Addicted: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (16 page)

“
I
heard
you had quite a week,” Christine said to me as I stood before her desk. My boss was sitting there looking super sharp as usual in her leopard dress of all things, flawless makeup and an elegant updo, smiling at me as if I were the winner of some unknown prize.

Christine had continued to progressively show me more respect. She was even asking for my opinion on matters and complimenting me on what I wore, which was an absolute rarity.

All in all, I had to wonder if finally standing up to her that day I almost quit caused her to respect me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied respectfully.

She sat back in her seat, her eyes on me. “I heard that Tyler Locklin interrupted one of my auditions.”

I paused, not sure where this was going. Christine had known about this incident since the day it happened, but she was just now mentioning it. I hadn’t told her that I’d resumed my relationship with Tyler, not sure how’d she react—not that it was any of her business. “Yeah, but the audition was almost over when he did, and April got rid of him fairly quickly. I’m sorry, Christine, I know I said he wouldn’t cause any more trouble.”

Christine raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Did she?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what was he doing up here in my office after hours?”

I froze. Did she know? There’s no way she could’ve known, could she?

“One of the interns said she saw him coming up here.”

Relief flowed through me as I realized Christine didn’t know the extent of what went on in her office. I’d done my best to clean up and get everything exactly right, after all.

“He came up with some ruse to get his way up here. We had a little talk . . . and worked things out.”

“You did?” Christine asked in surprise. “Well, good for you. Don’t put up with any shit from him though.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, enough with the chit-chatting, Victoria. Get to work,” she said. “I’m expecting a call from Pierre about scheduling a meeting.”

“Yes, Mrs. Finnerman.” I turned and began to walk from the office.

“Oh and, Victoria?” Christine called.

I paused, half-turning to regard her. “Yes?”

Christine had a serene smile on her face. “I could use some coffee.”

“
O
pen your eyes
,” Tyler commanded, removing the blindfold from around my head. He’d come and picked me up after work, a tradition we’d started before our little split. He told me had something to show me, but he would only take me if I agreed to put on a blindfold.

Suspicious, it took some convincing for him to get me to agree, but of course I eventually gave in. Tyler always gets what he wants. Besides, I’ve always loved surprises.

Anxious, I popped open my eyes. It was an empty building. “What is this, and why are we here?” I asked, confused.

“It’s yours. You’re standing in your new startup location,” Tyler said. “Sure, it needs some work, but we’ll have it whipped up in no time.”

“Oh my God,” I said, tears pooling in my eyes. “It’s amazing!” I managed before frowning. “But I had the impression you weren’t serious about this.”

Tyler waved me off. “Nonsense. I admit, I did suggest it a little too quickly before, but I’ve consulted with a few experts, and we’re going to make this work.” He grinned at me.

Tears came to my eyes and I felt weak in my knees. “I can’t believe this,” I said, noticing that little smirk he had on his face. “What? You have that
and
that’s not all
look going on right now.”

“It’s the best part. Christine Finnerman has agreed to send over her two best lieutenants to work alongside you.”

“April and Gabe,” I breathed, feeling dizzy. This had to be some sort of dream.

“I-I-I-” I stuttered, unable to find the words.

“Love me?” Tyler finished.

“Yes, of course that, but . . . what if this business fails? What if I fail? And do I even want to know what it took to get Christine to agree to that?”

“Then it fails and at least you tried. This is your dream, and it’s right in front of you. It’s time for you to go out and seize it. But I know you three aren’t going to fail,” Tyler said firmly. “All that slaving for Christine is going to pay off, trust me.”

“You didn’t answer my last question.”

“Details, details. Does it really matter?” Tyler said with a grin.

I don’t think I loved Tyler more than I did in that moment. I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a deep kiss.

“Damn, I should give you surprises like this more often,” Tyler breathed when I finally pulled back away from him, breathless.

I giggled. “Oh shut it.”

“Seriously, I want more of where that came from.”

I playfully poked him in the stomach. “Later.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.

Tyler stared at me wearily. “All right. I’m going to hold you to that.”

