Kicking Reality

I have negotiated a deal with the photographer and have our lawyers drawing up contracts now. 2 Mill and he’s gone. It’s our only way out of this.

Talk when you’re back at home.

P.S I spoke to Wesley this morning. He has been trying to call you.

The temptation to throw my iPad across the room is too great. But I’m done throwing my expensive electronics away because of what he did. Two million dollars? Fuck! Money that we worked hard for down the fucking drain. I didn’t even want to think about how that affected our investments, the last thing on my mind right now.

I could tell by Nina’s tone that she hadn’t slept. Probably the biggest scandal to rock her portfolio since one of her clients impregnated some illegal immigrant that babysat his kids.

My head falls back onto the headboard. I had two choices here: work with Nina and fix this fucking mess or bury my head in the sand like an ostrich. There were so many things to think about but my head is aching and my stomach begins to growl, surprised that it had an appetite given the amount of alcohol in my bloodstream.

I climb out of bed knowing there was no way I could continue to just sit here and do nothing. If I snuck downstairs now, I could possibly avoid Logan. I didn’t even ask where he, Ash, or Alessandra were staying. Too caught up in my own mess to think about it. I assume they were staying here—the thought making me want to retreat back into bed. There is no chance in hell I could look at Logan again. We could also kiss our friendship goodbye. Last night was many things and regret is one of them.

As I step into the bathroom, I strip down to nothing and stare at myself in the mirror. The reflection shows my pale skin, a few scratches on my leg from the random creature that attacked it. I run my fingers along my collarbone and see a small bite mark on the top of my shoulder. The tips of my fingers run over the small groove and my senses heighten. His teeth, and lips, had bit so hard leaving that small purplish mark against my pale skin.

Closing my eyes, I focus on the throb between my legs, persistent and ravenous. How did I let this happen? Was this a pity fuck? It wasn’t even a fuck . . . a finger. Jesus! I got off on one finger.

Opening my eyes quickly, I twist my body and turn the faucet on, allowing only cold water. I needed to wash this away. The hurt, guilt, and desire for someone that should never ever be in my thoughts.

Logan Carrington? What the fuck were you thinking!

I linger in the cold shower blissfully unaware of my surroundings until I hear the lawnmower outside. WOW. Dad is really pulling out all the stops. Quickly getting out, I dry myself and dress in my denim shorts and a white tank with a unicorn on the front. I purposely wear my bikini underneath, hoping to catch some rays later when everyone is gone.

When Logan is gone . . . that’s what you meant.

My hair is wet and tangled, which I manage to brush and tie up into a bun. I had cut it recently to the length of my collarbone, something Wes hated because he loved longer hair.

Before I leave the bathroom, I pick up my clothes from last night—damp and reeking of lake water. Throwing them into the basin, I run the water allowing the dress to soak before handwashing the grime. Poor kitties. Their faces looked sad and riddled with guilt.

Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door and place my hand on the handle. I hadn’t thought about what I would say if I saw him. It was only 7:05 and the boys trained every morning for two hours. They wouldn’t be home till eight. That gives me 45 minutes to grab breakfast then find somewhere to hide.

So much for not being an ostrich.

I make my way down to the kitchen. Only Mom is inside, sipping coffee and reading some book with a chick on the front titled Hooker.

Great, nice reminder of your cheating fiancé.

“Thinking of switching professions?” I tease, sitting down on the stool facing her. When my ass touches the hard wood, I’m quick to flinch, uncomfortable and sore. Don’t go there. Not in front of Mom. What if she can hear your thoughts? She would forever judge you for what you allowed him to do.

Mom places the book down, careful to keep her bookmark in place. She’s dressed in a light blue buttoned shirt and white tennis shorts, her hair swept back into a tight ponytail.

“Good morning.” She smiles, sliding the box of cereal my way and follows with a cup of black coffee—just the way I like it.

“You got home late last night. I’m guessing you crawled home considering the dark circles around your eyes?”

I nod, lips pursed with my hands wrapped around the warm mug.

“I see nothing much has changed with the three of you. Instead of staying out and sneaking in candy, you’ve swapped it for rounds of lethal alcohol.”

I nod again, choosing my words rather carefully.

“Except now we have a fourth member,” I say loosely.

Mom’s eyes fall to her cup, and only now I notice she has dark circles too. They’re not as prominent as mine, but enough to notice that she probably spent most of the night crying. I feel terrible for not being a better daughter and supporting her.

“Mom, I’m guessing you didn’t have a great night either?”

She shakes her head, lips pursed just like mine. Sometimes it was like looking in the mirror. Even the way her hands wrap around the mug exactly the way mine did. To top it off, she enjoyed a strong black coffee much like myself.