Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  “Turn around, baby,” he demands with a wicked grin. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “A man can always tell when

  another lion is sleeping in his den.”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  I haven’t heard from Logan in weeks. Through conversations with Mom, I know they have a round of important games and their focus is on training. Without raising too much suspicion, I ask a few questions hoping to get some insight as to what else is going on.

  “So, how’re things with Ash and Alessandra?”

  “Sandy, darling,” Mom corrects me in a posh British accent. “They’re okay, I guess. She’s been looking for wedding venues. There are a couple of places on the east coast, but I’m not sure the boys can come back to the States for a while.”

  “Oh?” I hide my disappointment. “I thought there was a chance they may play for the US team?”

  “I don’t know if that’s going to happen. Coach Bennett is reluctant to let them go, and they’re under a lot of pressure to win their season. Daddy flew over on Monday, so I guess we’ll wait and see.”

  “Ash doesn’t seem to care much about the wedding,” I ramble on, pointing out the obvious. “He couldn’t care less about anything besides soccer.”

  “That’s your brother for you,” she says plainly. “Wesley seems to be keen to walk down the aisle. I saw last night’s episode, I didn’t realize how sentimental he is.”

  I’m quick to shut her down, but still hold back what happened. “Oh, yeah. That episode about his grandmother? Load of shit, Mom, he didn’t even know her.”

  “But he appeared so genuine?” I can hear the shock in her voice. “Emmy, what’s going on? Between you and him?”

  “We’re just busy, Mom. The wedding’s not on our minds.”

  The guilt eats away at me, so I give her only that small piece of information. Last night’s episode featured our preliminary discussions about the wedding. Just a short conversation about Wesley’s family and his relationship with his grandmother. Cliff wanted Wesley to have more of an appeal to our female viewers and his idea worked, many reaching out to Wesley after it aired about their family struggles with Alzheimer’s. It painted Wesley in a different light—the sweet man with a heart of fucking gold.

  The more successful the show’s become, the more it becomes scripted. I never signed up for a soap opera, honestly thinking our lives would be documented in a positive way to help others in our generation.

  “Take your time, kid, there’s nothing wrong with staying engaged. I’m just glad to watch you get married, rather than hear about it over a cup of coffee.” Her voice becomes muffled, and in the background I hear my sister’s voice.

  “Hey, Emmy.”

  “Hey, Tay-Tay,” I cheer, happy to hear her voice.

  “Ugh, don’t call me that. Puh-lease.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “What’s happening?”

  “Not much. Just school.” Her tone remains uninterested and bored. “What about you? Anything interesting going on besides Wesley posting a photo of you in a bikini? By the way, nice hair. Totally love the purple.”

  “It’s back to brown now.” Knowing Mom’s close by, I pray she doesn’t say anything about Logan. “So, any chance of getting you to fly over for the summer? I’d love to spend some time with you once our filming schedule finishes.”

  “I’d love to, but me and the girls have planned a trip to Miami… if Dad lets me.”

  I laugh, rudely. “Yeah, good luck with that. Pigs will fly before Dad lets you hang out in Miami. He doesn’t even let you go to the city.”

  “Thanks for bursting my bubble,” she complains. “I got to go, I’ll give the phone back to Mom.”

  There’s a shuffle and more noise until Mom says she’s back.

  “Miami, huh?” I bring it up while scrolling through my cell looking for what Wesley posted.

  “Maybe you can take her? Or maybe Ash and Logan?”

  “Let the man-whores loose in man-whore city…” I keep my tone controlled, not wanting the spur of jealousy to be known.

  “You’re right. I love Ashley, but in a way, I’m glad Alessandra has tamed him. As for Logan…” there’s a pause, and I wait with bated breath for her to continue, “… he’s going to break someone’s heart one day. I truly feel sorry for that woman.”

  I swallow the giant lump in my throat. “Why do you say that, Mom?”