I smiled, then sighed a second later.

“What’s the matter now?” Tyler asked.

“I just don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you for all of this.”

Suddenly, Tyler’s face brightened. “I know exactly how you can repay me.”

I stared at him warily. “What is it?”

“You can be my date to Brad’s wedding tomorrow.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “I don’t know. I don’t really have anything to wear.”

Tyler pulled me in close, the smell of his cologne that I so loved tickling my nose. “You’re in fashion. I’m sure you can find something. And it’s not a request,” he added. “It’s an order.”

T
here’s a saying
that you get what you pay for, and I got exactly that with Brad’s wedding. The event was a lavish affair, being held at the Promade. It was a small fortune to rent it for the day, but it was worth it.

All the wedding guests were dressed in the high-end attire designed by Christine. I’d supplied the money for top-notch catering, a band, and best of all, relieved my best friend of tremendous stress.

Not to say that he wasn’t still stressed. Even with everything I’d done to help, Brad still couldn’t help being nervous. It was his wedding, after all.

“Calm down, man,” I whispered to him as we waited. We were both dressed in almost identical tuxes, black and white, our shoes freshly shined and our hair nicely styled.

“You’re going to stroke out before Katie even makes her way down the aisle.”

“I just want everything perfect for her,” Brad replied, and I could understand.

All the guests were waiting. The music was about to start and I was about to walk with Brad out to the altar.

“Get ahold of yourself,” I growled. I felt like Brad was being ridiculous.

Before he could reply, a tiny dog, a Yorkshire Terrier dressed in a tuxedo, came running to me.

“What the hell is this?” I demanded with a ridiculous laugh when the dog reached me, wondering what the hell a dog was doing here.

Brad eyed the dog and groaned. “That’s Katie’s little baby, Hercules. Fitting name for a five-pound dog, huh? She doesn’t go anywhere without him. I told you she’s an animal lover. Anyway, she insisted he be a part of the wedding. Sorry I didn’t tell you, but don’t worry, he’s well-behaved.”

I shook my head. “You’ll never learn to put your foot down.”

Brad grimaced. “That’s not all. He’s supposed to walk in with us.”

I turned on him and rolled my eyes. “Hey, whatever floats your boat. It’s your wedding.”

“Let’s go,” I ordered. “It’s time.”

Brad pulled himself together, and when Katie reached the altar, he looked in total control of himself. I was proud of him.

The priest began, and I found my thoughts drifting to Victoria and what the future might hold for us. I could see her with the guests, and she looked absolutely stunning.

“And now you may kiss the bride!” The priest cried exultantly at the end.

With a smile on his face, Brad locked lips with Katie, and the crowd went wild, confetti flying everywhere. Hercules even got in on the excitement, running from person to person, looking for attention.

Victoria smiled at me while clapping, and I made my way over to her, grabbing her hand. “I’ve never seen a best dog at a wedding before,” she said as we made our way to the punch bowl.

I rolled my eyes. “He’s cute, but don’t even get me started on that one.”

“I think I might want one just like him.”

“That’s going to take some serious convincing,” I said with a grin.

Victoria laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I was just kidding. Kind of.”

It was time for my speech. At first I was nervous as I got up onto the stage, not sure what I was going to say. I’d originally prepared a speech, but then I decided against it because I was usually good at talking off the top of my head. The words seemed to flow right through me and I found myself enjoying it, making light-hearted jokes about Brad and causing the audience to laugh.

“To Brad,” I said as I came to the conclusion of my speech, raising my wine glass to toast the audience, “and his new wife.”

The crowd went wild.

“That was a great speech,” Victoria complimented, coming up and wrapping her arm around my waist. She smiled up at me, and my heart jumped in my chest at the sight of her. She looked so beautiful and so happy. I was proud that she was mine.

“Wasn’t it?” I asked.

Victoria’s eyes sparkled as she looked up at me. “So, um, I think I have a little surprise of my own.”

I arched an eyebrow curiously. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Victoria bit her lower lip in a teasing manner. “Well, you remember that deposit you made?”

I frowned in confusion. “Huh? What deposit?”

