Exposed: A British Bad Boy Romance (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Susie

I
thought our marathon of sexcapades would never end.

After the gazebo, Jasper said the quickest goodbyes in history and dragged me off to the car we’d arrived in.

We were hardly two blocks away from the park before his hand was snaking up my skirt again.

Once we got back to his hotel, we barely made it into the elevator before we were all over each other again.

Then we got upstairs to his room and the next eight hours were a blur of earth-shattering orgasms, room service, and more orgasms.

No complaints, here.

As amazing as Jasper was the first time, he seems to get better every time after that. I swear, he finds sensitive places I didn’t even know I
had
. He makes me cum until my toes are curling and my vision is nothing but fireworks.

More than that though — he makes me feel
wanted
. Dare I say it?
Loved.

But that’s crazy talk. It’s one thing to have lots of wild and crazy sex. It’s another entirely to think there are
emotions
involved.

I hear him snoring softly on the bed behind me and I look back at him with a smile.

Whether it’s mutual or not, I know I can’t deny my feelings for Jasper any more.

I was already falling for him when I thought he was an unrepentant manwhore.

Now that I know that’s all an act. That that act hides a sweet and generous man…

Well, it’s pretty impossible to
not
want him.

And not just sexually.

I stare at the computer screen and the blinking cursor that seems to mock me with every minute that I haven’t written something.

Here goes nothing…

I start typing:
Jasper Wild. The name says it all. Or does it?

By the time I’m done writing, the first rays of morning sun are creeping under the curtains.

I wipe at my eyes, fully exhausted after being up all day with Jasper and all night with his biography.

He hasn’t budged, still sleeping soundly, his naked body sprawled out over the big King size bed.

It looks like the most comfortable spot in the whole damn world.

I yawn and turn back to the computer. Just gotta send this off to Ivan and then I can crawl into bed, soak up Jasper’s warmth, and maybe wake up in a few hours to another orgasm.

The thought brings a smile to my face. I can’t believe how…
perfect
everything seems between us.

Yeah, we’ve had some misunderstandings, but we’ve gotten past that.

Maybe there is something real here.

I can’t wipe this goofy-ass grin off my face and my cheeks are starting to hurt from it.

Just send the email and go snuggle him to death.

Now I’m just being silly.

Delirious with sleep deprivation.

I open my email on Jasper’s computer — after only
three
incorrect password attempts — and frown at the screen.

1 New Message

Ivan Borovich
—
Re:Jasper Wild Bio

Now, I know I’m
really
sleepy, but I didn’t already send the email, did I?

I click the email.

Suzette —

Love this! You really nailed him!

We’ll talk about your future with GWN Monday.

Ivan

I…

But I didn’t…

What?

I got back into my sent folder and find the email titled
Jasper Wild Bio
. I open it and see an attachment.

My first article. The one where I’m a total bitch because I thought he’d played me.

But how?

I look at the timestamp and realize it was sent just after I left the office Friday.

Marcel.

Shit.

I’m sure he meant well. I remember him reading it over my shoulder in vivid detail, his snarky comments helping to fuel my fire. I must’ve left my email logged in — because I can’t ever remember my damn password, obviously.

I’m going to have to tell Ivan on Monday not to print it.

Wait, when is Jasper’s opening?

If the publication is supposed to coincide with the opening of
28
then Monday will be too late. It’ll already be to print.

Damn it.

I’ve gotta get to him before the weekend is over.

Shit.

I fire off a response to Ivan with the new story and tell him I made a few ‘tweaks’, hoping that I’m not too late.

I push back from the laptop, glancing back at Jasper’s welcoming warmth and sprawled nakedness, but a quick response from Ivan pulls me back.

No need for tweaks. Perfect as-is.

Damn it. I never thought my clean first drafts would be a
problem
.

The signature in the email tells me that Ivan sent the message from his desk at the office — what’s he doing at the office at 7 in the morning on the weekend?

I’ll just call him. We’ll talk about this whole thing, sort it out, it’ll be fine.

The phone rings and rings without answer.

“God damn it,” I mutter under my breath.

As much as I want to crawl into bed and let this wait, I know I can’t.

I can’t let this horrible piece about Jasper go to print when I never even intended to submit it!

