by Kat T. Masen
“You lost me at gold buttons, Mom.”
We hang up with enough time to spare for me to get changed. I can hear Wesley shouting my name impatiently while waiting outside until he gives up and tells me he’ll wait for me in the car. We have a lunch with fellow cast-mates at an upmarket restaurant near Laguna Beach. The drive alone will be long, and Cliff wants the cameras in Wes’ car switched on to capture our conversations.
A part of me needs the distraction—my mind unsettled after the conversation with Mom.
Rushing around, I finally decide on what to wear and dash out to the car. Moments later we’re on our way.
“So, who’s at the lunch today?” Wes asks, switching lanes without using his indicator.
“Kyle and Kelly,” I say. “Harley and Poppy. Oh... and Farrah.”
Farrah’s known as the Hollywood train wreck. Her father owns some oil company making them billionaires. She’s a spoiled brat born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She’s politically incorrect and goes out of her way to stir trouble—one of her favorite pastimes. She’s also a walking billboard for plastic surgery having done her lips, cheeks, breasts, and her latest being butt implants.
“Great, Farrah. I read on Twitter the other day that Daddy bought her a bigger set of tits,” Wes comments with a sarcastic laugh.
“Really? Well, I guess we’ll see them today. Maybe this is a coming-out party... for the double FFs or whatever cups she’s sporting now.”
Wesley takes the exit, driving toward Orange County as we both laugh at Farrah’s ridiculous behavior.
“We shouldn’t laugh. In all seriousness, Daddy’s a game player. He’ll probably buy this network and boot us off the show because we’ve made fun of her.”
“Yeah, or he can offer to buy you a pair like last time.”
I cringe, remembering the episode which was filmed at her parents’ mansion where Daddy Dearest offered to buy me a pair of tits. The episode caused outrage on social media, but the ratings were high, and no one cared since high ratings equaled a bigger money pot. Most people took my side by blasting Farrah for supporting her dad’s behavior. Others claimed I needed it, my tits being the center of attention for weeks until something else took over.
We continue to talk about Farrah, knowing Cliff encourages our bitchy rants to cause controversy. Aside from Farrah, the rest of us get along great. Kyle and Kelly entered the show as a couple. High-school sweethearts from a small town in Minnesota. When auditioning, the network thought the television show would break them which equaled drama. During our second season, they broke up for one week. No one slept with anyone else, but then Cliff wasn’t happy with the boring outcome so he edited the scenes to make it look like they separated for the entire season, and slept with all of Hollywood. Neither of them minded knowing it was scripted and part of the whole acting gig.
Harley’s the bad boy of the group. His real name is Troy Madden, born into a military family and moved from state to state growing up. He’s nicknamed Harley because he has only one love in his life his Harley Davidson—Rosita.
Despite Harley being painted as the bad boy, constantly in trouble with the law, he’s actually a big softy. He has your back and you know you’re safe around him. Though the boys look up to him as a protector, it’s Poppy who formed a unique friendship with him. The crazy British girl that came to the States to study fashion.
“We’re here,” Wesley announces, parking his car and handing the keys to the valet.
Stella’s overlooks the Pacific Ocean and Laguna Beach. Owned by Stella Grace—heir to the Grace Hotel Chains—it’s a known hot spot for the elite and celebrities. The restaurant is decorated in all white, with small splashes of azure blue on paintings hanging on the walls. Each table has been carefully arranged with large vases of freshly cut lilies sitting in the middle of each table with shining cutlery and fancy glasses.
We’re ushered to a table outside where Kyle, Kelly, Harley, and Poppy are sitting. Saying hello and hugging each of them, we take a seat admiring the stunning view and perfect day while we wait for Farrah.
The waiter serves us some expensive wine, and we drink while having a light conversation until we’re brutally interrupted by Farrah. Each of us has our own camera crew—Farrah’s crew probably the worst of the bunch. I can’t stand them. Two sleazy men—Rick and Marty—both of whom I can only assume have fucked by her which is why they do everything she says.
“O.M.G. you guys, it’s been like forever!” She air-kisses us all, taking a seat at the end of table in her tight white dress that barely contains her confined double FFs. Her hair extensions touch the table, and she’s quick to push them back, keeping the blonde tresses away as she drinks her wine demanding another glass. Another thing about Farrah she enjoys her wine and is rarely seen without a glass in hand.
Our food is served and we begin talking about our plans for the summer. Majority of the conversation is non-scripted with the cameras recording the whole lunch.
Poppy’s the first person to bring up our engagement. “How are the wedding plans going?” she asks in her English accent. “I’m so chuffed it’s going to be a winter wedding.”
Both Wes and I knew this would come up because Josie told us we have to talk about it. I also had a very heated conversation with my publicist, Nina, over when I can start talking about our relationship breakdown.
“Coming along nicely,” I say with a smile. “We’re scouting venues, and I’d love for you to come dress shopping with me.”
Farrah laughs behind her fork, adding a sly comment, “You’d probably come out wearing some washed-up old rag.”
“Funny, Farrah.” I place my fork down giving Cliff what he wants whenever he places the two of us in a room. “That’s what most men think when they’ve been with you.”
