Duke: Alpha One Security: Book 3

by Jasinda Wilder

  “And Lane appreciated it, because it was the spark that set his star to rising?” Duke ventured.

  I nodded. “Exactly. The media realized Lane was magnetic and photogenic and charming, and that he was this up-and-coming young businessman from an elite family—everything the press loves to shove down our throats. He played it cool, though. Didn’t immediately start grabbing all the attention he could. No, Lane is way more devious than that, thinks more long-term than that. He set himself up as my spokesperson, sort of, coaxed me into posting selfies now and then with pithy captions that made it seem like everything was great.”

  I paused for a moment, wishing I could skip this part. “He was the reason I decided to pitch the show. It was his idea. I had to use the attention caused by the tape to my benefit. Turn it into something good for myself. People loved the little hints they’d been getting of my life—me and Lane at home, Lane with my parents on the deck at sunset, opening a bottle of wine, all that stuff. He was so fucking good at it. These cute, intriguing hints at our beautiful, perfect life. It was a great contrast to what we’d been posting before that, the extravagance, the lavishness, the drama and excitement. These were just little hints, and people wanted more. So he convinced me to put the embarrassment of the tape behind me, to embrace the attention. ‘Kim had a tape, and look how successful she is,’ right? So I pitched the show.

  “We got it approved, the crews showed up and started filming, and then the first episode aired, and…Lane was a star. He was funny, he was in every scene, he was hot and rich and just…perfect, and everyone loved him. That whole first season was all about Lane. It solidified his status as a celebrity. Lane was the star of Temple even though it was my name on the title card, even though it was supposed to be about me.”

  I paused again. “He accused me of cheating on him at the end of the third season,” I had to stop again, because this was where things got really gnarly. “He’d gone behind my back and convinced the editors to cut footage so it looked like I’d cheated on him. My best friend Holly’s boyfriend had appeared on a few episodes, and they’d been fighting, and I’d had this whispered argument with Paris, Holly’s boyfriend, and Lane had them edit it so it seemed like I’d been hooking up with Paris behind Lane and Holly’s backs. My bikini top was pretty skimpy so it looked like I might have been topless, and with some creative editing, it looked like Paris and I had a thing. I’d actually been telling Paris what a jackass he was for hurting Holly—I’d been sticking up for my friend, and Lane turned it into this cheating scandal. All it took was some footage and some rumors.”

  I scratched a patch of drying blood on my skirt. “He managed to make sure Holly saw the edited footage first, so Holly bought it, and she and I had this massive blow-out fight, and Lane was acting all hurt, giving these clips acting all heartbroken, how he loved me and didn’t understand how I could do this to him…blah-blah-blah. I didn’t realize what he’d done at first, and then one of the producers had a conversation with one of the editors, and got the story of what Lane had done, how he’d gotten the footage edited and then leaked it to Holly and the tabloids and everywhere, and the producer told me.” I blinked again, but I wasn’t crying. Nope. “Holly was my best friend. We’d been friends since we were ten. And she believed him. She believed the footage. Paris told her nothing had happened, I told her nothing had happened, we all tried to tell her there was zero evidence of anything happening between Paris and I except that one piece of footage even the network admitted had been doctored. She didn’t care. I lost my best friend, and the whole thing happened on camera. The network ate it up, the tabloids loved it, the bloggers loved it. And Lane loved it, because it put him in the spotlight more than ever. When he started doing magazine and blog interviews and going on Watch What Happens Live talking about us and the scandal…that was when I realized what he was doing, really realized it.”

  Another deep breath. “So then I hired my own investigators, and they came back with definitive evidence that Lane had sent the sex tape from my phone to his, and then had someone else anonymously leak it to 4Chan, where it went viral…” my voice quavered. “The evidence my team brought me was incontrovertible. So I confronted him in private. He got all pissed and tried to pivot back to the cheating thing…it got ugly. We both screamed a lot, and eventually my dad made Lane leave. The cameras were taping the next day, so they caught the really juicy fall-out, when I confronted him about it again, and told him about having the footage doctored to fake the cheating scandal…it nearly turned into a fistfight. It turns out Lane had been manipulating all of us, and we realized it all at once, on camera.”

