Wilde Forever (Wilde Women Book 1)

by Suzanne Halliday

  Rhiann started giggling and sing-songed, “Payter, Payter, he’s our waiter.”

  Brynn rolled her eyes, at least she thought she did. Pointing at her phone she looked at Payter and said, “Help.”

  “Eh, don’t worry. I know just what to do.” He took her phone and typed in a reply saying as he went along, “Yes. Can’t talk. Bad signal. Damn cell phone.”

  Brynn smacked his arm and said, “You’re good!”

  He smiled indulgently and told them, “This ain’t my first rodeo ladies, but I suggest you pack up and let me get you out of here and into a cab.”

  And that was just what they did, stopping along the way for one more drunken turn on the crowded, surging dance floor. By the time they were at the front of the club, Payter had a cab waiting for them. He escorted them to the car, gave the driver the address of Rhi’s apartment which she conveniently pulled up on her phone’s contact list, and handed the guy a fifty dollar bill that Brynn had dug from her bag. Obviously, this was something they did a lot.

  “Bill will see you to your door ladies. I’m glad you had a good night now get your asses home and don’t forget to lock the door behind you.”

  The stern reminder to lock the door sent Brynn off into a giggling fit. By the time they made their way back to the Village, they were still a bit goofy but aware that they needed to hold it together until they were home safely. Bill did his part and after pushing the wrong button on the elevator at first, they finally managed to get into Rhiann’s apartment where they each stumbled to her bedroom and fell facedown onto the bed.

  THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN waking up early was waking up early with a massive hangover. Twisting her hips to roll over, Brynn let out a choked yelp when her ass hit the floor with a tremendous thud. Groaning in agony from the pounding in her head, not the ass thump, she collapsed backwards into an awkward sprawl, squeezing her eyes shut against the brilliant sunshine flooding the windows.

  The bed made a rustling noise and she heard a familiar but ragged voice. “Ugh, my head. Brynnie?”

  Finding enough saliva to speak was made difficult by the sandpaper and cardboard her mouth seemed made of. “Floor,” she croaked. “Fell out of bed.”

  Creaking open one eye the slightest bit, she saw a hand grip the side of the bed followed by two bloodshot eyes and a tangle of brown hair as Rhiann searched for her.

  “Is this hell?” Rhi wheezed. “Feels like it.”

  Brynn tried rolling to her side but gave up when the effort became too much. “Waiting room, I think,” she snarled. “Damn uncomfortable one, too.”

  The symphony of grunts, groans, gasps, and curses that followed would have been funny under different circumstances but eventually they each managed to get upright despite the fact that there was a lot of head clutching and general body resistance.

  “What the fuck was in those drinks,” Rhi cursed as she slumped against the bed’s headboard.

  Brynn snorted then groaned in agony when the movement and sound ripped a hole in her skull. “Fuck if I know,” she answered. After a silent minute she stammered, “You can shoot me now.”

  Rhi’s hand appeared at the side of the bed mimicking a gun firing. “Done.”

  From her unique vantage point on the hardwood floor, Brynn tried to take in the current situation. She was still dressed in last night’s club-going attire, which tight as it was, wasn’t helping her comfort level any. Her shoes, or rather Rhi’s shoes, a pair of indecently high platform heels were nowhere to be seen. Brynn’s small purse was sticking out underneath her ass, meaning she’d probably slept with it.

  Luckily, her sister kept a chair beside the bedroom window that Brynn crawled to and used as leverage to drag herself up off the floor. Completely wiped out from the effort, she collapsed onto the upholstered seat and let her head fall on the high back.

  “I’m never drinking again,” she muttered, turning her head carefully in Rhi’s direction where she sat immobile and looking like the survivor of a wild animal attack, propped up and clutching a pillow across her midsection.

  An hour, a shower, and two Advil later, Brynn was hunched over at the tiny kitchen table nursing a hot tea while Rhiann struggled with her Keurig. Half the water she tried to pour into the reservoir spilled onto the counter, which she had to sop up with a huge wad of paper towels.

  “Thank God it’s Sunday,” she muttered. “Good day to commune with the sofa and watch crappy TV shows.”

