by Breena Wilde
Zane chose to leave. I get that he had his reasons. Whatever the fuck they are. Fine. Plus, he gave me Cruze’s phone number. He might as well have said “I don’t want you anymore.” I’ve wanted to get to know the gorgeous man in front of me for weeks. Now’s my chance. I refuse to fuck it up. Regret is a stupid emotion.
“Not really,” I reply, pulling the towel off my hair and squeezing the soft terry cloth against the ends of my hair.
Cruze takes it from me and continues massaging it into my scalp. The sensation is amazing. I turn and face the bathroom mirror, ignore the haunted look in my eyes, and watch Cruze. God, he’s gorgeous. Long lashes and a perfectly sculpted face are minor assets compared to his kissable lips. His brows are crunched together as he focuses. Water glistens on his naked body and enhances his muscles when they flex and move.
He steps closer, pressing his cock against my lower back. It’s hard. I suddenly want him again, want his cock inside my pussy. I tilt my hips and press my ass against him. He looks up, sees my reflection, and smiles. Drops the towel to the floor and grabs my hips.
He slaps me playfully on the ass. An immediate jolt of pleasure shoots to my pussy. Zane’s words: “You’ll only want to fuck when there’s pain,” flits through my mind.
“Do it again,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
Cruze raises an eyebrow. “What?”
I swallow. “Spank me, Cruze. Hard.” I press my ass against his stiff cock. His eyes darken.
His large palm comes down on my ass and I close my eyes. My thighs quiver. “Again.”
He does it again.
“Fuck me, Cruze.”
He reaches for another condom, puts it on, then spreads my thighs and shoves his cock inside. I shudder at the pleasure. He slams into me again and again, his hands on my hips.
I open my eyes and catch him watching me in the mirror. He slows and pulls out.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Cruze takes me by the hand and walks me out of the bathroom. His huge cock is still at attention. He wants to fuck, but I’m confused.
He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me onto his lap.
“I care about you, Cadence. This is more than fucking to me.” His face is soft, but serious. Urgent.
The pain, the numbness collecting around my heart shatters. I touch his face, trailing my fingers along the contours. “I’m sorry.”
He kisses me softly on the mouth. “Don’t be. I just wanted you to know.” He kisses me again, sliding his tongue in my mouth.
I press my pussy over his shaft. He moans.
“God, Cadence. You feel so good,” he says against my mouth.
“So do you.”
He pulls back, searching my face. I put my hands on his chest and push him back. “Remember lunch? Twenty questions? What you asked me.”
He lies down. “Of course. I asked if you’d ride my cock.”
“That’s right,” I say and move my pussy slowly up and down.
“Holy fuck, Cade.”
I love that he’s suddenly calling me Cade. Only Jessica has ever used that nickname. When it rolls off his tongue my knees quiver. I get off my knees and put one foot on either side of him. It gives my more control over how deep and fast I can move. I grab him by the shoulders and slam into him.
His eyes widen.
I move up slowly, allowing my pussy to caress his cock. When the tip is just inside I slam into him again. His fingers grab hold of my breasts and he squeezes my nipples. I throw my head back.
“Fuck.”
I crash into him several more times until I feel he’s about to come, then I get back into a kneeling position and go even deeper. My orgasm is close and I press him deeper and deeper inside.
“I’m going to come. Fuck, Cade, I’m coming.”
I move faster and faster. My orgasm comes quickly after. When I’m spent, I rest my head against his chest. We’re both breathing heavily.
I’m feeling better.
I brought some clothes from Zane’s house and I pull on a pair of gray sweats and a black tee shirt.
“So, where the hell is Zane?” Cruze asks, grabbing a green apple from a fruit basket on the counter and handing it to me.
“Thank you.” I take a bite. Sweet juice fills my mouth. He takes an apple as well. “I’m not one hundred percent sure,” I finally say.
