by Kat T. Masen
Wesley bows his head, running his hands through his hair again with frustration. “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he says in a low tone.
“Of course, you didn’t.” I let out a frustrated sigh, my shoulders slumping from sheer exhaustion. “I don’t care what you think. I fell asleep tonight, in the car, tired as hell. I raced home to shower then call you. Right now, I want to eat pizza, and I want you to leave. No good will come of you staying here.”
“Milana,” he calls my name softly, extending his hand to touch mine.
I allow him to touch me, but just for a brief moment, scared he’ll consume me once again, and any chance I have of surviving will be minimal.
“Please, Wesley, go. Just for tonight, I need some space,” I beg of him.
I stare at the floor for what seems like forever.
His shoes make this squeaky sound against the wood until the sound stops at my door. Wesley holds onto the doorknob, clearing his throat, lifting his head to meet mine. “Space is never a good thing. You have twenty-four hours.”
I quirk my brows, glancing at him, confused by his ultimatum. “Twenty-four hours to do what?”
“To do whatever it is you have to do to understand you’re with me now. You’re my fucking girlfriend, and that’s how it’s going to stay.”
The door opens wide, and before he leaves the room, I call for him to wait.
“I don’t think so. You have twenty-four hours for you to decide whether it’s her or me.”
I hate that I’ve bared my soul, allowed him to see how jealous and vulnerable I am. The thing is, I have nothing against Emerson. What I do have is the underlying feeling that my connection to her is somewhat of an asset to him.
And this will be the test.
“Her?” he repeats, confused, inching his way closer to me.
“Emerson,” I murmur.
I bow my head in shame, hating myself for feeling this way. The warmth of his hand graces my chin, his footsteps toward me unheard. With a slight lift, our eyes meet. All I see is him, Wesley Rich, the man who makes my heart thump like a crazed organ on steroids, the man who’s so easily crawling under my skin, consuming me whole.
“I don’t need twenty-four hours or even a second. It’s you, okay? You’re the one I want.”
I fight to hold back my smile, but his eyes dance with such passion that I struggle to do so, my mouth widening instantly. “Stay,” I beg, softly, tracing his bottom lip with my finger.
“Here?”
“Yes, here. Why? You afraid of my hood?”
He exhales, with a grin. “Please, Joe loves me. I beat Clifford in backgammon earlier, so now I’m his best friend.”
“You beat Clifford in backgammon? No one has ever done that. He’s the street’s legend. So many hidden talents. What else do you have up your sleeve?”
His hands slide around my waist, bringing me closer to him. I miss him, and it’s only been since the morning when he last touched me. The concept seems crazy to me.
“You really want to know?” He kisses me softly, rolling his tongue against mine, then sucking my bottom lip before pulling away. “How quiet can you be?”
I giggle softly. “How about some pizza first, I’m starving.” My stomach growls on cue, making Wesley laugh along with me.
“I guess you need it. A marathon with Wesley Rich requires stamina.”
I snuggle into his side, following him out of my room and into the living area. Kail is nowhere to be seen, Flynn briefly telling us that she’s a no-go, therefore, he sent her home.
Wesley snickers, encouraging the boy talk, while I order pizza. By the time I come back from the kitchen, the two of them are playing some game on the PlayStation totally ignoring my presence.
“Sorry, babe,” Wesley says, paying full attention to the screen with the remote in his hand and a character on the screen in some sort of battlefield. “Just after this level.”
I let out a fake groan, but deep inside, I’m happy.
My brother and boyfriend becoming friends? Yeah, there’s no better sight than this.
Chapter Eighteen
I’ve always considered myself an even-tempered person. I’m not one for drama, don’t enjoy attention, or have any need to be the focus of anyone’s life. I plod along, work different jobs to make ends meet, and am not one to have many aspirations. With no disrespect to Mama, I’ve watched her do the same thing almost every day, and there’s nothing wrong with that in my opinion.
