by K. Webster
“There never were.”
“No, you’re right,” Nate says, nodding. “For a second there, I was worried you were going to ruin your life over a nice piece of ass. I should have known better. You’re Winston fucking Constantine.” He grins, reminding me of those years in prep school when he’d be pumped after a thrilling win on the rugby field.
Perry’s jaw clenches but he says nothing. Even though Nate’s words about Ash irritate me, I ignore them, waving him off with a flick of my wrist. Not the time for this. I’ll deal with it later.
“Don’t you have money to make me? If you’re here early, may as well get to it.”
Nate smirks. “You’re so bitchy in the mornings. Now that you’re not tied to that money-hungry wannabe ball and chain, we should go out tonight and get wasted.”
“Bye, Nate.”
“Think about it,” he says with a chuckle.
Before he can exit my office, Deborah predictably rushes in, a horrified expression on her face.
Oh, Morelli, you really fucked up now.
“What is it?” I ask, apathy dripping from my words.
“It’s…” She waves frantically as if that’ll answer me. “The news…it’s everywhere.”
“What?” Nate demands, his brows pinched together.
Deborah shoots me a helpless look.
Perry tugs his phone from his pocket and sighs heavily. “Billionaire CEO Exposed in Humiliating Sex Scandal with Teenager.”
“Jesus Christ,” Nate chokes out, eyes going wide.
“Deborah,” I say in an even tone, “why don’t you have Anthony meet me here at his earliest convenience? Looks like the day is getting started early.”
It’s on now, Morelli.
Predictable bastard.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ash
I wake to the sound of my alarm with a jolt. It takes all of five seconds to realize where I’m at. The whore’s apartment. But Shrimp is here, singing a good-morning tune and that makes it a teeny bit better. Flinging off my blanket, I reach over to unplug my phone from the charger and to check for damages.
Crap.
Based on the million missed texts from Dad, what looks like cruel ones from Leo, a few from an unknown number, and several more from Perry, I’d say the shit has hit the proverbial fan.
Dread settles in the pit of my stomach making me nauseous. I don’t know what this day will bring, but I can tell I’m going to hate every second of it. I’m not sure if I should stay in bed or do something.
What?
Go to work?
Do I even still have a job?
Before I even have a chance to reach out to Win, he texts me. My heart does a little flutter in my chest. He knows what time my alarm goes off and he waited until I woke to message me.
It’s the little things in life.
Win: A car will be around in an hour to pick you up for work.
Me: I still have a job?
He sends me an eyeroll emoji that makes me tear up. We’ll be okay. We can fix this. I know we can.
Win: Don’t speak to the paparazzi.
My stomach does a painful flip, twisting my guts.
Me: He really did it, huh?
Win: Of course he did.
Me: Is it bad?
Win: Billionaire CEO Exposed in Humiliating Sex Scandal with Teenager? I’ll let you make your own deductions.
Oh. My. God.
Did I expect anything less, though?
I stare at my phone for a long time letting his text sink in. This is bad. Like really bad. The whole world knows about the fucked-up games I play with Win. The exchange of money. The filthy sex. The degradation.
Tears don’t come.
Instead, a fiery anger burns through my veins in a violent way.
Screw Leo Morelli for doing this.
He thinks I’ll cower and be shamed? Win toughened me up weeks ago when we started our wicked sexual games. Surely I can weather this storm. Especially since the great Winston Constantine is by my side.
Me: You know, I really did try to protect you and your family. Even if you don’t believe that.
Win: I don’t need protection from a poor maid. Don’t be late, Cinderelliott.
I send him a whole bunch of middle-finger emojis mostly because I know it’ll annoy him to see so many and that I wasted my time tapping the button that many times.
Tossing the phone on the bed, I get up and search out my best, most expensive-looking outfit. If I’m going to get accosted by the media, I might as well look worthy to be at Winston’s side. Based on the headline he sent me, they’re painting him as a monster who took advantage of some poor little girl.
