The Entitled (The Entitled Duet 1)

“I’m sorry for your loss. If you need anything at all, I’m here for you.” She looks down at my cock, her hand casually brushing my leg. Her attempt to be professional when sending me signals to fuck her is rather humorous.

Unfortunately, I can still smell Victoria’s flowery perfume on me. Poor Victoria. Her disappointed face and desperate need to please make her somewhat pathetic. She should count herself lucky if she never sees me again. I hope I was clear that we are over. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, but I can barely remember.

I smile at the woman. “Thanks. I won’t be needing anything but breakfast.” She looks disappointed.

“And would you like that now?”

I arch an eyebrow at her. Any other time, her aggressive nature would spark at least enough interest to bend her over the table and take her from behind.

Taking a sip of the dark coffee, I swivel the chair around facing her.

“Do you have any hot dogs?” Her look of shock almost rivals mine. The recurring dream I’ve been having lately hits me in the gut. Shit, that’s what woke me up. I was dreaming about eating hot dogs in the rain…

Bringing the coffee to my mouth, I drink deeply, allowing the hot, bitter liquid to slide down my throat. It gives me a moment to compose my thoughts. My hands start to sweat. Since moving to London, I’ve been having this dream. It started one night after I worked for hours. I was tired and cold when I got back to my flat and fell into a restless sleep. I woke in terror, my screams echoing off my empty walls. It soon became recurrent. Sometimes they are good. Most of the time I wake up with my heart racing, my fingers clutched around my scarred-up chest, her scent embedded in my brain. She’s always laughing, kissing me. Then she’s gone, and I can’t find her. I search and search. Usually my brain makes me wake up there. Other times the nightmare goes on until I collapse at different places, crawling in the rain looking for her, the taste of her lips burned into my memory.

I have trained my mind not to think about her. But she haunts me in my dreams and elsewhere.

“Sir?” The flight attendant clears her voice. My eyes snap over to hers.

“We do. In the freezer. Would you like me to heat one up?” Blinking at her, I stand and try to calm my racing heart.

“Yes. Give me twenty minutes. I’m going to take a shower first. I don’t suppose you have chili?”

She cocks her head confused. “No, we have eggs benedict and asparagus with multigrain toast.”

“Hmm. Yes, that’s one of my favorites. Bring me two hot dogs with mustard and ketchup.” I walk away with my cup of coffee.

“My name is Willow,” she calls after me and I turn briefly, “in case you change your mind and need me.” She licks her lips.

I don’t bother responding and keep moving toward the shower. My earlier rejection should have been enough. Shutting the door, I peel off my suit jacket, the need to remove all traces of Victoria and London suddenly strong. My hands move frantically as they jerk off my clothes. I’m not quite certain what I think this shower is going to solve. Will it wash away my shame of my torn relationship with my brother? My endless lack of consideration for my parents’ feelings? My sadness and pain at my grandfather dying? It won’t. It never has, but I get in anyway.TESS

Past – eighteen years old

New York, NY“Pretty Girl, we need to talk about this.” Brance sits in my fully decorated and kickass kitchen.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I frown. “You know I need you.”

He stares at me, forcing me to smile at my antics. “I waited for you to get your life back together with Reed. You two are basically married. You’ve been going strong for four months. I need to make the move for myself. I’m done with New York.” He reaches for a couple of the grapes in a bowl sitting in the middle of my island.

“I want to visit my family in Colombia. Have a heart-to-heart with my father. Hope he doesn’t disown me.” He checks his watch as I hand him an omelet that I learned how to make watching the Food Network channel.

“Wow!” He turns the plate. “Can I be seeing things? Did you make me something to eat?” He waves his hand up from the plate to his nose. “It smells like real food.”

“Knock it off. I have decided to learn to cook.” Using a sponge to clean the counter, I continue. “I mean, look at my kitchen. It would be a shame not to use it.”

Sometimes I want to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. It took Brance and me a month of furniture shopping and the efforts of a team of painters we hired, but we turned it into a masterpiece. To be honest, we could have been done earlier, but Brance discovered this place that installs old railroad ties as floors. Outrageously expensive but so worth it. Then he decided to have a brick wall installed, so that took time. But the finished product speaks for itself. Yellow and French blue were our main colors, adding a warmth that most places lack. Secretly I think it looks better than Caroline’s, and that’s saying something.