Occasionally, someone in town has a bright idea to start a business, move away, and the next minute, they’re front page on the local newspaper as our newest successful export.
Los Angeles is completely different. People are itching to climb the corporate ladder of success, and after spending some time here, I have somewhat caught the success bug.
Even with Wesley around, I still manage to work hard and make sure I’m going above and beyond what Emerson requires. It’s a juggling act at best.
Wesley demands attention, and in his presence, it’s all about him.
He left the apartment at the crack of dawn, telling me he wanted to hit the gym before heading to work. He kissed me goodbye and attempted a last-minute quickie which he won.
Then poof—gone.
We didn’t get to talk much last night since most of the night was all about Flynn. I’m sure they’ve formed a bromance. I even overheard Wesley setting up some gig that Flynn can play at this super popular club.
They talk about music, laugh about some show on MTV, and despite my invisibility in the room, I’m genuinely happy they get along so well. It’s one less battle to fight, and hopefully, Flynn will break the news to Mama and tell her how much of an awesome boyfriend Wesley is to make it easier on me when I drop the bomb to her later.
He’s incredible, except for when he’s not, like when he’s in a mood or acts like an overly hormonal teenager with a brooding face. And his obsession with my whereabouts and responding to his messages is a total pain in my ass. Actually, now I think about it, it is borderline creepy.
But the best sex-you’ve-ever-had outweighs creepy by a longshot.
This is what happens when your boyfriend’s insanely sexy and has the stamina of a wild stallion. Your vagina becomes a bossy bitch, and boy does she boss me around.
Sitting at the dining table, I drink my coffee and take small bites from my toast and answer some emails to distract myself from thinking about Wesley.
Remembering Liam and Phoebe, I contemplate texting both of them just to say hello. A part of me misses them terribly—even Liam—and the other part of me tells me to let them be for now. Wesley’s rule echoes in my head, and the last thing I need is another battle with Mr. Unpredictable.
If I want a chance to build my life here, I need to distance myself from them and spend more time with Wesley and Flynn.
And Wesley keeps me busy, anyway.
I remember how Liam and I would lie on his bed for hours on end, watching television shows or talking about random things. Wesley’s the polar opposite. When he’s with me, he keeps me on my toes. There’s never a moment to stop and talk. It’s unimaginable that something so simple can be so difficult with him.
The coffee doesn’t help calm my anxiety. I decide to leave home early and get a start on the day and try not to remind myself for the hundredth time that Emerson and Wesley are meeting up around lunchtime.
Their meeting’s going to happen downtown. I didn’t ask too much because the less I know, the better as far as I’m concerned. That fact, though, doesn’t stop me thinking about it, and it’s not like me to be so obsessive over something, or should I say, someone.
***
“Don’t you just love this fall line that Emerson will wear in New York?” Aurora hands me her iPad. The designs are beautiful, long coats and earthy colors. “I was also thinking about a line for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you do have this eclectic style, very…
um… what’s the word I’m looking for?” She brings her finger to her lip, tapping while she’s thinking. Her eyes light up the moment it comes to her. “Retro.”
“Um… thanks, I guess.” I smile politely, unsure if she’s complimenting or ridiculing me. “What were you thinking?”
Aurora’s iPad is her life. She carries it around like a priest carries a bible. It’s even covered in a Louis Vuitton case which is specially designed for her.
On the screen are some sketches and designs of dresses, different from the ones she showed me earlier for Emerson. I really like what she has planned for me to wear. I just can’t justify or afford to splurge on anything right now.
“It’s really nice of you, Aurora. It’s just that I can’t afford to spend money right now. Part of me working this job is to pay for my mom’s care.”
She laughs, slapping my shoulder gently. “Don’t be silly. It’s part of your package. Didn’t Emerson tell you that?”
I shake my head, distracted by my cell ringing. “Speak of the devil—”
“Milana!” Emerson’s high-pitched voice barrels through the speaker, forcing me to distance my cell until the echoing stops. “I need your help!”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, worried.
