Cherry Popper

by Victoria Quinn

  “Is that how you hit on women?” The booze had already gotten to me. I was buzzed and less inhibited.

  “It’s how I figure out if they’re taken…and I hope you aren’t.” He drank from his glass as he kept his blue eyes on me. He was a pretty man, leaner in musculature than Slate but handsome all the same.

  “I’m not. And that’s exactly why I’m drinking.”

  “Bad breakup, huh?” He turned on his stool so he faced me, the side of his body leaning against the counter.

  “Not exactly. But pretty much.”

  “If you’re here looking for a rebound, I’m totally available.” If he weren’t so handsome, he might come off a bit creepy. He was extremely forward, and maybe that was normal for a bar in Manhattan.

  I wouldn’t know; I didn’t go out much. “If you’re looking to get laid, you’re wasting your time with me. You’re a good-looking guy, so I’m sure you could pick up some other woman in here.”

  “You think I’m good-looking?” he asked, his grin stretching further.

  When he smiled like that, he looked familiar. Like I’d seen somewhere before but couldn’t place exactly where, his face resonated with me. It was unlikely that I’d ever met him, but maybe I’d seen him on the TV or a billboard. “I feel like I know you from somewhere… Have we met?”

  “No. If I’d met you before, I would have remembered.”

  I turned on my stool and faced him, still unable to place him. “I’m Monroe, by the way.”

  “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I’m Wyatt.” He drank from his glass. “So, you want to tell me what happened?”

  “You actually want to hear it?” I asked in surprise. He should move on to someone else, a woman who would get on her back in thirty minutes or less. Listening to my problems would just put him to sleep.

  “Absolutely.” His hands came together as he prepared to listen. “Lay it on me. I’m a man, so maybe I can give you some advice.”

  “I don’t think I need advice. This guy is just an asshole…nothing too cryptic.”

  “Ouch,” he said with a cringe. “This guy hurt you good.”

  “I’m sure you can see the puffiness under my eyes…”

  He shrugged. “Your beauty covers it up pretty well. So, what did this asshole do?”

  “Well…” I felt weird telling him the truth, but then I also realized I would never see him again. I wasn’t going home with him, so what was the harm? As long as I didn’t confirm Slate’s identity, it shouldn’t matter. “You’re probably going to judge me for this, but this man bought my virginity. In exchange for claiming my purity, he paid back my student loans. I only agreed to the arrangement because I was drowning in so much debt, and when it was time to do the deed…I chickened out. I wasn’t ready for it. So we spent a month together, going out to dinner and being together so I would feel more comfortable. I developed feelings for him, and I thought he felt the same way. So…we did it. And the next morning, everything was over. He wanted nothing to do with me.”

  Wyatt could have called me a whore, but he didn’t. A lot of people would think less of me for giving up my virtue for money, but I didn’t care what they thought. I needed to do it to survive, to have some kind of future. Even though Slate hurt me, I would do it again in a heartbeat. Wyatt didn’t have an overt reaction, his face exactly the same, like he was waiting for me to elaborate even more.

  “I called him, and he never called me back. I confronted him at his place, and he was a completely different person…said he got what he wanted.” I shook my head at the memory. “I know he’s just scared to be close with someone since he’s been burned in the past. But I can’t believe he’s this pathetic. He should trust me, should know I’m nothing like the people who ripped him apart. So now I’m here…drinking my problems away.” I grabbed my glass and took a drink.

  Wyatt still didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look at me with judgmental eyes. “That’s harsh.”

  “He told me that’s what would happen…but it seemed like we were closer than that.”

  “A month is a long commitment for a man who can pay for any pussy he wants.”

  A month wasn’t long enough for me. He’d just broken my heart and hurt me so deeply, but I still missed him…even after those tears cascaded down my face. “So, that’s why I’m drinking alone…and I don’t usually drink like this.”

  “No judgments,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “You were an old virgin.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that before,” I said. “I was just waiting for the right guy…but then my loans crushed me.”

  “How much are we talking here?” He finished his glass then ordered both of us another round.

  “Almost $200,000.”

  Both of his eyes snapped wide open. “Two hundred thousand? Are you a doctor or something?”

  “No…I wish.” At least I would be making more money. “I have a masters in marketing. I’m an executive at Cutie Clothes.”

  He nodded slowly. “That’s why you recognize me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m the CEO of Silk, the women’s fashion line.”

  The second he said those words, everything clicked into place. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere…” I’d been comfortable with him just a minute ago, and now I was seriously intimidated. This man was a fashion icon, running a company that produced fashion gems that women dreamed of. Not only was he successful, he was brilliant. And I happened to bump into him at a bar on a Wednesday night.

  “Don’t start acting weird around me. This conversation has been delightful so far…until you realized who I was.”

  “I’m not being weird. I’m just…a big fan.” I grabbed my glass but felt my hand shake as I gripped it. “Silk is an amazing company. The clothes, the fabric… I worked a second job one summer just so I could buy a pair of your heels.”

