by KB Winters
The perky hostess in her all-black ensemble quickly showed me to a table and presented me with the happy hour menu. I let her know I was expecting someone and she gave me a polite smile. I checked my phone…five till five. I’d wanted to arrive a little early, to be the one waiting, not the one awkwardly searching the room and having him spot me long before I saw him.
I sat quietly, picking at my quickie self-manicure and trying to tamp down the feelings that were swirling back to the surface as I watched the door like Tom watching the mouse hole for Jerry.
The minutes ticked by, and I knew I was checking my phone too often, but with each passing minute, the pit of anxiety in my stomach was growing and taking over more and more of my thoughts.
What would happen if he didn’t show? What if he was just playing a trick on me? Punishing me for running out on him? Remy was obviously the kind of guy who was used to getting what he wanted and I had escaped him. Twice.
Would he really get my hopes up and then not show, just to teach me a lesson?
I shook my head, deciding against it. Granted, I hadn’t known Remy all that long, but still, it seemed a petty thing to do and he had never struck me as being a petty kind of guy.
And yet, even with my self-assurance that he was just hung up somehow, an hour passed with no sign of him. I must have checked my phone a million times and there was no sign of a call or text. Another half-hour dragged by and I texted him.
Where are you? The hostess shot me pitying glances. Every time the front doors opened and it wasn’t him, she’d watch me slink back into my seat with a fresh wave of frustration, defeat and confusion, and then she’d give a little sad shrug for me before rushing to attend to the new guest.
I sent another text and waited for a reply.
I’m leaving in 10 min. By the time the bartender sent over a complimentary glass of wine, I felt the pity glances and sad faces tearing holes in me. I lifted the free glass of wine up in a nod to the bartender, and drank it back before I picked up my phone and swiped Remy’s number. I was so pissed, I’d already texted him a few times and he hadn’t answered. He was probably out with some high-class, old-money blonde who Mommy Dearest approved of.
“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected—” came the recording on the phone. I hung up and checked the number. It was the same number he’d texted me the address from. I let out a long breath, silently praying the cell tower got the signals crossed.
I waited a few seconds and swiped the number again. My heart jumped when it rang. After the second ring, the recording came on. “We’re sorry, the number you’ve dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please…”
That rat bastard.
I didn’t need him, and decided—through hot, frustrated tears in the back of the cab—he’d never have the chance to explain himself to me.
Wherever Remy was, he could fucking stay there for all I cared.
Continued in Fate Interrupted Book 2 out now on Amazon!
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Fate Interrupted
Book 2
By
KB Winters
Copyright © 2015 KB Winters
Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC
Copyright and Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 KB Winters
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Chapter One — Remy
I’d done some shitty, deceptive, low-life things in my life, but had recently hit an all-time low.
And this new, guilt-ridden mindset was throwing off my game. Big time.
“Come on, handsome, don’t you want me?” The whisper echoed in my ear as it left the devil-red lips of the blonde I’d picked up at some fancy club opening in downtown LA. She was leaning against me, making sure that I could feel her perky rack resting on my arm. She was wearing a dress that was cut so low, her tits kept popping out. Each time one or the other surfaced, she would giggle, readjust her dress and then immediately try to catch my eye to see if I’d noticed.
Of course I had. It was a stupid, teenage game. Every fucking guy in the room noticed. That was exactly why I’d picked her up in the first place.
It certainly wasn’t for her sparkling wit or conversational skills.
“Come on, gorgeous, give me a break. Here, let me get you another drink to make it up to you,” I replied. Anything to wipe that pout off her overly inflated lips.
They might be fake and full of fillers, but I could still imagine them wrapped around my cock and knew they’d get the job done.
Which tonight, was exactly what I needed.
The blonde, Claire something or other, giggled and took me up on the offer to get her a fresh drink. I flagged the bartender and he rushed over to put two fresh drinks down. A whiskey for me, and a fresh Cosmo for her. Apparently, she fancied herself one of the Sex and the City girls and was clinging to their signature drink for some sort of street cred.
“Thanks, handsome,” she purred at me.
I gave her a nod. It was almost pathetic, how hard she was throwing herself at me. I’d been in a piss-poor mood all fucking night, and had barely given her any indication I was interested. For whatever reason, she had put me at the top of her to-do list and was doing her best to entice me. I supposed I should’ve been flattered. There were about two dozen other guys who couldn’t peel their eyes off her, and she was ignoring them all.
But then, that’s how the scenario usually played out. As soon as I walked into a room, the rest of the guys got knocked down a few pegs in the pecking order. It wasn’t intentional—I just knew what the fuck I was doing. And women—all women, seemed to have a sixth sense for whatever vibe I was sending out.
