Packing my fucking suitcase and getting the hell out of here.
CHAPTER FOUR
I so relieved to get back to my own place. Left without goodbyes to anybody. I’ll make it up to Mom later, but honestly, I’d be glad to never see Randy or Scott ever again. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life. I do much, much better here in my own city, with my own apartment, own job, friends, my own life. They can take their billions and shove ’em. Which I guess might take quite a while and be somewhat painful, which frankly I’m okay with right now.
It’s sort of like getting out from under a hangover, coming home after a trip back to the mansion. What with the funeral, making out with my step, and accusations of giving public bjs, I’d say this last visit rated about a 7 on the drama scale.
Oh wait. See, when stuff hurts my feelings, I tend to box it up and forget about it. Much less painful that way. Except, like just now, it tends to jump out of the box and escape when I’m not suspecting it: I forgot all about the GAY ROMP. All about how Scott was pretending to be so into me, when obviously he only wanted get his rocks off close to home. Or who knows, maybe kissing me was just another prank in a long line of unfunny pranks.
I toss and turn, not getting any decent sleep, with strange dreams of orchards and Randy undressing and Scott yelling. When I get up for work it feels like I barely closed my eyes. And then the calls start coming. I swear it’s buzzing every few minutes—work, my mom, even Randy.
Randy? He never calls, and thank god for that. So what the hell does he want? Maybe Scott is forcing him to apologize. Watch me give zero fucks.
I notice Scott hasn’t called to apologize. I guess billionaires are better at ordering other people around than taking care of their own business. Or maybe he’s not even sorry. Maybe he’s busy arranging another GAY ROMP and I’m out of sight, out of mind.
It’s not until my lunch hour that I decide to drop my barricade. I listen to my messages, and first up is Mom, telling me she’s sorry I left so quickly and that she hopes I didn’t believe that story she showed me about Scott. Just lies, nothing but clickbait, she says.
Second is Randy, and—I turn my phone off. Zero fucks, as I said.
Now hold on a sec, Ainsley.
I’ve gotten a sandwich to eat in the park because the weather is so pleasant. But instead of ravenously gobbling it up like I usually do, I sort of sink down onto a bench, my knees wobbly.
I’m um, a total idiot? Once it sinks in, what my mom said, I realize that of course that photo must have been faked. Do I not live in the age of runaway crazy celeb made-up gossip, plus Photoshop? And by the way, since when does my mom know what clickbait even is?
Am I going to keep letting the past control my reactions to everything? The gorgeous, thoughtful man who arranged that picnic for me, who walked me down that astonishing aisle of apple blossoms—he wouldn’t have bothered with any of that if he was just playing around. And his kiss…well, what do I know. Nothing, obviously. But his kiss—that felt as real as things get.
As full of feeling. As loving.
Okay then.
I don’t waste any time. I put my ass in gear and you know me well enough to know that when I get busy, I really get busy.
First I call my boss and tell her I’m not coming back this afternoon, family emergency. Then I call Mom and get the address of Scott’s office, where she thinks he’s in meetings all afternoon. And then I go shopping. I buy the best little suit my credit card can afford—it’s decently made, it’s super sexy but not trashy, and it looks perfect with the Louboutins my mom gave me. (Don’t think for one second in my hurry to pack I left those behind. You think I’m crazy?)
And then I drive like a banshee back across half the state to the city where Scotty’s offices are. I hope the place isn’t packed with security because I don’t have a plan for getting past anyone more threatening than an admin in her seventies. I’m remembering those beefy guys with the earpieces that were at our grandmother’s funeral, and that worries me a little.
Even though I’m scared as hell, and racked with all my anxieties—what if the kisses were still just being friendly or just for fun? What if the beefy dudes throw me out of the building on my ass? What if—”
Despite all that, I manage to find a decent station on my crappy car radio and start rocking out to a run of really great tunes. And you know how that can change your attitude just like that. It makes the miles fly by, and lifts my spirits to where I’m mostly just looking forward to seeing Scotty again.
