Chapter Twelve

I woke up to the muffled chirping of my phone. I dug it out of the couch cushions and saw at least half a dozen text messages that all came in at one time. I stared at the screen, trying to process everything, my eyes squinting against the brightness. All of the messages were from Cooper.

“I’m taking you out to dinner tonight.”

“Dress nice…like you did for the Plush party.”

“I want you to make me hard, just seeing you.”

“Seven o’clock.”

“Don’t make me wait.”

“What the—? Ugh!” I threw the phone back onto the couch and shut my eyes. My body was rebelling, coming alive just reading his words, imagining him whispering into my ear, telling me what to do. But my heart was screaming “No!”

I forced myself to play the scenario all the way through. Would we have mind-blowing sex? Probably. Would he drive me to the absolute brink and satisfy me like never before. Yes. But then what? He’d find some lame-ass excuse to leave me alone, again, and make me feel like some disposable whore.

I refused to let myself get sucked back into his game.

I snatched the phone back up again and furiously typed at the screen.

“I am NOT going to dinner with you. I just want my money from the club the other night.”

I hit send.

My phone chirped again, not two seconds later.

“You’re going to dinner. Seven o’clock.”

“Cooper — I don’t want to have anything to do with you. All you do is mess with my heart and make me feel like an idiot.”

I backspaced the message…it was a little too raw.

“No — not going. Please send me the cash. I need it to fix my bike.”

He didn’t answer.

I waited another ten minutes, no answer.

I rolled over on the couch and screamed into a pillow, releasing all the pent-up rage that had been building inside of me from the moment I met Cooper Brighton.

Finally exhausted, I heaved myself up off the couch and went to make myself a cup of coffee. I did my best to pretend everything was fine. Everything was normal. But panic was starting to seep in. I knew Cooper well enough to know that he’d show up at my door, promptly at seven o’clock and that he was more than capable of dragging me out, kicking and screaming if needed.

If I was going to be forced to go out to dinner with him, then the only thing I could do to get a sliver of revenge would be to look as hot as fucking possible, and then not let him have me, no matter how hard he begged. He had to learn that there were some things he couldn’t have, no matter how much money or charm he had.

I finished making my coffee and went back to the couch to drink my first cup. My laptop was still open from the night before, and I noticed the little blue dot on the screen. I was still tapped into Cooper’s phone. Currently, he was back at Brighton Enterprises. I vaguely wondered what his bitchy receptionist had told him about me—if she had mentioned me at all.

Sam came and jumped into my lap as I was about to click out of the tracking software.

I stroked his head with my free hand as I sipped on my mug of steaming hot coffee. If my rent was paid for a year, the amount of money I needed each month just to survive was reduced greatly. I wondered if my old boss at the coffee shop would have a part time spot available. I hadn’t left on bad terms and I knew how to make great coffee. Between that and the tip money, it might be enough to scrape by, and a whole lot better than shaking my bare ass to a roomful of classless horny men.

“We’re going to be okay, Sam. I’ll go back to the cafe and get some hours, get Cherry Bomb fixed, and we’ll be fine.”

Sam didn’t care much, but sometimes it helped to talk to him and sort things out. He snuggled into my lap and I felt more relaxed than I had in days, knowing there was a light at the end of the tunnel I had been hurtling through.

“I did it, Sam! I start next week!” I announced as soon as I stepped back into the apartment later that afternoon. He came scampering at the sound of his name, probably thinking he was about to get fed a treat. I squatted down next to him and scratched his ears.

I had gone down to the cafe I used to work at—before meeting Bryce, before the Spotlight disaster, before Cooper—and the owner had given me my old job. It was only twenty-two hours a week, but it would be enough, for now.

I glanced up at the clock in the kitchen and knew it was time to get dressed. It would feel even better to tell Cooper off, in person, dressed to kill, and tell him I got a new job—without his help—and that he could leave me alone. For good.

My mind made up, I went to my room and started to scour my closet for something to wear. Something…fuckable. Figuring out what to wear to go on a date with a billionaire is probably not a problem a lot of people have to deal with, but regardless, it was turning into a real problem as I thrashed around in my closet, rejecting everything I pulled out, and tossing it onto the bed. I only stopped my rampage long enough to rescue Sam, who had gotten lost under the mountain of clothes that was rapidly piling up, and started yowling for help in his escape. I pulled him out and carried him around the room with me. My hair was up in hot rollers to help transform my natural wave into something a little fancier for the occasion.

Staring at the pile of clothes, I was starting to have flashbacks to getting ready for the Plush launch party a few weeks back. I had been faced with the same dilemma but luckily, Hannah had been able to help me out. I had texted her, but still hadn’t heard back. I figured she was with Jett. The two of them had seemed to really hit it off and I hadn’t heard much from her since they met. I briefly considered wearing the dress I had worn to the launch party, but decided against it since Cooper had already seen it and I didn’t want him to think I only owned one formal dress.

Although, it was kind of true. I had two other cocktail dresses but they were from when I had been bartending at the strip club. They were really, really short and would not be appropriate for a nice restaurant. So, as much as Cooper would appreciate my slinky dresses, I didn’t think looking like a hooker was the best plan.

I decided I was too close to the situation and left the room to go do my make-up. I had one cat eye perfected when the idea hit me. I dug through the pile and found my skintight red dress. I wiggled into it and laughed at my reflection in the mirror when I turned around to see that it was so short, my ass was two centimeters away from being on display. I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually worn this dress out in public, but I cringed knowing that at one point in time, it had been worn outside of my house. I went back through the pile and found my black skirt and pulled it on. It was several inches longer than the hem of the red dress and even though it was layered, it looked almost like it could be one whole dress.

“Huzzah!” I shouted, taking a final twirl in the mirror. My sleeve of tattoos was showing, but I planned to wear a shrug and even if I took it off, I knew Cooper didn’t mind. He flashed through my mind and I felt myself starting to get aroused at the memory of the last time he had taken off my jacket and ran his fingers over my inked-up skin.

“Easy girl, you have to get through dinner first without having to change your panties,” I reminded myself, going back to the bathroom to finish my make-up. I smiled to myself in the mirror, thinking of the undergarments I had carefully chosen to wear. That had been the easy part—a sheer, lacy bra with matching panties and garter belt, since I remembered that had driven Cooper absolutely crazy. I shivered at the memory of watching his head between my legs, still in black thigh high stockings, spread for him as I balanced on the edge of his desk, rocking back and forth with each lick of pleasure.

Fuck…at this rate, I was going to have to change panties before even leaving the house!

I was still resolved to keeping Cooper to a look, don’t touch, policy, but looking sexy as hell was going to make it even more fun for me as I got to watch him lose his mind when I turn him down.

I took a deep breath and resumed my make-up application, mentally zapping at the new thoughts of Cooper that tried to take over my mind.

My make-up was done, my hair was released from the hot rollers and fell in soft waves around my shoulders, and I was killing it in my new dress creation. I turned and admired myself in the mirror. My Spanx were doing their job, and then some, to keep everything high and tight. My waist was cinched in and accentuated my hourglass figure. The sky-high stiletto heels made my legs look longer and leaner. I couldn’t help but laugh, imagining the look on Cooper’s face when he saw me come down the stairs.

I wanted him to suffer.

“To blue balls,” I toasted myself, hoisting up my pre-date glass of wine to my reflection.

I barely had time to take a sip off the top when the doorbell rang.

“It’s showtime!”