He walks over to the couch and I follow, sitting next to him and clear my throat. I’m not sure what to tell him. The police took all of the documentation proving I’m the new owner of Zane’s production company. They took the million-dollar check. They took everything but the letter and the phone. In a court of law that letter would probably mean nothing and the phone is in my name. No ties to Zane. I could’ve forged the letter or had a friend write it for me. Showing Cruze the letter would feel weird, like it meant nothing. Which isn’t true. The letter means a lot. Too much. And really, I have no idea if any of it is legitimate. For all I know he could’ve made the shit up.
“He just took off?”
I push away our night in the secret pool, the words Zane spoke to me. “I fell asleep and when I woke up, he was gone.”
“Mother fuck.” Cruze rubs a hand across the top of his head. He finishes his apple, chucks it into a trashcan, and leans forward, resting his arms against his thighs.
I’m trying to figure him out. He didn’t like Zane. That would’ve been obvious, even if he hadn’t said as much. “Why do you care?” I ask, touching his shoulder.
He lets out a hard laugh, puts his head into his hands. “My film,” he says after a while.
And then it all makes sense. Zane leaving might affect Cruze’s career. “Shit.” I open my mouth to tell him I have the power to keep the movie going, but the idea of being in charge scares me. Aside from the past few weeks and what little work I’ve done as Zane’s PFA, I realize how little I know about the movie business. Fucking nothing. Zane had said I could sell it. Maybe that’s what I should do. Somehow. Let someone who knows what they're doing take over.
“Exactly,” Cruze says.
“What about the director? What’s his name?”
“Nigel?”
I knew his name, but couldn’t bring myself to say it. The guy gave me the creeps. “Yeah, can’t he keep the movie going? Aren’t there others, partners or something that can keep everything running smoothly?”
He walks over to a small table filled with bottles of alcohol and pours himself a drink. “Want one?”
It’s not even noon yet, but, as my mom used to say when she’d drink in the morning, “It’s happy hour somewhere.” I decide she’s right and shrug. “What the hell?”
He pours me a glass and brings it over.
I take it and he clinks my glass. “To getting fucked by John Zane.” He dumps the liquid down his throat.
I stare and honestly am feeling a little pissed off. If this is the kind of guy John Cruze is, then I really don’t want to get to know him better. Setting my glass on the coffee table in front of me, I stand. “I’m going to go.”
He walks over to the bar and pours himself another glass of whatever the fuck he’s drinking. “Why?” he asks, swallowing another mouthful.
“Because I have no desire to listen to you sulk about your poor fucking life.” The anger is really boiling now and get up in his face. “Waaaaah, poor me. I might have to take a break from my fucking movie. Boohoo, I’m going to have to go on another vacation to Turks and Caicos.” He blinks as though suddenly seeing me for the first time.
I move to the door and pull it open. “While you’re drowning your sorrows in another five hundred dollar bottle of whatever the fuck that is, I’m going to go back to my hole in the wall apartment, put on a fuck me outfit, and sell myself to the first asshole who’s interested.” I walk out and slam the door.
Steve, the bellhop, is standing at the opening to the elevator.
“Going down, ma'am?”
It’s at this moment I remember my goddamned bag is st
ill in the hotel room with Cruze.
“Shit.” I freeze and debate what I should do. Going back thrills me about as much as jumping in the water with a school of piranhas. I turn back, looking at the door, and it opens. John is standing there, his chest heaving.
“What the fuck, Cade?”
“Don’t what the fuck me. I have my own shit to deal with. I don’t need to listen to a whiny movie star complain about his pathetic woes.” I walk into the elevator. Steve is still standing at the opening. I press the down button. Steve quickly steps in.
As the elevator doors close, John rushes to the opening. His beautiful eyes are wild, furious, and sad.
I flip him off. No idea why, but God it feels good. “Asshole.”
John’s mouth falls open, and I get the distinct impression he isn’t used to this sort of treatment.
“Well, fuck him.”
