The last few months have been chaotic and stressful in every single way, but things finally seem to be on the mend. My father is doing much better, and his mood has improved dramatically in the last two weeks. While Dr. Bollington’s therapy sessions are undoubtedly part of the reason, I have a sneaking suspicion that dad’s rising spirits have much more to do with seeing Tom Jobin and realizing that recovery is possible. Hope is a powerful anti-depressant.
Even our money worries seem to be tapering off. Yes, Spencer Calkins is still being cagey with specifics, but on a morning like this one, it’s hard not to be optimistic.
Much of my good mood has to do with Cassie. Every night we spend with her is amazing, but last night felt extra-special. Something had been different in the air between us. There’d been more tenderness, more intimacy.
“You’re falling in love with her.” My dad’s voice cuts through my reverie.
I look up, unsurprised at his conclusion. My dad’s always been able to read me. “Yeah,” I admit. “I’m crazy about Cassie.” I pause for a second. “You know that Lucas and I…” My voice trails off. How on Earth do you tell your father you’re in a threesome and you hope it’s a long-term thing? I don’t know what the right words are. This seems like one of those occasions for which there should be a Hallmark card.
“Are both seeing her?” My dad’s voice is a little slurred, but his brain is as sharp as ever. “I’m not blind.”
“No,” I reply ruefully. “You always had eyes in the back of your head. It was a pain in the ass when I was a teenager.”
He chuckles. “I was terrified I’d screw up,” he says. “Your mother had just died, and I had no idea how to raise a fourteen-year-old.”
He did a pretty good job. My dad worked all day at the garage and was still home in time to make sure I had a hot meal to eat, and when Lucas’ father had kicked him out of his house, my father had taken him in without a word and treated him like a son. There’s a reason Lucas and I will do anything to make sure that Patrick Fowler receives the care he needs.
“You remember the Mustang I built for you for your sixteenth birthday?”
“How can I forget that car?” My voice is fond. “That car helped me score… never mind, you don’t want to know.”
“You’re right; I don’t want to know.” There’s a small smile on his face. “You wouldn’t let anyone drive that car. You wouldn’t even let me touch it.”
“I remember.”
“Then one day, shortly after Lucas came to live with us, his car broke down, and he was late for an appointment. And without even thinking about it, you gave him the keys to your Mustang.”
“Trust me, I thought about it,” I reply dryly. “I told him I’d kick his ass if he as much as got a scratch on my baby.”
My dad shakes his head. “There’s always been a bond between Lucas and you.”
Ah, the point of the story becomes clearer. “Cassie’s not a car.”
“Did I say she was?” He gives me a sharp look. “All I’m saying is, when it comes to you and Lucas, the normal rules don’t apply.”
His right arm is still paralyzed. His right leg is still stiff, and he needs a walker to get around, but there’s nothing wrong with Patrick Fowler’s mind. Nothing at all.
“You’re a good kid, James,” he says. “As is Lucas. A parent can’t ask for much more than that.”
Patrick Fowler isn’t prone to flowery speeches, to wild and extravagant emotions. He’s a man whose actions always spoke louder than words. But when he says those words to me—you’re a good kid, James—my eyes tear up.
I told Lucas there are only three people whose opinion matters to me. Lucas, Cassie, and my dad. The fact that he accepts my unorthodox choices means more to me than anything in the world.
“By the way,” my dad turns to me, “how do you know Annabelle?”
I frown at him. “Annabelle Jobin? I don’t know her at all. We met her for the first time when she came to pick you up the other day.”
He looks puzzled. “She was asking about your show,” he says. “Maybe she’s a fan?”
“Maybe.” That doesn’t seem right. When we met her, Annabelle had been pleasant, but she didn’t act like a fan. She hadn’t even mentioned Dirty Talk.
We arrive at Dr. Bollington’s North Street office, and I put the puzzle out of my mind and help my dad up the stairs. My mind is on a million other things—Cassie, the renovations, Spencer Calkins and the live show on Thursday. Annabelle can wait.