  “Because Logan’s always struggled with stability. His behavior has been erratic and unpredictable. I love him like my own, but Reese leaving him did more harm than good.”

  “But Aunty Reese is your best friend. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Why? Because she had her own battles. I just wished she would have worked them out and been there for him. At the end of the day, she’s his mother, not me,” she admits.

  I don’t know how we steered onto this topic. As much as I want more insight into the past, Mom is on point with Logan’s behavior. He is like that, I know that. Everything we do together is erratic and irresponsible. But it’s what I need, I’m sick of being the responsible one.

  “Change of subject.... did I tell you George is in heat?”

  Mom laughs through the receiver. “He’s male. Can male dogs be in heat?”

  “I didn’t think so, but he’s dry-humping everything in sight. In fact…” I look toward the window where I see him on the balcony dry-humping the outdoor furniture, “… he’s going for it right now. He has a thing for the outdoors.”

  “I think I need to pay my grandson a visit.”

  “Yes,” I cheer loudly. “Are you planning to fly over?”

  “One of my fellow author friends has a ranch in the Hills and is planning a book launch in a few weeks. I’d love to support her plus, I don’t want to cramp your apartment. Let me confirm the dates and we’ll make something happen. I know you’re a busy woman building your empire and all, but hopefully, you’ll have time for your mommy.”

  “I always have time for you.” I smile.

  “Okay, kiddo. I gotta go. Meeting in the city with my publisher,” she tells me in a rushed tone. “Do you think my red dress with the gold buttons makes me look like an aging whore?”

  “You lost me at gold buttons, Mom.”

  We hang up with enough time to spare for me to get changed. I can hear Wesley shouting my name impatiently while waiting outside until he gives up and tells me he’ll wait for me in the car. We have a lunch with fellow cast-mates at an upmarket restaurant near Laguna Beach. The drive alone will be long, and Cliff wants the cameras in Wes’ car switched on to capture our conversations.

  A part of me needs the distraction—my mind unsettled after the conversation with Mom.

  Rushing around, I finally decide on what to wear and dash out to the car. Moments later we’re on our way.

  “So, who’s at the lunch today?” Wes asks, switching lanes without using his indicator.

  “Kyle and Kelly,” I say. “Harley and Poppy. Oh... and Farrah.”

  Farrah’s known as the Hollywood train wreck. Her father owns some oil company making them billionaires. She’s a spoiled brat born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She’s politically incorrect and goes out of her way to stir trouble—one of her favorite pastimes. She’s also a walking billboard for plastic surgery having done her lips, cheeks, breasts, and her latest being butt implants.

  “Great, Farrah. I read on Twitter the other day that Daddy bought her a bigger set of tits,” Wes comments with a sarcastic laugh.

  “Really? Well, I guess we’ll see them today. Maybe this is a coming-out party... for the double FFs or whatever cups she’s sporting now.”

  Wesley takes the exit, driving toward Orange County as we both laugh at Farrah’s ridiculous behavior.

  “We shouldn’t laugh. In all seriousness, Daddy’s a game player. He’ll probably buy this network and boot us off the show because we’ve made fun of her.”

  “Yeah, or he can offer to b
uy you a pair like last time.”

  I cringe, remembering the episode which was filmed at her parents’ mansion where Daddy Dearest offered to buy me a pair of tits. The episode caused outrage on social media, but the ratings were high, and no one cared since high ratings equaled a bigger money pot. Most people took my side by blasting Farrah for supporting her dad’s behavior. Others claimed I needed it, my tits being the center of attention for weeks until something else took over.

  We continue to talk about Farrah, knowing Cliff encourages our bitchy rants to cause controversy. Aside from Farrah, the rest of us get along great. Kyle and Kelly entered the show as a couple. High-school sweethearts from a small town in Minnesota. When auditioning, the network thought the television show would break them which equaled drama. During our second season, they broke up for one week. No one slept with anyone else, but then Cliff wasn’t happy with the boring outcome so he edited the scenes to make it look like they separated for the entire season, and slept with all of Hollywood. Neither of them minded knowing it was scripted and part of the whole acting gig.

