Bad Boy - A Stepbrother Romance Page 26

  “Cam, I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” he said, his voice crisp.

  “Sorry. I slept in.”

  “Well, that’s part of the reason I called. Ever since you lost the racing gig, you’ve been staying out at clubs almost every night, sleeping all day and barely doing anything else. I think it’s time you got serious about something.”

  I sighed. “I know, I know. I’ve been trying to think of something else to do for a few weeks now, but I’m still so…fuck, I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Unmotivated, Cam. That’s the word you’re looking for.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Son, I’m perfectly aware that you weren’t involved with the drug scandal. We’ve been over that. Obviously the Auto Racing Association don’t see it that way, hence the two-year ban from the sport, but you can’t let that get you down. I told you what happened with my first hotel, didn’t I?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Twice.”

  “Well, let me tell you again, just to refresh your memory,” he replied. “My father set up a trust fund for me at a young age; exactly the same as what I’ve given you. Anyway, I was lazy when I was young, and I basically lived off that fund without doing much else. I went to college for a while, but I didn’t try hard, and I assumed my father would always bail me out of everything. Then he died suddenly when I was only twenty-three, and I had to try and take over the family business, given that I was the only direct heir. It wasn’t easy. I messed things up so badly that I almost lost the entire fortune, including my trust fund. All over one stupid mistake with a hotel; the first one I ever bought for myself. I felt awful for a long time, but I finally snapped out of it, picked myself up and fixed things in the end.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What I’m saying is, I know how it feels to be you right now, but you need to stop lying around feeling sorry for yourself. Bad things happen in life, and we have to roll with the punches and adjust. Now, you know I’ll always be here to support you, but I’m getting tired of watching you dig yourself deeper into this funk. Enough is enough.”

  As usual, he was right. I was being a gloomy loser.

  “So what are you suggesting?” I asked.

  “Well, talking to Anya last night got me thinking. She’s a very smart young woman, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She mentioned that she needs an internship for her management minor. I thought about offering her a position at one of our hotels, but then I had another idea. Your career is stalling at the moment, and she needs work experience, so I figured I could make her your manager for a while.”

  “Are you serious?” I said, trying to hide the glee from my voice. Anya as my manager? Fuck yeah.

  “Yes, I’m quite serious,” he replied. “You two are already friends, so it works out well. It would be a fantastic opportunity for her to get some hands-on work experience for her degree, and it could help you out immensely.”

  “I guess. What exactly would she be managing, though? Like you said, I’m banned from racing for another eighteen months.”

  “Your modeling work is still something,” he said.

  “What? I didn’t think you really approved of that,” I replied. I remembered the first time I’d been invited to a photo shoot to promote some sort of energy drink around two and a half years ago. To my delight, the ads had gone up on almost every street corner, and my father had scoffed and dismissed it as a career for ‘vain, egotistical morons with no morals’.

  It was funny how he’d thought that about modeling, and yet he’d approved of me racing cars, as if that were a completely serious job. I guess he’d been okay with it because it was something he’d always wanted to do as a young man, so he got to live vicariously through me every time I got out on the track.

  “I didn’t like it at first, but now I think I may have been wrong. It isn’t necessarily the tacky, shallow pursuit I once thought it was,” he replied. “Ever since your first magazine ad for that clothing company went live eight months ago, our family name has gained even more public awareness—according to our PR and advertising people—and bookings at our hotels in the city have increased by twenty percent. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, so I admit, I was wrong about you and this modeling career. It’s good advertising.”

  “So basically you want to pimp out your son in magazines and on billboards to help out the hotels?” I joked.

  He chuckled. “That’s not exactly what I meant. But yes, I think your modeling career has helped out the family business, so until you figure out exactly what you want to do with your life, I think you should continue with it and take it a lot more seriously. You’ve booked far fewer jobs since the drug scandal, though, so Anya will be in charge of restoring your image, booking you decent jobs, and fostering relationships between you and important members of the fashion and media industries.”

