“But ...”

  “We’re going to be the society wedding of the year. Didn’t you know?”

  “I can’t have a ring on my finger. I—”

  “You’ll wear the ring.” He looked at me as if he thought I was joking. “What woman doesn’t want to wear a ring?”

  “A woman that doesn’t want to be engaged. No offense, but I don’t even know you.”

  “I don’t know you, either.” He shrugged. “Come on. Let’s go sit down.”

  I followed him across the room to the other side of the restaurant and we sat at a round table next to a tall window. The lake looked beautiful, pretty calm. Quite the opposite of the storm rising in me.

  He handed me a bouquet of sunflowers, big, bright, and yellow. I smiled. I was glad they weren’t roses. What a farce that would have been. Imagine if he’d gotten me twelve red roses. I would’ve puked.

  “I have the ring as well.” He held up a blue velvet box and I shook my head.

  “Not now, please. At least let’s get to know each other a little bit before you give me the ring.”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.” His blue eyes twinkled as we sat down. He held my chair out for me before he took his seat and I smiled at his politeness. He’d been raised well, but what had I expected? He was the son of a billionaire. He knew his manners.

  “So do you want something to drink, or is it too early for you?”

  “It’s not too early for me. Not at all. I would like something very alcoholic.” I paused. “I mean, as long as you’re going to have a drink as well.”

  “Yeah, I think I need a drink too.” He motioned to a waiter who hurried over to the table.

  “Hello, sir. Ma’am.” He nodded at me. “Are you ready to place an order?”

  “We’d like to order some drinks, please. I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks. What would you like, Rosie?”

  “Let me think.” Normally I drank red wine, but I needed something a bit stiffer right now. “I’ll have a gin, gin and tonic, please.”

  “Impressive.” James looked at me with respect in his eyes.

  “Oh, why is that?”

  “I don’t know many women who drink gin and tonics at 11:30 a.m.”

  “And you don’t know many women like me. Trust me.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

  “Maybe.” I looked away from him and out the window. Was he flirting with me? And was I kind of liking it? He was handsome. Definitely very, very handsome, but I wasn’t attracted to him in that way. I didn’t feel the way I felt when I was with Jackson.

  We didn’t have sexual chemistry, which I knew now I needed. After being with someone like Joey, who I thought I’d been in love with but who as passionate as a fish, and then being with someone like Jackson, who was like a bull in a rodeo, I knew I needed more. I wanted it wild. I wanted it crazy. I wanted it passionate. And I could already tell that James was not passionate. Not in the least.

  “Hey, Rosie, do you want to order something to eat now, or do you need more time looking at the menu?” James interrupted my thoughts and I blushed. Shit, I had to stop spacing out like this. I had to stop thinking about Jackson. I didn’t even know who he was, and yet I was basing my entire future and sexual desires on him.

  “Sorry, can I get a couple of minutes?” I looked at the waiter and smiled. “Just the gin and tonic for now would be great. Oh, and a glass of water.”

  “Make that two glasses of water, please,” James said. The waiter nodded and walked away. “So you looked deep in thought just now. What were you thinking about?”

  “Life stuff, you know,” I said quickly, going even redder. Oh my God. How could I be thinking about Jackson? And what would James think if he knew that I was fucking a stranger twice a week in a dark, dank hotel room?

  “You can tell me your secrets.” James leaned forward and I almost jumped out of my chair.

  “What?” I said, feeling all color drain from my face. Was he going to admit to me that he was having me followed? Was he going to admit to me that he knew what I was doing? Part of me would be grateful because then at least I would know who was following m and who had sent me the photo of me and Jackson.

  “Hey, I’m just joking,” he laughed. “I bet you don’t have any secrets. You look too sweet and innocent. With your ringlets, you remind me of an older Shirley Temple.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Yeah, just a little bit, but you do look really cute.” He looked me up and down again. “You are a lot sexier than I thought you were going to be. You’ve got a nice body. I wouldn’t mind fucking you,” he said.