Everyone at the table snickers, all but Farrah. She’s trying to control her rage, drinking her third glass of wine and still demanding a refill. The waiter might as well leave the bottle in front of her.
“It’s interesting you mention the wedding…. I’ve heard you guys are on the rocks?” She poses the question with much pleasure.
Wes places his arm around me, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my engagement ring. With the cameras all pointed at us, I nestle my head against his shoulder and allow him to defend our relationship. “You believe everything you read, Farrah? Em and I are walking down that aisle. She’s my woman.”
I want to roll my eyes at such a barbaric reference, but don’t want Farrah to read anything into it. This conversation could quickly escalate into one of our well-known fights that results in us being physically held back by security.
Things haven’t always been difficult between us. In season one, we got along and became friends. Despite her wealth, we had a lot in common and bonded over that. It was season two when everything fell apart. She made some bitchy comments about me to Kelly and Poppy during a girls’ night out, and once I saw the footage I knew I had to protect my back. She had a knife and was ready to stab me with it.
The crew yell cut, so everyone can take a break and regroup. The makeup artists go straight for our faces, touching up the foundation and lipstick from the warm sea air.
Wesley announces his need to take a piss, disappearing into the restroom.
Poppy gives me a reassuring smile from across the table, stopping the waiter to ask what the meaty-looking thing on her plate is. When she hears the word ‘heart,’ her face pales as she quickly pushes the plate aside.
I follow everyone’s lead and pull out my cell. I log into my Twitter page, posting some tweets to keep the fans engaged. Within seconds, the notifications blow up my screen and I take a few moments to answer some questions. The fans love the interaction, but on the flipside so do the trolls.
There are a dozen unread emails, mainly from our suppliers regarding the fitness line. I make a mental note to log in from home after lunch and get some work done. The demands are huge and while I have a great team, I enjoy being
hands on.
I scroll through the other unread items when a text appears at the top of my screen.
Logan: How you been, Chase?
The message from Logan comes out of nowhere. Two weeks and he doesn’t talk to me after fucking me twice in the hotel room. Part of me is angry, another part forces the Zen to spread because I have no right to be angry.
We aren’t in a relationship.
I quickly respond knowing I have only minutes before we started filming again.
Me: Hello stranger.
The bubble bounces, and there’s a quick response.
Logan: That’s all I get? C’mon, play with me.
I scan the table, everyone’s still busy minding their own business. Wesley hasn’t returned and with him gone, I type extremely fast conscious of being caught.
Me: Play with you? I got no toys to share. How exactly do you want me to play with you?
“Let’s roll, everyone,” Cliff calls from the end of the table.
Wesley’s back, settling himself in as I tuck my cell into my purse. We dive back into conversations about a potential trip to England to watch the Victoria Secret show that Farrah has front-row tickets for. The thought of traveling to England excites me. I’ve been there only once with my parents and have only poor memories of rain and grumpy hotel staff.
But it’s not only that.
Logan lives in England.
Poppy claps her hands excitedly, suggesting we visit her hometown while we’re there. Obviously, Cliff planted this idea in Poppy and Farrah’s heads making it look like a spur-of-the-moment decision. It’s the first I’ve heard of it, but the more we speak, the more excited I become.
In season one we did a trip to New York City. It wasn’t so special given that I’d been there many times before. Our second season had us vacationing in Maui, where we had the time of our lives.
England will be fantastic. Except for one thing—I’m going to be there with Wesley not Logan.
Farrah talks about all the things she has planned for us, and when the cameras focus on her and Poppy discussing the tube, I half pull out my cell and check the text from Logan.
Logan: Wherever you are, there must be somewhere you can go and privately video playing with yourself. I dare you.
I quickly re-read the text, not realizing I’m holding my breath and that the cameras are rotating between us. I shove my cell into my purse again, distracting myself in conversation before excusing myself to use the restroom.
“Emerson, can’t you wait?” Cliff asks, agitated.
“No, Cliff,” I answer in annoyance. “Excuse me.” I remove the napkin from my lap, disappearing to the back of the restaurant where I trap myself in the corner cubicle while pulling out my cell with desperation.
Me: Why must you dare me? You know I never back down.
I’ve never done anything like this. The thrill of the unknown pushes me to act spontaneously. I slide my panties off shoving them in my purse as I raise my leg and rest it on the lid of the toilet seat. Lifting my dress above my thighs, I position my phone underneath my dress, hitting the record button. Playfully rubbing myself, I close my eyes and allow the excitement to make me come in less than a minute. In no way does it compare to the times Logan made me come, but still, it rocked my body until I stop recording with my hands shaking.
Catching my breath, I hit send with the caption…
Me: You wanted to play. Here you go. Have fun.
The video takes a while to send, so I remove my panties from my bag, place them on and straightening my dress. I exit the cubicle and pop my cell on the expensive vanity to wash my hands. Gazing into the mirror, my cheeks are flushed and emit a glow. Grabbing a washcloth, I quickly dampen it and try to cool myself down before anyone notices.
The vibration of my cell is loud, echoing through the small restroom.
