One Bride for Five Mountain Men: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Jess Bentley

  And for a second, it occurs to me I maybe should have woken her up. Instead of trying to manage everything myself, I should have given her the information, assumed that she had something worthwhile to contribute to this. Again, I've underestimated her. I silently vow that will be the last time. From now on, we’re partners. Equal partners.

  She stands up, bouncing lightly on her toes and smiles with real happiness.

  “Why are you so happy?”

  “Because I'm almost certain that I know who this is,” she said slyly, winking at me. “How do you feel about a trip to back to the States? Maybe a legal battle or two? Do you have some kind of shark lawyer we could get to beat the snot out of this woman, the way she so richly deserves?”

  I glance at my laptop, thinking about how my teams are quickly falling into disarray without my attention.

  But then I snap the laptop close. It's time to get serious about one thing, really focus my energies on it.

  “Just let me make a phone call,” I suggest, already scrolling in my phone for Richard Branson's number. “We can be back in New York in no time.”

  Chapter 21

  Jordan

  Head monster. What a completely ironic way for her to name her company. I mean, it's a clue, certainly. She knew that if I ever heard the name, I would know it was her. And I would know why. Even better, I'd know Kelsey was still behind it.

  It's Britt.

  I sit behind her in the courtroom, staring daggers into the back of her head. She saw me when I came in but her eyes skated over the top of me as though magnetically repelled.

  She's going to be sorry, I think to myself as we sit there on the long, church-like wooden benches of the courthouse. I can’t make Kelsey sorry, but Britt? No mercy for this one.

  I'm going to make sure she's extremely sorry, if it takes every last penny I have got left.

  The funny thing is, “head monster” was something nasty Kelsey had said about her. We were hanging out, sitting on top of the picnic benches outside the diner one summer and Kelsey had pointed her out. She was hanging half in and half out of some guy’s car across the parking lot, talking with him.

  Britt didn't know we were there, and maybe that's what made Kelsey so snide. Maybe she felt that Britt should know exactly where Kelsey was at all times so that she could give Kelsey her undivided attention. I don't know. But she was suddenly angry at Britt for no reason I could ascertain.

  “She should just lean right through that window and suck him off right there,” Kelsey spat.

  I looked up from my French fries. “What are you talking about?”

  Kelsey jerked her chin toward Britt's general direction. “That's Tony Delgado she's talking to. There in the Trans Am, leaning into his car like she’s some kind of… I don't know, hooker or something.”

  I squinted, trying to make her out. I could only really see Britt’s bottom half, and I wasn't even really sure it was her.

  “She does that, you know,” Kelsey sneered. “She loves it. She's probably sucked off half the guys we went to high school with. Total head monster.”

  I chuckled, thinking that was such a stupid, middle school thing to say. Head monster. As if.

  But the name kind of stuck, as names do. Kelsey started saying it in conversation to other people and eventually it sort of trickled back to Britt. That way Britt would know one day, without her knowledge, Kelsey had a vicious conversation about her for no reason.

  That was sort of Kelsey's way, to make sure that you knew no matter what, she had an arsenal of weapons pointed right at you, for no other reason than the fact that she could.

  And now, sitting behind her in the courthouse, I feel kind of bad for her. She got the same kind of shitty treatment that I did, but I didn't go so far as to masochistically name my company in honor of one of Kelsey's hissy fits.

  Then again, I shouldn't feel bad for her. She's making a lot of money off me. A lot. And despite what people say, money is not the root of all evil. It actually makes a lot of things pretty okay. She’s probably doing fine.

  The bailiff finally calls our case and we shuffle to the front of the courthouse, still not looking each other in the eye. R assured me that this was a fairly simple procedure, getting an injunction to force the website to cease operations.

  But the judge doesn't seem to see it that way.

  After only a few minutes’ worth of testimony, the judge looks at me over her glasses and clicks her pen several times.

  “Ms. Burke, when did you grant Kelsey Rawlings permission to install recording devices in your home?"

  “I never granted that permission,” I say loudly, shaking my head.

  The judge just stares at me for several long seconds.

  “I find that hard to believe, Ms. Burke,” she finally sighs.

  My breath catches my throat. I can't believe she is saying that.

  “I never granted permission! Not ever!” I blurt out.

  “But you did accept money for this? After the fact?”

  I shift from foot to foot. “Yes, I suppose I did… It was in Kelsey's will.”

  “So you have already been compensated? For your… performance?”

  My mouth is dry, my ears filled with a rushing sound like wind or water.

  “Listen… I don't… I mean, I never thought that I would —”

  The judge coughs delicately to cut me off, her eyebrows raised imperiously. She is done with me, and I can tell. I've seen that expression so many times on Kelsey's face, I know exactly what it means.

  “Ms. Burke, I would suggest that if you would like to seek an injunction against, um… Head Monster, LLC, that you secure appropriate counsel, and bring that case before the appropriate jurisdiction.”

  “Um…”

  I can't say anything else. The gavel bangs against her desk and that's it. Case dismissed. In addition, I'm supposed to pay Britt’s fucking court costs. Can you even believe that?

