by Alexis Angel
"Listen, this can be an opportunity for you," he says, switching tack. "Come work for me … at Bad Boy Publishing. Just think, with our market reach and your skill, we'll create an empire."
"No thanks," I reply. I mean, this is a no brainer. This is Abby's ex we're talking about. Who just admitted to stealing her work. No wonder she was falling in the author rankings.
There's no way in hell that I could go work for him. I don't care how big his publishing house is.
"Think about it," he continues, pressing his offer.
"I have. And I say no. Final answer."
"Well, that's the wrong answer," he replies.
I can't help but ball my right hand into a fist. This guy is testing my patience.
"Wrong answer?" I ask. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"I think I'm a man holding a winning hand."
"So what—maybe you have a few pictures of Abby and I? Who the fuck cares?"
"The world will care because I have more than that," he smiles. "I have pics of that 12-inch cock of yours that will create quite an uproar fucking Abby on the beach, and I won't hesitate to share them publically."
"What pictures are you exactly talking about?"
"I told you—your cock … for starters. I'll upload them to Facebook."
"You're an idiot. Go ahead. I really don't give a fuck."
Of course I'm bluffing. I don't actually want pictures of my cock going viral and getting passed around all over the world, but I'm having serious doubts that Grady even has his hands on any pictures to begin with.
"That's where you're wrong; you'll care because not only will I release pictures of your cock, but I'll release them as teasers for your next book … and I've taken photos of both you and Abby … and you should know, deeply personal ones … does Python ring a bell?"
"You fucking bastard," I snap. Who the fuck does he think he is, intruding on my personal space like that. And now he isn't just threatening me; he's threatening Abby too. I can't let that happen.
"It doesn't have to be this way," he shrugs. "It's simple. Come work for me. Write for Bad Boy Publishing. Together, we'll create an empire."
"Not in a million fucking years."
"I’m urging you to think carefully about what you're saying. Work for me, and I'll destroy the photos; Abby will be spared the humiliation of that kind of exposure. But toss my offer, and I'll upload every picture I have across Facebook faster than Abby will know what to do with it."
Fuck. Why is this happening right now?
"The question you need to ask yourself is, would you like to see pictures of your girlfriend splashed across the internet for the world to jerk off to?" Grady asks me.
When I opened my door today, I never could've guessed I'd be faced with a dilemma that'd knock the wind out of me.
Only one thing to do in this situation to set things right.
What is it?
You’re not going to like the answer, darlin’.
No, I’m not going to tell you.
Not now.
Time for you to switch fucking POV.
Abby
It’s seven pm, and there's still no sign of Aidan.
I try to call him for the fifth time now, but the phone just rings endlessly without him picking up. I’m starting to get worried, and all this pacing around the apartment isn’t helping matters.
We agreed yesterday that he’d come over to my place today, so that we could start writing our new novel, a follow up to Big Dick. That’s right, the wonder team has teamed up again.
I had a busy afternoon and Aidan was doing his thing but I’m home now and ready to work.
Besides, it’s not like Aidan and me to not communicate for this long.
We already have an outline ready to go, and now it’s all a matter of putting the words down. Except Aidan was supposed to be here two hours ago, but it seems like he vanished from the face of the Earth. I tried to reach CJ, but she isn’t picking up her cellphone either.
I walk over to the kitchen counter, and place the cork back on the bottle of red wine I had opened for today. I picked it out especially for Aidan—one of his favorites. You know, this was supposed to be a special occasion; we're going to start a new project ... and I decided to tell him I’m pregnant. That’s why I tidied up the whole apartment, cooked diner, and even bought expensive La Perla, a matching lace thong and bra that hug the curves of my body as if they were my second skin.
But it seems like Aidan won’t be showing up at all.
I place the bottle back on the shelf with a sigh—well it’s not like I could have had wine anyways—and grab the tray of now cold lasagna. I tuck it inside the oven, ready for reheating whenever (if) he gets here, and then make my way back to the living room.
