by Alexa Davis
Chapter Five: Olivia
Tristan's driver Adam took me home and I sat in the back of the black limousine quietly thinking. Had it been a mistake to leave all that money sitting on the dresser in Tristan's bedroom? Was I being a fool to give up all those tens of thousands of dollars just because I wanted him to think of me as something more than an employee?
I knew instinctively that Tristan Porter didn't normally bring women into his private bedroom suite, and I suspected it was even rarer that he let them sleep the whole night there with his arms wrapped around them. It had been fun having breakfast with him and even more fun watching him cook for me. The muscles of his arms and torso flexed and gleamed as he moved, and I was mesmerized by the beauty of his sculpted body. He cooked with such intensity and grace, it was easy to see it was a source of great joy for him. I liked getting to see this side of him, unguarded and natural, doing what he loved best. Even better, I liked talking with him. I got the impression he didn't have many people he could really confide in and I felt honored to be one of them. He even liked my idea about starting a career for BDSM clients. More than that, I felt like I could confide in him, too. I didn't usually like talking about the problems I had with my parents, but with Tristan I felt safe, like I could tell him anything. I never expected him to offer to take them out to dinner and try to ease their fears. It wouldn't be an easy task, but if anyone could get through to my stubborn father, it would be Tristan.
After making love in the kitchen, there was a look of true regret in his eyes at the thought of seeing me go. He said, "I have a lot of work to do today, so you'd better get dressed and go home. I left your payment on dresser."
"I didn't wear any clothes here." I blushed. "Just my coat over the lingerie you'd sent me and that's been cut to pieces."
"I bought you some more clothes. Come with me." He guided me back to his bedroom suite and produced a large box.
"For you." He grinned. I couldn't believe my eyes as I opened the lid of the giant box. It was filled with exquisite clothes by Chanel, Prada, and Ralph Lauren.
"This is too much," I gasped.
Tristan's eyes glinted with joy as he quickly dressed in his own clothes.
"Nothing is too much for you. Take as long as you need to get dressed. Adam will take you home when you're ready." Then he put his hand on my cheek and gently caressed it as he stared longingly into my eyes with his swirling gray ones. He kissed me with such depth of feeling it stole my breath away. "Goodbye, Olivia. I don't want to have anymore appointments at the club. I want them all to be here, instead."
"You're the Boss. Whatever you say goes." I smiled at him, still shocked by his generosity. For a brief moment, I had forgotten that I was his paid employee and felt like we were lovers. His words pulled me back into reality. Then he strode from the room, leaving me alone in the massive suite. On the dresser was a pile of cash, greater than my father probably made in three months, just for one night. The clothes in the box were worth even more than that. I put on one outfit, so I wouldn't be going home naked and left everything else behind.
I knew the feelings Tristan had for me went far beyond an employer/employee relationship, and I knew the feelings I had developed for him were nothing short of love. I couldn't be his prostitute anymore. I just needed to find a way to tell him and hope that he returned my love. In the meantime, I would need to find a way to support myself again. I'd saved up enough money to get by for the next couple of months. Maybe I could find a real modeling job by then, although experience had taught me that wasn't very likely. Maybe I could go to Mr. Varner and tell him I still wanted to work at Whip, but not for Tristan. Shaking my head, I realized that I wouldn't be able to bring myself to be intimate with any man other him, especially at the place where we first met.
I was beginning to wonder if maybe my parents were right. Perhaps I should move back home with them. I was barely surviving in this city, and one more disaster could have me out on my ass. The limo pulled up in front of my apartment and Adam opened the door for me.
"Wow, fancy ride," Clara greeted me as I walked through the front door and I knew that she'd been spying out the window waiting for me to come home.
"Had a sleepover, did you?" Suzanne teased me from the kitchen table, where she was eating a late breakfast and reading the Style section of the Sunday newspaper. Seeing me blush, she couldn't resist taunting me further. "So, was this business or pleasure? Or both?"
Clara rose to my defense. "Leave her alone, Suzy, can't you see she's a woman in love?"
Suzanne rolled her eyes at me. "Don't tell me it's true. Don't tell me you've fallen in love with the unattainable billionaire television star that's been paying you to fuck."
"Shut up," Clara said, undeterred from her romantic fantasy. She took my hand and guided me to the couch. Gushing excitedly, she said, "Tell me everything. What was it like sleeping over at his house? Did he pay you or does he love you, too?"
I didn't know how to answer. Part of me wanted to tell about all the times I had caught him gazing at me lovingly and the way he had held me in the night. The bigger part of me saw the logic of Suzanne's words. He was unattainable and the notion that he would have fallen love with me as utterly ridiculous. After all, he had paid me for last night and even referred to the time we'd spent together as an appointment, telling me that he wanted to book another one. I was nothing but a paid employee to him and any signs I thought I'd seen that he loved me was just me being delusional. Shaking my head at Clara, I said, "I don't think he's the kind of guy who has romantic relationships, especially with girls like me."
"You're better off that way," Suzanne said curtly. "Take a look at this."
