The Revenge Games Duet

by Kat T. Masen

  I clutch his hair in my hands, desperate for him to continue and disappointed when he distances himself. My panting is uncontrollable, yet I raise my brows, silently questioning why he pulled away.

  “But not here.”

  “When?” I blurt out, desperate and forthcoming.

  “I want you to come with me to an event tomorrow night. It’s a fundraiser at my mother’s house.”

  “Your mother?” I step back, curious as to why he wants to go and with me of all people. According to the Internet, they don’t have a relationship. “I didn’t think you guys spoke?”

  “We do, sort of. This is for charity. So, I would like to go. Will you be my date as my girlfriend?”

  The cute, adorable, wants-to-raise-money-for-charity Wesley, is a side of him I haven’t seen. I’m still in awe. This guy in front of me wants to be with me, no other reason, just because he wants me. This fantasy world that my brain has created for itself bursts from the reality of the world around us, the people around us.

  “But what if someone tells Emerson about us?”

  “So let them.”

  “I can’t jeopardize my job,” I tell him firmly, backing away. “I’ll go, on one condition.”

  Wesley stills his demeanor, looking slightly agitated that I have mentioned Emerson.

  “No photos of us, together. I will go as a different name. I don’t want this leaking out. I have my mom to think of and Flynn. You need to understand, please.”

  His arms are folded, and any minute now, I’m expecting Mr. Rage to let me have it.

  He surprises me with a bemused smile. “Any name, huh? Like… Ivana Cumalot?”

  I’m unable to hold my laughter, clutching my stomach while I encourage this childish behavior. “Helda Dick.”

  “Anita Cox.”

  We both laugh until we slow down enough to catch our breath.

  “How fancy are we talking?”

  “Don’t worry, I got you covered.”

  “It’s fine.” I turn away, pretending not to care but knowing full well I will be judged. “I can go buy a dress.”

  I’m mentally thinking about my bank account, about the check due to Mom’s facility tomorrow and my rent due next week. I have received a few paychecks since I started and managed to put away some money for a rainy day. I’m not sure if this constitutes a rainy day.

  “Would you please let me cover this? Besides, I know most of the owners on Rodeo Drive.”

  “Rodeo Drive? That’s not me.”

  He throws his hands into the air with frustration. “Look, I know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear. Just go pick anything. They owe me. In fact, I’ll send you to a shop that owes me big time. I wear their shit all the time, and that’s how they get their sales. Stop frowning and just do it.”

  Flynn’s voice echoes through the apartment, calling my name.

  “I need to go. Tomorrow?”

  “Wait, you don’t have to go. Can’t you stay?”

  I want to ease my concerns. Put to bed everything I have read about him and start our newly formed relationship on a fresh slate. But he’s fidgeting and desperate to leave. It’s not worth the argument.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Wesley kisses my lips one more time before leaving the room. He stops outside, chatting to Flynn before the main door closes shut.

  Flynn steps inside my room. “I didn’t know you were friends with Wesley.”

  I sit on the bed, tying my shoes. “You don’t talk to me. Anyway, it’s a bit more than that.”

  “You’re banging him?”

  “No!” I grab my cell and purse. “Why does everyone assume I’m some whore who just sleeps around?”

  “Calm the fuck down. I like Wesley. He gets this crowd. Liam left?”

  I fall backward onto the bed, allowing the tears to fall. “I hurt him. I didn’t mean to. Everything is so different. He says I’ve changed. I’ve become one of them.”

  Flynn sits beside me smelling of stale beer. “C’mon, it’s hard. They just don’t get it. He’ll move on. You guys just weren’t on the same page despite what I said earlier. Sorry, Mills.”

  My brother giving me relationship advice is odd. When did he turn into this mature man? Back home, he was the boy who sulked in his room while playing emo beats on his drum.

  “You think?”

  “Wesley will be good for you. The thrill-seeker to bring you out of your shell.”

