The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance (5 page)

Tori

A
cousin of mine who once won a minor beauty pageant used to say real beauty requires hard work and discipline. I didn’t truly know what she meant until I go shopping with Britney.

We spend
hours
looking for the right dress. She tries on what seems like a hundred different outfits in at least thirty shops. She twirls in front of me in dresses that are, quite frankly stunning, and decides that they make her grasshopper long legs look stumpy and fat or her augmented and perfect 32C chest look flat and blah.

She almost bursts into tears because the color of one of them, she believes, makes her glowing teenage skin look washed out. Another classically simple dress gets the ultimate insult.

‘I’d rather wear one of Kanye West’s plain white T-shirts that he has the cheek to sell at $150.00.’

I flash a placating smile, find a broken sweet in my jean’s pocket, slip it into my mouth, and crush it to death between my teeth. Then, just as I am about to tear my hair out with sheer boredom, we go into Couture Couture and Britney finds a mini-dress in Clementine.  Even I have to admit this dress is special. It is super-sexy, trendy, and perfect for her body shape. Good, I think we can take a break for a couple of hours before her appointment at the hairdresser, but life is never that easy.

‘Now,’ Britney says, moving again towards the dress rail, ‘we have to find something for you. I think I saw something that might be perfect just now.’

There is absolutely no way I’m buying anything at Couture Couture. Even the tiny dress Britney is swanning around the shop in carries a £695.00 price tag. That’s more than three weeks’ worth of wages to me, and there is no way in hell I’m about to go traipsing around the shops all over again.

‘I have a little black dress. I think I’ll wear that,’ I say trailing behind her.

Britney stops in her tracks, balances her weight on one hip, and looks me up and down. She reminds me of one of the divas in that Real Housewife reality show that Cora likes to watch.

‘What little black dress?’ she asks.

‘You haven’t seen it. I didn’t bother to unpack it.’

She folds her arms across her chest. ‘I
have
seen it. Isn’t it made out of T-shirt material?’

‘Well, yes, but I can dress it up.’

‘Absolutely not,’ she says imperviously, and turning away from me resumes rifling through the dress racks.

‘Look, even if I do decide to buy something, I definitely can’t afford to get anything from here.’

‘Hmmm …’ she says, ignoring me and moving quickly through the rack.

‘Britney,’ I call, my voice louder and more impatient.

‘You’re not paying for this dress. I am,’ she says without turning around.

I puff air out of my cheeks. ‘It’s really nice of you and everything, but you will not be paying for it, will you? Your Dad will be, and I don’t think he’ll appreciate being forced into buying me such an expensive dress.’

She turns to look at me in surprise. ‘Dad’s not going to mind me buying you a dress. It’s not like it’s every day that Cash comes home and throws a party.’

I shake my head.

‘If you don’t believe me I can call him right now and ask,’ she challenges.

‘That won’t be necessary. It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’d just feel uncomfortable accepting such an expensive dress from my employer.’

‘Think of it as a uniform. You have to come to the party with me and you need an outfit that won’t show me up.’

‘OK, let’s compromise. Maybe we can stop by Topshop or Miss Selfridge and I’ll find something suitable there.’

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. ‘Tori, you don’t understand, do you? Everybody there will be dressed to kill. You might as well come naked instead of a little number from Topshop.’

I stare blankly at her. My mother calls it my owl look.

‘It’s just a dress,’ she says persuasively.

‘Fine.’

‘Good,’ she says with satisfaction, and turns back to the rack. Less than a minute later she yanks something out from the rail. ‘How about this?’ she cries triumphantly.

I stare at it in amazement.

‘It’ll be gorgeous when it’s wet,’ she says, walking towards me.

Wow! I don’t know about it being gorgeous when it’s wet, but it’s awesome dry. I mean, I would never even have considered a zebra print, semi transparent, maxi dress with a plunging neckline and long sleeves, but now that she has pulled it out and is waving it temptingly in front of me, I have to admit she knows her fashion. I take it from her and look at the price tag. An eye-watering £799.00. On sale. Supposedly reduced from £1,399.00.