  I stumble out of the courthouse, shading my eyes against the bright New York sunlight. The Town Car rolls against the sidewalk and the shaded window slides down. R smiles at me from the dark interior.

  “How did it go?” he calls out. “Victory dinner? I've got champagne here, just let me—are you all right?”

  I don't know what to say. My legs have stopped working and I just stand there, trembling. He flings open the door and rushes to me, wrapping his arms around me and holding my body still as my core shakes so hard I'm not sure if I'm supposed to cry or scream or shatter into a million pieces.

  We stand there for a long time as people walk by us. I don't even care anymore. I have no sense of shame left, no sense of privacy or personal space. Everybody can stare at me all the time.

  Then I realize, it's because he's here. Because the only person who makes me feel safe in the whole world is standing right in front of me.

  “It's all right. It's not over yet,” he murmurs as he rocks me gently back and forth, swaying where we stand. “I've got about two hundred more lawyers that I can get on this. Everything I've got, we will throw at her. When we are done with her, she'll have to sell the fillings in her teeth.”

  I almost want to chuckle at the ridiculousness of that threat. He is trying to make me laugh. I flatten my palms against his chest to push him away slightly so I can meet his eyes.

  “You know what, King, let's do that,” I nod.

  His face is twisted with sincerity. I can tell how badly he feels for me, how he would give anything to make me feel better.

  “And… I think I'm falling in love with you too,” I say.

  Shock spreads across his features, then happiness.

  “It really took you a long time to say that,” he says quietly.

  “I wanted to be sure,” I explain.

  “And you are sure now?”

  “You stuck by me,” I whisper, saying things I've only barely been able to admit to myself. “You reached out to me when I was unreachable. You held me when I cried and told me it would be al
l right until I believed you. You've chased me back and forth across the planet. If there's one person in the world who has ever really proven that what they feel about me is real, it's you, King. It really is you.”

  “I'm so glad you finally noticed,” he grins, pulling me up closer to him. When his mouth covers mine, it's like I can almost taste it too. He really does love me, and loving him back was inevitable. This may be the only love I've ever known, and now it's all I want.

  Chapter 22

  Raleigh

  Jordan insisted that the other women on the streams have their identities protected, and I agreed. But when the police raided Britt’s tiny office in the back of a warehouse, I had Reggie go along and film the entire thing.

  I wanted her to see that it was over. I wanted her to have proof. And it seemed only fitting that she would get to have that remote viewing pleasure with something that was so personally important to her.

  When the cops burst through the door (really overplaying their hand by using one of those battering rams, but it did have a certain kind of dramatic flair, I admit) Britt’s expression was a perfect pantomime of shock and horror. She snapped her laptop closed, trying to rip the cords out of the back. Not that that would do anything, of course. She dropped her cell phone on the floor and crushed it under her heel, and that was a fruitless gesture as well.

  Jordan liked the part where she was dragged out in handcuffs the best. I could see that it wasn't really in her nature to be too triumphant about someone else's bad day, but she was glad it was over. A small smile curled her lips as she watched the last few seconds over and over again, chuckling to herself. Britt mouthed the words fuck you toward Reggie's camera as the police dragged her past.

  That video came up in court testimony, at least twice. Unfortunately, a lot of other video surfaced as well. Because the business had produced over $2 million in the years since Kelsey's death, the press had a field day with it.

  CNN and Buzzfeed and MSNBC had reporters in the courthouse every day, trying to get Jordan's opinion on topics as wide-ranging as Internet security, international banking laws, and voyeurism as a sexual fetish.

  Initially, having my face pop up on newsfeeds damaged my credibility as a businessman, but as they say, any PR is good PR. Eventually my stocks rebounded, and many of my partners started inventing ways to appear near me in the courthouse to get their millisecond of fame as well.

  When it was all over, the court ordered Britt to pay compensation and restitution to Jordan in particular, totalling just over seven figures. The other girls elected to keep the business alive and running. With all the promotion, and their explicit consent, it was really a very lucrative business model.

  And why shouldn't they? As a businessman, I can respect the decision to pursue any arrangement that's been mutually beneficial.

  Britt, however, is also looking at jail time. Her part in the business is done. Kaput. Partly because she continued Kelsey's betrayal of Jordan, but also because interest in this case sparked the investigation into Kelsey's death. It's no longer ruled an accident. And Britt is looking at attempted homicide charges.

  But Jordan doesn't talk about that. She's got enough to do with her last semester of college nearly finished. After she switched her major to business, she discovered a real passion for technology startups. I suppose no matter what she does, she'll do well. She has that sort of fire and determination I've only ever seen in one other person.

  And that person is me.

  When the car drops me off at the penthouse, I already feel a snap of excitement. I can see the lights are on, high above me, which means Jordan's already home from class. The elevator doors slides open and I walk in to find her standing in the middle of the floor with her hands on her hips, turning a slow circle.

  “What are we doing?” I ask cautiously.

  “I think we’re moving out,” she announces.