“Yes… no. I don’t know. Can you meet me in the office in twenty minutes?”
“Of course. I’m only a few blocks away.”
Emerson says goodbye, giving me no inkling as to what’s happening. When Aurora asks what’s going on, I shrug, unsure of why Emerson sounded panicked. We part ways, Aurora heading to a fabric meeting and me to the office.
It takes me only around ten minutes to get there, and thankfully, I don’t trip during my sprint to get to the office on time. I’m wearing my black pumps, the pointy ones that go with every outfit but aren’t designed for running, along with my A-line charcoal dress, coupled with a black patent belt. The dress—also not designed for running—bunches up around my waist which I fix in the elevator.
My hair is braided back and away from my face. I thought long and hard about cutting it since the heat and long hair don’t particularly mix, but I’ve erred on the side of caution wondering what Mama will think. It’s always been her thing, and I’m not sure why it never bothered me so much until now.
Jana, Emerson’s receptionist, tells me to head to the boardroom where Charlie is sitting, laptop in front of her and a stack of papers. She lifts her head to greet me, brushing her hair away from her face in annoyance. “Hi, Milana. Glad you’re here early. We’ve got a lot to work on.”
“Emerson told me to come straight away, but I have no clue what’s—”
Behind me, the sound of feet tapping against the tiles cuts me off. Charlie looks up, smiles quickly, though forced, and then stands to extend her hand. The hand reaches past me—manly, slight hair on the knuckles and fingers—the same ones that have traced all over my body.
Breathe.
Repeat.
Shit.
“Charlie, always a pleasure.”
Charlie ignores his comment, gesturing to me. “Milana, have you met Wesley, Emerson’s business partner? Oh, wait a minute, you mentioned you have.”
I stand, only having just sat down, and take the deepest of breaths as if I’m preparing to sing at the opera, and finally turn around.
His eyes are dancing sinfully, and he’s sporting a small smile that plays on his lips intending to make me quiver beneath my dress. The crisp white business shirt that sits beneath his navy suit is unbuttoned more so than usual, exposing his tanned chest.
Honestly, I could eat him whole.
Stop, you need to act professionally here.
I extend my hand while keeping my eye contact simple. “Yes, we’ve met. Pleased to see you again, Mr. Rich.”
There’s amusement in his eyes as I call him Mr. Rich, and I nervously pull my sweaty palm away and sit back down. Wesley walks around the table, positioning himself in front of me, placing his cell on the table.
My notebook, sitting on the table, now becomes my sole focus. I find myself doodling on the page knowing he’s watching me, then quickly write down some words to pretend that the way he’s staring at me isn’t affecting me whatsoever.
“I’m here… I’m here.” Emerson runs through the door, closing it behind her. She takes a moment to catch her breath, saying hello to everyone. As she sits, I examine her beautiful blouse. It’s an off-the-shoulder style and one she always pulls off very nicely. Emerson has gorgeous shoulders if that’s such a thing. They’re tanned, though she admits it’s spray, and she’s incredibly fit. The shade of light blue suits her light-colored hair that’s left loose today. Sometimes, the tone of her hair appears blonde, and other times, like now, it looks silver.
Nevertheless, Emerson’s very attractive, and her sitting beside me has me questioning my confidence, especially when she’s Wesley’s ex-fiancée. I mean, he wanted to marry her. That has to count for something, and they had this whole life planned out together.
“Okay, Charlie, give us the lowdown, please.”
“Right. So there’s a company in Greece, a rather large corporation, selling counterfeit designs of your latest line.”
“But how? We bought the patent rights to that dry-fit fabric?” Emerson questions, annoyed. “It’s illegal to reproduce, or for our manufacturer to be supplying this to anyone else—”
“We paid top dollar for these rights. Who are these people?” Wesley interrupts. “What kind of loss are we talking here?”