‘Have you seen the price?’ I whisper, horrified.

‘If you don’t hurry up, we’ll miss my hair appointment,’ she prompts, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

I take the dress from her and bustle into the dressing room. I wriggle out of my clothes and pull the dress over my head. I zip it up and I can quite honestly say I have never worn anything so revealing, sexy, or glamorous before. I feel slinky and sheer, and in a funny sort of way like my grandmother’s favorite movie character, Suzie Wong.

‘Come out then,’ Britney calls.

I step out. ‘How do I look?’

She gives me the critical once over, grins and says, ‘I think I officially hate you.’

‘You don’t think it’s too … er … sexy?’

She comes closer to me. ‘It’ll be tremendously sexy when it gets wet, but that’s the whole point,’ she explains, tilting her head slightly as she adjusts the material around my hips.

I swivel my head to look at the back of the dress. Actually, it’s already tremendously sexy. ‘Are you sure your dad won’t mind?’

‘I have a credit limit. Sparks only start flying when I go over it.’

I smile at her awkwardly. ‘Well, thank you for the dress. It’s very generous of you.’

She looks down at her bare feet, and for a confusing moment she looks young and vulnerable. ‘It’s only a dress. You do a lot for me.’

‘Thank you,’ I say softly.

She raises her eyes to mine and smiles shyly. ‘You’re welcome, Tori. I really like you.’

For a fraction of an instant I can’t bring myself to reciprocate. Then I realize that she’s just a kid. A lonely, rich kid. Telling her I like her won’t be a lie. Sometimes, like now or when she was hanging on to my bathroom door and twerking, I do like her, a lot.

‘Me too,’ I say.

Her smile widens into a massive grin of pure joy. It is infectious and I start grinning back at her too.

‘Are you planning to put your hair up or let it down?’ she asks suddenly.

‘What do you think?’ I ask, bowing to her obvious expertise when it comes to clothes, fashion, and pool parties in the homes of celebrities.

‘Without any doubt, down.’

‘You don’t think that would be too … obvious?’

‘God, no. It’s an asset. I wish my hair was as beautiful as yours. Actually, I wish my everything was as beautiful as yours.’

I frown. ‘I think you’re way cuter than you give yourself credit for.’

‘No,’ she says gloomily. ‘Cash got mum’s lovely coloring and looks and I got dad’s.’

‘I think you’re beautiful, Britney,’ I say sincerely.

She shrugs. ‘You’re hardly going to tell me I’m ugly even if you think so, are you?’

Astonished, I stare at her. ‘Why on earth would you imagine that I think you’re ugly?’

She shrugs again.

‘I don’t think you’re ugly at all. In fact, the opposite. You’re beautiful. People are always telling you that.’

‘Sure they are. Everybody wants to be Cash’s sister’s friend.’ Her voice is husky, almost tearful.

‘That’s not true,’ I deny immediately, but we both know that there is no real conviction in my tone. 

She smiles suddenly, a forced stretch of her lips. ‘Never mind. Let’s settle the bill and go get us some killer shoes.’

We pop into Russell & Bromley and Britney gets a pair of mile high platform sparkly shoes and I buy silver stilettos. My shoes come to £120.00 and I insist on paying for them. They are more expensive than what I would normally splash out on a pair of shoes, but what the hell? We only live once!

After buying our bikinis, black for me, and white for Britney, we head off to the hairdressers. While I wait for Britney, the girl from Thailand who does nails comes and asks me if I want to have my nails done. My nails are actually pretty rough looking.

‘I make pretty,’ she says, nodding her head vigorously.

How can anybody resist such an invitation?

‘Oh, go on then,’ I say. A little part of me has started to get excited about this pool party and seeing Cash again.

‘Manicure and pedicure?’ she asks, sensing an easy prey.

‘OK,’ I agree, and she shows me her color swatches.

To be honest she does make both my hands and feet look very pretty. Feeling generous I leave a good tip.

