Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  I sit beside Nina and across the table from Wesley. We’ve spent the last hour hearing Jeffrey crucify Wesley for his actions. You could feel sorry for the guy—if you weren’t his fiancée who’s been screwed over.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you were thinking, Rich? Do you know how damaging this is for the network? Drugs... really?” Jeffrey continues to pace the boardroom, up and down, repeating the same things over and over again.

  I hate this.

  No couple should have to sit in a boardroom and have their relationship dissected by money-hungry executives. Another reminder of why I want out.

  “It’s not going to work with Wes and me. We’re not together anymore. I think it’s best if I leave the show,” I raise my voice, making myself heard and my demands perfectly clear.

  Jeffrey sits in his chair, swinging back and forth while staring at the door. He finally speaks, filling the silence. “I understand your predicament, Emerson. But we’re only a few shows into filming the third season. We’re rating number one in our timeslot. The fans are obsessed with watching the both of you as a couple. Even if I said it’s okay to leave, it’s not just the network that suffers. It’s all our sponsorships. They’ll withdraw and it will affect the future of the show.” He swivels his chair to face me. “Everyone who works on the show’s future may be in jeopardy. Do you really want to be responsible for that?” He poses the question so lightly like he’s asking me if I wanted fries with that.

  Nina looks just as confused, after promising me it wouldn’t be a huge issue given the circumstances.

  Across the table, Wes stares at me. I swear he’s smirking, but he’s quick to change his expression when I make eye contact with him. I want to grab the glass of water in front of me and throw it in his face. This is all his fault.

  “What are you trying to say?” I ask, heated.

  “You’re contractually obliged to film for another two seasons. Remember? You signed the contract last year while negotiating more money per episode.” Jeffrey slides the contract toward me. “So, to answer your question… you’re going to film, and you’re going to stay with Wesley for at least this season. Now, toward the end of the season, I’m happy to show the cracks in the relationship. It will make for a good cliff-hanger for season four.”

  “You’re joking, right?” I laugh nervously while looking around the room, but I’m met with blank faces. Blank because no one’s standing up for what I want.

  “I’m not joking, Chase. In fact, read your terms and conditions.”

  I don’t listen to Jeffrey, begging Wes with my eyes to say something. He doesn’t seem to follow, gazing at me oddly while remaining silent.

  “Okay, I think we’re done here.” Jeffrey leaves the room followed by his shark posse.

  Nina’s quick to open her mouth the moment the three of us are remaining. “Emerson. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I respond, still in shock. “I guess I should go home.” So, I mumble goodbye and ignore the rest of the staff as I exit the room and wait for the elevator. Wes follows quickly and enters the lift with only the two of us occupying it. I watch the numbers count down, keeping silent until the doors open into the lobby. Walking outside, swarms of paparazzi are on standby. Suddenly, warmth graces my hand. I look down and see Wes’ fingers intertwined with mine.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What I’ve been asked to do. Make everything look normal. You’re still my fiancée as far as the network is concerned,” he responds eagerly, holding tight and pulling me along. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

  “Wesley. Stop!” I pull my hand away, the both of us standing in the middle of the lobby. His body is stiff, his jaw tight and eyes impatiently waiting for me to talk.

  As I’m about to tell him, no, the automatic doors open and the noise of the paparazzi, together with the non-stop flashing halts my original plan. They’re watching, taking photos of this moment.

  This is precisely what I want to avoid—looking like a fool to the world.

  I stare at them one more time, then to Wes. His crooked smile soon follows, taking a step forward, wrapping his arm around my waist. With the bright lights hurting my eyes like they have always done, Wes leans in and plants a kiss on the side of my neck. “You’re still my fiancée, whether you like it or not.” The change of tone, grit in his voice, leaves me feeling unsettled.

  I tried my best to walk away but was told I have no choice.

  I’m forced to live with a man I no longer respect.

  A man who’s broken me.

  A man who’s made it his mission to make me as miserable as possible.

  And the icing on the fucked-up cake? The whole world will be watching him do just that.

  Chapter Eight

  “It’s the little things that make you happy.

  Sometimes those little things can turn

  into something greater.”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  Several weeks have passed since that meeting.

  A day that cemented the truth in my mind—my life does not belong to me.

  I had no option but to keep myself busy—photoshoots, interviews, and drinking whenever we were out at social gatherings.

  Twitter’s buzzing with some story calling me an alcoholic train wreck. It happens to be a coincidence that every photograph snapped of me is with a glass of wine in hand.

  After that story broke loose, I made a mental note to stay clear of drinking in public. The network executives don’t want my squeaky-clean image to be destroyed and ruin the show.

  Yet, Wes could fuck two hookers. Go figure.

  There’s one thing I’ve made perfectly clear to Wesley—we are over.

  The betrayal doesn’t erase because we’ve been told to continue the show. When the cameras are on, we act as if nothing’s happened, but as soon as they leave he sleeps in the spare room and he knows not to come anywhere near me.

