Chapter 4

Roxanne

My lips fall apart, and he’s in my mouth instantly, taking full advantage…

“I saw a slideshow article about Billionaire Bachelor #6 this morning,” petite, green-haired, freckled Iggy pipes from my computer screen, although she’s technically piping from Los Angeles, California. We’re in a Skype video chat right now. She’s my roommate and the drummer in our band, The Cabbage Splat Dolls. “He’s a little violent, isn’t he?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, even though everyone has seen the terrifying pictures of him assaulting that photographer. His eyes are wild with rage, fresh blood tracking down his nose and from his mouth. Because of the perspective of the camera, it seems as if he’s attacking you right through the picture. He was known for his philanthropy before all that happened, but now it’s no wonder that his image needs a makeover. “He seems all right, actually.”

“Yeah,” Iggy laughs, “for a silver-spoon hugging, Queen Elizabeth lovin—”

Someone leans over me and claps my laptop shut. I roll onto my side and gape at the offense. It’s Jenny, Ms. Madden’s new assistant—a skinny, sunburnt blonde girl with beady, pale blue eyes.

“What the hell is your problem?” I demand from her. “I was on a call.”

“Let me see that necklace you’re always wearing,” Jenny commands.

I glare at her and prop myself up. My fingers fold defensively around the brass trinket. “No,” I answer easily. Ever since Jared, “no” has become the easiest word I’ve ever said. I try to say it all day, every day. “No way. What the hell is your problem?”

“You took that key from someone on the Berringer staff,” Jenny asserts. “It’s identical to the gate key. I recognize it. You took it, and I’m going to tell Ms. Madden!”

“I didn’t—”

“Then prove it!” Jenny snatches at my necklace, and I shove her away, taking a vindictive pleasure in the way she collapses onto the next set of bunks in the trailer.

“That’s what you get,” I tell her. “Touch me again and see what happens.”

After seven years being trapped in the home of an abusive husband, I made sure to log hours and hours learning jiu-jitsu.

But I’m still shaking when I shove through the trailer door and spill out onto Blake’s front yard.

I can’t stand being grabbed. I can’t stand being yelled at. I just can’t take it. Not after Jared.

I can’t stop walking, fists swinging at my side. I never break into a run, even though this part of me—the scared girl I used to be, when I first left Jared—she wants to. She wants to run as hard as she can, until her heart is pounding out of her chest and her feet ache and she can’t breathe, but I don’t. I’m not scared. No one can push me around anymore. No one can tell me what to do. I’m in control of my own body. My own decisions.

But I never slow my pace, either.

I don’t think about the rule I’m currently breaking. I just walk and fume.

I walk hard, letting my feet slam to the ground, each impact diminishing my indignant rage piece by tiny piece. My heart hammers and my hands are in fists as I march from the trailers in the front yard to the gardens in the backyard of the Berringer estate, if you can even call this a “yard.” It seems more like a well-maintained wilderness. I can’t even really tell where it ends. I could get lost and die out here. I could starve to death in his backyard…

Over the tops of two orange trees loaded with heavy fruit, I see a bloom of moonlit water spewing up into the sky.

A fountain.

I glance over my shoulder at the trailers—nothing but specks now, and the tightness in my chest begins to loosen. I’m far away from Jenny now, and my fingers automatically wrap around the key necklace, not even thinking.

In some way, I’m probably more protective of this necklace than any other possession I have—because this is a symbol for me. I twist it between my fingers as I advance on the cool fountain, its light mist showering down in front of me. I settle on its white marble ledge and peer at my own reflection in the dark water, remembering that night. The night I decided to live again. To fight. To move on from the wreckage of my past self.

Jenny can never have this. Neither can Ms. Madden. I don’t think I’d even give it back to Blake himself.

“I thought that was you down here,” a familiar British baritone calls from behind me, and my heart gives this heady little squeeze of anticipation. I don’t look over my shoulder, even though I can feel him closing the space between us. “I didn’t get to see you in Paris.”

I can smell him just behind me, this exhilarating fusion of mint and citrus, and I know he must have just gotten out of the shower. Or do billionaires just use the spa whenever they want to clean up?

“You saw me,” I tell him. There were several fleeting glances in Paris. I remember.

“Not really.”

“Well, it was not really my date with you.”

“It was not really anyone’s date with me. I mean, come on. This is just another American circus.”