‘Thank you,’ she says with a small nod. She immediately roots around in her basket and carefully presses a small crystal onto my thumbnail and finishes it with a layer of clear varnish.

‘Hmmm … your carriage awaits, Cinderella.’

Tori

‘She most popular girl in bar. She got sex appeal.’

                                                                    - The World of Suzie Wong

T
he cool air smells of roasting meat and pulses, with techno music and the sounds of a seriously good party in progress. As soon as the car noses through the gaggle of paparazzi gathered outside the gates, the guard waves us through and we turn into Cash Hunter’s drive. The house, a massive, modern, glass and steel monster structure, is lit up like a mother ship.

Britney and I get out of the car and walk up to the team of bouncers standing around the front doors.  We go through the tall doors and, I’m not kidding, step into every manslut’s wet dream.

The living room has —wait for it—an Olympic-size swimming pool. OK, Olympic size might be a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the picture. It is infested with nearly naked, nubile, squealing bodies. As my dazed eyes watch more super-excited, shrieking, gloriously perfect, scantily clad girls land in the water with a splash.

Oh, you should also know that the living room boasts a dance floor (that’s right, a slightly raised square platform that flashes), two well stocked bars (on either side of the pool), and a giant movie screen with images of whales swimming underwater in slow motion.  The whales, I’ll admit, is a cool and surreal idea. 

Honestly, the whole thing looks like an MTV music video.

Right in the middle of all this fun and laughter is Cash Hunter. Lying on a giant purple inflatable bed between two giggling babes. One of them is pouring champagne straight from the bottle onto his chest. Talk about living a cliché.

Still, awesome, fantastic, wonderful.

This is exactly the kind of stuff I was hoping to run into. Right this minute, the lead singer of ALKALINE doesn’t seem all that attractive. In fact, he looks like a shallow, selfish, vain, egocentric, show-off, media created, hateful, sexual deviant of a jerk. Who in their right mind would ever want a party god like this?

Beside me Britney screams, ‘Cash.’

His head swivels in our direction and our eyes meet. Suddenly the blood in my veins starts fizzing like soda water. Oh God. Apparently, I’m not in my right mind. Because I want him so bad it hurts my stomach, and until he decides to break the eye-fuck I find myself totally, completely, and absolutely unable to look away.  I just stand there frozen and stare idiotically at him.

Until his eyes flicker and he turns his gaze to Britney. A smile breaks out on his face. Rolling the girl next to him into the water, he slips into it himself and swims strongly towards us. Placing his palms on the tiles at the edge of the pool, he hauls himself out easily.  His eyes are luminous with water reflections.

From his crouched position, he uncoils, full of sexual energy. Water sluices off his body in fast flowing rivulets and I actually feel my eyes widen. Holy crap. What a rush! He lifts his powerful arms and slicks his hair back, and my eyes just follow like some starving, stray dog.

It’s just not fair. Why should
anybody
look like that? I shake my head to clear the weird hypnotic effect he is having on me. It’s not like I want anything to happen between us.

Britney takes a step forward and pecks delicately at his wet cheek.

‘Great party,’ she says stepping back.

‘There’s not much to your dress,’ he notes darkly.

‘We’re here to have fun,’ Britney giggles.

His eyes narrow disapprovingly. ‘Watch it, Brit. I don’t want to have to bash anybody’s head in.’

‘Oh for God’s sake don’t be such a spoil sport, Cash. I never get to go out and have fun,’ she groans.

He scowls at her. ‘I mean it. I’m not your BFF. I’m your older brother.’

‘‘What time is Taylor Swift coming?’ she asks, craftily changing the subject.

‘Not until later.’

She clasps her hands together. ‘I’m so excited. I can’t believe I’m going to meet her.’

He smiles indulgently. ‘She said she’s bringing something special for you.’

Britney’s eyes become dinner platters. ‘What?’

He lifts one wet, muscular, tanned, taut shoulder. Phew. This man could start a new category of porn – shoulder porn. ‘It’s a surprise,’ he tells her.