  “I’m not in a shell. I’ve already lived that crazy life. You were too young to remember. I’m happy this way.” I don’t sound very convincing, and if anyone can see through me, it’s my baby brother.

  He laughs, slapping my knee. “You’re one step away from joining a pottery class.”

  “You know, pottery students around the world will take offense to that. Wesley is different. He invited me to some event. I have to go buy a dress. I really don’t want to buy anything, I have to send some money to Mom.”

  Flynn leaves the room, coming back moments later. “Here.” There are a few hundred-dollar notes in the palm of his hand.

  I sit up, cautiously eyeing the pile of money. “Where did you get this from?”

  “Gigs.”

  “I can’t take this.” I push his hand back toward him.

  “You can. It’s the least I can do for being a pain in the ass.”

  “Okay.” I take the money with a thankful smile. “But just promise you’re not doing anything illegal.”

  He places his hand on my head, purposely messing my hair, much to my annoyance. With the pillow by my side, I grab it and whack him with it, just like old times.

  “I promise.” He winks, before walking away and singing the lyrics to Gold Digger, just to rile me up.

  ***

  Three in the morning is by far the deadliest time of the day. My thoughts make this loop of chaos as I lay wide awake thinking about yesterday’s events.

  I’m in a relationship with Wesley Rich.

  That moment of elation is gone, and panic slowly seeps in.

  I have so many unanswered questions.

  This isn’t going to be a standard run-of-the-mill relationship. Wesley is a Hollywood superstar. Paparazzi follow his every move, which means sooner or later, I will be their target.

  He also has baggage—a ton of it.

  I have Mama and Flynn to think of.

  Then there’s Emerson.

  Without further thought, I grab my cell and send him a text.

  Me: I don’t think I can be your girlfriend. I’ve thought about it, it just won’t work.

  I don’t expect to receive a response at this hour, but the bubble lingering on the screen alerts me to the fact he’s awake too. A huge part of me wishes he isn’t. If I’ve learned anything about Wesley, he’s a determined man, and he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants.

  Wesley: Damn, I already tattooed your name on my chest.

  Me: Please tell me you’re joking.

  Wesley: Why the cold feet?

  Me: I think we’ll be complicated.

  Wesley: By ‘we’ you mean me?

  Me: No. I’m just not ready for another relationship, and the media will follow me and I don’t want that.

  Wesley: So you’re giving up, already?

  Every part of me wants to say yes, goodbye, Wesley. Walk away, carry on, and go back to just being me.

  But there’s something underlying, some unknown feeling that comes in waves and consumes me to the point I know I’m not thinking straight but have zero power over whatever it is.

  Me: Okay, listen, we just need rules in place. You know, like can we make a list so there’s no miscommunication between us.

  Wesley: I’m listening…

  Me: Firstly, no one can know about me. I don’t want Emerson finding out.

  Wesley: What else?

  Me: My number one priority is making sure I can provide for my mother. My family is everything to me.

  Wesley: Is that it?

  Me:
And we need to be honest with each other. No lying, no hiding stuff. I don’t have time for bullshit.

  Wesley: Okay, I can abide by your rules. Now can I list mine?

  Me: I’m listening…

  Wesley: I don’t want you talking to Liam. If you’re with me, you don’t need to be chums with your ex.

  I’m naïve to think his rules wouldn’t include Liam. Letting out a sigh, I shuffle and lay on my side, staring out the window while thinking about Liam. I hurt him, no doubt, and there will be no chance he’ll talk to me any time soon. By the time he gets over this, me, we can be friends. By then, hopefully, Wesley won’t care anymore.

  Me: What else?

  Wesley: That’s it. I’m not going to be the second man in your life. Been there, done that. If you’re going to be with me, it’s only me.

  Me: Fine, are we done?

  Wesley: Yes… better now?

  Me: Goodnight.

  Wesley: Goodnight… girlfriend.

  I place my cell on the nightstand then pull the sheet over me.