“The one you made after pounding me into submission,” Victoria replied with a mischievous grin that I daresay rivaled one of my own.

“Oh,” I said. “
That
.” I thought for a second before I grasped her meaning. “You mean I’m going to be . . .”

“A daddy,” Victoria said in excitement.

She ran her fingers up my shoulders coyly. “Are you ready?”

Sweat beaded my forehead, and I actually felt dizzy for the first time that evening—and I hadn’t even started drinking yet. Not from nervousness, but from the whirlwind of emotion now hitting me all at once.

“I am,” I said, smiling, picking Victoria up into an almost bear hug and planting a deep, passionate kiss on her.

I
was putting
on my pants when my father called. Glancing at the clock, I could see that it was only eight in the evening, so him calling wasn't totally unexpected. It was about eleven his time out there in New England. The girl, I think her name was Candy, maybe Cindy, watched me with the sheet pulled up to her chin as her large breasts pushed the cotton out an impressive distance. She'd just turned eighteen not long ago. And yes, I checked. I'm not one to get taken for a fool. After a friend of mine got himself in a load of trouble with the law, I made sure to never just take the girl's word for it. "Yeah Johnathan?"

"Julian, you know I hate it when you use my name like that," my father replied. Like I gave a shit. "I know it's been a while, son."

"Not long enough, Johnathan. What do you want?"

"I just called to invite you to my wedding."

I closed my eyes, rubbing at my temples. I could feel a splitting headache coming on, and we were only fifteen seconds into the conversation. "What's the slut's name this time, Johnathan?"

My father collected women like I used to collect baseball cards back when he was married to my mother. Of course, right about the time I turned seven, he sent Mom packing, and I never forgave him for that. To top it off, Johnathan could hire the best lawyers in the state, and instead of going with Mom, I had to spend all but a month each year of my time for the next eleven years living with him. I got to watch in person as my father went and got himself married again, this time to a woman almost half his age. She, of course, ditched his ass as soon as possible, taking him for a huge chunk of his money (again).

I will admit, there are some benefits to being Johnathan Castelbon's son. First of all, he has enough money that he could get married twice, get taken to the cleaners twice, and still have enough left over to be listed in the
Forbes 400
. With that amount of dough, he can afford to let me do pretty much whatever the hell I want. I had a monthly allowance that is bigger than your average household yearly income. When I got my driver's license, the next day I was driving a Lexus. He insisted that I learn on a
more reasonable car,
I believe is how he said it. By the time I graduated from high school, I'd grown into a Porsche. Now I ride around in a Ferrari, my second.

Thankfully, since turning eighteen, I'd been able to minimize Johnathan's access to my life. He'd by that point realized that trying to bullshit me and buy me off was useless. Of course I didn't stop him from buying me things, but I damn sure wasn't about to make nice with him either. Besides, by that point he was already balls deep in his second wife, Jennifer. That lasted another year, when she divorced him and took off with some dude from Europe. By then though, I'd already had my own share of drama to deal with. "So what's her name, anyway?"

"Sandra. Come on Julian, I've been dating her for over three years." My father sounded slightly hurt, which I loved. It was just about the only emotion I got out of the bastard.

"Hadn't noticed, Johnathan. In case you forgot, I've had some troubles of my own." I reminded him because it seemed for me and my father, the only way we did communicate was when I was getting myself in trouble. Now, I'll admit, starting a fight with Ariana Grande's supposed boyfriend at the Playboy mansion wasn't the best idea in the world. The guy rolled with a posse of five. But I swear, she hit on me. And besides, I held my own for fuck's sake. How was I to know the tough guy boyfriend would turn out to be a little bitch who insisted on pressing charges?

"Yes, I know. Julian, I don't want to have a fight with you about this. I just wanted to invite you personally, instead of you getting a card in the mail or having my assistant do it. Son, please. I'm asking you as a favor to me. Come to the wedding, Sandra wants to meet you. She already arranged for her daughter to come as well."