  “You flatter me,” he said with a smile. “Looks like we have a lot in common. Cutie Clothes has some good stuff too.”

  “It’s not Silk,” I said with a laugh. “Your clothes are sophisticated and sexy without showing too much skin. The patterns are so subtle but so powerful. I love Cutie Clothes, don’t get me wrong, but Silk is phenomenal.” If I had more money, I would buy more clothes. Maybe it was a good thing I was poor.

  The corner of his mouth rose in a smile. “What do you do in marketing?”

  “I handle all the editorial placements, the billboards, and the digital ads we put everywhere. It doesn’t sound like much, but those ads have to be updated every three days before they go stale. It’s constant.”

  “No, I understand. It’s the biggest job in the company. What’s the point of making a great product if no one knows it exists? Or better yet, what’s the point of having a company without having a brand? Very vital to the health of the business.” He tapped his two fingers against his skull.

  “So…what’s your story?”

  “Pardon?” he asked, having no idea what I was referring to.

  “With your love life? Is there a douchebag woman out there who wronged you?”

  “Not really,” he said. “Nothing like what happened to you. I’m a serial monogamist, but my relationships don’t last very long.”

  “Because you don’t want them to?”

  “No. They just don’t. I’m not looking to settle down, but if I met the right woman, I would stick it out. But finding the right woman in Manhattan is impossible.”

  “There are seven million people who live here,” I said with a laugh. “So how’s that possible?”

  “Well, most women know who I am, so they care more about my success than the man underneath the suit.”

  Slate told me the horror story about his brother, that he had a backstabbing woman who only wanted to pick his pocket. “Yeah, I can see that. That’s unfortunate. Maybe you should start dating in Iowa or somet
hing.”

  He chuckled. “That’s quite a commute.”

  “But no one would know who you are.”

  “Probably not,” he admitted, keeping his fingers wrapped around his glass. He watched me for a while, his blue eyes a lot kinder than Slate’s brown ones. He wore a boyish smile as he spoke. “You want to have dinner with me sometime?”

  “I don’t live in Iowa.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll make an exception.”

  “I just told you I sold my virginity for money. That’s not a turn-off for you?”

  “It was in the beginning, but when you told me how much you owed in student loans, I couldn’t blame you. You’d be paying that back until the day you died.”

  I would pay back my mother’s hospital bill until the day I died. “Yep…”

  “So, no, I don’t judge you. Your first time is usually a bad experience anyway, so you might as well get paid for it, right?”

  It wasn’t a bad experience. I had been hoping it would be the first of many experiences.

  “So, is that a yes?”

  My instinct was to say no. Just an hour ago, I showed up at Slate’s apartment demanding an explanation for his coldness. He hurt me more than I realized, and turning my back on him was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. I felt like I’d lost my best friend. But Slate was an asshole and knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to fuck the next virgin…and then the next. Now he was bored with me. So why should I say no to the handsome man I admired? I didn’t owe Slate anything—and he clearly didn’t think he owed me anything. “Yeah…I think it is.”

  19

  Slate

  I TOLD Monroe what would happen.

  It wasn’t my fault she didn’t believe me.

  I didn’t want a relationship, and despite my fondness for her, that wouldn’t change. I paid her for a service, and once that service was fulfilled, I had no use for her. The transaction was complete—and so was our interaction.

  Maybe that made me an asshole, but I had to make a clean break. I didn’t want her to think there was hope that I would come back to her. I had to be firm, so firm that I wouldn’t even take her calls. It would make this process easier for her.

  I hadn’t been with anyone else. I didn’t rush to the next woman in line because I’d been busy with work and other things. And I found myself beating off to the memory of my night with Monroe, remembering every detail of her tight pussy. I’d never popped a better cherry, and I wanted to do it over and over again indefinitely.

  Too bad that wasn’t possible.

  Whoever came next would be a disappointment compared to Monroe. But after I had enough lovers, I would slowly forget about her.

  I was home when my mother spoke through the intercom. “Honey, I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see if I could stop by.”

  I pulled on a shirt then hit the button, allowing her to rise to my floor and step inside my living room. “Hello, Mother.” I greeted her with a hug then immediately poured her a glass of wine. “What brings you by?”

  She glanced around the apartment, like she was searching for someone besides me. “I was just in the neighborhood. Simone and I met for lunch to talk about the details for the wedding. The ceremony will be simple, but beautiful.”

  I tried not to think about that manipulative bitch, but I couldn’t escape her. Soon, she would have my last name and a portion of my company. She would divorce Coen quickly and send our daily activities into a tailspin. “I warned Coen about her. He refuses to listen to me.”

  “There’s nothing we can do. So just let it be.”

  “Nothing we can do?” I asked incredulously. “Your son is marrying a gold digger. That doesn’t concern you?”

  “It does concern me.” She stood in skintight jeans, colored pumps, and a teal blouse. Her hair was short and styled, and she looked like a woman who belonged in fashion. “But if I nag at him, you know what’s going to happen? He’ll cut me it out of his life altogether. While I don’t agree with this situation, there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s a grown man—and has to make his own mistakes.”