I try to reach him one more time, but all I get is that annoying ringing sound. Why isn’t he picking up? Maybe I should call Cheryl; she’s always in touch with CJ, so she’ll probably know if something’s up.
"What’s up?" she asks me straightway, picking up the phone before it even starts to ring. Swear to God, sometimes Cheryl freaks me out; it’s like she always knows when I need her.
"Hey, babe, have you talked with CJ?"
"Not today, why? Something’s up?" she says, and I can tell by the way she’s breathing her words out that she’s typing on her laptop while talking to me, her cell phone pressed between her shoulder and ear.
"Well, uh, we were supposed to start writing today, but Aidan isn’t picking up his cell," I tell her, trying to hide away all the worry and anxiety tying my stomach into knots. Something’s going on, I can feel it deep in my bones.
"He’s probably just running late or something," she says in a distracted tone, and so I just agree with her, trying to tell myself that there’s nothing to worry about. "Are you going to tell him about the baby?" she asks, her tone of voice growing steady, and I imagine her sitting upright in front of her desk, her cell phone now back in her hand. "You should tell him, you know?"
"That’s the plan," I chuckle, although I can’t shake off that dark feeling casting its shadow over every single one of my thoughts. "As soon as he gets here, I’m going to break the news to him."
"Now that’s my Abby," Cheryl laughs, and then she’s back to her distracted tone of voice. I can hear the faint sound of fingers tapping on the keyboard, so I just say my goodbyes and let her do her work.
I sit down on the couch, propping my feet up on the coffee table in front of me, and rest my tablet on my lap. I power it up and then head straight toward my group, Dirty Lil’ Angels, and start scrolling down all the man candy the girls there post non-stop. There's nothing better to ease a worried mind than half-naked men, right? Except, right now, it isn’t helping; it seems that every man in there reminds me of Aidan, and that just flares up the urge to call him again. Somehow, I stop myself from doing it; I don’t want him to pick up his cellphone and see dozens of missed calls from Miss ‘Stalker’ Abby.
I mean don’t feel that bad for me, babe.
It's easy to pass the time if you know how to.
For example, I’m able to spend almost an hour in Dirty Lil’ Angels, and then I head to Rainforest.com to check on how Big Dick is doing; it's still going strong in the Top 100, although we’ll probably drop from there in the next few weeks. If we had the ad budget, we could have kept it going as strong as we had when we were doing signings.
But we don’t have that kind of money. We’re waiting for our royalty payments now, because I invested most of my liquid cash in this project.
But everything seems to be going great at the end of the day, you know?
What?
Don’t shake your head. On paper, everything is great.
Fine.
I feel it too. There’s something….off.
I don’t know what it is, and it’s probably stupid…so why am I feeling a knot in the pit of my stomach?
Succumbing to that worry, I pick up the phone and call Aidan one more time (my las
t attempt, I lie to myself). Predictably, he doesn’t pick up, and so I just throw the cellphone onto the couch with an exasperated sigh.
This isn’t like him. Sure, he sometimes misses his calls like a regular human being, but he's never flaked on me without telling me first. So what the hell is going on? My mind is already busy imagining him sprawled on the middle of a busy road, his helmet cracked while his motorcycle lies a few feet away from him in a mess of twisted bent metal.
Okay, Abby, time to hop off of the paranoid train. I take one deep breath, trying to push all of these thoughts away, and start scrolling down my Facebook’s feed in a futile attempt to distract myself. I go through countless videos of babies, cats, and people failing miserably at whatever they’re doing, but none of them grab my attention. But that’s when my heart skips a beat.
Aidan’s Facebook page has just been updated. HUGE COCK - COMING SOON, his post reads, a book cover filling the whole screen of my tablet. The Huge Cock title hangs over a shirtless picture of Aidan against a dark background, his hands seductively diving under the hemline of his unbuttoned jeans.