  “Can she do that?” I asked. “She’s only a second-year college student.”

  “I have faith in her. If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll do well at whatever she puts her mind to,” he said. “And besides, she might only be a second-year student, but that’s still almost two years more college experience than you have.”

  “True,” I said with a sigh.

  After graduating from high school, I’d attended college for all of five weeks. I hadn’t dropped out because it was hard; in fact, I’d found it all to be piss-easy. I’d dropped out for other personal reasons related to my mother…reasons which I didn’t feel like discussing with my father right now.

  “Anyway, she’ll be visiting you to discuss things this afternoon,” he said.

  “Wait, what?” I asked. “She’s coming over today?”

  Shit. My apartment was a fucking pigsty.

  “Yes,” he replied. “So get dressed if you aren’t already. She’ll be there at around two-thirty. Oh, and by the way, I didn’t mention this at dinner last night, but Christina and I have decided on something for our honeymoon.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We both feel terrible that you kids weren’t at the wedding, so we’ve decided to have a short family vacation soon, instead of a private honeymoon. I’m very busy with work, and obviously you and Anya will be busy trying to get your career back on track, so we won’t be going too far away. We’ll just go up to the Hamptons for a week. Does that sound good?”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure,” I said, masking the disappointment in my voice. Ugh. The Hamptons were so played out, but Dad was right—Suffolk County was close to the city, so it made a good spot to get away to for a few days.

  At least I’d get to see Anya in a bikini on the beach, right?

  “Anyway, we’ll discuss that later. I’ll give you another call tonight so I can see how your meeting with Anya went,” he said.

  “Sure. Talk to you then,” I replied, a slow grin spreading over my face as I pictured Anya’s expression right now.

  She’d probably been horrified when my Dad suggested that she be my manager, but I knew she was too nice to say no to him, and now she was stuck with me. Getting her back was gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel if she had to work by my side every day, so this was going to be even easier than I’d initially thought...

  Chapter 5

  Anya

  “Crap, crap, crap,” I mumbled as I stood in the elevator of Cam’s building, heading up to the penthouse. “Cam…freaking douchebag.”

  The man standing next to me in the elevator turned to me. “Excuse me? Are you talking to me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Oh, no. Sorry,” I replied.

  Yep, that’s me…talking to myself like a crazy person.

  I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing it, but I could hardly help it. When Pierce had called this morning and offered me an internship for my management minor, I’d practically jumped for joy, and by the time he’d explained that I’d be working as Cam’s manager, I’d already said yes. Dammit. It was bad
enough that Cam was my new stepbrother, and now I had to work with him?

  Great.

  My only consolation was that it would be good work experience, and it would cover my requirements for my management minor. A Meyers internship on my resumé would look fantastic, so I guess I just had to slog through the next few months and put up with Cam’s bullshit. It’d be hard, though. Every time I’d so much as looked in his direction last night at dinner, I’d wanted to melt into the floor. He’d somehow become even better looking in the last year and a half, and every glance he’d shot back in my direction had reminded me of the way he’d looked at me when we first met…like I was the only woman he’d ever seen.

  I’d barely been eighteen when we first met, and it had been my first ever Manhattan party. After I’d essentially been ditched by my shitty date, Cam had been really nice to me, and we’d hung out all night. We got along well, had incredibly similar tastes in a lot of things, and we even shared the same favorite café on Bleecker Street, despite the fact that no one else we knew seemed to have heard of it. Not only that, he was hot as hell.

  Until then, I’d never felt the urge to sleep with anyone. All my friends had lost their virginity at around sixteen or seventeen, yet there I was at eighteen, still completely untouched. I’d never even had an orgasm. I’d tried to play with myself in the past, but I’d never been able to bring myself to climax.