‘But do you know what it is though?’ she wheedles.

‘Nope. You’ll just have to wait.’

‘All right,’ she agrees easily. ‘Where’s Prince anyway?’

‘Locked in my bedroom,’ he says.

‘Can I go see him?’

‘Yeah, but don’t let him out.’

‘Oh why not?’ she complains.

He raises his eyebrows meaningfully. ‘Because he’ll do what he did the last time you let him out.’

‘I thought it was a great laugh,’ she says with a little naughty giggle.

‘Seriously? You want a repeat?’

‘So he jumped into the pool. He’s friendly. It’s hardly his fault that everybody else was silly enough to behave as if a man-eating crocodile had got into the pool with them,’ she defends.

‘Britney,’ Cash says patiently, ‘after he emptied the pool he ran outside and shook himself all over the buffet table and slobbered on the barbequed meat so no one had anything to eat.’

‘Your friends don’t eat anyway,’ she retorts.

Way to go, Britney. This is the version of her that I could really start to like.

‘Prince doesn’t get out, or you’re never coming to my parties again,’ he says. His voice is flatter than the flattest thing you can think of.

‘Fine,’ Britney agrees sulkily. ‘I won’t let him out.’ She turns toward me. ‘Do you want to come and meet Prince, Tori?’

I do very much want to meet Prince. I know that he is an enormous, pale tan beast of a Kangal. Two years ago it was all over the news how he had been found in a drug dealer’s backyard, snarling, his bones showing, and his ears chopped off so that he would look fiercer. He was already in the police dog pound waiting to be put down since Kangals are classified in some countries as one of the dangerous dog breeds, but Cash had seen his picture in the newspapers and fallen in love with him. I suppose he must have called in a whole lot of favors because he got the dog.

Kangals are intimidating monsters, capable of warding off wolves, bears and jackals, but the only photos I have seen of his dog are those where he is standing on his hind legs and resting his great big front paws on Cash’s shoulders while he licks his master’s face like some great big puppy.

I’m about to agree to go see him when Cash speaks up.

‘No, you go on ahead. Let Tori stay here and say hello to me.’

‘All right,’ she agrees and moves away.

I take a deep breath and look up at Cash.

He lets his smoldering eyes slowly travel down my body. I think I manage to keep a version of a too-cool-for-school expression going on my face, or maybe not, since my skin gets so hot my eyebrows feel like they are on fire. 

Baring icy white teeth, he drawls, ‘You look ravishing, but … Zebra prints? That’s false advertising surely.’

I frown. ‘What are you trying to imply now?’

‘I’m not trying to imply anything. Just sayin’ it might have been more truthful to go with wildcat prints, but I guess we both know you’re not very honest.’

‘And what the hell is
that
supposed to mean?’ I demand, getting more and more annoyed.

‘You want some of this,’ he flicks his hand down his annoyingly hunky body, ‘but you pretend not to.’

‘God, you sure have an extraordinarily big head, don’t you?’ I mutter, irritated that he is 101% right in his assessment of the situation.

His eyes gleam. ‘That’s me. Big head, big mouth, big cock …’

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts my head. ‘Oh, here we go again.’

‘Why are you so mad at me? I’m just trying to be helpful. You know, reading out the label so there are no surprises later.’ He drops his head, looks down at his feet so his wet eyelashes are almost sweeping his cheeks, then looks at me through the spiky curtain.

God, damn him, even though I know it’s all callous manipulation and technique, it still stirs my heart. It’s so freaking difficult to keep pretending and saying no, when all I want to do is fall into his fantastic arms and let him sweep me off to his lovely bed. I desperately need to put some distance between us.

‘You’re not that cute, and I will
never
fall for that tired, old stunt,’ I say, pulling together my scattered wits.

‘Never?’ he asks.

‘Never,’ I say firmly.

‘You could crush a guy saying things like that,’ he murmurs.

‘It doesn’t seem to be doing you any harm,’ I retort.

