Exposed: A British Bad Boy Romance (12 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Susie

W
ith my deadline creeping ever closer, I decide to actually go into the office to work.

After all, I can only let myself wallow for so long before I’m annoyed with myself.

Jasper isn’t worth the melancholy.

“
Hola chica,
you’ve been a stranger around here, lately,” Marcel says, popping by my desk.

“Yeah, I’ve been buried up to my eyeballs with this Wild piece,” I say. Well, it’s partially the truth.

Marcel sucks his teeth and shakes his head, “Have you seen his latest?”

My heart stops. Did someone scoop me? Son of a bitch if he gave another interview while toying with me I’m going to be so fucking angry.

“Latest what?” I’m nibbling on the end of my pen — old habits die hard apparently.

Marcel flits off to his desk and returns with a copy of
Star World
our rival tabloid. He tosses it down on my desk like a gauntlet and there, splashed across the front page is Jasper, tangled with a gaggle of models and the headline
CHEF WILD’S MODEL BEHAVIOR
.

I groan and push the paper away from me, swearing I don’t care at all.

Nope, not even a little.

Marcel reads me like a fucking book. I wish I knew how he did that.

“Oh,
honey
, were you two...?”

“No!” I say too quickly and Marcel gives me a pointed look.

“A little. It wasn’t serious… clearly,” I say with a grimace toward the paper.

Marcel claps me on the shoulder, “You know what you need to do? Write. Harness all that anger in you and put it in print.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I mutter, turning to look at the blank document before me.

“Of course I am! Who better to write about the bad boy than someone that fell victim to his charms? Knock it out of the park and Ivan will have to move you upstairs.”

Upstairs
.

That’s what I’ve always wanted, right?

A bigger publication. No more celebrity gossip.

“But then who will I get all the juicy office stories from?” I tease, swinging back and forth in my chair.

Marcel grins and waves me off, “I’ve got my own big move in the works.”

My eyebrows shoot up and he laughs at me, “You’re not the only over-qualified talent here,” he says, nudging me gently.

“Well, good for you,” I say, genuinely happy for him even if I can’t make myself sound like it.

Marcel sighs and pats my shoulder again, “Write it out, Susie Q. It’ll be good for you.”

I nod, “I will, thanks.”

I bury myself in writing at the office for a few days, ignoring the multitude of calls I’ve gotten from Jasper and texts from Alisha. The only thing I can think to do is write, write, and write some more.

I barely make time to eat or take care of my hygiene.

So when I’ve finally finished it and I go home, I’m hoping I won’t see Alisha. I’m hoping she won’t have a chance to see how disheveled and dispirited I am.

Judging by her texts, she’s assuming I’ve been shacking up with Jasper all week.

I haven’t had the nerve to tell her the truth.

Of course, I walk in the front door and Al’s sitting on the couch watching TV.

It only takes me a second to hone in on the man behind the screen: fucking Jasper.

“Hey!” Alisha calls, chipper as ever. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“Yeah,” I mumble, trying not to look at the TV.

Alisha frowns, picking up on my hesitation in an instant.

That’s what happens when you’ve been best friends for over a decade. It becomes fucking impossible to hide your emotions.

“How are things going with the Chef?” she asks, her voice careful like she’s tiptoeing on eggshells.

“Over,” I say, my voice hollow and harsh sounding. Alisha gives me this surprised look and is clearly expecting an explanation.

I shrug, “I finished my story.”

“Really?” She jumps up from the couch, pausing the TV program before rushing over to me, “Can I read it? Please?”

“Uh, sure. If you want,” I say, new nervousness bubbling up inside me. What will Al think of my piece? It’s certainly not flattering of Jasper…

As she reads it, I’m hovering behind her, reading over her shoulder close enough that she looks back a few times to tell me I’m breathing on her.

When she’s done she sits back and whistles.

“Well?”

“It’s good,” she says. “Like
really
good…”

Fuck. I hear the hesitation in her voice. She’s trying not to say something.

“But?” I prompt.

Alisha sighs and gives me an apologetic look, “Did you mean for it to sound so… bitchy?”

“I… Well…” I stumble, trying to defend myself.

“I think it’s really well-written, Suze, but are you sure this is what you want to publish about him?”

I shrug, “It’s a first draft.”

Alisha’s not buying it, “Have you let him read this?”

I scoff, “Of course not. He doesn’t care. The paper’s going to love this.”

Alisha nibbles on her bottom lip thoughtfully, “Yeah, maybe. But this could really hurt him, couldn’t it?”

I feel a little pang of guilt stab at me, but I do my best to shake it off.

How could it hurt him? He wants this bad boy image. He’s certainly got it in my story — and then some.

