Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection Page 3

  Distracted by her cell, she types something ridiculously fast into it, then places it on the table.

  “So, are you going to finally tell me what happened with Jason?”

  “We broke it off. I’m fine, really,” I lie, convincingly.

  “We so need to get you drunk and in someone’s bed, pronto.”

  “Wait, Vicky, that’s awful. I’m not like that, plus I would never do that to Jason.”

  “How do you know he hasn’t done it already? Where did he stay last night?” she is quick to interrogate.

  “At a friend’s house, and besides, Jason is not like that.”

  The thought of Jason being with another woman pulls on the jealous strings that I thought laid dormant. I am not that type of girl and I strongly believe Jason wouldn’t so heartlessly jump into the next bed that came along. He is a better man than that.

  “Pres, look, I’m not trying to be insensitive. Jason is a guy. Just don’t be surprised if he has moved on,” she says, this time in a softer tone.

  I’m not a big crier, and the thought of crying at work is embarrassing in its own right. I can control my emotions, even if Vicky is staring at me like I’m an orphaned child with no shoes on my feet.

  “We only broke up last week. His stuff is still in our apartment,” I croak.

  “Yeah, well trust me, they only need a minute of being released from the ball and chain.”

  “I’m not a ball and chain!”

  “Well, you’re not exactly a spontaneous ‘let’s push everything off the table and fuck like wild animals’ kinda gal either.”

  She has a point; I can’t think of anything worse. What a mess that would make. And my pens? No, don’t go there.

  I move my mouse to start up my computer when I notice some excess tea on my desk. Letting out a huff, I grab another tissue to wipe it down. This day needs to be over so I can crawl into bed and forget the world exists. Vicky raises her eyebrow at me and I unbutton the blazer that I had placed back on, revealing the stained blouse.

  Unable to control herself, she laughs out loud, resting her hand on my shoulder with a sympathetic look.

  “On the bus ride over here?”

  “Nope, just an asshole that is now trying to get into Dee’s pants.”

  “Haden? How can someone so hot be such a royal pain in the ass?”

  “Hot? I can’t see past the arrogance and petulant behavior. He’s like a goddam box of mixed chocolates; you don’t know what you’re going to get next.”

  “Dee told me he wanted a threesome on Saturday night. Tried to get with her and her sister.”

  “Are you joking? How inappropriate.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but Dee sure looks happy today.”

  Just when I thought my opinion of him couldn’t get any lower, I am proven wrong.

  Vicky’s cell vibrates on my desk and immediately she picks it up with an amused smile and shoves it in my face.

  “What am I looking at?”

  She points to the message from Jean-Phillipe; it’s hot, heavy, and wow, could this man talk dirty!

  “What’s with all the hashtags?” I ask.

  “Oh, it’s this thing we do. You know, rather than typing sentences together we just hashtag a word or a string of words which kind of mean the same thing.”

  Right, I am so out of the loop. Is this how you communicate today with potential lovers? All in hashtags? What happened to old-fashioned flirting? You know, some playful banter face-to-face and a ‘Hey, how about a nightcap at my apartment’ type of wink at the end?

  “So tell me, Vicky, what would you type to describe how much of an asshole Haden is?”

  She places her index finger on the corner of her mouth, then as if a light bulb goes off in her head, she says, “Worst day ever #RuinedBlouse #Jerk.”

  I smile instantly. “You summed it up perfectly. #Jerk.”

  Chapter Three

  Whoever invented the saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ had obviously never been knee-deep in manuscripts that required immediate attention. Thursday rolled around fast, and being the busiest day in the office, one person was always nominated to do the lunch run. With deadlines hovering over my head like a grey cloud, I was quick to pass the buck to someone else.

  Deep into the second chapter of an erotic thriller, I feel the presence of someone beside me. The charcoal grey pants are a dead giveaway and inadvertently, I groan, granting myself some patience to deal with him today. Why the fuck won’t he just leave me alone? I’ve met my share of annoying human beings but Haden Cooper takes the cake.