‘I’m worried about the drip, drip effect,’ he says softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Over time even very hard things can be worn down.’

I ignore the sexual innuendo. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll be around long enough for you to notice such an effect.’

‘I don’t know. After a mind-blowing climax with a side of wow, you might want to stay around. Maybe even stalk me.’

If only he knew. I was already stalking him. ‘Men like you badly need to slip on a banana skin and fall flat on your butt.’

‘I’d love to see you eat a banana. I bet you kill it,’ he says huskily.

I open my mouth to reply and nothing comes out. God help me. I have a vision of myself running kisses along his jaw.

Without warning he moves in for the kill, his mouth inches from mine, his arm brushing mine, the clean male smell of him making my senses reel. Horrified, I lean back.

‘By the way,’ he whispers seriously. ‘That’s not pussy you’re smelling. I just ate a tuna fish sandwich.’

There’s no fishy smell. Gross bastard. He knows I want him and he’s just keeping me in the sexual prey zone. An image of his head between my legs slips into my mind and something inside me lurches. I should shove him away, or say something cutting.

‘I hate to break it to you, but you’re a very shallow person,’ I croak.

His breath is hot against my cheek. ‘For a very shallow person I can go very deep.’

‘You’re unbelievable,’ I breathe shakily. It’s clear I should push him away and I do want to. Really, I do.

‘I’m hoping you’ll be keeping to that storyline later,’ he says with a chuckle.

‘You’re so full of shit there can’t be much room left to house your brain.’

‘I’m a simple man. I keep my brain in my dick.’

‘Cash,’ a hard voice raps.

Shocked by the sudden intrusion, I stumble away from him, and snap my head towards the voice. Octavia Harding. In real life she looks like she lives on low fat, no sugar, gluten free toasted wheat crackers with lettuce and half a slice of tomato, and sucked out whatever little bum fat she had and injected it into her lips. She is everything I am not. The contempt in her eyes is calculated to try and make me feel worse than a used condom. Completely ignoring me after that first dismissive glance, she fixes her attention on Cash. She flashes an insincere smile.

‘I need to speak to you privately.’ Her voice is professional with a tinge of sexy.

Cash takes his own sweet time answering her. ‘Relax, Octavia. It’s a fucking party.’

‘EMI has sent three executives out. I’ll relax once you’ve met them.’

Not taking his eyes off me he says, ‘Say hello to Tori Diamond first.’

Something dismissive and resentful flashes in her eyes. ‘I’m not paid to say hello to every bimbo you fuck, Cash.’

My back prickles. Wow! First time for me. I’ve never come face-to-face with a twenty-four carat bitch before.

‘Don’t mind her, Tori, she’s been digging into her stash of bitch crisps again,’ he mocks, before turning back towards her, his eyes hard. ‘Tori is Britney’s new PA. You could be seeing a lot of her, so it might be a good idea to play nice.’

Octavia’s lips stretch into a malignant smile. ‘Hello.’

‘Hey,’ I say, unsmiling.

Her eyes narrow. ‘Are you an American?’

‘Yes.’

Her eyes glitter. ‘Hmmm. Do you have a permit to work in this country? They don’t usually hand out work visas for lowly PA jobs.’

Don’t sock her. Don’t sock her.
I take a deep calming breath and open my mouth.

‘Tori is allowed to work here. Her mother’s English, so she holds a British passport as well as an American one,’ Britney explains cheerfully, having come back from seeing Prince.

‘Hello, Britney. You look wonderful,’ Octavia says, her voice one degree warmer.

‘Thanks, so do you,’ Britney says unenthusiastically.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal your brother away. He has very important people waiting for him.’

‘They can wait. Nobody asked them to come,’ Cash says coolly.

‘I did,’ Octavia says. She appears to take stock and realizes she is going about this the wrong way. She softens her tone. ‘Come on, Cash. It will only take a minute. Gavin and Joseph are already there. You can party after you finish with them. How about that, hmmm?’