by Jade West
“I miss you,” I said. “I miss your laugh. I miss your smile.”
“I miss your touch,” she said. “I miss you, all of you. Everything we had. Everything we could have had.”
“What about domesticity? I thought that was a no go?”
She shot me a smile. “Never say never.”
But I had said never, I’d said never when I’d promised April another year. I was already booked in with PR, ready to get our shit sorted.
“Come to me,” she said. “Please. Tonight.”
It broke my fucking heart to say no. “I can’t. PR meeting.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I see. No problem, maybe a different night?”
I pressed my face as close to hers as I dared, scribbling any old shit in the notebook. “April wants twelve months, then she’ll split the house. I said yes. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Her expression dropped like a stone, eyes watery. “Of course, I understand. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought.”
My words were harsher than I’d intended. “You don’t understand. I’m a walking corpse, just trying to keep hold of something.”
“Keep hold of me.”
“I wish, Gemma, how I wish.” The crowd was dispersing, time up. “I’ve got to go.”
“Me, too. I have friends waiting.”
Words wouldn’t come out, lodged in my throat like fucking bullets. “This feels so wrong.”
“It’s ok, Jason. I get it, about the house. Steve told me about your dad. I get why you need to hang on to something. I get why you need to make it. I’m sure I would, too.” Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. “Twelve months? I bet you can’t wait.”
I was the last in the car park, unable to risk another bollocking. “I’m sorry, Gemma, I can’t stay.”
“Go,” she said, eyes glistening. “Don’t be a stranger, hey? Call me one day. Let me know you’re ok.”
I didn’t even have an answer for her, just a dull ache in my gut as I left my sweet girl behind.
It hurt like fucking sin.
***
Jason
Caroline Vaughan wasn’t one of those glossy-haired PR executives who float around and talk about charity opportunities. She was a fucking killer. I’d been forced into her company before, around the dogging scandal, and she’d handled the situation brilliantly, even if telling her about it was thoroughly uncomfortable. I’d pay through the nose for this, but I had no choice. She was the best. Her jet black hair was scraped into one of those twisty buns, and she had trendy thick-rimmed glasses that screamed sexy librarian. She was all in black. Black jacket, black blouse, even a black tie. A slash of shocking pink across her lips was the only break in the monochrome. Yes, she was a killer, alright.
She leaned across her walnut desk, handing me a selection of newspapers from the height of the Gemma craziness. “Tell me, Mr Redfern, are these stories true?”
There was little point in lying. “I was having a relationship with Gemma, a sexual relationship, that is. I met her on chatline, and she didn’t even know who I was.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
I wasn’t sure she meant it.
“I like Gemma, a lot, whatever we do here can’t hurt her. Number one priority, non-negotiable. I’ll never sign off on it.”
“Of course, Mr Redfern. We will leave Miss Taylor out of this as much as possible. The focus will be on you and your wife.” She ran me through the proposal. I flinched as she reached the part of the plan where I confessed to having a sex addiction to the press, but she swore blind it was a sound, if uncomfortable manoeuvre. “The public love a flawed hero. They will love you for being human, Mr Redfern, and everyone loves a sex addict, it’s one of the most popular kinds of addiction.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The most popular kind of addiction?”
“That’s right. We grade them. Heroin comes out bottom, as you’d expect. Sex addiction holds intrigue.”
“So, April gets all teary-eyed on a talk show, tells the world how tough marriage is and how hard we’re trying? Then I confess to a sex addiction?”
“In a nutshell. We want the public to feel your pain, enter your healing journey with you. We play this right, Mr Redfern, and your public personas will be stronger than ever. Like I said, everyone loves a flawed hero, but they love a flawed couple even more.” This was crazy and ridiculous, but still I let her speak. “Six months’ time should see a very different landscape. I’m sure you’ll be impressed. I’ve sent our proposal along to your wife’s representatives, I’m sure we’ll be able to co-ordinate timescales if you wish to proceed.”
