Promiscuous (Tease 2)

I’d spent the best part of the last month watching this beauty. She had been so free-spirited and happy to begin with. And then something had changed. It had happened so damn suddenly, and I was determined to figure out why. This had begun as just another job, a favor to an old friend. Back in those days, I’d been mixed up in some pretty heavy shit. But I’d turned myself around, and had actually taken my life somewhere.

I was thirty-two, I had my own business, a nice place, and all the hard work of the last three years was finally paying off.

Sliding the gearshift into drive, I maneuvered the car around and headed home. It was a fifteen-minute drive, depending on the traffic. It gave me time to think about things. This particular job was a big deal. Whoever was hiring Carlos had cash, and a lot of it. They also had a big investment in this girl. If I played my cards right, I’d end up with a big check at the end of all this—more than enough to cover the remaining loan back to Carlos.

With my history, banks weren’t too forthcoming with their offers for lending me money. Having to settle for an under-the-table loan shark wasn’t ideal, but it got me what I needed to get the place up and running. The only problem was, he wasn’t so understanding if a repayment was even a minute late. I knew that from personal experience.

Yep, this one single job would set me up for life. Providing I didn’t fuck things up. I was pretty sure that getting involved with the subject of my investigation would be fucking things up pretty majorly.

But I was invested now, and I had to help her. Watching her slowly unravel from a distance had been something I’d been able to separate myself from. But now, after tonight? Not so easy. Now, she was a girl in trouble. A girl who I wanted to help, who I needed to help.

The only question was, how much was I willing to risk to save her?

Chapter Four

Beth

Groaning, I hit the alarm. Again. The high-pitched beeping piercing through my brain like a skewer for the best part of the last hour. The clock read seven. At least I think it said seven. It was hard to tell with the major blurred vision I had going on.

Kicking back the covers, I sat up.

Oh, crap. The room was spinning. I was sure I hadn’t gotten that drunk lathe night before . . . had I? The image of him, last night, floated through my head. And Scarlett. And me doing Scarlett. I cringed. Okay, maybe I had overindulged.

As I got to my feet, rather unsteadily, I began to undress, taking off last night’s clothes. I stank of vomit and stale booze. In other words, I was a hot mess.

After cleaning the puke off the bathroom floor, I took two Tylenol and got in the shower, leaning my back against the wall for support as I let the water drench me. I lathered my body up with soap, and then rinsed it off as my head slowly began to ache less.

Stepping out of the shower, I reached for a towel and wrapped it around myself. I studied my face in the mirror. My skin was red and blotchy, and dark circles overshadowed my eyes. The makeup crew was going to hate me today. I made my way down to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee—extra-strength.

The thought of eating made me feel sick, so I settled on a glass of apple juice and my coffee. Black, no sugar. It took half the cup for me to begin to wake up properly, and even then things weren’t good. This was exactly why I needed to get myself under control: these drunken late nights were ruining me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this shitty.

Wait, that’s right: yesterday.

Throwing on the first thing I pulled out of the closet—a pair of black yoga pants and a blue tee—I dabbed a little concealer under my eyes and brushed my hair. Grabbing my bag and my keys, I rushed out the door, already running late. If there was one thing everyone in the music business hated, it was tardiness. Time was money, and even five minutes behind schedule could mean thousands of dollars at the end of the day.

***

“You want me to what?” I gawked at Ivan, sure I had heard him wrong. He rolled his eyes and shook his head at the director as if to say here we go again. As if I were some kind of diva.

“Beth, don’t pretend to be shy. You know sex sells. If you’re naked in the video, it will get more hype. And that means more sales,” he added. I hated that little condescending sneer of his.

Who was I kidding? I hated everything about him.

“Besides,” he added, leaning in, his voice still loud enough for everyone to hear, “it’s not like nobody here hasn’t seen that little body of yours.” He put his hand on my ass, and squeezed as I cringed.

My face flushed. Ivan was a snake, and I wanted nothing more than to slap that grin off his face. Instead, I stood tall, aware that the rest of the production crew was watching us, waiting for me to react.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. I stalked off to my dressing room, annoyed at myself for letting him get to me. That little comment about my body had me furious. I tried to ignore the glances from the other crewmembers. I knew what was going through their heads. Has she fucked him, too?

Slamming the door shut, I ripped off my jacket, my phone falling to the floor. I bent down to pick it up. A message. Coop. When was he going to take the hint that I needed space?

Beth, please talk to me. I’m worried about you.

Worried about me? Tears welled in my eyes and threatened to ruin my makeup. I quickly wiped them away. Where the fuck was he when I’d needed him? I deleted the message, and shoved the phone back in my jacket, trying to forget about him and that night.

Slowly, I undressed. I stared at my naked body in the mirror, analyzing my features. My thoughts wandered back to Ivan and what a disgusting pervert he was. I didn’t doubt for a second that he would be taking a copy of the film home so he can jerk off to it. Oh God. The thought made me want to throw up. He made my skin crawl.

Turning my attention back to Coop, I tapped out a reply, my fingers shaking so hard they were missing the keys.