I’m not who they think I am.
If I can handle Win, I can handle anything.
* * *
One look in the mirror and I know there’s no way in hell Winston will be able to ignore me. And the press? They’re going to lose their minds. A smug, victorious feeling washes over me. This must be how Win feels when he financially destroys people.
My black Valentino short crepe couture dress is deceiving. The rounded neckline and capped sleeves seem demure, but the pleated-skirt portion and short length scream flirty. When I move, the material swishes around me, drawing the eye to my thighs. My black Rockstud ankle strap pumps with powder-colored piping are studded with platinum-finish embellishments that give the fairly simple dress a flair for the dramatic with such daring shoes. I snag a small Valentino Garavani 03 Rose Edition Atelier nappa hobo bag, decorated with red leather rose petals, and shove all my items into it from my other purse.
I’d considered putting my hair in pigtails just to fuck with Winston, but at the last minute decided not to press my luck. Instead, I pulled my hair back in a high, sleek, no-nonsense ponytail. My eyes are done dramatically in thick liner and heavy mascara. The smokey eyeshadow and plump red lips finish the look.
The whole ensemble doesn’t say, teenager taken advantage of by filthy billionaire.
It also doesn’t say, high-paid whore.
Right now, I look like a million bucks. A billion if we want to get technical. The point is, I’m a lioness, not a mouse. Claws are bared. Looks can kill. I’m going to wreck…someone…today. Win is definitely rubbing off on me.
There won’t be tears today.
Or shame or humiliation or heartache.
No, this is war.
I’m bringing the big guns to the fight. I chose a side, and though it got stressful with Leo blackmailing me, I know I haven’t done anything to sell out the Constantines. Everything I did tell Leo was a lie anyway.
Still Team Constantine.
All the way.
I make sure Shrimp’s cage is left open and he has plenty of food and water. After giving him the usual excessive amount of birdie kisses and praise, I leave him to explore his new domain on his own.
I leave my apartment and head down the elevator. So far, I haven’t encountered any trouble and I refuse to look at my phone. As promised, a black Mercedes is waiting for me at the curb. I recognize the man as one of Win’s fleet of drivers, Daniel. He gives me a polite nod, his eyes flaring with appreciation of my outfit, before opening the car door. That small, impressed look of his does wonders for my ego and I walk taller, chin up, bitch smile affixed.
“Good morning,” I greet, my voice even and not jittery to my surprise.
“Good morning, Miss Elliott. Looking lovely today.”
A genuine grin fights its way through. “Thanks, Daniel.”
He blinks in surprise that I know his name. I’m more than a pretty face which is why Winston likes me though he’ll never admit it. I’m the full package. Brains and a killer ass.
Okay, so maybe I should scale back the self-love. I want to be like Win, not become him. Hiding my amusement, I sit down inside the vehicle and try not to fidget. The ride is smooth and oddly relaxing. I can almost smell a hint of Winston’s familiar cologne lingering in the air.
I miss him.
Not seeing him last night after what went down was hard. Lonely. Sad. I have to believe that he wouldn’t have been so harsh had he not cared. Winston just doesn’t want to care. But I’ve already gotten inside him just as he got inside me.
A buzz from my phone has me tugging it out of my handbag. It’s the unknown number again. I open it to discover Tate has been texting me. After saving his name, I read through his texts.
Tate: Catching up sounds great!
Tate: Holy shit, Ash, what happened? You’re all over the news. Are you okay?
Tate: I’m really worried about you. Call me.
Tate: At least let me know you’re alive and not dead in your bathtub.
I chew on my lip to keep my emotions at bay. I said no tears and, dammit, I don’t plan on crying today.
Me: Lunch today?
Tate: She lives! Yes. One of our old haunts?
Me: I miss that gyro place we used to eat at all the time. Noon?
Tate: See you then. Be careful.