I leave my car in a spot so illegal, they may put me in jail if they catch me. I don’t care. All I can think about is telling Scott that I misunderstood, telling him I am sorry, and leaping into his arms at last.
A pretty young receptionist is the only guard I see so far. “I’m here to see Mr. Caulter,” I tell her. “Tell him it’s Ainsley.” Perkily she hits a button and speaks into a mouthpiece. I’m looking around, goggle-eyed at the building, which is some kind of architectural marvel with vast windows and behind the receptionist, a stunning reception room all in black and white.
Well, wait a minute. Hold on a sec, Ainsley.
Maybe I’ll apologize for being an idiot, and then see if he will apologize for being a dirtbag when we were sixteen. And I’ll leap or not leap, depending.
I’m so damn torn. I want to put the past behind me, I want to make excuses for him, but I know that’s not the right thing to do. That won’t lead anywhere worth going.
So now I’m slowing down. Way, way down. To a stop, actually. Why the hell am I so impulsive? Did I really think that a new suit would make everything turn out like a fairy tale? The hurt of those years hits me right in the face and makes me falter. He was so mean, so cold to me.
This is never going to work.
Shaking my head, I turn around to leave, praying my car hasn’t been towed already. Because what do I think I’m doing? Letting a few apple blossoms make me forget a year of torture?
Leopards don’t change their spots: you know it, and I know it. And don’t go saying that’s only a cliché—clichés only get to be clichés because they’re true so much of the time. So with a big sigh, I’m on my way back to my car, thinking at least I have a hot-looking suit to keep as a memento of the day I went certifiably insane for a few hours.
“Ainsley!”
Uh oh.
“Ainsley, get back here!”
I turn to see Scott running towards me, flying down the sidewalk, dodging people like a running back.
“You’re not the boss of me,” I say, but I’m smiling because I just feel happy to see him and hear his voice, despite four seconds ago planning to never see him again.
“Dammit Ainsley, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for days! Come on up to my office, now that you’re here.”
“I thought you were in meetings all afternoon.”
Scott laughs. “I am, Ainsley. But I’m also the boss. They’ll wait.” We get in an elevator and there are just enough people in it that I have to stand close to him, close enough that I can smell that potent combo of his outrageous cologne and his man-smell.
I am way too susceptible to scent. I wonder if anything can be done about that.
Scott takes my hand and pulls me down a corridor. People fall back, staring. Then we’re in a conference room with a beautiful mahogany table and paneled walls and a stunning view.
“Nice,” I whisper.
“Okay, first, that stupid photograph? Ainsley, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
I hang my head just a tiny bit. “Yeah, well. You have to admit it was very well done.”
“No, I do not admit that! It was a joke, ridiculous, typical of the stuff that websites like that come up with. And you know how it is, when you have a certain amount of wealth…you become a target. It’s no big deal, it just amuses me. Honestly, I couldn’t possibly care any less and my father was just using it to cause trouble. He wanted to get out of the picnic, and ruin things for us.”
The way he says that—the us. It’s making my knees wobbly. Dammit.
“But the thing I’ve been wanting to talk to you about since, well forever, but especially since we were just home again together…I want to explain why I behaved so terribly to you years ago.”
I’m listening. I cannot imagine what he’s going to say.
“I wanted you to leave home.”
The whaa—?
“I did everything I could to make your life miserable so you would leave. Because I knew you could make it on your own, Ainsley. You are incredible, you’ve always been incredible, even at sixteen. You can do anything. And I couldn’t just stand by and watch while….”
“While what?” I say, completely confused about what he’s telling me.
“Listen. My father is a complete shit,” he says, his voice low and dark and angry. “The way he was looking at you…I could tell, Ainsley, that if somebody didn’t do something, he was going to come after you.”