My brow furrows. How many American circuses has he been in? “Is America famed for its circuses?” I wonder. “Is that how the English see us? A country of carnies?”

His grin splits open in a laugh, and he settles beside me, which is kind of alarming. I bristle and force myself to look at him. It’s like staring into the sun. His hair is loose and without product. He’s in tartan pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt—almost approachable, which makes his beauty even more unbearable. Look at those arms, I think as he settles a palm against the rim of the fountain and his bicep pops even more. His perfection is surreal. I could never imagine arms like that holding me…although they already have.

When he was lifting me over the railing at the Second Chances Christmas party.

As his gaze meets mine, his eyes are bright and his dimples deepen, but I can’t let myself believe that he might want me, that I might really be able to have him.

He’s one of the bachelors, my inner-self riots. How could I ever think otherwise?

“It’s from an old Latin saying about the fall of Rome: bread and circuses. The people were distracted by entertainment.”

“Kind of a grim sentiment,” I tell him, “but I get it.” Who knew the golden boy could get so dark? “Are you saying America is the next Rome?”

“Oh, we’re all Rome,” he says, eyes meeting mine. Even the tinkle of the fountain and the chirp of the crickets fades away. “None of this is real.” His eyes leave me and pan around the moonlit wonderland. “Knights and queens and presidents. Billionaires and the people living and dying on the street.” His eyes return to me. “The reality is, I’m just like you, Roxanne,” he tells me, his eyes soulful, as if I deeply need to be told. And maybe I do. I always thought of myself as a woke individual, but maybe even I have fallen into the trap of labeling.

I look at him, tracing his body with my eyes, trying to see him only as a person now. Without the suit and the tie and that merciless, prickly attitude he carries throughout daylight hours, he does look very different.

He almost looks like a regular man right now.

Beautiful and massive, but…human.

It’s nice. Like having a friend. “It is a lovely place to keep. You have to give it that.”

“You don’t hate it?” Blake genuinely wonders, and I shake my head, laughing with a touch of surprise.

“Love/hate,” I confess. “It’s hard to really enjoy the terrain. For one, I’m sure there are towers and waterfalls and theme parks here that I haven’t even seen. And for another, this is where I work. I’ll never see it the way you do.” As a home.

In spite of my determination to have my own house, it’s still an unrealized dream. For the past four years, I’ve been a renter, mostly of shitty apartments where having a key doesn’t necessarily mean you’re keeping anyone out.

One day, though.

“I wish I could show you,” Blake says. “Do you want to come?”

God, I need to get this little smile off my face. No wonder he feels like something is happening between us. I’m accidentally sending all these signals. “Better not,” I say, not looking at him. I focus on the fountain. “I’m already breaking two rules.”

Blake beams. “Property-after-dark and flirting?” he guesses hopefully.

I roll my eyes and grin away from him. “No,” I say. “Property-after-dark and Ms. Madden’s assistant recognized my necklace as your key.”

“You’re not going to get rid of it, are you?” he wonders, as if worried.

“They can fire me,” I scoff, my fingers looping around the key again. “I’m not giving them this necklace.” I look at him and he looks at me, and we freeze, hanging in each other’s eyes for a second. “Shit,” I breathe. “Now you know.”

A soft, real smile moves over Blake’s lips. “That conversation meant a lot to you,” he deduces.

“You have no idea,” I gush, finally able to say it aloud now that he knows. “It changed the way I saw the world. I wasn’t lost. I was free. There’s a big difference.” My eyes flash to him, and I elaborate, “I had escaped from my husband just a few weeks before we met, and…it was hard at first.” My eyes flash back to the fountain. I never talk about Jared. “Anyway.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Blake assures me. I close my eyes and let his voice wrap around me, but I don’t acknowledge it to myself. If I admit the way his mere voice is affecting me, then I admit a lot of things. “Are you with anyone right now?” I don’t answer him, and my eyes stay shut. “For real?” he adds.

I exhale and my shoulders round. “No.” I open my eyes and look at him for the first time in a while, because I can’t bear to look at him.

His oceanic blue eyes go to me, too, and I bristle against the magnetic pulse that travels through my body. I can’t go to him. “It’s obvious that you’ve got some kind of neglected fetish about girls like me,” I tell him, busily wrapping my arms around myself and drawing my knees up to my chest on the fountain’s edge. I twist a little and turn completely from him so he can’t even look at my face anymore. “Maybe you want to satisfy your curiosity. But that’s not my cat to kill.”