She tossed the Sunday paper at me from across the room and it nearly smacked me in the face as I barely caught it in time. Straightening the ruffled pages, I turned the paper around until I was able to see the front page. There it was in black and white. A huge picture of Tristan with an angry look on his face placed side-by-side with images of police officers loading body bags into a van. The blaring headline read, “Tristan Porter Implicated In Murder of Four Drug Dealers.”
"Oh my God." I read the article from beginning to end and then twice more. An anonymous source had given the reporter documents showing that several years ago police responded to an incident at the home address of Tristan Porter and his wife Janice, where the bodies of four victims were removed. The coroner's report proved the victims had been killed by blunt force trauma and their deaths were ruled as homicide. Tristan Porter and his wife were the only people in the home at the time of the incident. Although no charges were filed against Tristan at the time, he was checked into Cedars-Sinai Hospital for broken ribs, and also several bones were broken in both his hands consistent with punching. Although there was insufficient proof to charge him with the four murders, it was clear that he was present at the time and could be the perpetrator, an accomplice, or merely a witness. Since the police department and Mr. Porter kept this incident private, the reporter called for immediate action on the part of the police commissioner to look into the matter.
Shocked and horrified, I set down the newspaper. No doubt my parents were reading that same article and would want me home now more than ever. I couldn't think about them, though; I needed to talk to Tristan and make sure that he was alright. He was all I cared about right now. Had he lied to me about killing those two drug dealers in defense of his wife? Had he murdered four men in cold blood and covered it up? The only thing I knew for sure was that he needed me now more than ever and I wanted to be there for him.
WHATEVER HE WANTS #6
Chapter One: Olivia
"I already read the paper." Tristan's voice was curt and crisp when he finally picked up the phone. The first ten times I'd tried calling him, I kept getting a busy signal. The next dozen times, I got his voicemail. I thought about leaving a message, but I couldn't think of the words to say. I needed to talk to him in person, to hear his voice and know that he was alright, and to le
t him know that I was there for him no matter what lies the media spread about him.
"Yeah, I figured. It'd be a little hard to miss," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
"I swear to God, I didn't fucking lie to you," Tristan said, even though I hadn't even asked him if he had. Still, he sounded defensive and desperate to explain himself, so I let him. "Everything I told you about that night with Janice and me being attacked by those drug dealers was the truth. They started it, and I was defending her. I know I only killed fucking two of them. It couldn't have been four; it just couldn't have been. I don't know why the papers are saying it was fucking four. Maybe I'm remembering it wrong? Maybe I'm going fucking crazy."
I could hear the pain in his voice as doubt and guilt threatened to overwhelm him. I needed to do what I could to help him work through this. Speaking calmly and clearly, I asked him softly, "How many men had been there total?"
"Four. There were four of the motherfuckers at the door that night: the leader, the ugly one with a scar, the skinny punk, and the fat fuck."
"You're sure about that?"
"Yes. I'm absolutely sure," Tristan insisted and his voice sounded calmer, as he grew more confident in his memory. My strategy for helping him was working, so I kept going.
"Tell me about killing the first one. When did it happen? What did you do?"
"It started when I saw the leader was beating Janice with that fucking lamp cord. She was screaming for me to help her and something inside me just fucking snapped. I knew I had to do something or the motherfucker would kill her. Except there were three fucking guys on me and there was no way I could get to her until I got them the fucking hell off me. The fat fuck was the most imposing and his fist had the most wallop whenever he fucking punched me. I knew getting rid of him had to be my top priority, so I took my fist and drove it into his face as hard as I fucking could. I was driving for his eye, but I ended up making contact with his fucking nose. Blood gushed out if like a fucking river, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He was dead before his lard-ass body hit the fucking carpet."
"So, you remember killing one drug dealer. Tell me how you got rid of the next one."
"As soon as the fat fuck was out of commission, the ugly one a scar came tearing into me, ready to fucking kill me. I kicked him in the balls as hard as I fucking could. He's probably still fucking singing soprano. He clutched them and fell to the ground, moaning."
"So, he wasn't dead, just injured?" I clarified. Tristan sounded so much calmer and confident than he had when he first answered the phone. I could tell recounting the details of that horrible night was helping him clarify his memory and strengthening his sense of self. So, as much as it turned my stomach to hear the gruesome details again and to think of my Tristan in such horrible circumstances, I had to keep going.
"That's right. No way would a kick to the balls kill a man; although he might fucking wish he was dead. No, the ugly fuck with the huge scar was just lying on the ground, clutching his crotch and moaning. He definitely wasn't dead and I hadn't done enough damage to him before to warrant more than a few bruises."
"What happened next?"
"Well then, the skinny punk turned white and ran the fuck out of there as fast as his chicken-shit legs would go. He was fucking gone."
"So he's definitely not dead, either."
"Absolutely not," Tristan asserted, sounding relieved. "Then I killed the leader and the police arrived. No one else was in the fucking house. I definitely only killed two; the media report is shit-ass wrong."
"They got a lot of right, though. I wonder who their source was," I said with genuine concern for the man I loved.
"I don't." Tristan sounded terse and filled with anger. "It could only be one person. Fucking Janice has been out to ruin my life ever since the divorce. I've got to find out what the hell the bitch wants and give it to her, just to get rid of her. It doesn't matter what the price is anymore. If she wants all my fucking money, she can have it."