  “I’m taking orders,” he huffs in annoyance.

  I give him my full attention and decide to have a little fun with him. After all, he did ruin a blouse that even the dry cleaners declared a write-off for. Yes, I will have fun. Serves him right for being such a jerk.

  “At my beck and call? Well, I’ll have the roast chicken on rye, lettuce, tomato, and no mayo. I repeat—no mayo.”

  He stares back at me without writing down my order.

  “You might want to write it down.”

  “I have a good enough memory.”

  A loose laugh escapes me. “That’s funny, I think Trina down on ten would beg to differ.”

  His eyes twitch, caught in an awkward moment. I want to see what pathetic excuse he has for this.

  “Who?”

  “Really, Haden? I don’t know how men can just screw around with strangers and not even take a moment to remember someone’s name,” I rant.

  He leans on my desk and rubs the slight stubble on his chin. “You seem awfully interested in my sex life, Presley Malone. Is there something I’m missing here?”

  “What?” I shoot back, almost a little too nervous. “Please, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. No, make it a twenty-foot pole with an extension. God, you’re so insensitive. You don’t care about anyone’s feelings and have zero respect in the workplace.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Plus, you’re a jerk.”

  He leans into me, invading my personal space. “Her name is Trina Flower. I didn’t call her back because after the one time we had sex she cried and said she loved me. There’s nothing wrong with sleeping around if it’s mutually agreed upon. Maybe you need to try it sometime.” He raises the finger that once held my engagement ring. “And since there is no longer a ring on this finger, maybe that’s just what you need.”

  The fucking nerve! To blatantly come out and suggest such a thing. The vein in my forehead is surely going to burst and my hands are itching to smack that smirk off his face.

  “How dare you say that? You don’t know me and I’m certainly glad you don’t! Don’t you have lunch to collect?”

  He stands up straight and I relish in the thought of him leaving me alone, the whole conversation disappearing along with him. Why does everyone assume that because Jason and I broke up, we would drown ourselves in meaningless sex with strangers? I am not that person. Before Jason came along I had slept with three men, and each time I had been dating them for at least seven weeks before I jumped into the sack. It is kind of my rule, and I strongly believe it gives me sufficient time to get to know the person I will be intimate with. And anyway, the mere thought of another man touching me right now makes my skin crawl. I still have a tan line on my finger from where my engagement ring once sat.

  Surely, there has to be some rule to follow for breakups. For example, one year of a relationship equals one month before dating, two years equals two months, and so if that is the correct equation, five months is officially my ‘back on the market and ready to date’ timeline. I know if I run this past Vicky, she would give me a lecture about how your hymen could grow back and you’ll be re-virginized or some bullshit like that.

  An hour later the Jerk returns, throwing a brown paper bag onto my desk before walking away. I pull it towards me as I hear him laugh along with Dee at her desk. Not wanting to eavesdrop (because I don’t give a shit), I open my sand
wich and see the mayonnaise spread all over it. I stomp my feet under my desk; I am allergic to mayonnaise! Scooping my sandwich into my hand, I follow his voice until I am standing at Dee’s desk, interrupting their flirtatious encounter once again.

  “I said no mayo.” I shove the sandwich in front of his chest.

  He pushes it back towards me. “Sorry Princess, I’ve got the memory of a goldfish apparently. I’m sure you can handle a little mayo. The extra calories won’t harm your precious diet.”

  “It’s not about being on a diet! God Haden, you’re a jerk, you know that?”

  “Apparently so,” he responds, amused.

  “I can’t even. . . . Just stay away from me.”

  I throw the sandwich into the trash and storm off back to my desk. By 3pm, I’m starving. My stomach is making a symphony of noises that sound like a bunch of angry lions. The vending machine provides comfort, but a bag of crisps and a chocolate bar are a far cry from lunch.