“This plan, we work it for twelve months and then we have an exit strategy, yes? A way to separate with as little damage as possible to our careers?”
Caroline looked confused, flicking through paperwork. “That isn’t the brief I received through Mrs Redfern’s team.” She handed me a printout. “Three year strategy. It’s clearly stated.”
The horror on my face must have spoken volumes. I felt ashen, broken. “I can’t do that long. I need out.”
“Three years is a sensible timeline, Mr Redfern, especially with your wife’s ambitions for music success. That will take time, the Cherry Electric brand is no longer valuable. If she wishes to be placed on one of the music reality TV panels she will really need a stronger platform.”
My voice was nothing more than a hiss. “I don’t care about her fucking ambitions, or her shitty music. I want half the house, and I want out.”
“You seem to be at cross purposes, I’d recommend you speak it over with her before our next meeting.”
“Fine.” I grabbed my keys, but she took hold of my wrist before I could stand.
“Mr Redfern, may I speak candidly?”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“Gables and I are your PR consultants, we are here to advise on your wishes, your public brand, with or without the association with your wife.”
“Yes...” I prompted.
“May I ask a question? You are free to answer, or not, as you see fit.” Her voice was clipped and professional, pausing until I gave a definite nod. “Gemma Taylor, do you have feelings for her?”
I debated my answer for a few seconds before I tossed the keys back on the desk top. “I’m in love with Gemma Taylor, Ms Vaughan. Life’s not all that fair in the public eye, is it?”
“Please, call me Caroline.” She reached into a desk drawer and handed me a flip file. “I took the liberty of formulating an alternate strategy. The social media positioning is too strong to ignore. I think it may interest you.”
I flicked through pages of circled Twitter hashtags.
#SupportGemma
#NoFakes
#LoveYourCurves.
“What is this?”
“The social media support of Miss Taylor has been quite phenomenal. It appears she’s captured the public’s imagination. The ordinary woman is rooting for the flawed heroine, and that, Mr Redfern, has the makings of a wonderful PR campaign.”
“What are you suggesting?”
She leaned in close. “All I’m saying, Mr Redfern, is I think Miss Taylor would make a wonderful face for a true love conquers all campaign. Everyone loves a happy ever after, Mr Redfern. Everyone.” She smiled. “Even me.”
“You think the media would let us rest easy? I don’t want to drag Gemma through more of this crap, Caroline. She’s too good for that.”
“I’m sure we could work the media, but you would have to be prepared to sacrifice your house, or at least fight for it in court.”
The situation had never seemed clearer. “I don’t care about the house, April can have it.”
“Even better,” Caroline concluded. “Which strategy are we running with, Mr Redfern? I’ll action it as soon as you give the word.”
I think that was the first time I’d ever smiled in Gables’ offices. It felt good.
***
April was out at her own PR meeting, followed by some crappy
cocktail party with Veronica Ashdown to lay the woe is me foundations, no doubt. I dragged the paperwork from the desk drawer, pleased to find all the little sticky notes still in place. It made it easy to whizz through and sign the lot of them. I dumped it in plain view on the kitchen worktop, and wandered around the house for the last time.
So many memories, most of them shit. It was difficult to feel any remorse at leaving, even taking into account the massive loss of capital.
I threw my clothes in a holdall, the ones I’d need, the picture of my dad, too. I bagged up toiletries and essential paperwork, my laptop as well. The rest could wait.
I took time for one more task before I packed the car. I logged into Twitter and Facebook, ignoring the billion notifications.
One simple status update said it all.
#SupportGemma.
This time I didn’t stop at Steve’s to switch cars. My route was straight, determined. I nearly took out three huddled journalists as I swung the Range into Gemma’s yard. The headlights lit up their wide eyes, like ghosts, and I laughed at their horror, laughing harder at their scrabble to grab their camera gear. They snapped away as I slung my holdall over my shoulder, flashes lighting up the yard. I even gave them a wave as I pressed the intercom. No answer.
