CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - EMMA
“I cannot believe you let him go!”
Mila is furious with me.
“Yeah, well. I think it was for the best. We shouldn’t have done it. I was cutting our losses.”
“You know he’s totally gonna press charges. What do I tell my kids when the cops show up to arrest Mommy?”
“First of all,” I say, “he’s not going to press charges.”
“How do you know?”
“Because men like Jesse don’t call the police when girls take advantage of them. And second of all, your kids don’t even call you Mommy, you make them call you Mila. So cut the crap.”
“Jesus. What’s up your ass?”
“I bought a billionaire last night and then I drugged him, abducted him, and tied him up in a basement. That’s what’s up my ass. And you’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what? Screwing up our whole revenge plan?”
“For shutting this down. And besides, we got our revenge. Trust me. I don’t think Jesse Boston will ever look at a one-night stand the same again.”
“It wasn’t enough. Drugging him? Half a night of tied-up submission?” She huffs. “That’s nothing compared to what we could’ve done.”
“It wasn’t just that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Just… I ran the numbers and we came out ahead.”
She blows out a breath of frustration.
“So how was Stephanie’s audition?”
“She got the part she wanted.”
I smile. Because I can hear the smile on Mila’s face. “Good, I’m glad. Just believe me, this was for the best. We should forget all about Jesse Boston. Hell, the whole Boston family can just fuck off.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Did you tell Hannah and Nat?”
“Yup. I called you last. I knew you’d be the toughest.”
“He hurt me, Emma.”
“I know.”
“I fell for him.”
“I know. I did too.”
“He actually ruined me for years. I never trusted another man again until Lance came along.”
“That’s because Lance was your one.”
“I know, but… now I’m worried about you.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I don’t think you ever moved past it. You don't even date anymore. At least Hannah is in a committed relationship and Natalie is always putting herself out there. She asks you to double with her all the time and you always say no. You’re not even trying anymore. Why wouldn’t I worry?”
“Natalie dates five men at once. Don’t you think that’s her acting out her insecurities too?”
“No. I think that’s her version of taking charge. Something you never do.”
“Ha.” I laugh, then catch myself. Because I sure the fuck took charge last night with Jesse. But I’m never going to admit I let him lick my pussy until I came. Not to Mila, not to anyone.
“So how did he get home? Ew, you did not give him a ride, did you?”
“Hell, no,” I say. “I dunno. Walked, I guess.”
“You really don’t think he’s gonna call the cops? Because if someone did this to me, I’d definitely call the cops.”
“I’m telling you. He spilled some secrets last night while we were eating ice cream and—”
“I still can’t believe you stopped on your way up to the lake to have ice cream with that douche.”
“Anyway. Long story short, he and his brothers aren’t exactly… on the up and up. He practically admitted they were mob bosses. Or something. He’s not calling anyone.”
“What if they put a hit on us? Oh, God. Do I have to hire bodyguards?”
“Just relax. Play it cool. I’m willing to bet a million dollars he just forgets this ever happened. It’s in his best interest. I mean, what guy wants to admit to something like this? We’ll probably never see or hear from this asshole again.”
My phone buzzes in my hand. I look down at the screen and see ‘blocked number’ flashing at me.
“Shit,” I say.
“What?”
“Oh… just my mother on the line,” I lie. “I’ll call you later. Tell Stephanie congrats. And tell Donny to hit a home run, or whatever. Bye!”
I let the call to go to voicemail, then tap my fingers on my leg as I wait for the message to chime.
No chime. No message.
OK. Probably just one of those robocalls. Nothing to worry about.
But the call comes in again. Blocked number.
Now who could this be?
My bets are on either some jerk’s lawyers or the jerk himself.
I take a deep breath, tab accept, then say, “Emma Dumas,” as I let it out.
“Missing anything this morning?” The jerk himself. And he sounds like he’s eating something. Because he’s chewing like a caveman.
“Who is this?”
“Hm. Funny.”
“Should I be missing something?”
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe your boat?”
I smile. “Nicely played. But that boat was a piece of shit anyway. You can keep it.”
“Oh, you mean that one by the dock?” He laughs. “No, I didn’t take that one. In case you forgot, I know a thing or two about boats. I took that one in the boathouse. The million-dollar one.”
Asshole. But what do I care? One stupid boat I never use isn’t enough to piss me off this morning. I won last night and we both know it.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Boston?”
“No, Ms. Dumas. I’m calling to help you with something.”
“What’s that?”
“Wanna know what’s on the agenda for today?”
“Excuse me?”
“Our date? Remember? You bought me? Now you have to show me a good time.”
“That’s not how bachelor auctions work.”
“It actually is. You pay to take me somewhere.”
“No, I pay them so you can take me somewhere.”
“Exactly. So I made all the decisions.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not spending the day with you. I’m never seeing you again for as long as I live.”
“Well, unless you want to live in a six-by-six prison cell, then I suggest you rethink that plan.”
I huff. “You’re kidding me.”
“I am abso-fucking-lutely one hundred percent dead serious.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“To get even, of course.”
“What happened to forgive and forget?”
“In the light of day, and not under the influence of roofies, I find it highly overrated.”
“Ha! I knew that was all bullshit!”
“It wasn’t bullshit. I just decided to rethink my new code of ethics after you had your happy little hate fuck last night. Which, by the way, doesn’t count.”
“Oh, no?” I laugh.
“No. Because we didn’t fuck.”
“I got you. I got you good.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I’m the one who got you off.”
“Pig.”
“Oh, that reminds me. I’ll pick you up in an hour and don’t forget to wear the pigtails. I really—like really—dig that look on you. See you soon.”
The call drops and I just look at it in my hand for a moment. He wishes. I am not going anywhere with him. And if I was, I certainly wouldn’t be wearing pigtails.
My phone buzzes an incoming text.
“Now what?” I mutter. But when I glance down at the screen I see a pic. I pick up my phone to get a better look, because it’s a piece of paper with lots of little writing on it.
I zoom in and read the top of the page.
City General Hospital Lab Results.
Shit. Then I say it out loud. “Shit.” Because there it is. In black and white.
Patient Jesse Boston.
Blood tested positive for flunitrazepam.
Dated this morning, time-stamped at seven AM.
My phone buzzes again.
A text from the jerk:
Unless you want to watch me tell my harrowing story of how four cosmetics moguls lost their minds on TV tonight, I highly suggest you be outside your building in one hour. Wearing pigtails.