"Do you really think this is all just about her wanting money?" I was flabbergasted. After all, she had gotten one hundred million dollars in the divorce settlement. How much more could she possibly need?
"No, I don't," Tristan said after a long pause and I could just envision him pacing the floor, deep in thought. "It's about hurting me, like I hurt her when I filed for divorce. She didn't love me anymore. That part of our marriage had been dead for fucking years, but she loved the prestige of being married to me and all the perks it granted her. She told me once that she felt humiliated by the stigma of the divorce and that one day she'd see to it that I paid for it. She wants to ruin my reputation like she imagines I ruined hers, crazy fucking bitch."
"So, what can you do to stop her?" I wished there was some way I could help, but I couldn't think how.
"I might have an idea. I have to go. There are some things I have to take care of. I'll come see you as soon as I can."
As he hung up the phone, I wished that I could be by his side to help him through this latest crisis. I felt assured however by his promise to come and see me when he could. All I could do now was wait for him to follow through, but I knew in my heart that he would.
Chapter Two: Tristan
"What did the piece of shit say?" I asked my lawyer Eddie as he hung up the phone from Janice's attorney.
"The usual. He denied that his client had any involvement in leaking the story to the press. He's putting the pressure on us to prove she was to blame, and of course we can't, so without a confession, we're screwed."
"Did she at least agree to meet with me?" I was so fucking frustrated, I wanted to tear the bitch's fucking hair out. I focused instead on Olivia's sweet beautiful face and it helped me to stay calm.
"He said that he would confer with her and get back to me. It's all up to them now; all we can do is wait."
"I hate this bullshit," I fumed, forcing myself to unclench my fists. I felt so fucking powerless. It was the worst fucking feeling in the world. I couldn't wait till all this bullshit was done and I could get back to Olivia. The smell of her hair and feel of her skin always made me feel better, and I needed that now more than ever.
"Are you sure meeting with her face to face is the best idea?" Eddie asked hesitantly.
"Do you have a better fucking idea? I need to find out what the fuck she wants to get her to end this bullshit feud between us. If it's money, she can fucking have it. If it's my career, she already got it. I'm meeting with the network executives today and telling them I fucking quit. If it's the mansion, I'll sign over the deed tomorrow."
"What if it's something more personal, like your relationship with that girl that was in the papers a while ago?"
"That's the one thing that is off limits. Olivia Harte is innocent in all this and if Janice tries to hurt her in any way or thinks she can stop us from being together, I will fucking bury that bitch myself."
I was shouting and I realized it. I sat heavily in a chair and tried to get a grip on my emotions.
"Wow, you really care about this girl don't you?" Eddie was surprised and perhaps even impressed. His lips curved into a grin and he slapped me on the back with brotherly affection. "Congratulations. I always hoped you'd fall in love again one day."
"Well, I didn't hope for it. This is the worst possible timing. My whole life is fucking falling apart and all I can think about is Olivia and wanting to be with her."
"That's a good thing, not a bad one. It's in moments of crisis like this that having someone to love is the most important. It gives you comfort and strength. At least, it does if she feels the same way; does she?"
"I don't know, but I think she must. We first met when I hired her to be my prostitute at Whip, but the last time we were together, she left all the money behind. She didn't even take a cent."
"Maybe she just forgot," he teased me like only someone who knew me so well could do.
"Fuck you. No, she didn't forget. She left it intentionally, and when she read the paper thi
s morning, she called me right away just to make sure I was okay. I think this could be the real fucking thing. That's why it means so much to me to get Janice off my fucking case. Call her lawyer back and tell him she can have it all – the house, the money, everything I fucking own if she'll just agree to leave me and Olivia to live out the rest of our lives together in peace."
"Tristan, that's crazy." Eddie stared at me in shock.
"I know it is, but just fucking do it. Olivia is the only thing that matters to me anymore."
I left Eddie's office, confident he'd carry out my orders. My next stop was a meeting at the network corporate headquarters. All the top studio executives were there. They looked nervous and uncomfortable, and I knew it was because they planned to tell me they were cancelling my show. I could have fucked with them and let them squirm, but I decided to take mercy on them and speak first.
"Gentlemen, Pick Me has been on the air for many years and it was one hell of a great fucking run, but as of today, I am quitting the show. I know it's shitty of me to cancel without giving you much notice to fill the timeslot, but I'm confident you'll be able to handle it. Thank you for working with me all these years and for giving my show a chance back when it was nothing more than an idea. It's been an honor."
I shook each man's hand and then left with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. I had wondered if I would feel like shit after quitting the show that had been my life for so many years, but I didn't. Instead, I felt fucking liberated. My interests in the show had waned over the years and lately, it had come to feel more like an obligation than a passion. I was finally free now to explore new career paths and I was excited to see what adventures would come my way next. Whatever my life had in store for me, I only knew that I wanted Olivia to be a part of it. Her idea for a BDSM business had a lot of potential and I couldn't wait to tell her that I was ready to do it with her as my partner. I just had one last appointment to attend to first.