  “What?” My jaw dropped. “I know you didn’t just say that.”

  “What, are you shocked?” He laughed, throwing his head back. He grabbed his phone and before I knew what was happening he was taking a photo of me.

  “What are you doing? You can’t just take a photo of me like that. You should ask.”

  “Why not? You’re going to be my wife. And the expression on your face, I want to be able to picture it for years to come.”

  “What expression on my face?”

  “The shock that I could say something so crude,” he laughed. “At least, I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking, right?”

  “I mean, yeah. We just met and you’re talking about fucking me.”

  “We just met and we’re already engaged, Rosie. Me talking about fucking you is nothing. I mean, if you want, we can go into the bathroom right now and I can—”

  “Stop,” I held my hand out. “That’s enough.” I was in a situation that was far more scandalous than what he was suggesting, yet, the words that were coming out of his mouth turned me off.

  “Are your panties wet right now?”

  “What?” I rolled my eyes. “Really?”

  “Why the face?” He shrugged. “I can’t ask you that?”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “No? Why not?” he said. And then I felt his hand on my knee.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think?” he said as he ran his fingers ran up the inside of my dress.

  I grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “Spell what out for me?”

  “Let go of my hand and I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m not letting go of your hand unless you promise to remove it from my leg.”

  “But if I remove my hand from your leg, how will I be able to tell if your panties are wet?”

  “Seriously?” My voice was loud now. Louder than it should have been.

  His eyes narrowed. “You need to keep your voice down a bit, Rosie. We don’t want everyone listening to our conversation.”

  “Look, I thought you were a nice guy, James, but this is not appropriate.”

  “What’s not appropriate? He grinned. “Me seeing if your panties are wet? I’m going to be seeing a lot more than that.” He chuckled. “I also want to know if you’re bare or hairy. If your clit is puffy or—”

  “Enough!” My voice was sharp.

  I sat back and closed my eyes. Of course he was a douche bag, probably the biggest douchebag I’d ever met. I don’t know why I was shocked. Just because he’d been more handsome than I’d expected, I thought he was going to be a nice guy? Hadn’t I learned from Joey that just because a guy was cute didn’t mean anything? It didn’t mean that his personality was going to be great. This guy was an asshole. There’s no way I wanted to marry him. There’s no way I wanted to be stuck with him for the rest of my life. I had to figure something out.

  “Here comes the waiter with the drinks. Put a smile on your face, Rosie. Let’s pretend that you’re happy to be here with me.” His tone had changed.

  I looked into his eyes. I could see the coldness now. He wasn’t any better than his father. Or my father. He was the same, just a younger version.

  I chewed on my lower lip. This was as bad as I thought it was going to be. Perhaps even worse because this guy fully intended on making me his bitch, whether I wanted it or not. I knew there would be no compassion from him. He wasn’t going to work with me to try and figure out a way to get out of this.

  He seemed more than happy to go forward with it. And I knew that I was screwed, absolutely screwed. For the first time, I wished that I had Jackson’s phone number so I could tell him to meet me because more than anything, I needed a hot, quick, angry fuck right now, and he was the only person that could give it to me. He was the only person that would understand my primal need to scream and shout and dig my nails into his back. I wanted to ride him like he’d never been ridden before.

  “What are you thinking about?” James said with a soft smile, his lips curling up at the side as he didn’t even bother to disguise his lust. I stared back at him for a few seconds in disgust and then I laughed because if he knew that I was thinking about riding another man’s hard cock, that smile would definitely be off of his face.

  If he thought I was going to be his complacent bitch, he had another thing coming.

  Chapter 10

  I was grateful that my dad chose to stay at the club with James’ father and let his driver take me home alone. James had offered to give me a ride, but I’d turned him down. He probably would have pushed my head into his lap, told me to suck, and then acted surprised when I bit his cock off. I didn’t need any more drama right now. I had a feeling my father could sense that I wasn’t feeling James because he told Marcus, his driver, to drop me off home and then come back for him.

