Rock Star Billionaire

His former college buddy looked like a pathetic junkie, and it made me wonder if Ethan had ever done drugs in college. From the looks of this guy, he was hooked on speed. Is that the addiction Gwyneth had tried to warn me about? Was Ethan on speed?

Oh my God, Speed Motorcycles—using speed. It all made sense to me now, but I had to know if my hunches were right.

It was time for Ethan to start revealing to me the secrets of his past. If I was truly his girlfriend, I deserved to know; I just needed to ask him for the whole truth, and I was going to that night. I just hoped I was prepared for what he had to say.

Chapter Twenty-six: Ethan

It had been one hell of a long day at work and I was looking forward to some playtime with Kayla to relieve the stress. It had begun with my pre-work meeting with Charles Dorsey and quickly gone downhill after that with one disaster after another.

After I had security throw his ass out, his attorney was waiting for him on the front steps of the building. Apparently, they had prepared a contingency plan in case I wouldn't pay the blackmail bribe and already court papers drawn up. They must have gone straight from my office to the courthouse and filed because I was handed papers by a process server before lunch. Fuck.

The shit-storm just got worse after that, with an apparent press conference being held outside my office with the sign Speed Motorcycles clearly visible in the background. Dorsey and his lawyer told all of California and half the nation that we had developed the idea for Speed Motorcycles and that I cut him out of his half of my company.

After that, reporters and paparazzi were calling off the hook. Security kept them at bay in the lobby, so at least I wasn't mobbed by them upstairs, but when I was ready to leave the office, I had to sneak out through a service elevator disguised as one of the janitorial staff.

I didn't get an ounce of business done all day and spent almost all my time on the phone with my top investors, trying to convince them not to pull out. Marketing was in a free fall with half the advertisers questioning whether they wanted to post ads in next month's issue of Speed Magazine. When the stock markets closed in New York City, Speed Motorcycles was at an all-time low.

I felt utterly beat to shit when I climbed into my car and drove home, using back roads that no one knew about. It took me an extra forty-five minutes to get home that way, but at least I made it, and it felt so good to know that Kayla would be waiting for me when I got there.

"There you are. I was getting worried." Her smile lit up the room when I walked in the door to find her standing there. She looked absolutely stunning with her blonde hair falling over her shoulders in rich curls.

She was wearing a slinky, black evening gown that left very little to the imagination. All I wanted to do was take her upstairs and fuck her until I forgot all about today.

"Sorry I was late. There were some problems at the office," I said after kissing her thoroughly.

"I know. I saw the story on the news. Who was that creepy guy? I recognized him from the party and the reporter said his name, but I want to know how you knew him."

"Forget about him. He's in my past and I only want to think about tonight." I reached for her, eager to bury my face in her magnificent cleavage, but she avoided my grasp with an artful turn.

"Well, he's come back from your past and is fully in your future now. He looks sick, like maybe he's hooked on speed."

"I'm sure he is, but why talk about him. Let's talk about you, and me, and fucking." I leered at her playfully, hoping to make her laugh, but she just looked at me with a serious frown.

"Okay. Have you ever gotten fucked up on speed?"

"What? Jesus Christ; what would make you ask a thing like that out of fucking nowhere?" She'd hit me where it hurts, and I lashed out in anger.

"Is that a yes or a no?" she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Listen, I don't see where my past is anyone's business. I don't do speed now and that's all you need to concern yourself with. These questions are all bullshit. Are you here to interrogate me or fuck me?"

"Neither. I'm here so we can spend some time together, talking and getting to know one another."

"Bullshit. You'd never be asking me any of this shit if it hadn't been for that interview with Dorsey on television today; you'd be upstairs banging the shit out of me right now."

"Actually, I've been curious about your past ever since a mutual acquaintance told me you used to have an addiction. They didn't say what you were addicted to, but seeing Charles Dorsey on the television and hearing him say that you were friends twenty years ago makes it easy to connect the dots. I never intended to interrogate you on the subject, but I had hoped that we could have a civilized conversation as two adults and talk about it."

"Oh, is that what adults do? They sit around grilling each other, asking if they were ever addicted to speed? I thought adults trusted each other."

"I want to trust you. Just talk to

me. Tell me what's really going on. Tell me the truth about your past."

"No. Either you trust me, or you don't. Our pasts don't matter. The only thing that counts is what we have together right now," I said softly. I gazed into her eyes lovingly and gently placed my hand on her cheek, drawing her lips to mine for an intimate kiss. Once we embraced, I knew she would melt into my arms and I'd be able to carry her upstairs to my bedroom suite where we would spend the night fucking until we orgasmed again and again and again.

Kayla opened her mouth to mine and sighed with pleasure, but her hands didn't curl around my neck like they usually did. Instead, she placed them on my chest and pushed me away, gently but firmly.

With a stern voice and sad eyes, she looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, Ethan, but I'm not just some dumb model who only wants to fuck. If you're going to be my boyfriend, that means lowering this brick wall you've put around yourself and letting me in.