  “Sounds good,” Brynn drawled. “My powers of recovery aren’t what they used to be. Out of practice, I guess.”

  They sat in silence clinging to their mugs, taking the occasional delicate sip of their hot beverages until Rhi grumbled, “Okay. What the hell is that noise?”

  “You mean besides the percussion section practicing in my brain?”

  “”Yeah,” she sputtered. “Shhh a minute and listen.”

  Eventually Brynn heard what she was talking about and pulled a wry grimace. “That’s my damn phone. Crap.” Padding barefoot from the kitchen, she found her purse where she left it on the floor in the bedroom and pulled her phone out.

  It was a text from Jax. ‘You were supposed to call me when you woke up.’ She was? Oh God. What had she done?

  Stumbling back to her seat she dropped like a stone and gave Rhi the ‘Fuck my life’ face.

  Her sister smirked knowingly. “The Butt Whacker I presume?”

  “What did I do?” she asked as frantic anxiety built inside.

  “I believe the correct terminology is ‘drunk texting’. From what I remember, you pretty much told Mr. Sexy Ass that you’d been a very bad good girl, whatever the hell that means.”

  Brynn’s face fell into her hands. “Oh no, no, no, no, no. Why didn’t you stop me?”

  Rhi laughed and shrugged, a twinkle of mischief lighting up her eyes. “Why? Because it was funny as shit. I’ve never seen you like that sis. All giggly and flirty with a guy.”

  “Giggly and flirty?” she shrieked. “What the hell Rhiann. Some sister you turned out to be.”

  Rhi stuck her tongue out and grunted, “Pffft.”

  Rubbing her fingers in a circle on her temple, Brynn tried to compose herself. He’d said she was supposed to call. Ugh. Better text first and see how much damage control she had to do.

  ‘Sorry. Got distracted. Good morning.’

  Yeah, that sounded halfway reasonable.

  His rely was immediate.

  ‘How’s the head this morning?’

  Aw, fuck. Really?

  ‘I’m good,’ she hastily typed.

  ‘Maybe you should review your text history.’

  Rhi was snickering and shaking her head. “I think he might have you by the balls, sis.”

  Brynn quickly scrolled through her previous texts and felt a swirling round her as if she’d sailed into the Bermuda Triangle and was caught in a whirlpool. It was a thousand times worse than anything she could have imagined.

  She’d started texting him around two in the morning, saying ridiculous shit about being booze horny and wanting to do all sorts of unimaginable things to his private parts. Every word was positively cringe-worthy. The words, ‘been a bad good girl’ definitely was part of the drunken rant. Shit.

  ‘Yikes. Sorry. I feel foolish.’

  ‘Is that why you texted instead of calling?’

  Brynn couldn’t answer that question. She hadn’t known about the drunk texting when she first replied. He didn’t wait for an answer.

  ‘Just tell me you’re okay Brynn. We can talk about your insatiable craving to suck my cock another time.’

  ‘I’m fine. Rhiann is too. We’re going to hang out here today and watch TV. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.’

  After a bit more back and forth about train schedules and timing, she got out of the uncomfortable conversation as quickly as she could.

  “Well?” Rhi asked. “How bad was it?”

  Her heart still galloping with anxiety mixed with embarrassment, Brynn admitted
the worst of it. ”Apparently I want to uh,…well that is to say, in my booze-fueled mind I told him some nonsense about sucking on a part of his anatomy.”

  Rhi barked out a laugh. “Ooooh, you cock teasing wench, you!”

  “Zip it,” she giggled. “But while we’re on that subject, how about you fill me in on your new boss?”

  “Ah, you mean the incredibly sexy and infuriating Liam Ashforth?”

  “Yep, the very same. How is it that he appears out of the blue as the owner of a fashion magazine? The one where you happen to work at no less?”

  Rhi shrugged and took her empty mug to the sink. “Dunno. It’s odd though, right? It’s been years since I even thought about him and then one day he starts signing my paycheck.”

  “Mmmm hmmm,” Brynn teased. “Nice try with the ‘haven’t thought about him in years’ sis.”