I manage another shrug, hoping I look as unaffected as I try to, “Jasper is thoroughly done with me and the feeling is completely mutual. He doesn’t care about his reputation, he’s told me that much. If this is going to get me out of
Global Week
then this is what I’m sending to press.”

My tone is final and Alisha frowns with a nod, “If you say so.”

As I walk toward my bedroom, Alisha stops me, “Is everything okay?”

“Yep.”

Everything’s great. I finished the impossible story. I’m done with Jasper Wild and I’m well on my way to the career I always wanted.

Everything’s fucking
fantastic
.

Except… It’s clearly not and Alisha knows it.

She purses her lips at me and I’m prepared for a repeat of our ‘keeping secrets’ fight, but I just don’t have the energy to face any of this anymore.

I’m so
done
. Done with chasing him. Done with his games. Done with deluding myself.

“I’m gonna head to bed. I’m pretty wiped,” I say and Alisha lets it all drop.

And I’m sound asleep when I hear a pounding on the front door.

Cranky and groggy, I just roll over, pulling the blankets up over my head to ward off the outside world.

After a few more pounding knocks, there’s a softer one on my door.

“Hey, Suze?” Alisha’s voice comes through the door, soft and timid.

I’m sure I don’t even want to know. I’m sure that all I want to do is keep sleeping long enough to forget about
everything
.  

“What?” I groan, flipping on the lamp by my bed.

Alisha pokes her head through the door, looking half-asleep and sheepish.

“Um… Don’t be mad,” she says. “I… didn’t think he’d just
come over
here.”

I sit up in bed, “What? Who? Mad about what?”

She’s looking down at the floor the way she does when she knows she’s done something wrong.

“What did you do, Al?”

“I uh… I might have sent your piece to Jasper.”

“You WHAT?”

I’m jumping out of bed now, fully awake and in full blown panic mode.

“Yeah… and he’s here.”

“He’s… I… What?” I falter, struggling to breathe as the world closes in around me.

“Tell him to go away. I don’t want to see him.”

Alisha looks over her shoulder and then she’s being pushed to the side by Jasper as he forces his way into my bedroom.

He’s got his cellphone in his hand, just staring at it, his face completely red with rage.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says.

Alisha takes her opportunity to cut and run. So much for loyalty.

“Are you drunk?” I ask, noticing the slight slur in his words.

“Fucking right I am. What’s your excuse, luv?”

I cross my arms over my chest, all too aware of how little my pajamas cover.

“Excuse for what?” I feign ignorance.

Jasper barks a laugh and wags his phone at me, “Chef Wild eschews any talent in favor of shock value and making headlines…” he scrolls. “Immature, spoiled, pampered, his employees live in fear of his outbursts and know to always give the Chef just what he wants lest they face his wrath.”

“Bloody hell, Suzette, is this what you think of me?”

No. Not really. I was angry.

I shrug.

“Chef Wild has made a career off of his reputation for bedding women more than his ability to plate fine dishes,” he reads, squinting at the screen. “Jesus christ.”

I cringe a little, barely remembering some of the parts he picks out of the piece.

“And you’re just going to print this… this fucking bullshit?”

I realize now that he’s not just angry; he’s hurt.

What reason does he have to be hurt? He didn’t show up nearly naked at my place to find me with a handful of other men.

“I thought you didn’t care about your reputation, or what people think about you,” I say, a steel edge to my voice.

He rakes a hand over his face and shakes his head with a mirthless laugh, “I don’t. I don’t give a damn what anyone on the whole bloody planet thinks about me. Except you.”

My heart jumps to my throat, beating wildly, forcing the air from my lungs even as I try to take deep gasping breaths.

He takes a step toward me and I’m already imagining his arms enveloping me. His hands skimming over my sides as he kisses me breathless.

Damn it, Susie, snap out of it.

“Please tell me this isn’t what you really think of me, Susie,” he says with more sincerity than I’ve ever seen from him.

My retort sticks in my throat and I shake my head, “I was angry when I wrote it. I didn’t really intend to submit it as-is. No matter how angry and hurt I am, pettiness isn’t really my thing.”

He takes another step forward and I can feel the heat from his body. Smell the alcohol on his breath.

I hold my breath, hoping against hope that he’s going to take me in his arms right then. But he doesn’t.

“I wanted to explain… Those models… That was all Elliot’s doing. I sent them away as soon as I could — nothing happened, you have to believe me.”

I do.

I say nothing, but I feel my resolve to stay angry with him melting away like ice in the hot Miami sun.

“Give me a chance to redeem myself. Let me show you I’m genuine. Let me l—” He stops himself and I wonder what he was going to say.