My eyes raked down Claire’s body as she sipped on her drink and gave me her best fuck-me eyes.
I decided I’d take her home with me, eventually. But I wasn’t in a hurry. I scoped the room again, not sure what—or who—I was looking for.
Well, that wasn’t the whole truth. The whole truth was that I was thinking about Livvie.
I’d been cyber-stalking her since the would-have-been meeting. I knew she was pissed at me, and I’d conceded that she had every right to be. I’d bailed on her and didn’t even have a half-assed excuse for it. Not even to myself. So, I found myself resigned to following her social media pages in hopes of a chance meeting.
Not that I had any fucking clue what I’d say to her if I did manage to track her down.
Earlier in the week, she’d reposted the club opening announcement. I’d scoured her pages and hadn’t found a direct comment that she’d be there, but it seemed likely she would. In any case, I knew I needed to get out of the house. I’d dragged myself out of my penthouse to check it out. Just in case.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” Claire said, looking up at me before wrapping her lips over the tiny cocktail straw.
Fuck. My crotch tightened a little. She knew exactly how to play this game.
I turned and arched a brow at her, expectantly. What was her deal? I’d barely paid two minutes of attention to her and she was acting like she was already dripping wet for me.
“I have a friend.” Her voice was low in her th
roat, and breathy, even though I hadn’t touched her yet. “She might want to come…play. With us. She likes tattoos, too. Maybe you can get her to trace them with her tongue?”
Hmm. She was smarter than I gave her credit for. She was certainly playing all the right cards.
I nodded along as her tempting offer sunk in, but I found myself missing the normal rush that a suggestion like that would normally give me. I mentally traced the curves of her knowing smile and then followed her seductive eyes as they left mine and swept the crowded room to a curvy girl in a skin-tight black dress. She was hot as hell, but when she looked over at Claire and me, she didn’t so much as flash a smile.
She had a serious case of resting bitch face—which normally would not be a deal breaker. I knew a hundred ways to twist that face into a moan of delight and I knew she would leave my penthouse with a satisfied smile. But, for whatever reason, it threw me off.
“That’s your friend?” I asked, snapping my eyes back to the tipsy blonde hanging on my arm.
“Uh-huh. You like?” she asked me, tilting her head to look up at me.
“Maybe,” I replied, before coolly taking another sip of whiskey.
Claire’s hands were wandering over my flat stomach and headed south. She pressed her lips against my ear and tongued the rim of my ear with expert precision that was actually pretty impressive, considering how much she’d already had to drink. Her touch was starting to wake up my nervous system, which had been feeling like it was in hibernation, and by the time her slender fingers brushed over my crotch, my cock was ready for action.
I shot her another look and she giggled. I didn’t know what the girl was playing at, but I knew I needed to take her somewhere to enjoy her company in a more private setting—otherwise, she’d likely give me a hand job right under the bar. Not that I would completely be opposed to that—but I really didn’t need anyone getting a random dick pic and selling me out to a tabloid.
The club was packed and full of drunk and dis-orderlies. Normally, it would’ve been just my kind of party, but I found myself paying more attention to the bands, wondering what Livvie would’ve thought of them.
In a surge to clear her from my mind, I turned to Claire and grabbed her by the hips. “Do you like it rough?” I growled into her ear.
She giggled and nodded against my shoulder. “I like it however you want to give it to me, baby.”
Before I could ask about the friend she’d offered up, Claire had me by the balls—literally. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Shit.
I followed her swaying hips across the club and to the bathroom. Claire launched herself at me, kissing me wildly—her huge tits heaving as she breathlessly devoured me. I grabbed her arms, spun her around, and pinned her to the wall. I pulled back and watched her as I ran my hands up and down her sides, over her soft hips, and then wrapped my fingers around her firm ass cheeks.
Yeah, she’d do.
Claire was moaning and panting at the slightest touch. “Come on, baby, do me, do me!”
I smiled as I watched her put on a show, her own hands roving over her body. She turned and reached for me, grabbing blindly at my belt, and I stopped her hands and held both wrists tightly together. “Not here.”
I had fucked plenty of girls in bathrooms before—but tonight, it wasn’t that appealing.
“Why not?” Claire asked, her eyes wide with alarm.
“I have something better planned.” I used my free hand to skim the exposed skin on her thigh where her micro dress had been pushed up in all her thrashing. She shivered at my touch. “Besides, we don’t want your friend to get too lonely. Do we?”
Relief washed over her face and she smiled, bouncing up and down. “Right!”
I kept a firm grip on her wrists and led her out of the bathroom as though she was on some kind of leash.