  When I got home, I was emotionally exhausted. But that didn’t stop me from noticing that there was an envelope waiting for me on the console in the foyer. There were no stamps on it, but it had my name and address.

  “Who put this envelope here?” I called out into the house as I picked it up. No response. I walked past my father’s study and then into the kitchen to see if my mom was there, but the only person that was there was the cook.

  “Hi, Esmerelda. Have you seen my mother anywhere?”

  “I think she’s upstairs, Rosie.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I held up the letter in my hand. “Did you happen to put this on the table in the foyer, Esmerelda?”

  “No ma’am, I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I nodded and walked upstairs. I wanted to open the letter, but I already knew who it was from. The handwriting was similar to the previous letter I’d received with the photograph of me and Jackson. I was nervous to open up this envelope. What could be inside? I hurried up the stairs and towards my mother’s bedroom. She was sitting at her vanity, staring into the mirror, brushing her hair.

  “Hey, Mom. How’s it going?”

  “Good. How was lunch?” She turned to look at me, a small smile on her face.

  “It was okay.”

  “And James? He’s a handsome boy, isn’t he?”

  “He’s handsome, yeah.” I shrugged. There was no point in telling my mom how much I despised him, how vile he was, how he’d asked me about my pussy. I’d pay a million dollars to see the reaction on her face if I were to say, “He asked me if I had a puffy clit, Mom.” Of course, I would never do that. I didn’t want her to faint with shock.

  “You don’t look happy.” Her voice was soft, as if she cared, but I just shook my head. I didn’t understand my mother. Sometimes she was so independent, so strong, so bossy, and other times she was so meek and submissive. I was pretty sure that the alcohol had something to do with it, but I was no expert.

  “Why do you think that is, Mom? He’s a strange man I’m going to marry. I just met him for the first time, and he sucks. You know I don’t really want this.”

  “You know why you have to do it, darling.”

  “I know why Dad wants me to do it, but why are you making me do it?”

  “Rosie, I would never deliberately hurt you. You know that.”

  “Yeah, Mom.” I rolled my eyes. There was literally no point in having this conversation. I held up the letter. “So do you know where this came from? I found it on the console in the foyer.”

  She looked at it for a few seconds and shook her head. “No. What is it?”

  “It’s an envelope addressed to me. I was just wondering who dropped it off because there’s no stamp.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask Esmerelda.”

  “She’s said she’s never seen it before.”

  “Maybe it was one of the cleaners. I don’t know, dear.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I walked towards the entrance of the bedroom ready to go back to my own room, and then paused and looked back at her. “Mom?”

  “Yes, Rosie.” She was brushing her hair again and didn’t look back at me.

  “If Dad does get the nomination for president, are you going to be okay with that?”

  “Of course, darling. It’s been my dream to be the first lady of the United States. I have so much to offer, and so does your father.”

  “Okay,” I said. She sounded like a Stepford wife, a robotic one at that. There was no talking to her.

  I left her bedroom and walked back to my own, locking the door as I entered. I didn’t normally lock the door because my father didn’t like it. At night, if I locked it, he would make sure it was unlocked so I didn’t bother doing it anymore. I didn’t know why he cared. I was 30 years old, but his rules, his house. I was a dumbass that didn’t have any money to pay for myself, though I knew I should just get a job. I should just get a place and live by myself. But, I don’t know, maybe I’d been programmed as well. I didn’t feel strong enough to take care of myself. I wanted to walk away so badly, but I was too weak and I hated myself for it. I hated myself for getting into this position.