Blake offers a wounded laugh. “I wasn’t even thinking about it,” he assures me smoothly, and my heart chills. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head a little bit, scolding myself for thinking that one of these bachelors wanted me. The whole axis of this show is the unattainability of the men, jackass. Duh.

“So, are we friends, then?” I wonder.

There’s a beat of silence, and Blake says, “Yes. We are friends.”

A sad, warm fire kindles in my heart. Friends. That’s not too bad. “I haven’t had a guy friend in a long time,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at him. Even though my back is turned, he’s already looking at me with intensity, and I offer a meek smile. “My ex-husband wouldn’t allow it, and when I finally did get free, I ended up… befriending a lot of creeps. Eventually, I just gave up on it altogether.”

I hear him slide closer, the rustle of cloth against stone, and then feel the warmth of his palm between my shoulder blades. As on the yacht those years ago, tingles spread across my back and even reach down between my legs.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Blake swears. “I only date women who can potentially bore me to literal death. I’ve always been a bit of a thrill seeker that way.”

An unexpected laugh pops out of my mouth, and I glare over at him. Blake slings an arm around my shoulders, and I don’t even bristle. I melt against his chest and revel in the solidity of his arm draped across my chest, hugging my back against his side.

“You’re funny,” I tell him with a little nudge. We stare across the garden together, only able to see the lights of the trailer camp from here. I sigh. “I don’t want to go back there.”

“It’s all the same, isn’t it?” he whispers against my ear. “Cameras everywhere. What’s the difference?”

“Oh, this is a very private moment,” I contradict him. “It will get so much worse at the mansion in LA.”

“Oh, god,” he grumbles.

“Yep. Prepare yourself.” I lean back deeper into his chest and gaze up at him. “Why are you doing this show if you hate it so much?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts.

“Be real for a second.”

“Why?” he counters.

“Because I want you to,” I answer. “For real. Why are you doing this?”

I don’t realize what’s happening until it is too late, and he eclipses my view of the distant trailers in a descent to my lips. I stiffen, steeling myself like he’s going to hurt me, and his mouth crushes gently yet firmly over mine. His fingertips skate up my arm and come to cup my chin.

I don’t mean to kiss him back. It’s just… happening. I whimper softly, and my neck loosens as the resistance flows from my body. My lips fall apart against his, and he’s in my mouth instantly, taking full advantage. His free hand drives up into my hair and clutches a fistful. His tongue, his breath, his touch–everything happens in surround sound, like we’re pressed against each other in an enclosure, but the enclosure is our own embrace.

I let it happen. I let it all happen, and I just float.

Blake leans back, angling my torso to slip down into his arms in a dip. His lips break from mine, and I drag in a breath as if I’ve been drowning. The stars overhead are so bright. I gaze up at him and he peers down at me, both of us bedazzled.

When he kisses me again, I’m ready for it.

My fingers travel up into his hair and pull him deeper against my mouth. He’s smooth and he tastes so good, just like a fresh, clean mouth. I love feeling him.

I wonder what his dick feels like.

My pussy twinges plaintively, surprising me.

She hasn’t bothered me with lust in a long time, and we kiss harder, becoming manic. We break for air and rush together again. The energy shifts into a frantic, dark, clawing hunger and his hand breaks away from my chin, skating down the front of my black camisole, between my breasts, migrating further until his palm slips across the crotch of my skin-tight leggings.

I know he can feel my desire now. My breath is ragged and loud, my eyes are cloudy and mindless, and there’s physical heat wafting off my pussy.

He grunts his approval against my mouth and strokes me through the fabric.

A lightning bolt arcs from my core, and I writhe, shoving myself out of his arms, propelling myself in one swift movement into a standing position.

Part of me is still back on that fountain, making out with Blake hardcore, while the rest of me storms from the garden. My thighs pump hard and carry me far in a matter of seconds.

“Roxanne!” he calls after me. I hear him running across the lawn and glance over my shoulder just in time to see him hurtle a shrub. Damn it, I want to smile. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my bunk!” I yell, mostly to myself. “We’re supposed to be friends! And friends don’t do that stuff!”

“People can do whatever they want; there are no rules,” Blake assures me, catching up to my rapid pace and matching it easily. He’s looking at me as he speaks animatedly, but I keep my eyes pinned to that huddle of trailers in the distance. I have to get my head out of my vagina and back to real life. He’s Sir Berringer, the Billionaire Bachelor #6. And I’m Roxy. The makeup girl. From Los Angeles. Come on.