  I have to give it to him, he’s tried his best to apologize through romantic dinners and roses being delivered. I’m just not interested. At least, in my eyes, the love has diminished to the point that I don’t see any kind of future with him.

  I’ve isolated myself from everyone. I’m glad everyone else’s lives are so busy that it’s convenient for me. Mom’s wrapped up her book and has gone into stress mode as she always does when it sits in the hands of her editor. Her coping mechanism is baking, which is great if you’re in the same house. Instead, she sends me pictures of the yumminess which only depresses me even further.

  Ash and Logan are back to training in England preparing for the semi-finals in a few weeks. I know not to bother either of them. When in game mode, nothing else matters.

  I do, however, find friendship with Alessandra. We talk regularly about life, work, and the downfall of living with Ash. He was and still is, a slob.

  I’ve spent the day shooting an interview for our new workout clothing line when Cliff calls asking Wesley and me to film in the apartment tonight. They have done some edits but need more footage of us discussing our wedding. I dread filming this, it’s a topic I want to stay clear of considering I have no intention of ever marrying him.

  A couple of hours later our makeup artist, Reba, hovers over me with her brush, touching up just under my eyes. Our regular camera crew, Karl and Josie, stand in position as we sit on the white sofa.

  “I can’t wait to make you my wife.” Wes grins, tracing the tip of my ring which still sits on my finger burning my skin.

  “I guess we should start planning the wedding?” I manage to say with a smile, but I’m mentally aware my body language needs to be relaxed and not tense.

  “I’m thinking Paris. Winter. Just like when I proposed.”

  “That sounds beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.” Wesley tilts his head and moves his body in, placing his lips on mine. He knows it’s the only way to touch me, and so I allow it. Kissing him back as if I want him, as if he�
��s good and pure, never breaking my heart.

  Every time we filmed over the past few weeks, he touched me as much as possible. I know very well he wants more and he isn’t shy in telling me so.

  I just can’t do it. It’s almost feels like I’d be letting my inner woman down.

  There had been one occasion where I almost caved—he looked handsome that night and said the right words. What stopped me was the way his eye wandered mid-conversation to another woman walking past in a tight red dress.

  I may not have had any sexual activity since the night in the lake, but that’s game over, loser.

  “I’m so lucky to have you. Don’t you think it’s fate? Us being on this show and falling in love?” He waits for my response, and because this conversation is scripted and not reality, I try to remember my lines as best as I can.

  “I do think it’s fate. And one day our kids will watch this show and see how we fell in love.” I bite my tongue immediately after, tasting the nasty metallic tang of blood in my mouth.

  Before the conversation can continue, my cell dances across the coffee table. Karl motions for me to pick it up, continuing to roll the camera.

  “Hey, sis!” Ash’s loud cheer barrels through the speaker, and I couldn’t be happier to see his face even if we are being filmed. Cliff always prefers video calls rather than regular calls. Apparently, the audience responds well to them.

  “Good news?”

  “We won the game today!”

  “Congratulations,” I beam with joy. “Dad must be so happy.”

  “He’s here with us. Actually, he and Coach are downstairs talking about something.”

  It’s not uncommon for the cameras to film private conversations. If Ash consents to this conversation being on the show, Cliff may use this footage. Most of the time, unless the topic is interesting, it ends up on the cutting-room floor.

  “And Logan? He must be just as pumped as you.”

  Ash laughs, chasing down a blue Powerade before responding, “So pumped that he’s on the balcony surrounded by his girl posse. Did I tell you Alessandra wants to move out? I think she’s over the random girls dropping by.”

  I keep my smile fixed, trying to ignore the ache in my stomach. The feeling is odd and unsettling. It’s the same feeling I got when Mom and Dad took Ash to Disneyland one year, and I was forced to stay with my grandparents because I had projectile-vomited all over the hotel room.

  The matter of fact is, we had a fling. It wasn’t even a fling. It was a moment of insanity. That moment of insanity should not translate into any sort of jealously—full stop.

  “Tell him I said congrats, and give my love to Dad.”

  “Will do.” He appears distracted, talking to someone in the background. “Oh, and Alessandra and I have some news.”

  “You’re pregnant?” I blurt out.

  “No,” he answers panicking, I can almost see him breaking into a sweat. “We’re thinking about having a proper wedding, something low key. Once this season dies down.”

  “That’ll be nice.”

  Wes takes the cell from my hands, saying hello to Ash. They talk for a couple minutes about the game even though Wes has no interest in sports unless it involves a ring, mud and two girls in bikinis.

  “Great. We’ll be there,” Wes finishes, handing the cell back to me.

  Dad and their coach enter the room forcing Ash to say goodbye. As soon as the call ends, Wes starts to talk to me about Ash’s wedding despite my mind being elsewhere.

  “You didn’t tell me Ash got married?”

  “Yeah, it was the reason I flew back home. Remember, that weekend?”

  He barely holds a smile, annoyed I’ve even brought it up especially in front of the cameras. Karl knows this is a sore topic—spending almost every day with the both of us—but zooms the camera in to catch our conversation at a more intimate level.