I hurry into the bathroom and splash some water on my face before getting dressed. I slip out of Jasper’s hotel room without him being any wiser.

I just hope I can get this all sorted before he wakes up to me gone.

By the time I get to the towering skyscraper that houses the entire company, I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach. I’m exhausted, overworked, and beyond stressed out about this meeting with Ivan.

I’ve tried to call him a handful more times with no result.

Before I head upstairs I decide to check with security to see if he’s still in the building.

The uniformed guard looks up Ivan’s access code to the office and confirms that he’s still here.

Well, time to put on your big girl pants, Susie Q.

It’s weird to get out of the elevator on the 17th floor without seeing Jan’s mildly displeased face greeting me.

Actually, I notice as I turn down the hallway to the left, the whole floor is totally deserted.

I guess everything’s already gone to press and people are taking the day off.

Lucky them.

As I near the end of the hallway, I hear Ivan’s gruff voice.

Maybe he’s on an important call and that’s why he couldn’t answer me.

I lift my hand to knock and realize the door is cracked open.

I pause long enough to hear a feminine giggle and my curiosity’s piqued.

I bring my hand down to knock on the heavy door a little too forcefully and it swings open on well-oiled hinges.

The knock has startled Ivan who’s looking up from his position behind Jan — Jan the secretary that he has bent over the desk in front of him with her skirt hiked up around her hips.

“Oh god,” I mutter, covering my eyes as Jan squeals with surprise and Ivan hurries to cover himself up.

“Suzette! What are you doing here?” Ivan asks, his voice tight and strained.

I hear his zipper and uncover my eyes, my face burning with embarrassment
for
them.

Shit
. Because things needed to be more complicated.

“I uh… Tried to call. I didn’t realize you were… busy.”

Ivan clears his throat loudly and turns to Jan, “Get us some coffee, would you?”

She nods stiffly, straightening her skirt, not even bothering to button up her blouse, leaving her lacy bra on display as she walks past me like
I’m
the one doing something completely unethical.

“What’s this about?” Ivan says, taking a seat behind his desk like nothing’s just happened. If I had any sense in me I’d just turn right around and walk back out.

But I have to remember Jasper and how much this story could hurt him.

“About the Jasper Wild piece,” I say, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

Ivan’s face remains stony, “Yes. I was quite impressed with it. I believe I said we’d discuss it Monday?”

I shuffle my feet, feeling like a little kid in the principal’s office, “Well, Monday will be too late.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think we should print the version you have. I… sent it prematurely. It’s not an accurate representation of Jasper, at all.”

“Nonsense! It’s perfect the way it is,” he says, clasping his hands together on top of the desk. “Now, how about we put this whole thing behind us and you start packing for your move upstairs?”

My heart leaps at the word ‘upstairs’, but then I hone in on the rest of his sentence. Put this behind us?

What’s he talking about?

Jasper? The story?

Jan returns with two coffees and I nearly smack my forehead. Duh. He’s offering the promotion in exchange for my silence.

“I… really appreciate that,” I say, making sure to sound grateful, “but I really hope you’ll reconsider the Wild piece.”

Ivan leans forward, his face hard now as he strokes his moustache, “What you’ve written is perfect. No one buys a tabloid to read about a celebrity’s good deeds. They want
juice
. People want
meat
to their gossip. You should be proud of what you’ve written. Stand by your work. It’s front-page material.”

He’s not going to budge on this.

Neither am I.

I shake my head, “I’m sorry. I can’t let you do that. I’m not in this business to ruin and slander people. That piece was never supposed to be sent to your desk.”

“Sounds like you’re in the wrong business, dear. It’s already sent to press and that’s final. Now, think very carefully about your next move, Suzette. You don’t want to jeopardize your entire career for this sudden burst of conscience, do you?”

Do I?

Is this job worth screwing over Jasper?

My heart aches at the thought.

Nothing is worth hurting him.

And that’s when I realize it: I’m in love with Jasper Wild.

Fuck
.

“I’m sorry, I can’t put my name on that piece.”

Ivan laughs and Jan offers her own simpering snicker, “What makes you think I need your name? You don’t
have
a name. And before you think of trying to deny rights — everything you’ve written while on payroll here belongs to
Simons Media International
and its subsidiaries.”