  “Jesus, what a mess.” Duke’s hand laced into mine.

  Solid, comforting presence, his hand warm, his body huge next to mine.

  “Yeah, it was a complete disaster.” I blinked again, harder this time. “There aren’t words for how ugly it got. He…he flat-out told me, on camera, that he’d never loved me. That I’d only ever been a cash cow for him, a chance to get famous and even richer than he already was.” I made my voice as gruff as I could, which didn’t sound like Lane at all, but got across the point that I was quoting him. “‘You’re hot, but you’re a typical dumb blonde. And the really sad part is, you’re a lousy fuck.’” I felt a tear trickle down my cheek, and ignored it. “He went on a tirade. Told me I was stupid, told me the only reason he ever even considered fucking me in the first place was because I was kinda famous, and he saw a chance to make something off me. Said I had tight pussy, but that I was a dead fish, and gave shitty BJs. On camera, he said all this. Said the sex tape was the only halfway decent sex we’d ever had.”

  “Jesus,” Duke said. “What a bastard.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “he was a bastard, all right.”

  We drove in silence for a minute or two, and then Duke pulled off the freeway and into one of those gas stations right near the entrance and exit ramps, told me to stay put, and ran inside. He was only gone a minute or two, and then returned with a bag of snack food and a few bottles of water and a pay-as-you go cell phone. After filling up the gas tank, we got back on the freeway.

  Once we were underway, Duke’s gaze went to mine. “So, what I don’t understand is how does everything between you and Lane, as crazy and fucked up and painful as it sounds, explain your rules about sex?”

  I laughed. “Of course you bring it back to sex.” I’d laughed, but not with amusement. Was that really all he cared about?

  Duke took my hand, squeezed it, and made sure I was looking at him before he spoke. “It’s not about sex, it’s about the rules. I want to know how you decided a bunch of rules was the best way to fix your life.”

  “I was lonely. I just…I was heartbroken and angry and confused. I just…I hated everyone. I argued with my parents and my brother and literally everyone, because I was miserable. I hadn’t just been dumped or cheated on—I’d been made a fool of in front of millions of people. And I didn’t know how to deal.” I closed my eyes. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t the same. I didn’t have Lane, and I felt like…who could I trust? I couldn’t trust anyone.”

  “Still not—”

  “Oh just shut up and let me talk,” I said. “I’ve never told anyone this before, so I’m gonna tell it my way.”

  Duke held up his hands. “Okay, shutting up and listening.”

  “Good plan.” I tapped his knuckles with a fingertip, tracing the scars on the knuckles from a lifetime of fighting. “Like I said, I was lonely. But…I needed sex. It came down to that. I was horny and it was making me miserable, because I wasn’t getting any release or satisfaction. Also, I didn’t see how I could possibly trust anyone enough to date them. So I decided not to. I figured if all I really wanted was the sex, then why not just…take what I wanted? It started with one of my younger brother’s friends. We were taping a family vacation to Greece, and Quinn brought a couple friends, and I hooked up with one of them.” I laughed. “Yeah, that didn’t go well.”

  Duke was wa
rily silent, lifting an eyebrow in query.

  I shook my head, laughing again. “Quinn went apeshit and the guy I hooked up with told everyone all the dirty details…more good TV that was bad for my heart and pride. The next guy was a random, someone off-camera, not part of the show, just some guy I met at a club one night. That was…better. I got what I needed, and it seemed like he’d respect my privacy.”

  “Not so much?”

  I shook my head. “Not so much, no. He didn’t, like, sell the story, but he told his friends, and the rumor got spread around, picked up, and put the paparazzi on my heels. So then the next time I tried to hook up with a guy I met at a bar, it got photographed. The stories went viral, and the next few hook-ups got made into this big thing—Temple Kennedy is rebounding by hooking up with as many guys as she can, that sort of thing, half-truth, half-fiction. It wasn’t a rebound; it was just me…me finally going after what I wanted. I couldn’t avoid the press, couldn’t avoid the photogs and whatever, so I started trying to be more discreet about it, going to less high-profile Hollywood sort of bars. But even then, I couldn’t win.”