  Wesley Rich—my boyfriend.

  The whole idea seems outrageous.

  Yet, that wave, full in its glory, washes over me and just like that, my entire body aches for him.

  I only want him.

  And that thought alone terrifies and excites me.

  There will be no turning back.

  I am his.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The house is located on a quiet street in Bel Air.

  I’ve never seen a house this huge, sprawling across several acres, appearing like a luxurious castle rather than a home. On the ride over, Wesley speaks briefly about his mother, married to husband number six, a man who invented some digital device that’s used on planes, hence the wealth. If I think Emerson’s home is big, this is on another level.

  The community is gated, and even after we pass the security check, there is another large wrought-iron gate that has two men manning the entrance. Wesley is fidgeting, pulling out a cigarette in the car. I’m not fond of his smoking, and my girlfriend duties may not include nagging. I decide, for now, I will keep my mouth shut.

  My focus is on my dress. I’m extremely uncomfortable. There is way too much boob showing. The black bodice is low-cut, draping down my chest and matches with a sheer skirt. The lady in the store said it accentuated my wide hips. It isn’t the most awful comment she made after I got the Julia Roberts’ treatment à la Pretty Woman.

  “Did I tell you how sexy you look tonight?” He leans into me, running his tongue down the middle of my exposed chest. “You taste just as nice.”

  I want him inside of me. I’ve never felt this sexual attraction to a man who makes me so irrational.

  Do people have sex in cars with drivers just doing their own things? God, how I want to answer my own question.

  My lips make their way to his, and with the click of my seat belt, I remove it and straddle him. I grind myself against his crotch, watching that devilish smile playing on his lips. Our kisses become deep, my desperate moans escaping into his mouth as our bodies heat up.

  “You need to stop, or we’ll never get out of this car.”

  “So what?” I clasp his face, bringing it close to me so I can taste him again. I hate the smell of cigarettes. I want to tell him that. And despite my disgust for nicotine, I’m becoming addicted to the taste of him.

  I clear my thoughts, though with much difficulty, and then, a slap of reality knocks me fierce. “It’s too much. It’s not me.”

  I climb off him, laying against the seat and taking a deep breath. He pulls me back onto him, a slight struggle as my dress tangles on the heel of my stiletto. His stare—deep and with intention—only makes me more self-conscious.

  I’m not like any of the Hollywood women. I pluck my eyebrows and never professionally wax anything. I think life can be solved with a razor and tweezers. Once, Phoebe made me go to a beauty salon so she could get false eyelashes for prom. I remember sitting there, flabbergasted. The lengths that women go through to beautify themselves. Mama once told me that women would kill to have my lashes.

  Then there is the whole body-image thing. I expect only the finest of plastic surgery tonight—artificial breasts and pouty lips, Botox faces and still expressions.

  “You’ll run circles around these women. They know it. You’ll feel the wrath of their jealousy. And the men… you just stay by my side.”

  “But…”

  He kisses my lips, softly, pulling back and gazing at me with his mesmerizing eyes. “You’re beautiful… and mine. Stop worrying.”

  The calm of his voice eases my concerns. I pull myself off him, resting into his side as we continue the drive. I take note of his advice. This will be the first time I have ever attended such an event. I’ve done the prom nights, weddings, and the occasional bar mitzvah but nothing that involves rich people throwing around their money for a charitable cause.

  The car turns the circle, past a massive stone fountain, and parks out front. The driver courteously opens the door, guiding Wesley out first. Wesley extends his hand, allowing me to hold on as these new stilettos are difficult to balance on.

  I wonder if the driver sees anything behind the privacy screen, but as I watch his goodbye, he remains professional and doesn’t let on anything.

  In front of the main entrance, a white strip of carpet leads to double doors which open, courtesy of the doorman. He kindly offers to take our coats. Wesley has his suit jacket on which he hands over without a thank you, and I take mine off, revealing my dress in full. I thank him, unsure if I need to tip him, but I’m not left with much choice as Wesley whisks me into the foyer.