I just stand there with my eyes as wide open as they will go. Because the instant I hear the words come out of his mouth, I know it’s the truth. I know it, and I knew it back then, but I stuck it in a box and ignored it, because it hurt and I didn’t want to think about it.
“Scott—”
“I know for a fact he molested a girl next door, when she was sixteen,” he says. “She was a friend of mine. We weren’t close, but you know, we were neighbors and went to the same school and gave each other rides and stuff like that. And she broke down one day and told me what my father had done. Not just one time, either.
“The family was too scared of Randy to go to the cops. They ended up moving across town and nobody ever heard a word about it. And you know Randy—elbowing old ladies out of his way as he goes into church, wanting to show everyone what high morals he has, not to mention money to hire the very best lawyers and PR people. It would be a battle, getting anyone to believe he did something like that. Anyway, the point is, Ains, I saw how he looked at you. You’re so beautiful, so sexy—and he doesn’t care about who he hurts if he wants something. You, your mother—everyone’s expendable to him.
“So what I’ve wanted to say is…I’m so sorry. I was only sixteen and I couldn’t come up with any plan except to drive you out of the house. Please accept my deepest apologies for that.”
“Scotty,” I manage to croak, because my throat has tightened and tears are threatening to overflow and spread mascara from here to New Jersey. And then his arms are around me just like I’ve been dreaming about, and we both let loose a gigantic sigh because it’s like we’re finally, finally home where we belong.
In each other’s arms. Together.
After a long, deeply close moment, I let go and stand up straight, smoothing out my skirt. “I’m really glad you told me. I guess I wish you’d told me back then what you were worried about, because you know…all this time, I thought you hated my guts.”
Scotty laughs. “Are you kidding me? I thought it was so obvious I worshipped you. Sure, I was acting like a pest. But a pest who thought you were the most exciting, challenging, hilarious, beautiful, hot girl in the whole world.” He reaches a hand up and strokes my cheek. “Which is exactly what you are.”
I just stand there gaping, unable to believe what I’m hearing.
“Okay, listen, I’ve got to go back in now,” he says, “I’m trying to close a deal and I shouldn’t keep them waiting much longer. Please—don’t go back today. Stay at least for the night. I’m going to a gala this evening, I can’t skip it, and it wold be sixty million times more fun if you come with me.”
“A gala?” I manage to say, nonsensically.
“I’ll talk to my assistant and he’ll take you to my apartment and make sure you have everything you need, including something to wear tonight. You’re staying. I’m not letting you leave, not now.”
I nod, still overwhelmed. He gathers me in his arms again and holds me tight. “We’re going to have more fun than you’ve ever had in your life,” he murmurs into my ear.
And…I believe him.
CHAPTER FIVE
You won’t be surprised to hear that Scott’s apartment is totally magnificent. It’s a penthouse apartment in one of the tallest, fanciest buildings in the city, with a wraparound terrace and 360 degree views. You can see boats on the river, the bridges, the parks, the sunset. The sunrise too, I guess, for that matter. And the inside is just unbelievable—everything sleek and modern and beautiful, without any piles of junk anywhere. Not that I know anything about that.
His assistant, Martin, insists on taking my measurements and then going shopping for me, and I think I’ve made his day. He gets to leave the office and go to a bunch of boutiques, and I…well, what am I going to be doing? I can’t just sit in this apartment for hours waiting for Scott to be done making a bajillion dollars.
After Martin has all the measurements he needs, I decide to go out for a walk. I’ve never spent time in this city and I like walking around to get to know a place. And walking—it helps me think. And I really need some time to think, to let everything that’s happened in the last few days work its way through my head.
I don’t doubt for a second that Scott is right about my stepfather. I realize that I’ve known it all along, really—and probably a lot of the hate that I was dumping on Scott really should have been directed at Randy. So many creepy memories come back to me—times when he would offer to put sunscreen on my back, or come in my room without knocking, sometimes catching me half-dressed. Or when he would buy me sexy clothes, like the dress I wore to the funeral.