  Harley’s the bad boy of the group. His real name is Troy Madden, born into a military family and moved from state to state growing up. He’s nicknamed Harley because he has only one love in his life his Harley Davidson—Rosita.

  Despite Harley being painted as the bad boy, constantly in trouble with the law, he’s actually a big softy. He has your back and you know you’re safe around him. Though the boys look up to him as a protector, it’s Poppy who formed a unique friendship with him. The crazy British girl that came to the States to study fashion.

  “We’re here,” Wesley announces, parking his car and handing the keys to the valet.

  Stella’s overlooks the Pacific Ocean and Laguna Beach. Owned by Stella Grace—heir to the Grace Hotel Chains—it’s a known hot spot for the elite and celebrities. The restaurant is decorated in all white, with small splashes of azure blue on paintings hanging on the walls. Each table has been carefully arranged with large vases of freshly cut lilies sitting in the middle of each table with shining cutlery and fancy glasses.

  We’re ushered to a table outside where Kyle, Kelly, Harley, and Poppy are sitting. Saying hello and hugging each of them, we take a seat admiring the stunning view and perfect day while we wait for Farrah.

  The waiter serves us some expensive wine, and we drink while having a light conversation until we’re brutally interrupted by Farrah. Each of us has our own camera crew—Farrah’s crew probably the worst of the bunch. I can’t stand them. Two sleazy men—Rick and Marty—both of whom I can only assume have fucked by her which is why they do everything she says.

  “O.M.G. you guys, it’s been like forever!” She air-kisses us all, taking a seat at the end of table in her tight white dress that barely contains her confined double FFs. Her hair extensions touch the table, and she’s quick to push them back, keeping the blonde tresses away as she drinks her wine demanding another glass. Another thing about Farrah she enjoys her wine and is rarely seen without a glass in hand.

  Our food is served and we begin talking about our plans for the summer. Majority of the conversation is non-scripted with the cameras recording the whole lunch.

  Poppy’s the first person to bring up our engagement. “How are the wedding plans going?” she asks in her English accent. “I’m so chuffed it’s going to be a winter wedding.”

  Both Wes and I knew this would come up because Josie told us we have to talk about it. I also had a very heated conversation with my publicist, Nina, over when I can start talking about our relationship breakdown.

  “Coming along nicely,” I say with a smile. “We’re scouting venues, and I’d love for you to come dress shopping with me.”

  Farrah laughs behind her fork, adding a sly comment, “You’d probably come out wearing some washed-up old rag.”

  “Funny, Farrah.” I place my fork down giving Cliff what he wants whenever he places the two of us in a room. “That’s what most men think when they’ve been with you.”

  Everyone at the table snickers, all but Farrah. She’s trying to control her rage, drinking her third glass of wine and still demanding a refill. The waiter might as well leave the bottle in front of her.

  “It’s interesting you mention the wedding…. I’ve heard you guys are on the rocks?” She poses the question with much pleasure.

  Wes places his arm around me, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my engagement ring. With the cameras all pointed at us, I nestle my head against his shoulder and allow him to defend our relationship. “You believe everything you read, Farrah? Em and I are walking down that aisle. She’s my woman.”

  I want to roll my eyes at such a barbaric reference, but don’t want Farrah to read anything into it. This conversation could quickly escalate into one of our well-known fights that results in us being physically held back by security.

  Things haven’t always been difficult between us. In season one, we got along and became friends. Despite her wealth, we had a lot in common and bonded over that. It was season two when everything fell apart. She made some bitchy comments about me to Kelly and Poppy during a girls’ night out, and once I saw the footage I knew I had to protect my back. She had a knife and was ready to stab me with it.

  The crew yell cut, so everyone can take a break and regroup. The makeup artists go straight for our faces, touching up the foundation and lipstick from the warm sea air.