My name is nowhere to be seen on the cover, but at the bottom there are three words, and each one of them feels like a bullet hitting me in the chest: Bad Boy Publishing.
Aidan’s betrayed me.
Aidan
"I can't do this," CJ says, her eyes sadder than I've ever seen them. They aren't the color of a summer sky anymore, but rather the deepest parts of the ocean—dark like the trenches where only the most secretive fish seem to lurk.
We decided to meet at a café for lunch, which was her idea, and so far, I've watched CJ push her salad around her plate without actually taking a single bite. She spears a cherry tomato with the prongs of her fork, and then quickly flicks it off again.
Something's wrong. That much I know.
"You can't do what exactly anymore?" I ask. I'm tired of the riddles. I just want to cut to the fucking chase.
"This. All of it. I can't work with you," she says, looking down at her plate. She seems to be trying extra hard to avoid my gaze—as if she's gonna turn to fucking stone if she looks into my eyes or something.
But her words hit home. They fucking sting, I'll admit it.
I imagine this is what a quarterback feels like during a football game when a defensive end blindsides him, and he's left staring at the ball that's been knocked out of his hands and it's pathetically flopping around the turf, a brown smear just out of reach.
I wasn't expecting this from CJ. It definitely catches me off guard.
"Wait, back the fuck up. What do you mean?" I ask.
"I quit, Aidan. It's simple. I'm terminating our agreement," she replies, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"You can't be fucking serious," I say.
I'm having a hard time believing the words tumbling out of her mouth. Her lips are moving but they aren't making sense. CJ's been a stellar fucking PA over the years, and there's no way I'm letting her walk away that easily. What happened to the CJ who just recently was pushing me to write more books?
"I'm serious as a heart attack," she says flatly. She can read the shock on my face and continues, "What? Do you expect me to sit back and feel good about what you did to Abby? That was shitty, Aidan. An all time low—even for you."
For a moment, I stare at her, speechless. I try searching her face for clues, but when I don't find any, I give up and sit up straight in my chair.
"I knew this was going to end in a disaster, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop," CJ says and I close my eyes as I listen to her. "Everyone is so happy with the new and improved Aidan Stone. Only I know the real man."
"Abby?" I ask, still fixated on her last sentence.
"Yeah, you remember her, don't you?" she asks sarcastically. "The woman you decided to write a book with, and then promptly screw over?"
All I can do is stare at her as she speaks.
"Oh, come on Aidan! I'm tired of the games. Don't play dumb. Cheryl told me everything."
When I still don't respond, CJ grows increasingly frustrated.
"I knew you were going to screw this up," she continues. "You always do—mixing work and pleasure. But I guess there was this little part … a little bit of hope in me that thought this time was going to be different, especially with the pregnancy. That maybe you actually gave a shit about Abby … that maybe you … dare I say it … even loved her. But I guess old habits die hard, right? I shouldn't have expected this time to be any different."
"Wait? Did you just fucking say pregnancy?" I ask. My head is swirling and everything in my peripheral vision is growing blurry. It's like my head is being placed in a fishbowl. My heart is kicking in my chest. I'm trying to just breath. To try and gather my thoughts. To try and slow my brain down a bit.
Anything to stay calm.
"She was planning on telling you, but you stood her up, asshole. She was pretty beat up over it too … and then seeing your Facebook post about your new book with Bad Boy Publishing, "Huge Cock" … well, that just put her really over the edge. And I don't blame her, with you practically rubbing it in her face and all. What do you expect?"
She removes the napkin from her lap and places it in a crumpled heap on top of the table. Then she pushes her chair back, and the scratch of the chair's legs against the tile—that high-pitched sound that no one likes—makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. She begins to leave.
"You know, you might have a 12 inch dick, Aidan, but as a person, you’re not even an inch tall, fucker," she tells me.
"You gonna let me say something?" I say to CJ. "I can fucking explain, babe."