Daughter? Hmmmm, this sounded interesting. Maybe there was a way to get my father's attention without also getting another hit on my criminal record. "Okay Johnathan, I'll be there. Have your assistant send me the details. When is it?"

"In two weeks. If you have the time, maybe you could come up a few days early? Sandra said Krystal will be coming up for the whole week before. She's a lovely young woman, Julian."

"I'll see what I can do." I hung up my phone without saying goodbye. I never do. On the bed, the blonde I'd just gotten done with was still looking at me. "What can I say? Family drama."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," the bimbo said in her almost too high pitched little girl voice. She had the body of a sex goddess, but the voice of Minnie Mouse. Seriously, fucking her was like listening to a hamster on helium. Total one night stand sort of chick. "Family drama is why I moved out here from Iowa."

Iowa? For fuck's sake. "I'm sure. So . . ." I said, wanting to get out without getting something thrown at me. I've already had to talk my way out of a false rape accusation, and while it was untrue and I prevailed in the end, it's something I'd rather not go through again. I'm no saint, but I am damn sure not a rapist.

"So you said you knew some guys I could talk to about getting a role in TV?" she said, sitting up. "I was kinda hoping you could give me their number."

I grinned in relief. Oh yeah, I had a few boys I could pass this girl around to. "Sure, baby. Hold on." I went over to my jacket and pulled out my wallet, flipping through some of the business cards I kept in there. I found the one I was looking for, a guy who called himself a talent agent named Eric. While Eric could boast to having a few clients who were secondary characters in some decent Hollywood films, most of his clients, especially the female ones, ended up working in the more risqué type of business. In other words, perfect for this Iowa farm girl, bless her heart. Taking out Eric's card, I handed it over to her. "Here you go. Hey, I've gotta get going, there's something I've got to do."

The girl took it and looked at me, and I could see the self-delusion in her eyes. She wasn't the first to look at me that way. It's a blessing, and a curse. "So we can get together another time, right?"

"Yeah baby," I said, quickly pulling my shirt over my head. "Let me check my schedule, and I'll give you a call." I was sure I had her number, but I never gave out my real number to one of these types of girls. She was no doubt looking to use me, but I was using her too, so it all worked out. Not that it stopped the real determined ones from tracking me down. I am Julian Castelbon after all. "I'll see you later."

M
y father's secretary
, a withered old battle axe named Patricia who I wouldn't have fucked even if she wasn't older than Johnathan, sent me the information three ways. I gotta give it to her, she's thorough enough. E-mail, text message, and registered delivery via US Postal Service. I was surprised she didn't hire a process server like others have when I've gotten sued. Some of them are pretty damn good at tracking me down.

I was sitting in my own place when the e-mail bounced off my laptop. I've got one of the two penthouses for the building, owned by my father of course, but he hasn't been out to the West Coast since Mom left him. Sitting in my shorts, I was getting ready for a workout down at Metroflex when the computer dinged. I finished pulling a tank top on, making sure to showcase the new ink on my right arm. Then I clicked on my e-mail. Patricia was her normal brief self, which at least I could respect. She didn't like me, but she didn't overly dislike me either. I read her message, then opened the attachment.

J
esus
, Castelbon Manor? Sure, the old place has been in our family since my great-grandfather Wayne Castelbon made it big doing ship building contracts for the Allies in World War I, and then later on for World War II. The manor was actually older than that, having been first built in the early 1800's by some old Yankee trader whose fortune, at least some thought, may not have always been by trading just rum and timber from the Americas to Europe and back. Wayne Castelbon bought the place from the diseased remnants of the family, and had actually renovated the main building, ripping down both wings to put up new ones. Since then, my grandfather and then my father both took the time and money to make sure it was kept up to date in terms of facilities while still retaining the old fashioned exterior. In short, Castelbon Manor was the seat of the family's power, and just another way my father was getting a dig in on me. Seriously, did he not remember that when he married my mother, she'd been only nineteen while he was twenty-two, in a quickie ceremony in Las Vegas? Now here he was giving this latest gold digger a full on ceremony in the Castelbon seat of power, and my Mom got jack shit? Fuck that!