Steve turns to me and gives me a once over. “Yeah, fuck him.” He raises an eyebrow at my attire. “No shoes. Any money?”
I slump against the wall, forcing myself not to cry. “No.” My eyes water anyway.
Steve presses another button and we stop on the fifth floor. He pokes his head out. “Ang, any shoes today?”
“Tina,” I hear a woman yell.
“What?”
“Shoes?”
After a moment I hear, “Hot pink flip flops work?”
“Yes,” Steve says.
A young woman with bright eyes glares and hands the flip-flops to Steve. “You owe me tickets to the next hot party.” She walks away.
He hands them to me, but I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Really? You’re telling me after that amazing exit you’re going to tuck your proverbial tail between your legs and go back up there?”
I sigh. “I don’t think I have a choice. I left everything important to me in that fucking hotel room.”
He makes a tisking noise with his mouth. From his pocket he pulls out a wad of cash, peels away five twenties, and stretches his hand toward me.
I push his hand away. “No, I can’t take that.”
Steve puts the rest of the money back in his pocket. “Look, girl. I don’t normally get involved, but I get the feeling if circumstances were different we’d be friends. You totally just told off John Cruze. The man has an ass that should be bronzed and placed in a church for worship. There isn’t another person in the world who would do that. You deserve a medal. I can’t let you take back what you just did. That. Was. Epic.” He pushes the money into my hand. “Pay me back when you can.”
Warmth envelops me and I throw my arms around his neck. “Thanks Steve. I owe you, big time.”
He returns the hug. “Yeah, you do.”
It’s thirty bucks for the taxi ride to my apartment. I pay it and slam the door. The door to my apartment has been fixed. I turn the handle, but it’s locked. “Please be home. Please.” I knock.
Jessica doesn’t answer. I knock again. “Jessica. Open the fucking door.”
I lean my ear against the door to listen for movement. It’s dead inside. I pound on the door again. “I swear I’ll break down this new door if you don’t get your ass over here and let me in.”
I hear grumbling. “Keep your thong on, I’m coming,” Jessica shouts. She yanks open the door. “What the fuck, Cadence? I was right in the middle of my R. E. M.s.” Her blond hair is a frizzy mess. She’s wearing her usual sleeping attire: panties and a tank.
“Sorry, Jess.” I push past her and fling myself on the bed.
The door shuts. “Nice to see your fucking face,” she mumbles. I hear her flip on the coffee pot. She shuffles over and sits on the edge of my bed. “I really am glad you’re here,” she says softly.
I turn my head to face her. “It’s good to see you too.”
Jessica brushes the hair off my face. “I’ve got coffee brewing. Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“But you will, right? Cuz you woke my ass up.”
I sit up. “Right.” I kick off the hot pink flip-flops and hug Jessica. “God, I’ve missed you. How’ve you been?”
She kisses my cheek and leans against my shoulder. “Good. Fine.” She rises, walks into the kitchen, pulls down two mugs, and gets the creamer out of the refrigerator. As she busies herself pouring sugar and creamer into her mug, she talks. “Fileze was back in the game. Sort of. He was raising hell trying to find you.”
“Was?” I ask as Jessica pours coffee into our mugs.
“Yeah, was. Last night the motherfucker got himself killed. Like, his throat slit and his body tossed in an alley.”
I gasp and my mind immediately goes to Zane. He wouldn’t do something like that, would he?
I know the answer. Yes he would.
But did he?
Jessica continues, “Usually there’s talk that something’s coming. You know, the shit’s gonna hit the fan so to speak, but there was no talk. Just, bam!” Jessica smacks her hands together. “Dead.” She gives me a serious look. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you? Seems kinda coincidental you show up less than twelve hours after Fileze ends up killed.”
I shake my head. “No, Jess. I don’t know anything about it.” No point mentioning I might have an idea who did it or that my brother is dead too. I never even told her I have… had a brother. And I don’t want to get into that. Not right now. Now while I can’t do anything about it.
