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Willa
I STARED AT MY PHONE in disbelief. “My mom doesn’t want to press charges.” When I went home yesterday—after getting Hunter’s picture next to his car—I told my mom. She waved me off and explained that there was no need for the police since no harm was done.
In my best whiny daughter voice that never worked in the past, though I swore this time would be different, I tried to explain that he needed to be taught a lesson, that he may hurt others. She just scoffed and said I wanted to pick a fight.
Which I did, but only because he was a rich, spoiled little brat. I mean, he had to be, right? He drove a Maserati for fuck’s sake.
All rich people were assholes from my experience. Except for Emmie. But she grew up poor, so that’s different.
“Good. I’m glad someone is acting like an adult with this.” Emmie sat up and typed on her laptop that sat on her large, blue-painted, wooden desk.
I slouched farther into her leather office chair which was deceptively comfortable. Her office was pristinely white, even the chair I sat on. The only exceptions to the stark white were her bold desk, a few blue and yellow knickknacks which were scattered around, and one large, yellow, sunburst chandelier overhead.
I loved her office and came to hang out here whenever I was feeling down, which was today. Hunter was getting to me in ways that were both irritating and exhilarating. He turned me on, and I hated him for that.
“He can’t get away with it. I tried to explain the guy had millions, maybe even billions of dollars from being a rock star, but my mom still refused. Said she was fine, just a bruise and that he probably didn’t see her. Then she started to blame herself, which I had to nip in the bud. He was to blame, not her.”
Emmie sighed, stopped clicking away on her computer, and swiveled her leather chair to face me. “But it’s not up to you, Willa. She made her decision.”
“And then there was the parking space—”
“Which he had every right to park in because he was driving around his brother who had a wheelchair.”
“I know, but technically he needs to get a handicapped permit—”
She held up her hand and gave me her signature you’re-wrong-so-just-stop expression.
“Maybe he already has one but forgot to hang it on his rearview mirror. Or maybe his handicapped plates hadn’t come in yet. Or maybe, and this is the important one, it’s none of your business.”
I hated how Emmie was always right and I was always wrong. She succeeded at life where I usually failed. Emmie started off with nothing and worked hard to get everything, and I had it all only to fail so many times that it left me where I am today, struggling. To the point where I worried if my mom and I would be forced to sell my dad’s keepsakes and medals. Everything we had left from him gone to the highest bidder.
I wasn’t upset at Emmie. She sacrificed and deserved everything she had worked for in life. My heart burst with happiness that she got everything she had ever wanted. I was angry with myself. It wasn’t my job to point out when people were crazy or spoiled, but that never stopped my mouth from making sure everyone knew my opinion, either.
I needed to work on being more understanding and learn to keep my mouth shut.
“You’re right.”
Her golden-brown eyes grew wide as she stared at me. “W-What?”
“I said you’re right. It’s none of my business. He was none of my business.”
So why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Maybe it was all that unshaven scruff and shaggy hair combined with drool-worthy dimples. I thought I’d pass out from horniness overload.
When I saw them, I realized in all the interviews and pictures of Hunter, there’s never been one of him smiling. The public had no idea he had those dimples. Because if they did, his fans would go crazy.
It felt as if he showed me something about himself he rarely revealed.
I lifted up my phone and stared at the picture I took yesterday—which was now my screen saver and wallpaper.
He was smiling, and those dimples were on full display. I wondered what a gossip rag would pay for something like that?
“Is this a trick question?”
“I didn’t ask a question. I agreed with you.”
She tucked her fingers under her chin as she brought her elbows onto the desk. Pursing her lips, Emmie hummed.
I knew that hum and what it meant.
“You’re looking at that picture of him again, aren’t you?”
“No,” I lied and gnawed on my bottom lip.
“You’re lying. I can tell because you always chew your lip when you’re in deceit mode.”
“There’s no crime in looking at a picture I took with my own phone.”
And I’d been gazing at it a lot. More so last night after I got into bed and slid my hand between my thighs. But Emmie didn’t need to know that.
“But you aren’t just looking . . . you’re planning.” She narrowed her eyes and gasped. “Please, don’t tell me you plan to sell that picture to the paparazzi?”