“Well,” I say with a sigh, “thanks for making my decision easy for me. I quit.”

Ivan frowns, but doesn’t look surprised, “Let’s not make a hasty decision. Why don’t you think about this over the weekend. I’m sure you’ll see my side of things. Being a part of the SMI family will open doors for you that you won’t get anywhere else.”

I shake my head, “No, that’s quite alright. I don’t want to be a part of any
family
that makes a habit out of tearing people apart. As much as I’ve always wanted to write, I want to make people
happy
, not destroy them. You can keep your upstairs job. Give it to someone else. I don’t care.”

The last thing I see before I turn on my heel is Jan looking far too pleased with this newest development. I don’t give a shit. Fuck Jan. Fuck Ivan.

Fuck
Global Week News
and all of their shitty gossip pieces.

There’s still one problem: that story is going to press whether I like it or not.

I pull out my phone in the elevator, my heart still racing, my fingers shaking as I text Jasper.

Sorry, had to go home to take care of somethings.

I stare at the message for a long time, wondering if I should add something else. See you soon? A smiley? A better explanation?

I send the message as-is, already working on a plan.

Ivan may be hell-bent on publishing the negative piece I wrote, but maybe someone else will be just as eager to publish the new piece.

Maybe I can still fix this.

Maybe Jasper won’t hate me forever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jasper

W
hen I first wake up, I give a huge stretch and a groan, reaching across the bed for Susie.

But the bed next to me is empty.

I trail my hand over the place where she’d last been lying and the sheets are cold.

“Suzette?” I call out, getting a sinking feeling in my stomach.

When an answer doesn’t come, I pull myself out of bed and look around the suite for her.

“Susie?” My heart clenches painfully as I start to work through the possibilities.

Did she slip out while I slept because she regretted what we did?

Because she doesn’t like me?

Did I come on too strong?

Not strong enough?

I’m nearly positive that I’ve done something wrong without knowing what it is. Women never walk out on me after a night like last night.

...Not that there’s ever been a night like last night with anyone other than Susie.

She’s pure perfection — the ideal mixture of prim and proper to the outside world and sexual deviant behind closed doors (or public parks, as it were). I’m the one with the bad reputation. The three strikes against me.

Before I drive myself batty trying to pinpoint my transgression, I pick up my mobile to call her.

1 Unread Text

I read Suzette’s text and feel a wave of relief wash over me. Guess I got a little ahead of myself.

When are you coming back? We weren’t supposed to get out of bed today ;)

A reply isn’t immediately forthcoming and my worries resurface.

Sorry. Can’t today.

I feel the smile fade from my face as a lump of coal settles deep down.

Why does this woman make everything so difficult?

And why the fuck am I so smitten with her despite it all?

I’m going to be busy all week with 28
, I fire off, hoping she’ll change her mind.

I already feel deflated and depressed knowing I’m not going to see her today.

I want to see her every day. All day.

But if the feeling’s not mutual?

I’ll be gutted.

I can’t even begin to think about that right now. Women throw themselves at me. I don’t know how to handle rejection.

But Suzette’s not rejecting me, I remind myself. She’s busy. She has her own deadlines quickly approaching.

Hope to see you opening night!

That’s three days from now.

Is she avoiding me?

I rub a hand over my face, still not really awake enough for these mind games or whatever she’s playing.

Sounds good.

I suppose I’ll leave it at that.

I want to ask if everything’s alright. If I did something to upset her. If she’s regretting the things we’ve done.

But I’m not an insecure teenaged girl.

She’ll come around or she won’t.

I certainly hope she does, though. I can no longer picture my life without Suzette in it. She completes me in a way I never thought possible. Like a fucking fairy story.

Surely she feels that too?

Good God, it can’t be one-sided, can it?

I’ve got to get out of my own head. I have a restaurant opening in three days. I can’t afford to waste any energy thinking about this.

And even though I’d planned to spend the day with Suzette, naked in my bed, I decide to go to work.

I call up Ricardo.

“Heeeey, mate. You pulled a fuckin’ Houdini on us last night,” he says.