  Wesley announces his need to take a piss, disappearing into the restroom.

  Poppy gives me a reassuring smile from across the table, stopping the waiter to ask what the meaty-looking thing on her plate is. When she hears the word ‘heart,’ her face pales as she quickly pushes the plate aside.

  I follow everyone’s lead and pull out my cell. I log into my Twitter page, posting some tweets to keep the fans engaged. Within seconds, the notifications blow up my screen and I take a few moments to answer some questions. The fans love the interaction, but on the flipside so do the trolls.

  There are a dozen unread emails, mainly from our suppliers regarding the fitness line. I make a mental note to log in from home after lunch and get some work done. The demands are huge and while I have a great team, I enjoy being hands on.

  I scroll through the other unread items when a text appears at the top of my screen.

  Logan: How you been, Chase?

  The message from Logan comes out of nowhere. Two weeks and he doesn’t talk to me after fucking me twice in the hotel room. Part of me is angry, another part forces the Zen to spread because I have no right to be angry.

  We aren’t in a relationship.

  I quickly respond knowing I have only minutes before we started filming again.

  Me: Hello stranger.

  The bubble bounces, and there’s a quick response.

  Logan: That’s all I get? C’mon, play with me.

  I scan the table, everyone’s still busy minding their own business. Wesley hasn’t returned and with him gone, I type extremely fast conscious of being caught.

  Me: Play with you? I got no toys to share. How exactly do you want me to play with you?

  “Let’s roll, everyone,” Cliff calls from the end of the table.

  Wesley’s back, settling himself in as I tuck my cell into my purse. We dive back into conversations about a potential trip to England to watch the Victoria Secret show that Farrah has front-row tickets for. The thought of traveling to England excites me. I’ve been there only once with my parents and have only poor memories of rain and grumpy hotel staff.

  But it’s not only that.

  Logan lives in England.

  Poppy claps her hands excitedly, suggesting we visit her hometown while we’re there. Obviously, Cliff planted this idea in Poppy and Farrah’s heads making it look like a spur-of-the-moment decision. It’s the first I’ve heard of it, but the more we speak, the more excited I become.

  In season one we did a trip to New York City. It wasn’t so special given that I’d been th
ere many times before. Our second season had us vacationing in Maui, where we had the time of our lives.

  England will be fantastic. Except for one thing—I’m going to be there with Wesley not Logan.

  Farrah talks about all the things she has planned for us, and when the cameras focus on her and Poppy discussing the tube, I half pull out my cell and check the text from Logan.

  Logan: Wherever you are, there must be somewhere you can go and privately video playing with yourself. I dare you.

  I quickly re-read the text, not realizing I’m holding my breath and that the cameras are rotating between us. I shove my cell into my purse again, distracting myself in conversation before excusing myself to use the restroom.

  “Emerson, can’t you wait?” Cliff asks, agitated.

  “No, Cliff,” I answer in annoyance. “Excuse me.” I remove the napkin from my lap, disappearing to the back of the restaurant where I trap myself in the corner cubicle while pulling out my cell with desperation.

  Me: Why must you dare me? You know I never back down.

  I’ve never done anything like this. The thrill of the unknown pushes me to act spontaneously. I slide my panties off shoving them in my purse as I raise my leg and rest it on the lid of the toilet seat. Lifting my dress above my thighs, I position my phone underneath my dress, hitting the record button. Playfully rubbing myself, I close my eyes and allow the excitement to make me come in less than a minute. In no way does it compare to the times Logan made me come, but still, it rocked my body until I stop recording with my hands shaking.

  Catching my breath, I hit send with the caption…

  Me: You wanted to play. Here you go. Have fun.

  The video takes a while to send, so I remove my panties from my bag, place them on and straightening my dress. I exit the cubicle and pop my cell on the expensive vanity to wash my hands. Gazing into the mirror, my cheeks are flushed and emit a glow. Grabbing a washcloth, I quickly dampen it and try to cool myself down before anyone notices.