“For fuck’s sake, Suzette, I’m
groveling
here. I’m begging you to let me earn your forgiveness.”

“You’re drunk,” I remind him.

“And you’re sexy as hell,” he says, closing the few inches between us until I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. Those stormy blue eyes that take my breath away every time.  

“Jasper…”

“Aren’t we just pointing out the obvious?”

I purse my lips at him and after a moment between us he says, “Please, Suzette, give me a chance.”

“If I agree will you get the hell out of my house?”

He nods eagerly and that heart-stopping grin spreads across his face, “Is that a yes?”

I groan in frustration but nod anyway, “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

For a brief moment, Jasper seems to forget that I’m angry with him; he gives me a quick kiss and then practically skips back to my front door.

“Tomorrow, Susie Q. Tomorrow I’ll change your mind about me. You’ll see.”

I lock the door behind him and sigh.

Being angry at him is easy.

Falling for him is much much harder.

I have no doubt that he’ll be able to change my mind about him.

And that’s what I’m so damn afraid of.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jasper

I
’ve done dozens of television appearances.

I’ve cooked in some of the most famous restaurants in the world.

I’ve served meals to celebrities, nobility, even
royalty
.

And yet I’ve never been as nervous as I am now.

Going over to Susie’s completely pissed was the only way I was ever going to confront her about that story.

And maybe I should have left it alone.

I’m sure Elliot would approve of what she wrote. I’m sure he’d think it’s bloody marvelous.

But I’m a little sick of being the shiftless talentless playboy.

This lifestyle doesn’t hold the appeal it once did.

Not when I’m faced with a better prospect.

And there’s no doubt in my mind that Suzette is a better prospect. The best I’ve ever had, I think.

I tried to tell myself that I don’t care about her. That I would just let her leave and move on with my life.

I tried really hard. Truly I did.

Then her flatmate sent me that article she wrote and something inside of me
snapped
.

I can deal with the entire planet thinking I’m worthless and a waste of space. But not Suzette. I can’t live with that.

I didn’t expect her to agree to my plea for forgiveness. Not that she’s forgiven me yet, but still. She’s agreed to give me a chance.

It’s more than I deserve.

Now I just have to make sure not to fuck it up.

I text her to let her know I’m waiting downstairs. She made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want me inside her flat again without an invitation.

Fair enough.

After a few minutes of waiting at the curb, Suzette emerges from the building in a little floral sundress that makes my mouth go dry in an instant.

Holy hell, dresses like that shouldn’t be legal.

The sun is bright enough to make the thin cotton nearly see-through and I can see the outlines of her thighs through the fabric and just like that I’m fucking hard for her.

Not the way to prove you’re not a knobhead
.

She looks around for a moment, not seeing me in the borrowed car — she’s never actually seen me drive, I realize. Not that I make it much of a habit in the states with everything bloody backwards.

I roll the passenger window down and duck my head, “Need a lift?”

For the briefest moment her face lights up and my heart fucking
stops
. I’d give anything to see her smile like that. I want to think that smile was for me — recognition or something — but I couldn’t possibly be that lucky.

She climbs in and buckles her seatbelt, “Nice ride,” she says.

“Borrowed it from a friend. You look lovely,” I say, hearing the heat in my own voice.

Susie looks down at her lap and clasps her hands together, “Look, Jasper… This isn’t a date or anything, okay? You want to give me a different angle for my story and that’s cool, but don’t think it’s anything else.”

Just like that, all the air’s been taken out of me and my throat is coated in painful barbs.

I nod, “Of course.”

It’s not how I want things.

Of course, what I want seems to be irrelevant in this instance, something I’m still struggling with.

I
am
used to getting my way. She’s certainly got that right.

“So where are we going?”

“Just a little get-together with the staff. It’s the last weekend before we open
28
so I wanted to congratulate everyone and thank them for a job well done.”

She offers only a ‘hmm’ in response and I’m not sure what to make of that.

“Hopefully you’ll realize no one is cowering in fear from me,” I say with a harsh bitterness I don’t mean.

Susie’s jaw drops and she seems to struggle to find a response, “I’m—”

I shake my head, “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do a very good job of showing my other sides. Can’t blame you for working with the material I gave you.”

She turns her attention back to the road and we hit the highway in silence, time stretching the rift between us further until it seems impassable.

Perhaps I have irreparably damaged our relationship. Perhaps I was a fool for ever thinking we
had
a relationship.

So this is what it feels like to be on the other side of this.

It’s bloody torture.

How many women have I put through this same treatment? Used and discarded without a second thought?

The thought makes me a little sick.

I definitely deserve this.

And it’s those self-loathing thoughts that keep me company until we arrive at the park.