  “How so?”

  I shrugged. “If the press didn’t find me, the guys would inevitably tell someone, and it would get out, and there’d be another story. And I just…all I wanted was to be able to have sex without it being a major news cycle story. Didn’t seem like much to ask.”

  “Wouldn’t think so, no.”

  “People say oh, it’s the price of fame, but that’s bullshit. I signed up to have parts of my life televised, parts I chose to have taped…not every last detail. People think they’re entitled to know everything about me, every detail, every little thing I do, everywhere I go, every guy I so much as look at. And the guys, they’re just as bad. They all seem to think that just because we fucked once or twice, that they’re gonna be on the show and that I’m gonna buy them a Ferrari and take them skiing in Switzerland or whatever. Or if they don’t think that, they feel like it’s no big deal to take a picture of us together and sell it. Before I came up with my rules, there’d be stories and photos and whatever, and it always came from the guy. Like…how fucking hard is it to realize I just want things kept private? I didn’t go to a bar in Rancho Palos Verde because I wanted everyone to know who I was hooking up with. Just because I took my clothes off for him doesn’t automatically mean he can take picture of me naked or half naked and fucking sell it to TMZ. Yet they kept doing it.”

  I glanced at Duke. “So that’s when I made up my rules. Now every guy signs a non-disclosure agreement. You don’t get so much as a look at my cleavage without signing that NDA. And the NDA covers pretty much all the other rules. No photos. No selling stories. No telling your friends, no telling your family. Not a single word about anything we did to anyone, ever. That’s the first rule, and it’s legally binding. It protects my privacy, and it ensures the guy knows I’m dead serious. Anyone can break a promise not to talk, but they’re a lot more likely to keep that promise if they’ve signed a legally binding document, which also means they can’t tell anyone about the NDA itself, which is a super clever piece of legalese, if I do say so myself.

  “The second rule is no contact once you leave. You don’t get my phone number, I won’t be texting you, and you won’t be texting me. No stalking me on Facebook and sending me PMs or Tweeting me, nothing.”

  Duke did the eyebrow thing. “That’s pretty clear cut, I’d say.” He hesitated, a moment. “And you tell them this in so many words?”

  I nod. “Yup. I have a speech.”

  Duke clapped his hands together once. “Let’s hear it.”

  I sighed. “Okay, fine. Here it is.” I crossed my arms under my chest to prop up my cleavage, which is part of the spiel. “’Listen, Duke’—and here obviously I say their name—‘I think you’re sexy, and I’m looking forward to getting to the good stuff. But, there’s a little thing we have to discuss first.’ And here I’d bring out the NDA and a pen. ‘So, obviously you know who I am, and I hope you understand that I’m only doing this to protect my privacy, but…I’m going to need you to sign this non-disclosure agreement. This is non-negotiable, I’m afraid. You can read it for yourself, but it basically says you won’t tell anyone, ever, anything about what we do together. That includes your buddies, the paparazzi, bloggers, tabloids, your closest bro, nobody. Ever. You also can’t tell anyone about the NDA itself.

  “‘There’s one other thing you’re agreeing to, if you sign that, and let me assure you that if you don’t sign it, then you’ll be leaving. You don’t contact me after we’re done. No phone calls or texts, no PMs, DMs, or Tweets, nothing, ever. That’s not what we’re doing here. So, Duke, if you agree to all that, then sign and date the document, and we can move on to the fun part.’” I shrug. “That’s pretty much how it goes, more or less.”

  Duke was quiet for a while. “And they agree?”

  I nod. “Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. I’ve had a couple guys back out, but yeah, most of the time they agree to it, and they sign it.” I glance at him. “Why do you sound so…skeptical?”