I was making excuses for him, telling myself he was just tone deaf, didn’t understand girls, whatever…when deep down, I knew exactly what he was up to.
And why he’s always in a rage now whenever I come home. Furious with his son and with me, because he never got what he wanted. I feel bad for my mom, but also—free in a way, for the first time since I can remember.
I’m surprised when I get back to the penthouse that Scott is already home, and Martin is back too.
Scotty grins at me. “She’s gonna look awesome in that,” he says to Martin, and Martin just nods his head off.
“Okay you two, cheers and have a wonderful night,” he says, and slips out. I see big white boxes stacked behind Scotty, and several shopping bags with gold script on them.
“The gala’s not until 8,” he says, still grinning at me. “I can’t be late, they’re giving me an award,” he sort of mumbles. “So why don’t you try on the dress and make sure it fits, while we still have time to call Martin back if you don’t like it. Also, I’ve got someone coming over to do your hair and makeup.”
I’m…not used to this. I mean…someone to do my hair and makeup?
“I know it probably seems like overkill,” he says. “But like it or not, you’re going to be in for some scrutiny tonight, there’ll be paparazzi for sure at this thing, so I want you looking your best.”
I nod, feeling sort of in a haze and I stumble into a bedroom and open up the box with the dress. Oh. my. god. I’ve never even seen anything like this before. It’s red silk, it’s gorgeously made, and I peel off my suit and put that thing on so fast it’s not funny. Now where is that box of shoes?
“Ainsley,” says Scott, when I appear. “Come here.”
I walk to him, my face flushing. I feel a little bit like I’m playing dress-up and I get a little shy.
“You,” he says, touching my chin and then letting his fingers caress my neck, “are…” and his fingers trace along the neckline of the dress, which plunges down to expose my cleavage, “so…” and now I’m smelling him, and you know what that leads to, “…hot…” and I’m trembling, it’s like years of pent-up passion are on the verge of release, and I want to leap into his arms so bad but I’m waiting…
“I love you, Ains,” he says into my hair, his arms around me, his smokin’ bod pressed up against me. His lips find mine and we’re kissing and it’s sexier than anything I could believe.
I can feel his shaft pushing into my mound and my panties are drenched in an instant, because it’s like proof that he wants me as much as I want him.
Then what I desire more than anything is to feel that shaft with my tongue. I want to take him in my mouth and taste him. I drop down out of his grasp, onto my knees. I look up at him and his eyes bore into me, he’s not smiling but his face is contorted with desire and he rocks his hips forward, towards me, and I know he wants me to suck him as much as I want to do it.
Slowly I unzip his jeans. I make him wait. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but how hard could it be, right?
Very hard. His cock I’m talking about.
Hold it, Ainsley, it’s not time for jokes.
Okay then. I’ve never seen a cock up close like this and I’m amazed at the effect it’s having on me and I haven’t even sprung it out of its boxer-brief prison. It’s straining against the fabric and Scotty moans and pushes his hips towards me again.
“Suck me,” he murmurs, and I hear how much he wants it. Wants me.
I pull down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out. There’s a droplet of moisture on the tip and I lick that off. Scotty moans. Then I take his rod in my hand and squeeze it, and move my hand up and down, but it’s too dry so I lick all around to make it slippery. I run my tongue up and down its length, nibbling lightly with my lips folded over my teeth, delighting in every moment, every taste, every sensation.
When I take him in my mouth, Scotty moves his legs apart for balance, and I love that, love that I could knock him over with how good I’m making him feel. I suck hard, I swirl my tongue over the head, I reach up and pull him towards me, into my throat, until he is making sounds like an animal, and we’re both so into it, it’s so fucking exciting and he’s pumping himself into my mouth, faster and faster until he freezes for a moment. He says my name. And then he explodes and I suck him until he’s dry, loving every salty drop.
Well, I guess no more innocent Ainsley!
Billionaire Stepbrother Enemy Page 3
