Bad Boy Rich

“It’s not your fault. You’re not the one that purposely went away on trips with your girlfriends because it was easier that facing your husband and son.”

He tears into a piece of chicken, though as much as he can laugh off this serious matter, his mannerisms reflected pain.

“Is that how you got the scar on your chin?”

“This?” He runs his fingers along the bottom of his chin. “Nah, this was me being high and trying to jump off a cliff.”

I’m left without any words. Suicide, or attempted suicide—is something I was uncomfortable talking about. I couldn’t understand the mindset of being in that headspace.

How could someone be in such a dark place and not understand how their death would not affect their loved ones?

But Wesley—is different.

It made sense, he didn’t consider having loved ones. At least, not Gina.

“Why did we go to the party if you can’t stand your mother?”

He shrugs his shoulders, leaning back into the chair and lighting a cigarette.

“Just to fuck with her head. I like her to think I care and she gets all happy then I fuck her over.”

My pity converts to being absolutely stunned. How awful that Wesley felt the need to hurt his mother. I could never imagine hurting Mom like that. When she was in pain, I felt it too. Sometimes more so.

“I can see your judgment,” he says, puffing out smoke. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re just like Em in that way.”

I bow my head slowly while staring at the food. It bothered me more that he compared me to Emerson than it did him admitting he enjoyed hurting his mother. I don’t know why it bugged me so much. Liam had an ex, this girl that lived only a few streets away. It never bothered me. We would talk when we ran into each other and she was really lovely.

His intrigued stare continues to linger. “You seem to go quiet every time I mention Em.”

“I don’t know, it’s just that you guys had something. Very special to be engaged to each other. It’s a big commitment and well, it’s kinda hard sitting on this side of the table being the assistant to your ex-fiancée.”

“We did have something. And I still love Em but not in the way you think.”

The words hurt. I swallow the lump in my throat, desperate to escape this conversation. The food—appetizing moments ago—has lost its appeal and I’m suddenly not hungry at all.

He lights up another smoke, taking a drag before throwing the packet down.

“I hate that you smoke,” I say out loud, angrily.

His eyes go wide with curiosity. He removes the cigarette from his mouth and puts in out on the ground. The packet of smokes in his pocket, he takes out, throwing it into the pool. I watch it float on top of the water, soaking until it begins to sink, slightly.

“There, happy?”

“Don’t do it for me. Do it for your health,” I argue back.

“I can never make you happy,” he raises his voice in frustration. “Honestly, Milana. What do I need to do for you to stop being so unhappy when you’re with me?”

“I just don’t know you!” I shout, in my defense. “You’re nothing like Liam…”

“No, I’m not,” he states, slamming his fist on the table which makes the cutlery jump. “I proposed to Em because the producers told me I had to do it, for the ratings. Yes, I did love her but I hurt her. We both fell into that reality world and have that connection. I do still love her, always will but not in the way I feel about…”

He cuts himself off with a blazing stare before continuing. “I did cheat on her and that’s my own fault. I’ve done bad things. I don’t know why, and I’ll probably continue to do bad things. Maybe there’s no hope for me… I don’t know. Or maybe my savior is the person sitting right in front of me.”

It’s a powerful thing to be called a savior. A title that held so much meaning yet something that frightened me. I had my own problems, my own worries. I wasn’t here to fix Wesley Rich…I was here to forget I had my own issues to deal with.

“We should do something fun,” I blurt out, smiling as I look directly at him.

“This is not fun?” He appears slightly offended and thrown off by my change of tone.