  I opened the envelope, pulled out two photographs, and gasped. The first photograph was of me lying flat on the bed, Jackson’s face in between my legs. The second photograph was me sitting on his face. I threw the photographs to the bed. I had no idea who had taken them, or how. The curtains were always drawn in the hotel room so they couldn’t have been standing outside and looking in. Had Jackson taken them? But why? It didn’t make sense. Obviously, I would suspect him.

  I chewed on my lower lip. Something was going on that was more ominous than I thought, and I had no idea why or what. Someone wanted me to know that they knew about me and Jackson. Why would Jackson care? I mean, he knew now that my father was a senator. Maybe he wanted to blackmail me. Maybe he wanted money. But why didn’t he just come out with it? He didn’t have to send me photographs to do that. He could have just told me in person. This would be an elaborate way to try and get money out of me and my father. No. I dismissed the thought that it was Jackson.

  But then who?

  James? I didn’t think it was James. I had a feeling if he knew that I was sleeping with someone else, he wouldn’t have been laughing and joking around at lunch. He would have been demanding a lot more from me, and I knew he would not have been speaking to me so politely. If you could call how he talked polite.

  It wasn’t him.

  I knew it wasn’t my father. If my father thought for a second I was fucking some guy, he’d have security escort me around everywhere. He already didn’t trust me. If he had a reason to believe I was still a hot mess, I’d never be alone.

  No, it wasn’t him.

  Joey? Could it be Joey? Possibly, but I didn’t think so. Why would he care? Hadn’t he gone back to Iowa?

  I didn’t know what to do, but I had to get to the bottom of it. I wished I knew how to contact Jackson. I could always go to the hotel. Though I’d never gone there on a day that we hadn’t already scheduled, it was worth the try. I looked at the clock; three in the afternoon. I would go out by myself. If anyone asked, I’d say I was going to the mall. I could drive down to the hotel, check it out, and be back before dinner. I had to do this. I’m not a detective and I never wanted to be, and I’m certainly no private investigator, but I knew that if I wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on, I was going to have to deal with it myself.

  I wasn’t sure what I would do once I got there, though. Would I knock on the door? Would I ask questions if I saw any random people? Would anyone know who Jackson was? It seemed risky to ask random questions, but I’d play it by ear. At that moment, I really wished that I had a best friend to confide in, someone who could come along with me. How have I gotten to 30 years of age without one good friend that I could trust? I didn’t know, but I couldn’t worry about that now.

  I’d work on making some real friends after I figured out who was stalking me.

  Chapter 11

  Have you ever heard of that TV show Cagney & Lacey? I think it was on in the 80s. A bit before my time, but my mom used to love it. I’m not sure why, because she wasn’t a particularly strong woman, but for some reason she loved it, so my brother and I would watch it with her all the time. I thought about those afternoons watching the show as I drove to the hotel. I felt a bit like a private eye, albeit a fairly overdone one. I was wearing a beret that I got in Paris when I was a study abroad student. It was red and it perfectly matched the red shade of lipstick I was wearing.

  If anything, I was making myself look more conspicuous; in the town that I live in, a girl wearing a red beret and bright red lipstick would certainly stand out. But I didn’t care. I had to make this investigation seem less intimidating because I was scared out of my fucking mind. I mean, you don’t get photos in the mail of you fucking a stranger and not feel creeped out.

  I got to the hotel and parked at the front by the reception. I’m not sure why—maybe because I wanted people to see my car just in case something happened. I got out and walked around a little bit.

  For some reason, I didn’t want to go directly to the back where Jackson’s room was. I don’t know why. I wanted to know if Jackson was there, but I also didn’t want to know. What if this was his home? What if he was fucking another woman today?

  My chest tightened at the thought. I mean, it’s crazy, right? How can you be jealous of a man that has another woman when he’s not even your man? When you only just found out his name? I don’t even know where he’s from or what he does for a living, but I won’t continue with that train of thought because you already know that he’s a stranger to me. I don’t know jack shit about the man. And yes, that is my fault. If I needed or wanted to know that information before I slept with him, I should have found it out.

 

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