I took in a sharp breath and brought my hand to my chest. “What? Me? How could you think of such a thing? You’re my friend. You should know me better.”
“I know you and haven’t heard you stop talking for two days about the jerk who nearly killed your mom on the street. You hate this guy and everything he stands for, Willa.”
She stood and walked around the desk as she continued, “But something is stopping you or you would have sold the picture by now.”
I didn’t know if she was speaking to me or to herself.
I shrugged and pretended to find my fingernails fascinating. “Who’s to say I hadn’t.”
“Like I said, I know you. If you had sold that picture, you wouldn’t be here talking about him. Or trying to convince me that he’s evil so you’ll feel better about selling him out.”
“He is evil,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“I said . . .” I waved my hand at her. “It doesn’t matter. My point is,” I stood up to face her, “I can’t do it.”
Admitting the truth and doing the right thing should have felt amazing. But why did I hate myself even more for it?
Because it meant he got away with being a jerk with never having to worry about money, like I did every day. I was no richer; in fact, I had less money since I no longer had a job. And he could go about living his fabulous life.
Not that I wanted his money. I wanted him to realize that just because he’s rich and famous, it didn’t mean he could get away with hurting people.
Emmie moved behind me and started to rub my shoulder like she used to do in high school when Jimmy “Dick-Face” Hoffman dumped me the day of prom. Then, he took Cyndi “Big-Tits” Holmes to the dance.
“I’m proud of you, Willa. And I’m always here if you need me. Anything you want, I will provide. Don’t think I forgot about your mom accidentally making too much food every night when we were young and then telling you to bring it to me and my mom. You and your family were always there for us, now it’s my turn to return the favor.”
There was an ache in my heart, and I worried the tears behind my eyes might fall. I loved Emmie. She was a good friend, but I was an adult. It’s up to me to provide for my mom, who couldn’t get around like she used to due to her decline physically. If that meant swallowing my pride and apologizing to the dick-hole with the Maserati, then it’s what needed to be done.
“You were right earlier; I do have an idea. But it doesn’t involve selling pictures of him. It involves getting my old job back.”
Those pictures were mine to fantasize about at my leisure—no sharing.
“Great! But I thought you said your boss was crazy.”
I flopped down in the chair and Emmie walked back to her seat.
“He is, but he’s still interested in selling papers. And no one has heard from Hunter Six in over a year and a half. Which is exactly where I come in.”
“Please understand I say this as a friend . . .” She waited for me to nod before she continued, “Get over this. Leave the man alone. If you’re planning to sneak into his home to fuck with him then—”
I shook my head, frustrated that my friend automatically went to the worst idea when it came to me. But that was my fault. Both Emmie and Niki were always pulled into my schemes. I took the brunt of the hit when my ideas failed—which those schemes always did, spectacularly—but my friends still were left picking up the pieces of my mess.
No more. I was doing everything legit. No more of my mouth getting me into trouble. Just a plain Jane working hard to get a paycheck.
“Nothing like that. Totally legal. I will find Hunter. Knock on his door and beg for forgiveness.”
And if there’s some fucking with him involved . . . well, I could only hope it involved his penis.
She stared and stopped blinking. Did I kill her? Cause my friend to have a heart attack right in front of me?
“Emmie . . . Emmie, you’re scaring me.”
She put her finger up. “Give me a minute, I’m thinking.”
I did and in that time, she still hadn’t blinked.
“By beg . . . do you mean something sexual? Please tell me you aren’t so desperate for money that you need to do that. Besides, you’re practically a virgin.”
Does the hymen go back into place if it’s been over five years since you had sex? I was asking for a friend.
I groaned and stood. “No! I’m not about to whore myself out to a rock star. I just want to interview him.”
“Again, I’m lost. Is interview slang for bang? Or are you going to tie him up and ask for ransom?”
My eyes widened. “What the hell goes through that mind of yours, Emmie? Just an interview, that’s it.”
Emmie sat back and gazed at me. At least this time she was blinking like a normal person. After a few seconds, she sat up and said, “I don’t believe you.”