  My head was about to explode. “She’s going to get her hands on our family money.”

  She sighed slightly. “I realize that. But again, there’s nothing I can do. We should be grateful you and Coen own it equally, that way she can’t take more than twenty-five percent. And perhaps Coen will see reason before it’s too late.”

  I shook my head. “Not gonna happen. I told him she threatened me, and he didn’t believe it.”

  “Threatened you how?”

  “She admitted she was only after his money, and if I got in the way, she would make my life hell. I told Coen anyway, but he doesn’t find me credible. He thinks this is all because I used to date her…even though that’s the last thing on my mind.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll try to talk to him one more time. There’s not much time before the wedding.”

  Before he signed over his soul to the devil.

  “Speaking of women…I heard you brought a date to the charity event.” Mother watched me with her brown eyes, seeing what I would say in response.

  “Yes…people bring dates to those sorts of things.”

  “Coen mentioned you were affectionate.” She pressured me with her eyes, wanting me to spill my private life to her.

  “Instead of paying attention to me, he should pay attention to his own date.”

  “I haven’t heard of you taking a date to anything in five years,” she said. “In fact, the media has never photographed you with anyone. Slate, are you gay? Because if you are, that’s fine. No necessity in hiding it.”

  It was so ludicrous, I almost laughed. “No, Mother. I’m definitely not gay.” I was obsessed with a very specific kind of pussy.

  “Then is this woman special to you?”

  “No. She’s just a friend.” A friend I would never speak to again. The thought made me sad.

  “One that you kiss and touch?” she asked incredulously.

  “A bit nosy, aren’t we?” I countered.

  “Well, I’ve never seen you with a woman besides Simone. I was excited to know you were on the mend.”

  “I never needed to mend.” If she were anyone else, I would tell her to shut up and get out of my penthouse. “I’m just very picky. I don’t have relationships in the public spotlight. I’m private about my personal life.”

  “So you do have women in your life?”

  Not in the way she wanted. “Yes.”

  “But you liked this woman enough to make it public?”

  “No.”

  “You never bring a date, so why did you bring one this time—”

  “Enough.” I held up my hand and silenced her, not feeling an ounce of guilt for shutting her down. She invaded my privacy when it was none of her business. She seemed more concerned with who I was fucking instead of worrying about Coen’s soon-to-be ex-wife. “If I’m ever ready to talk about someone, I’ll talk about it. But right now, there’s nothing to tell.”

  MAX PLACED the picture in front of me. “Her name is Trina. She’s twenty-one.”

  I glanced at her picture, liked everything I saw, and then handed the picture back to him. “Yes.”

  “Alright.” He returned the photo to his folder. “I’ll make sure she’s ready for Friday evening. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  Max left my office.

  I watched him go, feeling the weight of the guilt on my chest. A part of me knew I didn’t want Trina at all, that I was just forcing myself into bed so I would forget about Monroe. If I called Monroe and told her I made a mistake, she would probably forgive me, but that wasn’t what I wanted.

  I had to move on.

  Spending the month with Monroe had fucked with my head. It made me wonder if monogamy would be as bad as it was last time. It made me wonder if Monroe was someone I could actually trust. She was nothing like Simone, so that was the last thing I had to worry ab
out.

  But I didn’t want to go down that road again.

  To look like a fool in front of the whole world.

  I was still paying the price for my mistake with Simone. She was marrying my brother, while everyone looked on and thought it was the strangest family situation of all time. I looked like the idiot anyone could just walk all over, and my brother looked like the bigger idiot.

  Simone tainted the Remington name.

  Maybe if Simone had disappeared, I would have been able to forget about it. But since she was constantly around the corner, I could never get enough space to put this in the past. Her betrayal haunted me. My brother’s betrayal haunted me even more.

  AFTER I HIT the gym and showered, I sat on the couch and turned on the TV. The maid had the TV on while she cleaned, so the gossip channel was always the first thing to pop up when I hit the power button.

  There was a story about Wyatt Newport, the CEO of the iconic fashion company, Silk. And of course, the media scrutinized his love life like private detectives. There was a short video of him having dinner with a woman in a nice restaurant.

  But upon closer examination, I recognized the woman.

  Monroe.

  I turned up the volume. “Wyatt Newport is reported to be dating someone new after his very public breakup with model Sophia Lerange. He was spotted having an intimate dinner with a new interest at the French bistro on Lexington and 22nd street. They seemed to be having a good time. When our team asked for confirmation on this new romance, Wyatt Newport failed to reply.”

  I paused the screen so I could get a better look at the woman across from him. With that brown hair, beautiful neck, and the little freckles I loved to look at when she was underneath me, it was definitely her.

  Monroe was dating someone else.

  She didn’t sit around and wait for me. She didn’t cry every night while watching TV. She’d put her heart on the line, and when I stomped on it, she moved on. Now she was dating a man just as wealthy as I was—and handsome.