  He bobs his head to one side. “Well, because I wouldn’t agree to that shit. My word is my bond, at the risk of sounding archaic or whatever. That shit is…crazy. I’d never sign a legally binding document just for a chance to bone a chick, no matter how hot or famous she might be.” He glanced at me, making an oops face. “That came out kind of harsh, maybe. I just mean—”

  I shrank against the door, away from him, staring out the window. “You’ve made yourself very clear, I’d say.”

  He reached for me. “I didn’t mean it like that…” he trailed off, lowered his hand. “Well, maybe I did. But it’s not about you, necessarily. Like, It’s not about you not being worth the trouble or some shit. It’s just…that whole process, it’s just…cold, I guess. Takes the fun out of it. Part of the rush of casual sex is the risk, the mystery. You never know who you’re hooking up with, which is why you gotta be safe about things, obviously, but I just mean…shit, I don’t know how to put it.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out, then continued. “The excitement, the fun, the passion—it’s about the mystery, not knowing the other person, sharing something intimate with a total stranger.”

  Duke pauses then looks at me with a very serious expression on his face. “Putting a legal element to it, banning all future contact, putting this big legal disclaimer in front things, like hey, we’re gonna fuck, but you can’t ever tell anyone about it, you can’t talk about it, you just have to keep this thing that happened secret. I mean, I get why you do it, but it seems like it takes something away from the whole thing.”

  “You don’t get what it’s like—” I started.

  “No, I don’t,” Duke interrupted. “But that’s not the point. Yeah, you got burned, hard. And then you kept getting burned. But even for me, a committed bachelor, an expert at the random hook-up, it seems like you’ve made a logistical science out of the one-nighter. You’ve turned it into this—this…cold, passionless…thing.”

  He glanced at me, and I hated the look in his eyes almost as much as I hated the precise, brutal accuracy of his assessment. “It’s just about the sex, at that point. And honey, plain old sex, if that’s all that’s happening, well goddamn, that shit is boring. That’s where things end. That’s the culmination of all the fun parts. If you’re just taking these guys home and climbing on and riding their dicks and then kicking ‘em out…where’s the fun? Where’s the—the juicy, messy craziness? Where’s the part where you rip each other’s clothes off and fuck like animals because you need the fuck, and I mean the tongues and the hands and the devouring each other, the teasing, the edging, the hardcore, rough and rabid, animal fucking?

  “You make a guy sign some stupid paper, yeah it binds him legally, but he’s thinking about that shit, not about how hard he’s gonna make you come, not about how he can get you to lose your fucking mind. Especially if he knows going in that all he ever gets is one
shot? He gets to hook up with the Temple Kennedy, but he can’t tell anyone and he only gets one lukewarm fuck? There’s no reason to up his game. It’s bullshit, is what it is. Yeah, it protects your privacy, but it also puts you up in this unbreachable tower like some kind of fucking Rapunzel. Sex isn’t about putting the dick in the pussy, Princess. It’s about a whole hell of a lot more than just…fucking.

  “And I’m saying this as someone who rarely taps the same honey twice, okay? But when I do hook up with a girl, I make sure there’s…passion in it. I don’t know dick about love—I don’t mean that kind of passion. I don’t even know if that shit exists. I told you where I came from—some asshole paid my mom for a quick fuck with a bag of crack rocks. There ain’t ever been love in my life, unless you mean the guys I served with and fought next to—I can say I love those guys, but most of them are fuckin’ dead. So I don’t mean this is about the love kind of passion, like they put in those stupid Hollywood movies. That shit is for fairy tales and saps and fools, and I don’t buy it. So don’t mistake me, all right?”

  He stabbed a finger at me, vivid, piercing blue eyes blazing at me before looking back at the road. “But sex, good sex, even with a random, you gotta put a little bit of yourself into it. I’ve had chicks who think they can make me believe in love try to tell me, oh, Duke, you’re giving away part of yourself every time you have causal sex with someone you don’t intend to ever see again. But the way I see it, yeah, I’m giving part of myself away, but shit, I’m getting that same thing in return from the girl. That’s how it works. If she’s acting like I’m just some dick for her to ride and it don’t mean shit, it’s just gonna be some quick fluid-swapping, belly slapping fuck…and I’ll shut that shit down with extreme prejudice.