15
Lucas:
The weekend passes; no contract arrives from Spencer Calkins. His tech crew shows up to install their own cameras for the live show on Thursday, but they’re in the dark about the business details. We try to call Calkins’ assistant on Wednesday, but our call goes straight to voicemail, and she never calls us back.
I don’t need a crystal ball to know that this isn’t going to go well.
“Are you going to watch the taping of the show?” I ask Cassie Wednesday night.
“Not here.” She looks a little green. “The live taping is freaking me out. Is it okay if I watch it at my place? I’ve asked the girls to come over for moral support.”
“Of course.” I grin at her, trying to keep my worry at bay. “Come over after and we’ll celebrate, just the three of us?”
“Aren’t you forgetting Patrick?” she asks.
James shakes his head. “He’s hanging out with Thomas Jobin tomorrow,” he says. “He told me that Annabelle would drop him back sometime on Friday. We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”
“Sounds good,” she replies. “Once the cameras are out of sight, wild horses won’t keep me away.”
Normally, the thought of Cassie coming over would cheer me up. Today, my sense of unease is just too great.
Calkins shows up at six in the evening on Thursday, his face wreathed in smiles. “So,” he says, rubbing his palms together, “my guys tells me that the two of you are quite the talk of this town.”
I raise my eyebrow, and he elaborates. “You’re banging the coffee shop chick?” He leers at us. “Both of you, from the sounds of it.” He chuckles. “I don’t blame you, of course. I’d hit that.”
“Our personal life is not up for discussion.” James’ voice is icy. Though his face is expressionless, I can tell that he’s furious. As am I.
“Hey, hey,” Calkins holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “No need to get snotty with me. I’m just making conversation.”
Neither of us bothers to reply. I’m ready to walk, thirty-five grand or not. The more I see of Calkins, the more I begin to wonder if we’re ever going to see any money out of this deal. “Do you have a contract for us?” I ask bluntly. “Your assistant has been surprisingly hard to reach.”
“Of course.” The porn producer looks offended as he removes two ten-page documents from his briefcase. “My legal team worked their asses off to get this done on time. Frankly, I find your lack of faith a little insulting.”
“Frankly,” James snaps, “I find it difficult to believe that you expect to get access to the audience we’ve built up over the years without disclosing any terms. You aren’t the first sponsor we’ve worked with, Calkins. Given the circumstances, we’ve been pretty accommodating.”
The three of us glare at each other. I take the sheets of paper out of Calkins’ hand, but I have no time to review the details. The lead camera guy hurries up to our side. “We go live in a minute,” he says. “Are you ready?”
I make an effort to calm down and smooth a smile on my face, but as we take our seats in front of the cameras, there’s only one thought in my mind. We’re making the biggest mistake of our lives.
Cassie:
I’m nervous as the five of us settle down in my living room. “James and Lucas are not happy about this,” I mumble to Mia as we take our seats around the TV. I usually watch Dirty Talk on my laptop screen, but the fifteen-inch monitor doesn’t lend itself to five people watching.
> Nina overhears. “Yeah, they’ve been on edge all week at work,” she says. “I really hope this goes well.”
Me too, Nina. Me too.
At exactly seven, the show comes on. “Hey everyone,” Lucas says into the camera. “Welcome to the first live episode of Dirty Talk. Now, I know we’ve been teasing you with promises of a big announcement. We’ve been fielding messages from you all week, so without further ado, let me introduce you to Spencer Calkins.”
Without being aware of it, my hands have clenched into fists. Lucas appears relaxed on the surface, but there’s a slight tension in his voice. He’s not happy about something—what?
The camera pans to Calkins, who looks smugly pleased with himself. “For those of you that don’t know me,” he announces, “I’m Spencer Calkins. I run a company called Sin on Demand, which I’m sure everyone’s heard of.”