Me: I will. Promise.
My thoughts of lunch scatter like leaves on a windy day the second I take in the wild zoo that is Halcyon. Hundreds of people are crowded around the entrance of the building. Security is trying to keep them behind some barriers that have been set up. News vans litter the street and the media is all waiting expectantly with their cameras.
“Wanna go sightseeing instead, Danny Boy?”
He chuckles from the front seat. “I don’t know that my boss would appreciate that.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” I tease and then let out a heavy sigh before shoving my phone back into my handbag. “If I die from mortification, it was nice knowing you. You were my favorite driver. Tell Win I said so. Maybe he’ll give you a raise.”
Daniel pulls up in front of the building, earning the attention of the crowd. Cameras start flashing as they mob their way over to the Mercedes. “Can’t avoid it now, Miss Elliott. Go on. Get it over with. I imagine you’ll survive just fine.”
His vote of confidence has me nodding sharply. “You’re right. We got this. But, if you want to run over a few reporters on your way out of here, I won’t blame you. In fact, I’ll send you a tin of homemade cookies at Christmas.”
“Goodbye, Miss Elliott.”
I groan but face the inevitable.
The consequences of my actions.
Pushing open the door, I try not to flash the fray of people my red thong and scoot out of the car, handbag in my clammy grip. As I rise to my feet, my ponytail swoops behind me and my dress dances in a dainty way around my thighs.
I’m hit with a barrage of questions and demands all at once. The flashing bulbs are blinding. The voices are a roar. I ignore it all, head held high, as I strut my way through the cleared area the security officers made.
Someone screams that I’m a gold-digger. The comment strikes me but I don’t flinch. Instead, I pretend that my boss-slash-lover didn’t spend thousands on this outfit. I try to imagine that I’m someone who fits in Win’s world. Someone like a Meredith or Manda, but like the sexier, nicer, smarter version.
I manage to make it into the lobby unscathed. The tremble in my hands is slight but as I ride the elevator on the long way up, I calm the tremors and straighten my spine. There’s no telling what I’m about to walk into. Regardless, I have to. The only way to the other side is through this mess. There’s no getting around it now.
Once the elevator dings to deposit me on the correct floor, I affix my coolest expression despite the nerves buzzing beneath my skin. The lobby falls quiet as several heads turn my way. Each one of the executive assistants seems to turn at once like little robots. Win probably trained them that way. The thought makes a smirk tease at my lips.
I’ve got this.
Everyone can go to hell.
Win and I fucked. We’re freaks. Get over it.
The whispers start as I clack past each assistant on a mission to Winston’s office where the door is closed. As I approach, Deborah rises to her feet as though she’s going to prevent me from going in to see him.
She does not want to get in my way.
My icy glare must convey that message because she visibly flinches. Good. I keep walking and push into his office, ignoring how she rushes behind me.
Seeing him behind his desk rippling with masculine authority is a match to the lust that’s ever present whenever I see this man. I’m immediately drawn to the perfection that is his golden-blond hair, styled in a manner that could sell magazines if he were on the cover. His sharp jaw seems more defined than ever and his full lips are pressed into a cruel slant. God, he’s so freaking fine. The suit he’s wearing is killer—navy blue and expensive. Seems we both had the same idea this morning. Dress as though we have world domination on the first item of our agenda.
The man sitting across from Winston, older and a bit pudgy, rakes his lecherous gaze over my form, licking his lips before letting out a quiet whistle. If I weren’t so fixated on Win’s features, I’d have missed the flare of his nostrils and the darkening of his blue eyes.
“Speaking of the teenager I took advantage of…” Win lets his words trail off, flicking his wrist at me as though my presence bothers him. Five bucks says he’s hard for me. I flash him a slight, knowing smile that has his shoulders tensing.
Ha.
This isn’t over.
“I tried to stop her,” Deborah tattles, “but she—”
“I’m Ash Elliott,” I say to the man, cutting off Deborah. “And you are?”