I smile even though he can’t see it. Just talking to him is going to make me feel better, I already know it.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Got a bit
tied up
, if you catch my drift.”

Ricardo laughs heartily, “Good on you. I’d have made a move on her myself if I didn’t know you’d already ventured those seas.”

I know it’s harmless ribbing, but the thought of Ricky hitting on Susie makes my blood
boil
.

Good thing we’re on the phone and he can’t see the tight set of my jaw.

“Yeah. How are things going up there?”

I can hear the sound of the kitchen in the background: hood fans above the stoves, dishes clanging, being washed, music playing for the employees.

“Good, yeah. Bloody brilliant, actually. You should come on up and check it out.”

I nod, knowing he can’t see that either, “Yeah, I am. I want to put together another special for opening night, too. I wasn’t all that pleased with the pinot risotto.”

“Heard,” Ricardo says, using kitchen lingo to acknowledge what I’ve said.

“Put the fear of God in them for me, mate.”

Ricardo chuckles, “Will do. See you shortly.”

The rest of the weekend is a blur of tastings and last minute changes to everything from the decor to the fucking font on the menu.

Monday, though… Monday is a fucking
shitstorm
.

I wake up, make some coffee and take my time getting ready for the day.

I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t given myself a chance to even breathe in peace.

But nothing’s prepared me for what faces me downstairs.

The moment the elevator door opens, I see a crowd of people all turning towards me.

Then I’m bombarded with microphones and camera clicks while a dozen different people shout my name across the lobby.

“Jasper!”

“Jasper! Do you have any comment?”

“Chef Wild, any response to these allegations?”

“How do you think this will affect your restaurant opening tomorrow?”

“Jasper! Jasper!”

I shove my way through the paparazzi without saying a word.

What the hell is going on?

Comment on what?

Allegations of what?

A million questions roar through my brain, but I can’t concentrate on any of them until I’m away from all of this bedlam.

Luckily, I called for a car before I came downstairs and one of the hotel’s porters clears a path for me and I slip inside the back seat without further incident.

The driver knows where to go, so I pull up my mobile and start searching for mention of my name. For any clue to what the hell is happening.

It doesn’t take long for me to find the headline:
JASPER WILD EXPOSED
.

Clicking the link takes me to a lovely fucking picture of me — stark naked — with an eggplant the only thing covering my indecency.

I scroll a little further and immediately have an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

I’ve read this before.

Suzette
.

How could she not tell me this was going to print? How could she not warn me?

My heart sinks and I wonder for the thousandth time what we’re doing together.
If
we’re together… or ever will be.

The phone in my hand rings and I answer.

“Hello?”

“Chef Wild! I’m calling from
The Herald
, do you have any response to the rumors that your investors are pulling out of
28
?”

“No comment,” I bark, hanging up the call.

By the time we reach the restaurant, I’ve fielded off a dozen more identical calls and my phone is still ringing non-fucking-stop.

“Holy shit,” Ricardo says as I blow through the back door, “there’s been a zoo out there all morning.”

“I know,” I snap.

“Did you know about the—”

“No I did not know about the fucking story. Last I knew she was revising it. Now I’d like for you to not fucking mention it again.”

Everyone in the kitchen is staring at me with open fear.

“That goes for all of you. The first fucking person to mention anything outside of this fucking restaurant is getting my foot in their arse and a one-way ticket out the door. Is that understood?”

A resounding “Yes, Chef!” answers me.

Well, that settles that, at least.

I want to call Susie and ask if
she
knew about this — part of me wants to believe she didn’t, but the other part wonders where she’s been and why I haven’t heard from her.

Instead, I call Elliot.

“El, talk to me.”

He sighs and I hear the frustration and exhaustion in his voice already, “I’m working on damage control, Jasper. I need you to make sure everything is perfect and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

“I…” don’t know what to say to that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a profanity come from Elliot’s mouth so I’m certain now that it’s even worse than I thought.

Almost bad enough that I don’t want to ask. But I have to.

“How bad is it?”

“At this rate you’ll be lucky if anyone shows up tomorrow. I’m going to hang the man responsible for this.”

For a second, I believe him. And I don’t think it’s a
man
he wants to murder.

Oh, Susie, what have you done?