  Rhiann turned to rest her backside against the counter and fixed Brynn with a mocking glare. “Not going there, Miss Bad Girl Who Wants to Suck Cock.”

  Brynn shuddered and hooted a belly laugh. “Oh, Christ. That sounds raunchy as hell, huh?”

  “Well, we certainly are a pair,” Rhi joked. “Look, let’s curl up on the sofa and swap all our top secret thoughts. Okay, well maybe not all of ‘em. But I want to definitely hear more about your Butt Whacker now that you’ve let the cat out of the bag. Or the pussy as the case may be,” she giggled. “And I’ll tell you everything I know about how the guy who broke my teenage heart appeared out of the blue looking like a textbook gentleman.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Brynn chuckled.

  By the time her meeting rolled around the next morning, Brynn’s head was whirling with everything she and Rhi had shared. It was obvious from what her sister had said and by inference with the things she didn’t, that Liam showing up was just the tip of the iceberg. The fashion industry had lost its appeal where her sister was concerned and though she didn’t express an interest in anything else, it was clear to Brynn that Rhiann was at some sort of crossroads. Ashforth’s unexpected appearance in the mix only seemed to make Rhi’s dissatisfaction with the direction her life was going more pronounced.

  Considering where Brynn found her own personal life these days, she wasn’t in a position to offer anything coherent in the way of sisterly advice or counsel. Just like the sudden appearance of Liam Ashforth, Brynn’s totally out-of-the-blue fascination and involvement with Jackson Merrill was only turning everything she knew about her life up till that moment on its head.

  The meeting with the network had been half fun and half tedium. They wanted her and two others to act as judges for a reality special pitting five well-known TV chef personalities against each other in a competition made intriguing by the fact that she and her fellow judges would be from the self-trained and relatively unknown category. A little like the novices critiquing the celebrities. Sounded like as much fun as a root canal. While the exposure might be good for the business, she wasn’t the type to willingly piss off a couple of highly skilled, world-class chefs. Besides, reality shows weren’t her thing. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the culture of rude, annoying know-it-alls who loved creating conflict for the sake of entertainment. Life was difficult enough without having to endure the hate squads who gleefully took sides and turned up on every available nook and cranny of social media to bully, name call, and generally act like dickheads.

  After tactfully turning down the opportunity, she called Rhiann at her office and told her what happened. Luckily, Rhi agreed with her take on the situation. Even though the identities of the chefs willing to be involved hadn’t been revealed, the very idea of enraging an Anthony Bourdain or even a Rachel Ray seemed like a suicide move.

  After that, there was nothing left to do except grab a quick power lunch and head to the train station. She’d been away from Wilde House and the bakery long enough. Time to get back to her real life.

  Her stomach churned and filled with Chinese acrobats when the time came to text Jax and let him know which train she’d be on. Even though it had only been less than forty-eight hours since she’d last seen him, the idea of having to face her domineering lover after having pretty effectively made a damn fool of herself made Brynn nervous. Everything was moving way too fast for her liking, and she was struggling to doggie paddle through the unfamiliar emotional waves crashing all around her.

  Admitting she was wildly attracted to Jax had been the easy part. It was the whole, ‘what happens in six weeks and am I grown-up enough to handle a relationship’ that was wrecking her brain.

  Jax was washing up and putting Brynn’s house back in order after a long morning of heavy work on the bathroom project. She was going to be surprised at how far along he was when she got home. The once tiny powder room and sewing nook had been blown out to create one pretty large space that he’d framed out and drywalled in short order. He had a bunch of tile samples for her to look at and an idea for the corner shower he wanted to discuss, but other than that, it was a fairly straightforward remodel.

  Checking his watch every five minutes, he was anxious for time to speed up so he could get to the part of the day he was looking forward to the most; when Brynn stepped off the train and he could see for himself that she was in one piece after her sibling bacchanal in the city. She’d surprised the holy fuck out of him with her drunk texting Saturday night.

  On the one hand he was thrilled and seriously pleased that she’d so obviously been thinking about him while they were apart. What didn’t make him all that happy though was knowing she and Rhiann had gone off on their foolish own, drinking God knows what, who knew where, in a city that was hardly a safe place for two ladies without a strong male back-up to keep any potential fuckery at bay.