"Look, this has been fun and all, but like I said, I'm done. It's time for me to move on. It's best for you to move on too. I'm sure you can find another PA who could care less about who you fuck and what you do with your personal life. But that's not me."
I watch as she begins to leave, and just as she turns her back I say, "Wait. I fucking love her too, CJ!"
She stops and slowly turns around, and for the first time holds my gaze.
"I have a plan," I continue.
CJ places her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes, as if this is some sort of prank. "Sure you do. You always seem to have a plan, but not this time. You can't fix this."
I press her further. "I need you to trust me, CJ. And I know that may be hard for you because I haven't always made the best choices in the past—"
"That's an understatement," she says, cutting me off.
"But I need you to trust me and be patient. Just wait. You'll see what I mean."
"And how long do you expect me to wait?" CJ asks. Disbelief is still etched across her face, but I sense that she's softening her a bit.
Not long," I say. "Two weeks. That's all I ask."
CJ is tapping her foot against the tiled floor, looking at me with an incredulous frown. I can tell she's really struggling with this decision.
"I promise that everything will be explained at the RAGA convention."
Her eyes soften and her foot stops tapping.
"Fine. Two weeks, Aidan," she says, finally deciding to trust me. "That's it, and your plan better work."
"I love this girl, CJ," I tell her and she looks at me for a long moment. I don’t hide anything. I’m done fucking hiding. Let her see me for the real me. I’m fine being fucking vulnerable if it means saving Abby. "I’m not gonna fuck this one up."
After a long moment, CJ blinks.
"You’re telling the truth," she says to me.
I nod.
"Well, that girl is hurting, Aidan," she tells me. "So for both your sakes, I hope you know what the hell you’re doing."
"So do I, darlin’," I say with a sigh looking towards the distance of the city. "So do I."
Abby
"C’mon, cheer up. Seriously," Cheryl says, draping one arm over my shoulders and pulling me close to her.
"I’m totally cheery, can’t you see?" I say with a frown, sigh
ing loudly as we head toward our booth. This is the biggest romance convention in the United States and, since Big Dick was such a hit, we have to be here. And by we, I mean Cheryl and I; since Aidan signed with Bad Boy Publishing, that means he removed himself from the equation.
I hate being here. It reminds me of everything that happened with Aidan, and I really don’t need that; the wound is still fresh.
It’s been two weeks since I found out about Aidan’s betrayal, and I’ve been a mess ever since. Do you know what the side effects are of a broken heart? Excessive consumption of vanilla-flavored ice cream, and binge-watching Gilmore Girls and all of those CW romantic dramedies.
And the worst part? I still haven’t told him I’m pregnant. I mean, he clearly decided to end his professional relationship with me, but the way he did it also meant that he doesn’t give a fuck about me as a woman… or even as a person. After everything we’ve been through, how could he be so cold? I’ve never been so wrong about a man before. You know, after catching Grady fucking that skinny woman, I thought there couldn’t be anything worse. But what Aidan did… That hurt so much more.
I sit up inside my booth with Cheryl by my side, but after the first few hours even our most loyal fans have deserted us. The convention's main attraction is Aidan’s Huge Cock (how’s that for a pun?), and it seems that’s all people talk about.Not to mention that with Bad Boy Publishing’s money behind him, Aidan secured an entire hall for the launch of his book. How can my tiny booth even compete with that? Seriously, if Cheryl hadn’t dragged me here, there’d be no way I’d willingly show up for this public humiliation. But here I am now, sitting in my cramped booth and feeling completely miserable.
Since Big Dick was mostly a self-publishing effort, our budget only bought us an ant-sized booth right between two Bad Boy Publishing authors. Swear to God, these people are everywhere. Aside from the fans and the authors, there are a few movie studio head-honchos walking around, trying to sniff out a potential blockbuster hiding in this convention, but even they only seem preoccupied with Aidan’s launch.