Logan: Shit. Now I feel like I owe you something in return. Have fun.
A video comes through that shows it’s fifteen seconds long. I’m about to watch it when the door swings open, making me jump. In her nine-inch heels, which hammer on the marble floor, Farrah’s dripping in gold strung around her neck and arms making the Queen of England look poor. She positions herself next to me, pulling a compact out of her purse. She dabs her nose without any effort to disguise her fake smile.
“You’re not fooling anyone by pretending you’re together. I know Wesley hasn’t been on his best behavior.”
Her catty comment doesn’t warrant a response, so I’m surprised when I open my mouth. “You and your games… worry about your own life instead of ours,” I point out, throwing the towel into the basket.
She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, gliding her red lipstick on then pouts her lips while admiring herself in the mirror. “I’m the real star of this show. Everyone knows that. Let’s see if you make it to the next season,” she threatens.
“If by star you mean whore... then yes. Title’s all yours, Farrah.” I move past her, closing the door behind me and stopping just down the hall. I mute the sound on my cell, clicking play on the video. Fifteen seconds of Logan pulling his cock until he explodes all over his palm.
Fuck.
He got me.
I quickly respond, wanting to delete any trace of our naughty afternoon.
Me: We’re even. Well played, Carrington. Hopefully, I’ll get to see the LIVE version when you’re in “town.”
I hit delete and hide my cell in the base of my purse hoping he doesn’t respond. If Wes knew what went on he’d be livid. Despite our arrangement, he tries every day to make a move on me. I’ve just been lucky with being able to palm him off or make excuses.
Back outside, I sit down and get comfortable as dessert is served. It looks scrumptious—some flan dish with a syrup substance lying on top. As I push my spoon into the bowl, Farrah returns and acts as if nothing happened between us. “So, girls, London? Shopping… British men... are we in?”
Kelly smiles, not pleasing Kyle.
Poppy claps her hands, excited to visit home and spend time with her family. “Count me in.”
“I hope you meant for the shopping?” Wes asks seriously in front of everyone.
“What’s wrong with a little harmless flirting with a tall British man?” I tease, knocking his shoulder playfully.
In a decidedly odd tone, he says, “My woman doesn’t harmlessly flirt with anyone.”
“Oh, Wes, baby,” Poppy cries. “Stop being cheeky. She’s not an object.”
“Poppy,” Wes grits. “You know I love you, but stay out of this.”
One of the cameras zooms into Wes’ face, irritating him even more.
“Wesley Rich… get off your high horse and treat the woman with respect. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Yeah, Wesley Rich,” I say, not taking this argument seriously. “I have brains, too, you know. It’s not all about the looks.”
Everyone laughs, except Wesley. He sulks in his seat while we finish our conversation about London.
The cameras stop rolling and Cliff’s quick to interject, “Your itineraries will be emailed across tomorrow. We’ve known about this for months but only received the all-clear yesterday. A week from today… we’ll be leaving for five days.”
A few of us ask some questions, but no one really says anything else. We wrap up lunch by telling each other goodbye and making our own way home.
On the drive back, Wes is unusually quiet.
“Why did you take so long in the restroom?”
“You want a number?” I question, keeping the conversation light and my nerves at bay.
“Oh,” he mutters.
“I also ran into Farrah… she said some words, I said some words.”
“Right.”
His one-word responses make for an uninteresting conversation, so I lay my head against the window and watch the scenery until we reach home and park the car.
We go our separate ways as we walk inside. I head straight for the bathroom where I show
er and change into something more comfortable. With no plans tonight, I decide to ditch work and lay on the couch, catch up on some television while responding to some fans. I posted a pic that Josie sent me of all of us posing at the table captioning the picture—Filming lunch with the gang.
As soon as I posted the pic, comments flooded shortly after.
“What are you doing?” Wes plonks himself on the sofa beside me wearing his sweats and no shirt. He did it on purpose, and as much as it irritates me, I’m still reminded of how attractive Wesley is.
I raise my cell showing him the pic. He smiles then grabs the remote.
“I thought you were going out for drinks?” I ask him, half paying attention as I respond to a fan who comments on my dress.
“Nah. Thought I’d stay home.”
I keep my thoughts to myself, scrolling down until I see Logan commented on my post. Most people would think nothing of him commenting since it’s known we’re family friends and that Ash is his best friend. The smartass, of course, has to have a final say. Must have been a hot day in Cali. Your cheeks look flushed.
With Wes beside me, I keep my smile hidden and refrain from commenting. I scroll through the other comments until my cell rings and Mom comes up on the screen.
“Hey, Mom. You’re on speaker and Wes is here.”
“Oh, hi honey!” Mom greets with an upbeat tone.
Wes leans forward, speaking into the cell. “Hey, Abbi, long time no speak.”
“I know,” she agrees. “I’ll be there in three weeks. Did Emmy tell you?”
He looks at me, rolling his eyes. “No, she didn’t.”
“My fault, Mom. We just got back from lunch. But that’s great news,” I tell her. “We found out today we’re heading to London next week for the Victoria Secret show.”
“How fantastic,” she cheers. “Are you going to visit Ash and Logan’s place?”