Charlie frowns, pushing a paper toward Wesley and Emerson. “I’m afraid we’re talking around two million.”
“Two. Million. Dollars!” Wesley yells, agitated. “How the fuck was this not picked up earlier?”
Emerson buries her head in her hands. “The finance department was reporting losses. We just narrowed it down to slow markets in Europe, and with the political changes being their focus.”
“You were reporting losses but didn’t bother to tell me?” Wesley fires back, clenching his fist that sits on the table, ready to pounce at any moment. The veins in his neck stand out—a trait I notice each time he reacts this way in my presence.
“Oh, please,” Emerson argues with a taunting laugh. “You don’t care what goes on. Why the sudden interest in holding onto this venture? When we were together, you didn’t give a goddamn shit what I did. If it made you look good, that’s all you damn well cared about.”
“And if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be this successful. This brand took off because our name was worth something. You were the one who decided to end that.”
“Because you were a cheating scumbag,” Emerson shouts back, much to my shock.
“Really?” Wesley deadpans. “So how is Carrington? I hear the Brazilian ladies are loving him being in Brazil without you.”
Emerson’s skin turns bright red, but her lips are stark white.
Charlie shrugs at me, half-heartedly, before putting a stop to this madness. “We’re not here to discuss your past or any personal matters. So please, for the sake of Milana and me, let’s not get into it. Now, here’s what we need to do next.”
It’s clear the magnitude of the problem has kept Charlie up all night. She hands Emerson and Wesley some legal documentation, explaining to them her discussions with a close lawyer acquaintance in Europe and some laws that could potentially protect the perpetrators.
The legal talk goes on for two hours. Refreshments are brought in—the coffee, my savior as always—and I try my best to note as much as I can with Emerson talking fast and arguing back and forth with Wesley.
It becomes difficult to focus on anything besides the animosity between these two ex-lovers.
And I wonder if I’m wearing the same rose-colored glasses that Emerson once wore? If things don’t work out between Wesley and me, will I resent and hate him as much as she does?
Doubt fill my overthinking mind. I try my best to concentrate on the real issue here, but every now and then, I f
ind myself watching the two of them and questioning everything about why we’re together.
How could he possibly be with me when he’s had her?
“Milana, did you jot that down?”
Emerson breaks my dysfunctional trance, thankfully, and brings me back to the reason why we’re all here.
This lawsuit means I will be working nonstop, retrieving necessary documents for the court case, working with Emerson on fast-tracking the new line and making sure her schedule is freed up to focus only on this.
Charlie makes it clear that Wesley and Emerson need to unite to build the brand and make it stronger. Sonia, the wicked publicist from the west, is placed on a conference call and lists all the events she wants the two of them to attend.
“No,” Emerson states, quick to shut her down. “I don’t see why we need to attend anything together.”
“Emerson, sweetheart, this brand needs to show a united front. Now isn’t the time for Wesley to be a silent partner. Okay, look… maybe the red-carpet stuff can be just you. But if I can get a slot to the business convention we discussed a few weeks back, the both of you will need to present.”
Lifting my eyes, trying not to draw attention to my gaze, my regard wanders from Charlie to Wesley. In front of him sits an empty coffee cup and his cell. I only notice now that it begins to light up with text after text popping up on his screen. He glances down, scanning the messages before raising his eyes back to look at Emerson, not me.
My stare moves quickly back to my notepad, the same time my stomach begins to harden, followed by a wave of nausea.
How did I get myself here? So easily become intimate with a man—more than any man—and have no clue who he actually is?
Despite what I read online about him, those texts could easily be from women who he sees on the side. It’s not a far-fetched thought because let’s face it, women throw themselves at him. What about that Farrah Beaumont.
Am I that stupid to have jumped into a relationship with this man so quickly?
Questions, endless questions.
“Let’s reschedule New York for next week. Perfect, I guess, since Logan’s in town and can take care of Lola.”