She takes a sip of her tan-colored coffee. “Hmmmm, not sure I’m buying that, but whatever, I’m glad he’s gone.”
“Who?” I ask, shocked, my mind still on my brother. I pick up my mug and take a sip, allowing the hot liquid to scorch my throat all the way to my stomach.
“Fileze, of course. Damn, where’s your head?” Jessica goes to the cupboard, takes down a bag of chips, opens them, and puts one in her mouth. “So what’s up? You here for good or what?”
I sip another hot mouthful of coffee, glad I don’t have to explain where my head really is. The truth is I wouldn’t even know where to begin. So I skip her second question and answer the third one. “Maybe.”
Jessica either doesn’t realize I’m being vague or isn’t really interested. She swallows and scowls. “Maybe? Maybe don’t pay the rent. I can’t afford this place on my own. If you ain't stayin', you need to get your shit and go so I can find another roommate.”
“Sorry, Jess. I know I’ve been a terrible friend." I toss the rest of the cash at her. “Here’s all I have. When I get more I’ll give it to you. Just don’t spend it on… you know. Drugs.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Cade, how dare you?” She tucks the money into the waist of her undies and walks over to the couch. “You working tonight then?”
I walk over to my bed. “Yeah.” I pull my comforter over the top of my head. “You going back to bed?”
“Nah, I’m gonna watch some daytime TV. I’ll wake you at seven.”
“Thanks, Jess. You know I love ya, right?”
“I know.”
I can’t believe it. She left. Walked out. Again. I wait in my hotel room fifteen minutes. She has to come back. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. But she doesn’t.
It’s like, no matter how hard I fucking try, Cadence and I can’t seem to get more than a few hours together. I’m not even sure what happened.
“Such an ass.” I walk into the bedroom, pick up my phone, and dial Diane’s number.
She answers on the third ring. “John.”
“You hear anything?” I see Cadence’s bag on the floor and freeze. Usually I leave other people’s shit alone, a consequence of growing up in my family.
“Actually, yeah, and you aren’t going to fucking believe it.”
“Really?” I pick up Cade’s bag and set it on the bed, then sit next to it. “What’s the news? Did they find Zane?” I unzip the bag and tell myself I won’t touch anything. I’m just going to peek. There’s a phone and a folded piece of paper, like a letter, I think.
I can’t help it. I pick up the letter, unfold it, and see her name written across the top.
“Sometimes,” I hear myself say, but I’m too busy reading Zane’s letter to Cadence. When I’m finished, I reread it. “Holy fuck.”
“John, are you even hearing me? I don’t talk just to hear myself talk, asshole.”
“Yeah, sorry. What’d you say?” I as, refolding the letter and pulling out her phone.
“I said the rumor is Zane made that whore Cadence the new owner.”
“Hey, don’t call her that, Diane. And yeah, I just figured that out.”
“Looks like you, Nigel, and Scarlett have a new boss to answer to. Shit, it’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve been in this business a long time. Maybe too long.”
I scroll through Cadence's contacts and recent calls. The only call she made was to me. There aren’t any contacts. “God, I really am an asshole. No wonder she was freaked out.” I toss the phone back in Cadence’s bag and zip it. “Diane, I’ve got to go. Talk soon.”
I quickly change and dial Justin’s number. “You dropped off Cadence at her apartment, right?” I ask when my driver answers.
“Yes, sir.”
“You remember where she lives?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Excellent. Meet me downstairs in five.”
I hang up and call the florist on file in my phone.
A young woman answers the phone. “Anytime Florist. How can I help you?”
“Yes. Hello. I need your help. It’s important.”
The young woman snaps her gum. “Of course it is, sir. What are you looking for?”
“Flowers that say, ‘I royally fucked up. I’m an ass. Please forgive me.’ You have any flowers that mean that?”
She giggles. “You need a big, expensive bouquet if you want them to say that, sir.”