  I immerse myself in my work until the office starts to clear out. Knowing that I’m going home to an empty apartment makes it hard to leave. For the past week I have purposely stayed late, until that nagging voice inside my head reminds me that it was my decision. I chose to let go of a perfectly good man for reasons that still baffle me. Being alone is something I have to get used to, but after five years of having a man beside me every night, sleeping alone became tough and insomnia reared its ugly head.

  Tonight, I want to curl up with a good book and visit my fictional boyfriends. Now let me tell you, my list is long. I am the equivalent to Hugh Hefner, but instead of bunnies I have this ever-growing list of male characters that have stolen my heart.

  I pack my things and just as my monitor shuts down, I hear the muffled chatter from Dee’s desk. I make my way towards the lift, happy to put this awful day behind me. Entering the lift, I hit the button to take me to the ground level when a pair of hands push the door open. I look up and see Haden’s arm draped over Dee’s shoulder. As the doors close, I move as much as I can to the corner and count down the seconds until we hit my floor. Her lighthearted giggles and a possible pinch on the ass as he whispers something in her ear are highly inappropriate in this confined space.

  When the lobby greets us, I have already made my way to the front of the elevator, ready to flee this nauseating display of affection which I’m sure is for my benefit . . . well, on his part anyway.

  “Have a good night, Miss Malone,” he mutters under his breath.

  I ignore him, walking as fast as I can and exiting the building into the cool night.

  It doesn’t take me long to get home, even after I stop off to grab some Chinese take-out. As I open the door to my apartment, I quickly notice that Jason’s things are gone. Throwing my purse onto the sofa, I walk around and focus in on the empty mantelpiece where his precious baseball trophies once sat. Even the groove in our sofa seems to have disappeared. The more I walk around, the deeper my heart sinks into my chest. By the time I reach the bedroom, my tears are splattered on the floor and I’m leaning against the wall, my body slumping down to the ground.

  It’s like he’s been erased. Not a single trace of him left in our apartment and never did I expect how painful it would be. I had been through relationships prior to Jason, but none so meaningful, and usually the guy cheated on me or was such a douche that breaking up was an easy and logical decision.

  Lost in a pool of tears, it’s obvious that I was in denial thinking I could walk away from a relationship with a man of five years who had only ever treated me with love and respect.

  But what am I supposed to do now? The temptation to grab my cell and call him is difficult to overcome. I am much stronger than this. I’ve spent enough of my lifetime watching people go through the same thing. Why can’t I just forget and move on? Sometimes I wish Jason would have hurt me. Perhaps that would make this easier. Taint his perfect image so our love could never be repaired.

  At some point during the night, I peel myself off the floor, ignoring the cold Chinese box that sits on the table. I take a long hot shower to erase the day from hell and climb into bed with a bowl of ice cream. Having not eaten lunch and skipping dinner, my appetite has been non-existent all day. Ice cream is the only thing that sounds good right now.

  I stare at my cell once again and contemplate texting Jason. It could be an innocent text, a ‘Hey, how are you’ and not an ‘I think we made a huge mistake’ kinda text. Just as I type my opening line, a notification flashes on the top of my screen and I exit out of the current message.

  The text is from ‘unknown,’ but I read it anyway.

  Unknown: I was a little distracted this afternoon with my extracurricular activities so I forgot to tell you that you have a presentation at nine sharp. Have your manuscript review ready.

  This has to be a joke, right? And who the fuck is this? Seconds later, it dawns on me which jerk would send me a text this late. I am emotionally drained and the last thing I want to do is climb out of bed and prepare a presentation. My fingers, however, are typing at record speed, almost spitting back at him.

  Me: You’ve got be kidding me? It’s late and how on earth do you think I can do that between now and 9am? #Jerk

  I wait for his response, praying I can just shut my eyes and pretend today never happened. In my dreams, Jason is also lying beside me, massaging my shoulders and reassuring me that everything will turn out just fine. My happy bubble bursts as another text appears.

  #Jerk: How would I know? I’m just a #Jerk.

