Dirty Headlines

Which was why I found her coiled around a glass of champagne, wrapped in a black satin mini dress, and flipping through a magazine at the golden marble bar in my building’s lounge.

The minute I walked through the skyscraper’s revolving door, she shot to her feet and flung herself at me. Seeing as we hadn’t spoken since she’d left the gala without me last weekend, I was mildly surprised to see we were still on friendly terms. My surprise was not warranted, I discovered, when Lily stopped a few inches from me and raised her hand to slap me across the face. I stopped her, grabbing her wrist and lowering her arm.

“Lily,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Fiancé.” She spat out the word. “We need to talk.”

“Talking doesn’t require you to touch me. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out. You spend most of your days gossiping with your friends like it’s an Olympic sport.”

She pouted in defeat, then wiped strands of her hair from her face. I headed to the elevator, not really giving a shit if she followed. She did. In the elevator, she turned around and tried to rub her crotch against my thigh. I took a step back, tsking.

“You lost your cock rights long ago.”

“Fuck you, Célian.”

“In your dreams. And even there, only from behind so I don’t have to look at your face.” I smiled politely, checking my Rolex. There was nowhere in particular I needed to be, but I decided to give her exactly ten minutes to tell me what the fuck she was doing here. What can I say? I was feeling generous.

When we got to my apartment, I finally fixed myself that long-awaited drink while Lily paced back and forth in my living room. Everything was made out of sleek black granite and oak paneling, with sterile-looking, minimal white furniture. The Japanese interior designer who’d come here had asked what I wanted to convey when I moved in. I’d told her “nothing.” She thought I was being literal.

Now my apartment looks exactly like my heart. Hollow.

I’d been living here for the past three years and had only fucked one woman in this place. It was Lily, and it’d been over a year since that happened. Other than that, I mostly used my place for sleep.

“Talk,” I ordered, and the minute I did, Lily’s mouth opened and the words flew from it like she’d been waiting for my permission for years.

“Look, I get it, okay? I screwed up, Célian. Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t understand the gravity of my mistake? Of messing with your dad while you were grieving your sister?”

Camille and Lily were the same age—three years my junior, which made her twenty-nine—and had attended the same private schools in Manhattan. They weren’t friends. Barely acquaintances. My sister wrote journals, went to poetry nights, and was obsessed with autobiographies about high-end fashion designers, while Lily was focused on partying, boys, and diets. They had nothing in common, and even though Camille had never said it in so many words, I knew that before I came into the picture, Lily had been harassing her to set us up when she wasn’t mini-bullying her in the high school halls for her goodie two-shoes ways.

So, Lily mentioning my sister dampened my already pissy mood.

“But trust me when I say it didn’t come out of left field, Célian. Even when we were a functioning couple, you looked at me, but never really saw me. You merely let me crawl into your bed and attended my family functions so you could get ahead with your merger plan. I wanted to get your attention at any cost. It was stupid, I know, and I regret it, but this has gone too far now. I want you back. I want us back.”

“I want a Ferrari and a month-long vacation in the Caribbean.” And Judith’s mouth around my cock.

Lily flung her arms in the air. “You could get all of those things! So why can’t I get you? I will be good. Faithful. We’ve been together for so many years, Célian. Don’t let this ruin us.”

“No.”

“I’ll let you keep your side pieces. I know they’re nothing but sex. I don’t mind. I’m willing to share…”

“Still a no.”

I placed my glass on the metallic mini bar, and when I turned around, I found her undressing like her satin number was on fire. The heap of fabric fell to the floor, and she tried to wrap her leg around my waist, losing her balance when I took a step back. She reached to grab my hand for balance and fell flat on her ass. I looked down at her, noticing that she hadn’t worn a bra or panties under her dress. I picked up her clothing and threw it at her.

“Get out.”

“I want to get pregnant.”

“There are plenty of men who will be willing to fuck you. I can call you an Uber to the nearest bar. Try not to catch an STD while you’re at it. It’s touch-and-go when you don’t use protection.”

“You’re my future husband. I want you to get me pregnant.”

She was still sitting on the floor, her thighs spread, her pussy staring at me, and I was morbidly bored by this act. Lily had done this every few months since we’d announced our engagement was back on. Normally I ignored her. But tonight, after a disastrous meeting with the bigwigs, a weird encounter with Jude, and talking to Phoenix fucking Townley, I wanted to minimize my contact with her crazy ass.

“Put your clothes on,” I repeated verbally, swiveling to get another drink. My back was to her as I poured scotch into a crystal glass and stared down at the liquid.