  The distinct sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway interrupted his thoughts. Sounded like one of those growling penis-envy sports cars that invariably ended up being driven by some pretentious piece of shit who’d check himself in the mirror before exiting the car.

  Fuck. When had he turned into such a judgmental, cynical motherfucker? Oh yeah, right. That would be when he volunteered to leave his comfortable, privileged life behind and get his ass routinely shot at in a bloody fucking war that most people forgot was being fought in their name.

  Heading for the front door, he swung it open and stepped out onto the porch as the candy apple red sports car with the tinted windows and shiny wheel covers came to a halt. Just as he’d imagined, when the driver door opened and the car’s occupant emerged, he was every inch the fucking poster boy for ‘Pretentious Asshole Weekly’.

  “Oh, fantastic,” Jax muttered. This oughta be rich.

  He had to bite back a laugh when the pompous little fucker masquerading as a hipster hid behind a pair of dark sunglasses dressed in skinny pants and a goddamn skintight sweater with a stupid fucking scarf around his neck who was sporting a frickin’ goatee approached.

  “Can I help you?” Jax barked. He made sure to use a tone that suggested this asshole, whoever he was, state his business before he became target practice.

  The guy never so much as slowed his roll, just continued prancing forward like he owned the fucking place. Climbing the porch stairs he removed the sunglasses at the last moment and tried to intimidate Jax with a know-it-all sneer. As if, he thought.

  “Where’s Brynn,” the tight-assed prancing fucker asked.

  “Depends on who the fuck is asking,” Jax bit out, glaring at the stranger with a black look.

  “None of your goddamn business,” came the ill-mannered reply.

  It was a macho pissing contest at its most absurd. Jax was less than thrilled.

  “Well, since I’m standing here with a key and you’re doing the asking, I’d say it’s plenty of my business.” This preening asshole, whoever he was, had instantly rubbed Jax the wrong way.

  “Pfft.” The scarf-wearing stranger eyed him with clear disdain. “I’m here to see Brynn on family business.”

  Jax raised an eyebrow but otherwise d
idn’t move a muscle, effectively blocking the obnoxious jerk face challenging him from making any further progress toward the front door. “Is that so?”

  Next thing he knew, the passenger door opened on the ridiculous penis-car and another fucktard emerged, only this one looked like he’d just stepped out of a J. Crew catalog, right down to the laughable sweater tied oh-so-perfectly around his neck. Who the fuck dressed like that in real life, he wondered.

  “Is there a problem Seth?” the guy challenged as he also made his way onto the porch. “Who the hell are you?” he asked Jax.

  “Okay,” Jax sneered, “for those of us just getting in on the conversation, I would be a friend of Brynn’s asking who the fuck you two are and the only one here with a key to the house.”

  “A friend of Brynn’s you say?” the second stranger gritted out as he imperiously checked Jax out from head to toe.

  Delivering a snarling glare, Jax growled, “Like what you see, boys?” The insinuation that the two men played for the home team hung heavily in the air.

  Sweater Man clearly didn’t like the implication being thrown in his face but that didn’t stop him from extending a hand. “This is Seth Colton. He’s Brynn’s cousin,” the dickwad said with a nod at goatee boy.

  Jax didn’t accept the outstretched hand—just stood his ground and put off a menacing vibe that neither would be able to miss. “And you are?”

  Delivering a perfectly unctuous toothy smile he smoothly replied, “I’m Roger Ellis.” When Jax didn’t react to his name he added, “Brynn’s husband.”

  Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Not what Jax expected to hear at all.

  “You mean, ex-husband don’t you? The anal prober?” He thoroughly enjoyed the look of discomfort and shock on the guy’s face. He recovered quickly though.

  “Ah, I see Brynn’s been running her bitchy mouth. She always was one for hyperbole. Now I remember why I dumped her snotty ice queen ass.”

  Jax stiffened at the man’s offensive words. A line had most definitely been crossed, and he was having none of it. Lowering his voice to a menacing warning he told both men, “Where I come from we don’t talk about our women in such terms.”