  #HaveFun

  Damn him! Reluctantly, I get out of bed and walk into the kitchen. Sitting at the table, I open my laptop and make myself a cup of coffee. Who the hell drinks coffee just before midnight?! Time is lost on me until a constant beep startles me, forcing my eyes to open, only to wake up with my head lying on the table. Shit! I must have fallen asleep! I flick the mouse on my laptop and thankfully the final page I wrote appears. Quick to hit save, I glance at the time. Fuck, I have less than twenty minutes to get out of here.

  My OCD is causing a mental breakdown. Being disorganized is foreign to me, and all of a sudden I am panicked, showering in record speed and with no time to iron. I grab the only dress that is dry-cleaned from my closet and quickly put it on. No time for makeup or my hair to be styled, I rush out the door armed with my purse, laptop, and a bruised apple from my kitchen.

  The bus is heaving as usual, and at each stop I balance myself and poorly attempt getting some mascara and lipstick on. My hair doesn’t cooperate, so I shove it up into the neatest bun I can manage while I’m wedged between a man who has a serious case of body odor and a woman who stinks like garlic.

  I rush into the building with only minutes to spare, dumping everything on my desk and racing to the boardroom with my USB stick. Surprisingly, it is empty. The owner of our publishing company, Mr. Sadler, strolls in and takes a seat at his usual spot. Fucking hell, the Jerk didn’t tell me Mr. Sadler would be sitting in on this presentation!

  “Good morning, Miss Malone,” he greets me with a genuine smile.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sadler. Will it just be yourself today?”

  The second I ask the question, the Jerk strolls in casually, taking a seat beside Mr. Sadler. Unlike Mr. Sadler, who came with a notebook and pen, Haden is empty-handed, staring directly at me with a pompous grin.

  “It’ll just be us, Miss Malone.”

  To this day, I have no idea what exactly Haden’s role is in this publishing firm. Mr. Sadler is a kind man and definitely sees the good in people. He is a great boss, but occasionally I have to question his decisions, like hiring Haden. I am fairly certain Haden is sleeping with some head honcho, given his half-assed attempt to get any work done, plus his timekeeping is non-existent.

  I clear my throat and begin presenting the latest manuscript I had been reading that was well received by my co-editors. Somewhere during my introduction of the characters, Mr. Sadler’s cell vibrates and he excuses himself to take the call. Gr
eat. If Haden leaves this room alive, it’ll be a fucking miracle.

  “So let me get this straight,” Haden questions, leaning back into his chair like an arrogant asshole. “The main character, Violet, is a sex addict and somehow meets this twenty-five-year-old virgin that she falls in love with? How is that even possible?”

  “It’s fiction,” I seethe. “Anything is possible, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Yeah, but give your readers some credit, Malone. A twenty-five-year-old virgin?”

  “He was raised by a religious group that believed sex before marriage was a sin. His character moves to the big city and he runs into this woman at his local grocery store. How is that unbelievable? And I’m fairly certain that the last time you checked, you were missing a vagina and therefore have no clue what women want.”

  “Quite snappy this morning, Malone. Something keep you up?”

  I am ready to pounce on him when Mr. Sadler pops back in and asks me to resume. I do so, without looking at the Jerk, and by the end, Mr. Sadler is pleased and asks to see a final presentation by the end of the month.

  He leaves the room and I pack up my materials in silence.

  “Perhaps the next time, you prepare in advance. Doesn’t hurt to plan ahead,” he tells me. “You should try it sometime.”

  “Perhaps next time, you stop being an ass and tell me in advance that I need to prepare a presentation. I do not appreciate being told late at night—some of us use the night hours to sleep, not whore it around the city.”

  “You can sleep when you’re dead, Malone. I had you pegged for being a little bit more adventurous.”

  I almost drop my items in a blind rage. “You don’t know me,” I grit through my teeth. “So whatever game you’re playing, leave me the hell alone. You’ve got your toys to play with. In fact, she is probably waiting for you now.”

  Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms as his lips turn upwards, forming an annoying smile with a hidden agenda. “Ouch! Jealousy is an ugly trait on you.”