  “Oh, yeah… I totally forgot,” he lies. Brushing it off like it means nothing, he lifts his legs and rests his feet on the coffee table. “Who else was there?”

  “Just my family.”

  “Your family?”

  “You know Mom, Dad, sister, brother…” I spell it out in plain English, not understanding the stupid question or where he’s going with it.

  “That’s it?”

  “And Logan. But he doesn’t count. He’s like a brother to me. Reiterate... family.”

  “Then you’re lying,” he states, arms crossed.

  I turn to face him. “I’m not lying. You asked who was there and I’ve told you.”

  “He spends an awful lot of time with your family.”

  I want to stab Wesley Rich straight in the eye.

  He knows I don’t like to talk about my family in front of the camera.

  It’s a part of my life I try to keep private, despite Ash and Mom being known. Logan has always been a topic Wes avoids. They have never actually met. The only reason Wes did met Ash was when Ash flew over for a couple of days last year without Logan.

  “Yeah, he does. He’s part of my family. That’s what family does, they stick together. Not get married to some billionaire and run off leaving their kids to fend for themselves in boarding school.” I get off the sofa, grab my cell and move past the cameras, demanding Karl and Josie stop filming.

  “Emerson,” Karl shouts across the room. “I need more footage.”

  I wave my hand in the air, ignoring his plea, and head straight to my bedroom. Shutting the door behind me with a loud bang I know it will only be a matter of time before someone will find me and try to talk me back into living room.

  But I’m pissed off.

  At Wesley for disrespecting my wishes.

  And as much as I hate to admit it, at Logan for being such a sleaze.

  The anger rages and I don’t know why I feel compelled to tell Logan my thoughts given we haven’t spoken for weeks.

  Me: Filled up your belt, yet? I hear you’ve been busy.

  The second I hit send, I want to retract the message. Why the fuck is there no recall button? Did Apple not understand that during heated moments, one can so easily mouth-off based on unstable emotions?

  Logan: Nice to see you online. Your hair looks good in purple. But then again, I watched last week’s episode, and I would compare my full belt to your engagement. When’s the lucky day?

  I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. What does that mean? Comparing his belt to my engagement?

  This isn’t a contest.

  And if it was, what the fuck would be the prize at the end? Who became the most miserable because they lived a life they didn’t want? Yeah, I’d win that in a heartbeat.

  Me: You’re still the same, Carrington. An asshole.

  Frustrated at myself for feeling this way, I look up and see George walk out of my closet. He has a guilty face. The same face he wears when he’s been chewing on something pricey. My feet move forward to the closet where I see my vintage Chanel purse Mom gave me a few years back—nibbled at the sides.

  “George,” I cry, falling to the floor and picking up the remnants of the bag. He’s really gotten into the beading, tearing it apart with his canine teeth.

  I storm out of the closet, searching for him around the room. He’s sitting in the corner, already in timeout with his head down and eyes conveniently avoiding me.

  “Are you kidding me? George Puggington! How dare you eat my vintage Chanel? Go for Wes’ shit, not mine!”

  He knows he’s in trouble, and with my day already going bad I fall onto the bed accidentally knocking my cell beside me. I hold it up in front of face as I lie on my back reading the text from Logan.

  Logan: A beautiful asshole, right?

  His cockiness makes me smile, and without overthinking, I type the first thing that comes to mind.

  Me: You do know how weird that sounds, right? I’m literally visualizing assholes and I think I’m a little scared. Women aren’t programmed like men. You’re all about the tits and ass.

  Ass bein
g assholes.

  I know that will challenge him but I only stated the truth. We don’t care about cocks as much as men are obsessed with the female anatomy and big juicy asses they can slap. Boo-tay.

  Logan: And what is Emerson Chase all about?

  I read his question carefully and it gets me thinking about what I want. Do I even know what I want? No, because I no longer think about myself. It doesn’t matter anyway, at least, for this season of that damn show. Signing on the dotted line means I signed away the rights to my freedom. With that morbid thought, I do what I do best, act like a smartass to avoid reality.

  Me: I’m all about hot soccer players who appear in Sports Illustrated and OMG the abs... like literally can you even DEAL with such hotness???

  In the confinement of my room, I laugh to myself when I read the text back. Logan’s a womanizer and women are drawn to him. He knows they know that, and I should have known as well. Damn, I do, stupid brain just forgot for a few minutes.

  Logan: I don’t think a man like that exists. Maybe you need to bat for the same side. Now THAT would make for some great reality TV.

  Smartass. I can hear voices coming close to my bedroom, so I type fast before they find me in here grinning like a fool over a stupid conversation.

  Me: You wear a kitty dress once and it’s all about the pussy with you. MAN. ALL MAN. I need a man not a woman. Take your lesbian fantasy elsewhere. That boat has no chance of docking at my wharf.

  My name is being called and Josie walks in with her camera faced down and headphones resting on her neck. She’s much older than me—a hopeless romantic who only ever sees the good in people despite what they have done. God love her.

  “You okay, Emerson?”

  “Sorry. Just having one of those days.”