The man is all too eager to stand and shake my hand. “Anthony Lambruski. Mr. Constantine’s attorney.”
“Anthony,” Winston says, his voice sharp and commanding. “We’ll continue this discussion in the conference room. Grab Perry and I’ll meet you both in there.” He doesn’t have to say anything to Deborah, simply nods at her that it’s okay I’m here.
Of course it is.
Winston’s mine.
Anthony grabs his bag and gives me another once-over, the interest in his brown eyes apparent. Once he’s gone, along with Deborah, I meet Winston’s intense stare.
He rounds his desk and my eyes can’t help but drop to his slacks where his dick is at half-mast, molding the expensive fabric across his thickness. The outfit is totally doing it for him just as I knew it would. His presence is overpowering and rippling with authority. He stands so close I have to crane my neck up to look at him.
I ache for him to touch me but things are fragile right now.
The door bursts open before Win can speak to me or before I can throw myself at him. In walks Nate, but Winston doesn’t even look up at him.
“Need help?” Nate asks in an irritated tone.
As though I’m an intruder and he’s the security detail. God, he’s such a douchebag.
“Have I ever needed help in my entire life?” Winston’s words are frigid, and I suppress a shiver. “The answer is no.”
Nate remains for a beat longer before muttering something out under his breath along the lines of, “I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” and leaving the office.
A thrill shoots through me knowing I have Winston’s undivided attention. That he sent away his meddling bestie to focus on me.
“What now?”
His brow lifts as he continues to peel me apart with a probing stare. “You think there’s more?”
“It’s us, Win. There’s always more. We can’t seem to ever get enough.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Winston
This woman is maddening.
I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s been hanging around me too long. This whole “sex scandal” thing would turn most young women into a sobbing, devastated mess. Especially considering this wasn’t just any sex scandal—it’s New York’s most notorious. There probably won’t ever be another sex scandal to outperform this one.
I’m a Constantine. We go big or go home.
That makes me think about baseball and Ash being the fuckin
g mascot of Team Constantine.
Irritation prickles across my flesh and I flash her a cruel smile. It’s meant to flay her but the pretty girl just grins at me. Fuck. Why does she have to look so hot today? She’s killing my resolve to put distance between us. Hell, it’s less than five minutes of seeing her and my fingers twitch to ease her short dress up her silky thighs and explore what’s underneath.
Now my dick is really at attention.
Traitorous bastard.
“So, I guess that’s it, huh?” A single dark eyebrow arches high and her hazel eyes sparkle with challenge. “I mean, I kind of gathered we were through when you dumped me at the whore apartment last night—even sent our bird packing too. I spent all night thinking about how we must be over.”
Not our bird.
“You thought this was over, Cinderelliott? It’s a good thing I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to be my filthy, sobbing maid. My dirty little girl who drops to her knees and begs for whatever scraps I’ll toss at her. Money. Praise. Affection. You still need me, but I will never need you.”
Liar.
The feisty girl with the sexy-as-sin mouth laughs. Fucking laughs at me. Her laughter is minty this morning and I’m tempted to taste the humor right from the source.
“Gotcha,” she says in a triumphant tone.
I clutch on to her throat, my dick twitching at the small gasp of surprise she makes. Everything in me craves to shove her pretty dress up over her hips, bend her over my desk, and fuck the sass right out of her. Fortunately, I refrain from being a Neanderthal. Barely.
“You’re playing with fire today.” My voice is a rumbled growl of warning. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
Hurt and uncertainty glimmers in her stare. Good. Maybe she’ll realize this shit is over.
“But I’m not fired?” she asks before chewing on her juicy red bottom lip.
“I have enough lawsuits on my agenda today,” I clip out. “I’m not going to fire you.”
“Because you still need me.”
“I don’t need you.” I grit my teeth together, trying my damnedest to keep control. She enjoys making me lose it.