I stormed out of my place and to Metroflex for a workout, needing to work off some rage. Randy, the manager on duty, was normally one of the guys I like to hang out and chat with, but that day I was just too pissed off. Thankfully that day was back day, which meant being pissed was good. Pissed off rage combined with a dose of Nano Vapor for my pre-workout meant I tore into my deadlifts like a demon. Even some of the pro lifters, a couple of IFBB juice monkeys and a powerlifter who had more tattoos than me stopped to admire my work and even cheered me on.

I like Metroflex. For one, it's one of the few places in the entire Los Angeles area where nobody gave a shit what my last name was. To the regular crew, I was JC. Sure, a couple would mention when I got my face in the paper or on TMZ, but they didn't give me any drama. They would bust my ass over my lifts, or when my diet was off and I came in looking like a fatass, but there was respect, and there was the unspoken acknowledgement that I could bust their chops just as much. Hell, when one of the IFBB guys offered to hook me up for a cycle of steroids, he took no offense when I turned him down. In fact, the next day he was cheering me on and cussing me out during squats just like everyone else. The regular guys at Metroflex, they were almost like my family.

Finishing up my deadlifts, I went straight into my normal secondary lifts, finishing with a killer set for my shoulders that left me gasping and my rear delts on fire. As I set my mind aside to not focus on the pain, I thought about what I could do to really fuck up my father's wedding. Showing up drunk? Nah, too trite and easily dismissed. Causing a scene and going on a rant would probably do the same thing. He'd just look at me with those blue eyes of his, boredom and dismissal competing for first place, and then go back to the ceremony.

On the other hand, I could always go for the throat. It was a trait I'd inherited from him after all. In business, nobody could be as ruthless as Johnathan Castelbon if you crossed him. Well, my father had been crossing me for nearly twenty years, ever since he threw Mom out on her ass. But how to go for the throat?

Suddenly it came to me, while at the same time my left shoulder muscle said no more, and the chains I'd been using dropped to the ground. Krystal! The way my father had spoken about her, the tone of voice, he was smitten with the girl. He'd told me many times growing up that he wished he could have had another child, a daughter. "Looks like you're going to get your wish,
Dad
."

At the counter, Randy called out my name. I came over, and he held out his hand. "Great job out there today man! Listen, one of the members, they're a freelance photographer who's done some work for
Men's Fitness
, and wanted to know if you wouldn't mind letting him take some photos next couple of workouts. He was impressed, and you could use the good ink, he said. I dunno what the fuck that means, but he said you'd know."

I laughed and nodded. "Yeah, it means something to put me in TMZ without it being attached to the words
police
,
scandal
, or
starlet
. You get his name?"

"Yeah, he dropped off a card. You want it?"

I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Sure, why not? Gotta look at least somewhat respectable half the time."

Randy got the card, and handed it over to me. "So is everything cool now? You came in ready to tear the fucking doors out of their hinges."

I thought about it, and the word
Krystal
flashed in my mind again. "Yeah, it's cool. Everything is Krystal clear."

M
y hand ached
, and my fingers were almost numb after chopping and slicing vegetables for seven hours, but I kept at it. I'd been busting my ass for too long to screw up this close to breaking onto the line, regardless of if Mom was marrying Johnathan or not.

"Aksoy!" the sous chef, a German man named Horst, called over. "I'm checking your station!"

"Yes Chef!" I yelled back. In a professional kitchen, it's really the only acceptable answer. Is your food ready?
Yes, Chef!
Are you listening to me?
Yes, Chef!
Did you really just put peanut butter in the beef Wellington like a brain dead zombie?
Yes, Chef!

Once, when my best friend Kimberly asked me what it was like working in a professional kitchen like the one at Alinea, my reply left her wondering if I was crazy. "Go watch
Full Metal Jacket
," I told her as we toweled the sweat off of ourselves. It had been the end of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu class, which I may add is a great way to get rid of stress. "Watch the first half from the beginning until they go to Vietnam. Replace Marines with chefs, and rifles with cooking knives. That's kind of my life" I said laughing, but was dead serious.