“What’s she into anyways?” I asked, jerking my head in the direction of her friend who was still glued to her place by the door, watching us with a passive stare.
“We like to play together,” Claire answered, smiling over at the girl.
My cock swelled with anticipation and for the first time in a long time, I started to recognize myself again. “Excellent. Let me settle things up here,” I said, releasing her hands when we reached the bar.
I jerked my head as I caught the eye of the swamped bartender. He rushed right over to close out my bill for the night, and I wondered if he knew who I was. He certainly seemed to be anticipating a large tip.
I flicked him my credit card and waited for him to run it. While he tinkered with the machine, I ran a hand down the curves of Claire’s enormous tits, flicking under the neckline of her dress and rubbing against one of her nipples.
Fuck.
It was rock hard and I could only imagine how wet she was already. She’d been grinding on me all night long, and had seemingly been ready to go before I even introduced myself.
“Mmmm,” she moaned, pressing her lips to my ear. “Yes, baby, like that.”
The bartender coughed, interrupting me before I could finish my exploration of Claire’s magnificent tits. “Um…I’m so sorry, sir, but do you have another card?” He gave me an apologetic glance and pushed my card back across the counter at me.
My hand flew out of the top of Claire’s dress. “Is there something wrong with the machine?” I demanded, snatching up the card and stuffing it back into my wallet.
The bartender looked at me and then at Claire. He leaned in closer. “It was declined, actually. I’m so sorry.”
My stomach flipped at his confession. “That’s impossible. That card doesn’t have a limit.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Would you like me to try it again?” he asked.
Claire had taken a step back from me and was awkwardly glancing around the room.
“Here,” I said, shoving another card at the bartender.
As I waited for him to return, a cold shiver of fear danced down my spine. I had a sneaking suspicion that something far more sinister than a faulty credit card reader was taking place right before my eyes.
The bartender returned. He handed me the card and shook his head.
“For fuck’s sake. Here,” I said, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the bar between us. “That should cover it.”
“I’m so sorry about all this,” he said.
“It’s fine. Keep the change.” I felt like snarling at him, but I knew in all reality it wasn’t his fault.
“Thank you, sir.”
I flicked a nod back in his direction and then stormed away from the bar. I heard Claire chasing after me, but I didn’t slow down to wait for her. I shoved through the throng of people clustered by the doors and pushed out into the cool night air.
A cool breeze slapped against my face and I took in a deep breath. Madge. She had to have cancelled my cards.
“Wait! Hey! Are you okay?” Claire asked, tottering in her heels as she crashed to a halt by my side again. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. It happens to me all the time.”
I spun on my heels and stared at her, not fully able to comprehend her stupidity. “You probably don’t understand. I’m Remington Maddox. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”
She nodded and sucked in her lip. “Yeah,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Shit like this doesn’t just fucking happen to me.”
Her eyes looked misted over and I turned away from her before she could have a nervous breakdown. If anyone should have a breakdown, it should be me. I didn’t need to be upstaged by some desperate chick.
“Well, let me make you forget all about it,” she whispered, instantly switching modes. Her hands went right to my belt buckle. “Let me go get Marissa.”
I caught her hands and pushed them away. “Forget it, Claire.”
She swiped at me again but I stepped back, out of her reach, and started down the sidewalk. I just needed to get in my car and go home.
Somehow, Claire caught up to me again. I had to give her credit. W
ith the way she’d been drinking and the height of her heels, it was a miracle she’d managed to reach me without breaking an ankle or stumbling into oncoming traffic.
“Come on, baby, let me make you all better.” She gripped my arm and ran her hand down my chest.
I grabbed her hand and flicked her away. “I’m not interested,” I growled. “If you’re so fucking hard up, go back inside. There’s a hundred other guys in there that’ll fuck you right here. Go find one of them.”
She reared back and looked at me like I’d just turned into some sort of monster right before her eyes. I guessed I had.
“Fuck you!” she spit out, before backing away. I turned and kept walking as soon as she retreated back into the club.
Whatever. She’d be fucked and just fine by morning.
As for me, I was out.
I reached the corner and texted my driver to circle around for me. Luckily, his salary was paid in six-month chunks, so I had some time to figure that out. If Madge had really done what I’d suspected she had and frozen all my bank accounts, that meant there were only two choices—bend to her rules and settle down—which didn’t appeal to me at all—or start using my personal funds that I’d stashed away for the past few years. Those funds were supposed to be allocated for getting my restaurant off the ground, but if Madge wanted to play her little game, I was fully capable of taking care of myself.
I knew I’d built up quite a cushion, but I also knew it would deplete quickly if it suddenly became my only source of income, and then I’d be left back at the beginning with no seed money for my future plans.
