives a twist as Claire brings up the subject. If only it were as easy to do as it is to say. “Derric,” I remind her. “His name is Derric.”
“Right, sure. I know that. But you said you weren’t interested. That he gave you his card but you never called him. He’s half a world away. Long distance relationships never work out, you said. Yes, he was freaking gorgeous, but c’mon... he’s a beach bum. You’re an up and coming New York designer. Not a good mix.”
I cringe at not having told Claire the whole story. I told her I went out with Derric after she passed out, but not about our wild night of sex. Or what he really did for a living.
“You seemed interested enough in him,” I say.
“Hello... fling?” Claire says pointedly, waving her hand at me. “He’d have been a great lay, but I probably wouldn’t have remembered it the next day.”
“No, you were too damn drunk.” She’s right—I never called Derric. Every time I thought about doing it, I came up with a reason not to. Too early, too late, too busy, maybe tomorrow. There was a big time zone difference. Then tomorrow became a week, a month. Now I’m afraid he won’t even remember me. And if that’s true, knowing it now would break my heart.
I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I’m stalling at the same time I want to tell Claire everything. Because I can’t keep it a secret much longer.
“I’m not sick, Claire.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
I stare at the screen, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t tell you all of what happened between Derric and me. I thought you liked him too, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, or seem like I was bragging.”
“Hey,” Claire says, leaning forward to grab my hand. “No dumb-ass dude will ever come between us. You liked him, and he liked you. I just wanted you to have a good time.” She looks at me with a salacious twinkle in her eye and a naughty smile curving her lips. “Did you?”
I want to join in her enthusiasm, but instead feel tears building and threatening to spill over. “Oh, Claire, it was the most incredible night of my life,” I say. “We went for a drive, then back to his place, and you wouldn’t believe the apartment he has, it’s like a penthouse...”
Claire shakes her head. “I don’t give a shit where he lives, tell me about the sex! You had sex, right?”
I nod. “The most mind-blowing sex ever.”
“I knew it! I knew you were holding out on me. Deets, woman, deets!”
“I’m sure you don’t want every smutty detail, Claire. But he was amazing…” I sigh in bittersweet remembrance of that wonderful night. “Do you know what an Aussie kiss is?”
Claire shakes her head. “Clearly something I never got,” she jokes.
“It’s… it’s a Frenchie down under,” I say, in the best terms I can think of to describe it.
Claire squeals in delight. “Oh, my God, you’re kidding!”
“Nope. For reals. It was incredible.”
“Oh, my…” Claire rolls her eyes and pretends to swoon like some Southern belle of old. “Jesus, I’d have done more than call him. I would have dragged him on the plane with me and chained him to the seat. What’s wrong with you!”
What’s wrong with me. That’s
the million-dollar question—or should I say billion-dollar question. Being so foolish as to not insist on a condom, that’s what. I reach into my pocket and withdraw the object that’s burned like a hot coal through my jeans since I got back from my errands this morning, and hand it to Claire.
“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice finally breaking. “I’m fucking pregnant! I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
Claire holds the test stick gingerly, like it’s about to burst into flames, and looks up at me with an expression of pain, love, and sympathy all rolled into one.
“You’re not stupid,” she says. “You just got carried away in the heat of the moment. I don’t blame you one bit. He’s the stupid one to not even wear protection.”
“I’m twenty-six years old, Claire. I know better than to take chances like that,” I moan out.
Claire drops to her knees beside my chair and wraps me in a hug. “What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him? How can I help?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t just call and blurt out, ‘I’m pregnant’.”
“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? And he’s responsible.”
“There’s something else. He’s not a lifeguard. Well, he is, but...” I sniffle and suck in a deep breath. “He’s loaded. His dad owns Faris Media, a big player in Australia. Derric’s the vice president and executive producer. He told me everything the next morning. He drives a Ferrari for heaven’s sake, and the view from his apartment is to die for. How can I tell him without sounding like some gold-digging skank? It’s probably not the first time some woman’s tried to baby-blackmail him.”
“Shh… you can’t think that way, Mils. You just have to trust that he has feelings for you and will do the right thing.”
“And what’s the right thing, Claire? I don’t even know. I hardly expect him to get down on one knee. More likely he’ll offer to pay for a…” I can’t even say the A-word. It’s too much to contemplate right now. I’m only a few weeks along according to the test.