  “Again, you look sexy as fuck.” He kisses my neck, not caring that people lingering in the foyer are gazing at us.

  “You said I dress like a nun.”

  “Well, if nuns dress like this, I will be lining up at the convent begging for forgiveness.”

  I slap his arm gently. “You look handsome… okay, kinda hot.”

  “Kinda hot?”

  “Okay, you look hot. But if I focus anymore on your hotness, I can mop the floors with my panties,” I tease, the excitement running through me.

  “Damn, and here I was thinking you were going commando.”

  “Maybe I am. What if I said that to throw you off? Nothing like an unsolved mystery of panties versus no panties.”

  As if commando isn’t my thing. I haven’t even graduated to a thong. I’m wearing this lacy number—French cut which is as small as I can go without my ass cheeks hanging out.

  He shakes his head, laughing. “Save it for later, baby. And thanks for your visual.”

  With my hand in his, he leads us to the main room but not without a cheeky gesture of ‘accidentally’ brushing my hand against his crotch. He’s rock hard, testing me with a delicious smirk that only fuels the desire burning through me.

  We enter the large room filled with guests. It’s such a beautiful room with high ceilings and fancy chandeliers that light up the room and create a warm ambiance. Each wall is covered in expensive-looking artwork, though put together with the lighting and silk drapes makes the room look amazing.

  People are standing around, happily chatting in small circles. Almost everyone is wearing black or white, a few wearing some daring colors and stand out in the crowd. A waiter walks past carrying a tray of champagne, which brings attention to my thirst. Wesley grabs two for us, at least, I thought they were for us. Instead, he drinks both of them, one after the other.

  Annoyed, I grab my own and follow on cue.

  “Waiter,” Wesley yells, annoyed. “We aren’t done yet.”

  The waiter, a young fellow, looks rather bored and uninterested at Wesley’s rude behavior. To avoid coming across like rich snobs, which I’m not by a long shot, I grab another and thank him kindly.

  “Why don’t you just go to bed with him,” Wesley bellows, out of nowhere.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Never min
d.”

  I heard him.

  Loud and clear.

  Just as I’m about to bring it up again, a woman stops where the two of us are standing. She’s quite short, though wearing high gold pumps and a slimming white beaded dress. Her hair—platinum blonde—is curled nicely and pinned to the side. I say she looks mid-forties but hard to pin-point behind the obvious plastic surgery done to her cheeks and lips.

  “You must be Wesley’s girlfriend, Milana.” She extends her hand, awaiting a shake in return. I don’t know who she is or whether I should acknowledge that my real name is Milana.

  I thought I’d be Anita Dick for the night?

  “This is my mother,” Wesley says flatly, narrowing his eyes.

  “Oh!” I grab her hand immediately to shake it. “Please to meet you Mrs…”

  I draw a blank, realizing I don’t know her surname.

  “It’s okay, honey, I’ve change husbands more than I have underwear. It’s Mrs. Cole. But please, call me Gina.”

  “Gina.” I smile politely.

  “Now, tell me, how did you both meet? Are you an actress?”

  “Uh no, I’m a personal assistant.”

  Her eyes pique with curiosity. “To Wesley?”

  “No, Mother, to Em, if you must pry.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, you look beautiful, and I really hope you enjoy the night.”

  “I’m sure I will Mrs… I mean, Gina.”

  Gina examines both of us, following with a fake smile. She latches onto Wesley’s arm which appears to make him uncomfortable. “Have you said hello to Carson?”

  “I said I will come to support the event.”

  “Wesley, don’t start now.”

  The tension mounts between them, broken by the guest speaker announcing the events of the evening. We turn our focus before applause erupts and the music carries on. Wesley excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving me alone in the corner with a napkin and some shrimp. Upon my second bite, my clutch begins to vibrate, prompting me to retrieve my cell.

  “Milly, what have you done?”