I stepped back to check the windows. The lights were on upstairs, I caught a flash of red curls by the kitchen sink, but they didn’t seem to linger.
“Gemma!”
She didn’t hear me, but the journalists did. They were already on their phones, spreading the news no doubt. I scrabbled around for a stone. It made one hell of a bang as it hit the window. Gemma’s face pressed to the glass, and I could see she was angry, even in the shadows. I waved, a proper football wave, arms above my head as she stared down into the yard. She pushed open the window with a creak.
“Jason?!”
She darted away and a buzz sounded, followed by the clicking of the lock. I gave the journalists one last smile before I left them outside, and it was a winner.
***
Chapter Twenty Four
Gemma
I was in a daze, a crazy, ridiculous daze. I shot through the flat, arriving at the door in a blink and swinging the door wide, to watch my dirty bad stranger coming up the staircase. He had a smile, a huge smile, and a huge fucking holdall. Oh my God.
“Jason? I thought you were...”
This time there was no fence between us. He dropped his bag to the floor, taking my face in his hands as I stared up at him. His hands were cold against my burning cheeks.
“Change of plan, Gemma,” he said with a glint in eyes that were dark and brooding. “I’m yours, dirty girl. If you want me, that is.”
“You’re staying?!” Butterflies cartwheeled in my stomach. My breath hitched.
He took my hands, squeezed them gently. “If you’ll have me. I know you’re not keen on the domestic shit.”
“What about the house? And April?”
“I signed the house over. And I don’t give a shit about April. She’s screwed me for long enough. I’m out.”
I couldn’t stop grinning. “You’re free? Really free?”
“Really. And it feels so good, Gemma. I feel good … lighter. No more burdens.”
“But the press? Imagine what they’ll do when this gets out.”
“I know what they’ll do, Gemma, and they’ll have my blessing.”
His eyes, so dark, so knowing; and that smile so confident, as if he was savouring a personal victory. “What do you mean, Jason? Don’t you care?”
“More than ever.” He stepped back to the landing and stared down into the dark yard, and when he shouted to the paparazzi and invited them up, my legs started shaking. He came back inside and pressed the buzzer to let them in. I made to back away but he held out a hand. “Don’t hide away, Gemma. I want the world to see.”
My heart was racing as footsteps ran up the stairs. He stepped back to my side, held my hand.
“Jason, what the …”
But it was too late for objections. Three grinning paps, wrapped in big coats and woolly hats, cameras poised. The one in the middle with hair as red as mine and a thick beard to match smiled right at me. “Miss Taylor, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Malcolm. You can call me Malc.”
Jason held up a hand. “Guys. I’ll make this quick. I’d like you to meet my girl, Gemma Taylor.”
“Your girl? What about your wife, Mr Redfern?” ginger Malc said.
His girl? Holy shit. I was shaking all over. Jason must have felt it because he let go of my hand and brought his arm around my shoulders, hugging me to him. “If she’ll have me, that is.”
“And your wife, Mr Redfern?” Malc pushed.
“We’ll be getting a divorce. She can have the house as compensation. All I want is Gemma Taylor. My beautiful girl.”
I could have fainted. The paps all gasped at once, raised their cameras, and the flashes went off like a disco. I was smiling, though. Definitely smiling.
“Thank you, Mr Redfern, and thank you, Gemma Taylor,” ginger Malc said after Jason held up a hand once more and the flashes stopped.
All three wished us luck before they galloped off into the night. In my mind I saw the papers reeling hot off the press. “Jesus, Jason, what the hell have you done?”
He pushed the door and it swung shut with a click. “Just told the truth,” he said, taking me in his arms.
A cough from the kitchen doorway made me jump. Tessa – Shit! I’d forgotten all about Tessa.
“Tessa, meet Jason – Jason this my good friend, Tessa.”
“No introductions necessary,” she said. “I watched your game the other week. My first one.” She cast her eyes to the holdall on the floor. “I guess you’re staying?”