“What’s Sin on Demand?” Nina asks, her brow furrowed, proving that contrary to what the porn producer seems to think, not everyone knows about his company.
“He makes women-friendly porn,” I say, not taking my eyes off the screen. “Supposedly.”
“I’m excited to say that Sin on Demand will be partnering with Dirty Talk,” Calkins is saying on the screen. “At my company, we’re big fans of honest discussions about sex, and nobody does that better than Dirty Talk.”
So far, so good. I keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best. Perhaps Lucas and James are just being paranoid. Perhaps Calkins isn’t a creep after all, and his failure to produce a contract is because he’s been busy.
“In fact, one of the maxims at Sin on Demand is that everything is better with sex,” Calkins continues. The camera zooms out, and I can see James looking wary.
“How is everything better with sex?” Maggie asks the room. “I bet I can think of a dozen things that will not be improved with sex.”
“Cooking with hot oil,” Nina says, holding her hand in the air.
“Shh.” I glare at the two of them. “I’m trying to watch this.”
They pipe down, and I turn my attention back to the screen. “And we’ve come up with a great contest.” He turns to Lucas with a wide grin on his face. Something about the way he’s smiling makes me twitchy. I don’t like this guy. At all. Not one little bit.
“Dirty Talk currently has two million followers,” he says. “Sin on Demand wants to double that, and we’ve come up with a great incentive.” He winks at the camera. “Now, they’ve been keeping it pretty quiet, but James and Lucas have just started seeing someone. I’m sure you’d love to see who this mystery woman is who has both James and Lucas completely captivated. You would, right?”
The room goes quiet. “I don’t like this, Cass,” Mia says, her voice layered with anxiety.
“Me neither,” I whisper. Goose bumps break out on my skin. There’s a lump in my throat and dread in my heart. Even the suggestion of appearing on Dirty Talk is enough to make me feel sick to my stomach.
Calkins leans forward, the camera zooming in on his face. “Here’s the offer,” he says, pausing for effect. “If Dirty Talk doubles its followers in six months, James and Lucas have agreed to do a sex tape with their mystery girl, produced by Sin on Demand.”
My heart stops beating. Fear claws at my skin. Could this be true?
“No.” Nina’s voice is shocked. “They would never have agreed to that. Would they?”
She looks at Mia, who in turn looks helplessly at me. “Cass?” she asks softly. “Did James and Lucas say anything about this to you?”
For about a minute, I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t hear or feel or speak.
Then Lucas’ words echo in my mind. Cassie, we will always have your back.
And I believe them. I believe in James and Lucas. They would never betray me. Not in a thousand years, not even if they were staring ruin in the face. As surely as I know that my name is Cassie Turner, I know this.
There’s drama unfolding on the screen. Lucas jumps to his feet, his face filled with rage, his hands clenched into fists. “How dare you?” he snarls.
He swings at Calkins, his fist connecting with his jaw. The chair tips backward and Calkins collapses on the floor, his face contorted with agony. “You’ll be sorry, Bennett,” he screams, blood streaming out of his nose. “I’m going to sue you for every penny you’ve got.”
James barely spares Calkins a second glance. He looks straight at the camera. Impossibly, they’re still broadcasting. I guess someone thinks the fistfight is good for ratings. “We didn’t make this deal,” he says clearly, his eyes troubled. “We would never make this deal.”
He’s speaking directly to me—I know it.
“What are you going to do?” Mia whispers.
I’m already moving toward the door. “I’m going to find them,” I reply.
“You believe them, don’t you?” Nina says tensely. “Cassie, they would never hurt you this way.”
“I know,” I reply simply. “They’ve always had my back.” Now it’s time for me to return the favor.
16
James:
I’m in a daze. Calkins has just departed, yelling and threatening to sue us into oblivion. I can’t be bothered with him right now. All I can think of is Cassie. If she believes we sold her out for ratings and followers… but she can’t believe that, can she? I’d never do that. I love Cassie. She’s everything to me.
