Cruel Beloved

I didn’t expect them.

“Joking.” She laughs so hard she bends over. “I was joking.” Then just like that, she rolls her eyes, steps back, and shuts the door in my face again.

Little Chance runs straight to my legs and wraps himself around them. I hear Aubrey yell out to him as I walk in their home.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, walking over picking up Little Chance, placing him on her hip, and leaning up to kiss my cheek.

“Yes, just me,” I reply as I walk farther into her house.

“I hope you’re not here to make me take any more contracts to that poor girl.” She shakes her head. “Don’t ask me to do that ever again. Got it?” I nod. “You may be our friend, but I have to draw the line, and that shit’s not happening again.” Aubrey places Little Chance back to the ground. “Go and play with Pixie.” He smiles and runs off, excited about the fact he gets to play with that damn goat.

“Where is he?” She rolls her eyes like she’s fed up with something. “Soccer’s on. Where else would he be?” I laugh and walk past her to find Chance yelling at the television with a beer in hand. When I sit on the couch, he hands me one without looking my way.

“You married yet?” he asks.

“Nope.” Taking a sip of the beer, I watch the game with him.

When the game’s finally over, he turns to look at me. “Never thought this would be the way you intended to get married.”

“Neither did I, but I have to.”

Chance knows why I’m doing this, he doesn’t agree, but he simply nods. “And what happens when you start having feelings for her?”

Chance has been to prison. He’s afraid that if I go down the wrong path, the path of hate, which I am on, it may happen to me. I know that will never happen because I won’t allow it to go that far.

“I won’t. She’s simply a means to an end. That’s all.”

He locks eyes on me, and I don’t look away. “Will we be invited?”

“Of course.”

Chance seems happy with that answer. He pauses, unsure of what to say next. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Has she told her parents?” Aubrey asks as she steps into the room. She leans down kissing Chance on the lips, and for some reason, for a fleeting second, I wish I could have a relationship like theirs. A relationship that’s simply perfect. But my life is different. We are complete opposites, and I guess it’s why I like them as a couple so much.

“No, but soon.”

“That will be an interesting event. I see her father on the news all the time. The man’s making quite the name for himself,” Aubrey says, but Chance groans.

“That man is a fake. How and why you watch that shit is beyond me.” He shakes his head, pulling Aubrey down, so now she’s sitting on his lap.

“I’ll have to shop for a wedding present. I can’t wait to meet her,” Aubrey says, all smiles. “She’s something else…”

They both look at me with a look on their faces as if they see something I don’t.

“Goodbye.” I wave them off. But they both smile and turn to each other to whisper, but I don’t care to hear it anyway.

Love.

Fuck it! And everything that goes with it.

8

Carla

Today’s the day. The day I’m expected to tell my parents I’m marrying a complete stranger and asshole. A man who holds a sex tape of me and is blackmailing me with it. Yeah, maybe not telling them that last part would be a good idea.

They can’t know that.

Even though I know if I did tell them, I could easily get out of this.

My father’s reputation has to be squeaky clean, and a sex tape of his daughter, yeah, that would soil his standing in the community. And, God forbid, we can’t have that. So, I have to go along with this.

Walking into Whiskey’s office area, I’m met with the same personal assistant. Her smile falters a little when she sees me, but she quickly recovers. “Mr. Whiskey is in a meeting.”

“Tell him I’m here. Please… it’s urgent.”

She nods her head and heads off to do so. I sit on the sofa provided, and within a few minutes, his office door opens and he strides out dressed in a perfectly fitting blue suit.

Whiskey’s eyes flick to the personal assistant before they fall back to me. “Urgent? What’s urgent?” he asks, but I know he’s also talking to his personal assistant.

“She told me it was, sir. You asked if Carla came to the office, to tell you straight away.”

Whiskey nods but his eyes remain firmly in place on me. “Carla, what’s urgent?”

I stand, brushing my hands down the front of my skirt. My father prefers me to dress like an elegant lady, but today I need all the brownie points I can get. So, I’ve dressed in a tight black pencil skirt, a light pink silk cami, and finished the look off with a white jacket. A pair of Christian Louboutin sky-high heels, and I’m all set. At least it’s not a damn dress. Though, I would prefer to be dressed in the clothes I like—give me a swing skirt, flats, and a cute little short cardigan any day.