“There are rules, Blake,” I snap at him. “You just don’t get that.”

“I know you feel it, too,” he insists.

“Could you shut up?” I still don’t look at him, even though he’s right beside me now. “Is that physically possible for you? Because if anyone hears you, I could get in big trouble.”

“I said I know you feel it, too!” he shouts, and I whirl to shoot daggers at him with my eyes. “And I don’t care who knows it!”

“You might think that none of this is real and we’re all the same,” I hiss, “but that’s only true if a super volcano erupts or something. Until then, I need this goddamn job. That’s the difference.”

One of the trailer doors swings open, and I whirl from Blake, mentally juggling all the different elements of the lie I’m formulating. I wasn’t walking. Blake was walking. Blake needs help with something. Yeah. He’ll back me up. He’s a fast thinker. He doesn’t want me to get fired.

Ms. Madden comes swaggering toward us in black compression pants and an oversized t-shirt, scowling. “What the hell is going on out here?” she demands to know, advancing from the trailer. “People are trying to sleep. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“That’s exactly what I was trying to tell him,” I huff, climbing into the trailer where the only six women in the crew are all bunking.

“Can no one control you?” Ms. Madden wonders, arching a thin brow at Blake. “I might not have the authority to tuck you into bed myself, but I do have the authority to tell you to leave one of my girls alone.”

She reaches back and takes my hand, which is odd. Ms. Madden is not the touchy-feely type.

I move to take my hand back, and she squeezes it. Hard. She doesn’t look at me as she talks to me, but maintains unwavering eye contact with Blake instead.

“Don’t touch the bachelor,” Ms. Madden reminds me icily. “Isn’t that what I said? Aren’t those the rules?”

“You don’t decide whether or not she touches me,” Blake tells her. “She does.”

“I didn’t,” I lie to her in a soft, breathless voice. “I didn’t touch him. Nothing happened.”

Blake looks at me, perhaps expecting that I will explain the nature of the relationship to Ms. Madden, and I stare back at him, hoping that my eyes are not as sad as they feel. He looks back at Ms. Madden, shaking his head.

Blake lifts his hands, showing her his palms. “No one touched anyone, Candace. Sorry for disturbing camp.” He bows deeply and doesn’t look directly at me again. “Goodnight, ladies.”

“Goodnight,” Ms. Madden returns.

“Night,” I echo. My heart feels funny, like I might be falling ill.

As Blake strolls across the green back toward his massive mansion, Ms. Madden twists and examines me with her dark, skeptical eyes. The woman is terrifying, even though she’s still holding my hand.

Ms. Madden grimaces and yanks my hand between her own, placing two fingers firmly against my pulse. She stares at me, ruthlessly scrutinizing my hair, my eyes, my lips. I realize too late that she’s checking out my claim that nothing happened, and I probably look a lot like a woman who’s been making out. His fingers were up in my hair. His mouth wasn’t on mine in any gentle way.

She tosses my wrist from her grip as if it’s disgusting.

“No drinking,” she reiterates in a hiss. Her eyes burn into mine. “No wandering. No souvenirs. And no flirting. But where were you? You were wandering. And what were you doing? You were flirting. Three strikes and you’re out, baby girl.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“Oh please. I’m an adult, Roxy. I know what I’m looking at. And don’t think Blake doesn’t see it, either.”

A little voice inside says that I shouldn’t pursue her words, but I ask. I have to know what that means. “What are you talking about?”

“How desperate you are,” she answers coolly. “Anyone can see it, especially a man like Blake Berringer.” Ms. Madden scoffs and shakes her head at me, squinting thoughtfully. “He’s a bachelor, Roxy. He’s Bachelor #6. I mean, come on. You know how these men are. They’re gorgeous billionaires.” She laughs and keeps shaking her head, the darkness around her lightening. The air of control and cruelty breaks away and a slightly nicer Ms. Madden emerges. “He’s probably going to sleep with every woman in this trailer unless I stop him.” Then she gestures into the trailer, and it seems as if she’s my friend. It seems as if she’s looking out for me, that she’s happy to protect me. But that isn’t how it feels.

I feel cold and stupid.

“We all make mistakes,” Ms. Madden says from behind me, guiding me back into the trailer. “Just don’t let it happen again.”