Someone’s pounding on the front door. I make my way to it, vaguely noticing that Lucas is slumped in a chair, his head in his hands. I should see how he’s doing and offer him some ice for his fist.
Cassie’s standing in the doorway. I look at her, words failing me. I should tell her that Calkins took us by surprise. I should assure her that we didn’t know about what he had planned, but I can’t seem to form a single sentence. I’m paralyzed with the fear of losing her.
“James.” Her eyes are kind and warm, and there’s love in her expression. “I know you didn’t plan it. I trust Lucas. I trust you.” She wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me close, and she kisses me, her lips infinitely soft. “Now,” she says, “let’s figure out what we’re going to do next.” She climbs the stairs leading to our office, and I follow her.
Lucas looks up when he hears footsteps, and when he sees Cassie there, hope flares in his eyes. “Tell me you believe we didn’t plan this, Cass,” he says hoarsely. “Calkins was lying.”
“I believe you,” she replies steadily. “Of course I believe you.”
She said something about making plans when she walked in, but right now, I don’t need plans. I need her. I need her warmth and her soft heat, and her kindness and her love. I need Cassie.
We fold her into our arms, and we make our way to my bedroom.
Cassie:
The next morning, I wake up with a plan.
It’s not much of a plan. It doesn’t solve James’ financial woes. It doesn’t find them another sponsor. Those are big and complicated problems, and I have no idea how to fix them.
What I can do, however, is prevent Spencer Calkins from suing.
But to do that, I’m going to have to do something that terrifies me.
James and Lucas think I’m brave, but they’re wrong. For fifteen years, I’ve cowered at the sight of a camera, flinching whenever someone turns a lens in my direction. I’ve allowed my fear to dictate my life.
That changes today.
Annabelle Jobin’s just pulled up at the front door. James goes downstairs to help his father, leaving Lucas in the room with me. I’m trying to think of a way to get rid of him when James calls up. “Lucas,” he shouts, “can you come down for a second?”
Lucas gets to his feet, a puzzled glance on his face. With a shrug, he heads downstairs. When he’s gone, I get dressed hastily and slip into their office. I’ve seen them operate the cameras more than once, and I know what to do. With shaking fingers, I hit Record and take a seat on the couch.
I’m not going to have enough time to do a dry run. One
take only.
“Hi,” I say into the camera, hearing the tremble in my voice. My palms are clammy, my stomach roils, and bile rises in my mouth. You’re doing this for James and Lucas, I remind myself. It’s time to woman up, Cass.
“So last night’s episode was crazy.” James and Lucas manage to make their banter sound so effortless, but I have no idea what to say next. Oh, right. I need to introduce myself. “In case you’re wondering who I am, I’m the mystery woman.”
I wipe my palms on my skirt. The video of Lucas punching Calkins has gone viral. Last night’s show has already been viewed millions of times.
“When I was a child, my mother entered me in every beauty pageant in a five-hundred mile radius. My memories of childhood are of being forced into sequined outfits, my face caked with makeup, and being on display all the time.”
I take a deep breath. “One day, when I was twelve, I was sick. My head hurt, and I was running a fever, and all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep. But it was the state final, and I had to perform.”
Even now, I can’t think of that day without feeling nauseous. “The photographer lined us up, and he kept taking photos. The lights were blinding, and they hurt my eyes, and I begged my mother to let me go to bed.”
My fingers clench into fists in my lap. “Ever since that day,” I say quietly, “I can’t see a camera without feeling ill. I can’t have my photo taken without wanting to hurl. James and Lucas know this, of course. Whatever they did yesterday, they did to protect me.”
My voice is firmer now as my anger takes over. “Spencer Calkins didn’t tell James and Lucas what he was planning,” I say. “He deliberately hid what he intended to do because he knew that James and Lucas would never agree to what he was planning. Why do you think he insisted on the show being broadcast live? He played them for ratings.”
Dirty Talk (A MFM Ménage Romance) (The Dirty Series Book 2) Page 8