  I take a beat to think. I've trained myself out of bossing her around and gotten used to some of her more interesting suggestions. If says we’re moving, we could be moving.

  “I've had this penthouse for quite a while,” I remind her gently. “But I don’t mind finding something else together. Where are we moving to?”

  She nods thoughtfully. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about,” she begins. There’s a sly glint in her eyes and I'm curious to see where she's going with this. “Since I got my bachelor’s degree and all…”

  "Oh! Congratulations!” I exclaim. “Why didn't you tell me that?”

  “I just did,” she says. “I mean, there's still the whole graduation and everything… But I got my last class results today. Passed the final. Aced it, as a matter of fact.”

  “I'm so proud of you, sweetheart,” I sigh, fighting the urge to bend her over the dining room table and plow her immediately to celebrate. I feel like she's got more to say, so I’ll try to be patient.

  “Thank you, I am proud of me also. So now I just need to figure out what I'm doing with the rest of my life, right? Should be a cinch.”

  “Absolutely,” I agree.

  “So, I'm thinking California,” she says with a determined angle to her jaw. “Silicon Valley is still a thing, right?”

  “Yes, I have a—” I cut myself off. Who cares what I have? I'm resolved to thinking about what we have. Together. “I mean, what would you like to do there?”

  “Oh, you know,” she sings-songs, swaying about the room like some kind of techno-Mary-Poppins. “Locate some resources. Identify some key partnerships.”

  “You're making fun of me,” I observe.

  “What? Who me?” she laughs. She sways closer to me, close enough that I can scoop her into my arms, and I know this was her plan all along. She likes to play a little bit of hard to get, but it's the getting part that she really enjoys. “But first, can we go back to Paris?”

  This surprises me. “Paris? Why?”

  "Well, by my count… We still have at least two flats in our names. We should start thinking about… consolidating?”

  I raise my eyebrows. This is very good news. In her own way, she's acknowledging our lives have begun to overlap.

  “I think a trip to Paris would be lovely,” I murmur, but I'm utterly distracted by the curve of her neck.

  “I want to see the Louvre again,” she moans, gasping when I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Her lips open in a welcoming smile.

  “I want you to see whatever you want to see,” I answer sincerely.

  Chapter 23

  Jordan

  Paris seems different now. I went back to my natural hair color, and I find myself greeting every stranger with some kind of challenge. I expect them to recognize me, and I expect to have the opportunity to stare them down defiantly when they do.

  But somehow, the number of people who have that gleam of recognition in their face has dwindled to so few that sometimes I even forget to look for them.

  I've been scrubbed from Pinterest. Our lawyers sent DMCA and cease-and-desist letters to thousands of publishers to remove both the streams and my image from screen captures. Some wicked part of me is delirious to know just how popular I became. My picture was everywhere, doing all kinds of things. There was fan fiction. There was fan art all over DeviantArt. There was even an Etsy seller who specialized in bras and panties in the styles I wore. Honestly. Some people.

  But because of the Internet's notoriously ADHD personality, they've moved on to a whole new basket of scandals and sideshow attractions. I am quickly fading into “Where is she now?” status. It's a relief, believe me.

  But that means Paris is different. Instead of wondering who's going to spot me out next, I really only have to worry that they're going to miscount my change, insult me to my face, or that I'll wander into some weirdo masturbating in public. Just normal Paris stuff.

  I guess we didn't have to really come here to dispatch our properties, but I wanted to do it anyway. We have people to do that, as R likes to say so frequently. I could have hi
red an un-designer to dismantle my flat, sell off my stuff or put it in storage, or give it away. But I wanted to do it. Putting it all together had meant a lot to me.

  And surprisingly, R did the same thing. I truly didn’t expect him to, since he had picked the flat out and all its furnishings. But he said that if we wanted to have a place in Paris, he wanted it to be some place we picked out together, as well as all the stuff inside it.

  It makes me happy me to know that he really has listened to me. I’m glad he sees me as an individual. He respects my decisions and doesn't just tell me what to do and when to do it anymore.

  We are partners, just like he said.

  But I did find a truly adorable flat in Saint Germain-des-Prés in the 6th Arrondissement. It's unbelievably expensive, of course, but we have just the best neighbors. Just the best view. Just the best of everything. It's only going to be available for a short time, and I hope he likes the idea. No matter what we do in the States, I want us always to be able to return here. Even though it stinks to high heaven a lot of the time, there’s nothing more romantic than Paris.

  So it's one last business fête at the Louvre before we return to New York tomorrow, and then Los Angeles after that. I got a business to start, and I can't wait.

  All heads turn toward me as I exit the limo and step onto the curb. For a moment I have that feeling of being pushed back, as though everyone looking at me has a physical force like a wave.

  But they’re smiling. I feel that I should know them, so I smile back. I see a lot of the same faces from last time, faces from dinner parties we’ve had. I do not see Monsieur Maillot, and that is just great.

  R turns to me just as I'm walking up to him. He steps away from the small group of fashionably-dressed business people and holds his hands out to me, cupping my elbows in his palms and drawing me up for a long, slow, probably extremely inappropriate kiss.