Jason looked awkward, strangely self-conscious. “If that’s ok?”
“If you can get Gemma smiling again you can stay as long as you want.”
“I promise you, she’ll be smiling again,” Jason said.
“Great,” Tessa said, “then I’ll leave you to it. I have to nip out for a while.” She took her coat from the back of the kitchen chair, shrugged it on. I’ll be a few hours.”
“Tessa, you don’t have to,” I said. “Honestly.”
She smirked. “Nah, it’s ok. I think you guys deserve a little alone time. I’ve got some research to do, knock yourselves out.”
She flashed us both a winning smile and was out of the door in a jiffy.
“You have an ace friend,” Jason said, his lips heading for mine.
“She’s the best.”
He kissed me.
“Jason, what did you mean, what you said to the paps, about telling the truth.”
He sighed, seemed to collect himself. “I’ve learned a lot, Gemma. And I have you to thank for that. From now on there’ll be no more smoke and mirrors. No more putting on a show. No more pleasing the sponsors or keeping up appearances. Only the truth.”
“Which is?”
His arms came around me, pulled me to him, my breasts tight to his chest. “Which is whatever it is.”
“That’s a riddle.”
“It’s no riddle. You and me, Gemma. We fit. You make me stronger, better, happier. And I hope I can return the same to you; hope we can … you know, be happy, enjoy life, together.”
“And the truth is to face up to it, whatever the consequences?”
“Something like that.” He brushed a hand through my hair, brought my face to his, kissed me again. “I’m sorry, Gemma. Sorry for all the shit you’ve been through.”
I slipped a hand through his open shirt, felt his heart beating strong and steady against my fingers. “It’s going to be all right, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is,” he said.
I relaxed into him, held the moment, felt his warmth flowing into me as he kissed my hair.
“Jason?”
“Yeah?”
“We have a few hours. Alone.” I looked up at his beautiful face. Eyes dark but a
live. Lips full and wanting. “Shall we?”
“I want you,” he said. “I want my dirty girl.” His hands were in my hair, his lips against mine, his tongue probing and hot. Hot and hungry.
He smiled as he pulled away, and I was grinning, almost laughing, and we stared at each other for a century or more, at least that’s how it felt.
I grabbed his belt, pulling him toward the bedroom. “I want to wake up with you...” I breathed.
“Me too,” he said.
“I want to eat dinner with you...”
“I want to eat you,” he said.
“I want you to eat me,” I heeled the bedroom door and dragged him inside.
Oh shit. The ache, the warm glow between my legs. My hands scrabbled under his shirt, grappling for his flesh. His mouth was so hot, so fucking wet, his tongue chasing mine in a horny game of fucking tag. His hands grabbed at my ass, squeezed hard, kneading soft flesh until I squirmed. Oh fuck. My fingers wrestled at his belt, eyes wide open as he took my bottom lip between his teeth. I moaned as he nipped me.
He picked me up and slammed me on the bed so hard it took my breath away. He pulled at my clothes until I was naked, a tumble of curls and goose pimples.
He moaned in my ear. “Don’t think things are any different, dirty girl. The games just get dirtier from here on in.”
“I hope that’s a promise.”
“It’s a promise.”
I smiled up at him. “Now I have my eyes, I want to use them. Strip for me. I want to see you.”
“And what gorgeous eyes they are. You are beautiful, my dirty girl.” He stood at the side of the bed, and I slid my fingers between my thighs as he unbuttoned his shirt. His body, oh my God, his body. He was ripped, a wall of solid muscle, perfectly toned, and his tattoos, dark sketches of icons, beautiful faces, and rosaries... I stared at him, legs falling open as I rubbed at my clit.
“Yes...” I whispered. “You’re gorgeous, Jason... so gorgeous...”
He turned away enough that I could see the tattoos continue over his shoulders in a swirl of dragon claws and tendrils. His back was sculpted, flesh tight and hard, and his arms... he had fucking gorgeous arms...