  However, after only a few hours with Cam, I’d felt something that I’d never experienced in my life up until that point—the sudden urge to finally be with a man. He was perfect. Tall, muscular, smart, gorgeous and funny. I didn’t care that he was rich and semi-famous. I liked him for who he was as a person, and I knew that I couldn’t leave the party without experiencing everything he had to offer. I’d even initiated things by kissing him in the first place, although he’d well and truly taken the lead after that. I’d been nervous, but it had felt oh-so-right…

  Unfortunately, I’d been oh-so-wrong in thinking that it was a good idea, and I’d regretted that night ever since.

  Here’s why.

  After we’d had sex, we’d chatted for a while, and then we’d fallen asleep in his bed together. As I’d drifted off, I’d pictured myself waking up with him the next morning and cooking breakfast with him, like some sort of lovey-dovey couple from a TV show.

  Then I’d been kicked in the teeth by reality.

  I’d been woken up by noises at the still-raging party in Cam’s apartment at around two in the morning, and I’d been desperate for a glass of water. He was asleep next to me, and I felt too bad to wake him, so I quietly got dressed and slipped out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I hadn’t known exactly where the glasses were, so I searched through the cupboards.

  As I crouched on the tiled floor to open one of the lower cupboards on the side of the kitchen island, I heard footsteps entering the room, and I peeked around the edge of the island to see who it was. Two drunk, stiletto-clad girls had just walked in, and they started chatting…about Cam.

  I should’ve gotten up right then and there and stopped eavesdropping, but I was curious as to what they had to say about the guy I’d just slept with, so I drew my head back and stayed crouching on the floor on the other side of the island. One girl was named Tiffany, and the other was Kristy. I remembered being briefly introduced to them earlier, but we hadn’t really spoken much.

  “Just leave your glass on the counter. Anyway, are you still going to hook up with Tom tonight?”

  “Ew, Tiffany, no! I heard he has herpes! Anyway, what about you? I thought you said you were going to try and fuck Cam Meyers tonight.”

  “Oh, Kristy, Kristy, Kristy…” Tiffany said with a giggle. “What do you think I was doing half an hour ago when you were out on the balcony?”

  “Not Cam, that’s for sure. I saw him go off to his bedroom with some chubby brunette like…three hours ago. What a party-pooper.”

  Tiffany tut-tutted. “You have no faith in me, sweetie. Well, I’ll tell you anyway. Earlier on tonight, Cam and I were talking, and we came up with an arrangement—if we didn’t find anyone decent to fuck by the end of the night, we’d hook up with each other. Anyway, he ended up going off with that brown-haired girl…whatever her name was. Annie or something? So I was like, ‘oh well, whatever’. His loss, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So anyway, I spilled some beer on my hand, and I went to the bathroom to wash it off. This was like, an hour ago. While I was in there, Cam came in and closed the door. He was all over me, and I was like, ‘uhh, no Cam, you’re with that other girl tonight’. Then he told me she’d been really crap and boring in bed, and he was still horny but she was asleep now. So he let me give him a blowjob, and then he fucked me—right there on the bathroom counter. It was so hot. We didn’t even use a condom.”

  My heart sank. Surely this girl was lying. I assumed a lot of girls liked to claim they hooked up with Cam, just for the attention, even if it meant saying awful things about people like me.

  The next thirty seconds proved otherwise.

  “Oh my god!” Kristy replied. “Are you serious? That’s so dirty!”

  “Uh-huh. I can prove it. Ask him about his birthmark,” Tiffany said with another high-pitched giggle. “He has this birthmark right on the base of his cock. It’s kinda shaped like a star.”

  She was right. He did. I’d noticed it earlier. It was shaped a bit like a star, and the only way someone would know that is if they’d been up close to that area of his body.

  Hot tears pooled in my eyes, and suddenly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The two girls left the kitchen a moment later, but I stayed put on the kitchen floor, paralyzed for what felt like an eternity as I realized what a stupid mistake I’d made. I’d slept with a guy I barely knew after only knowing him for a few hours. Why was I even surprised that it had turned out like this? What had I honestly expected? Did I really think we’d get married, have two kids and a dog, and be together forever after just one night of passion?

  No, of course not. I was a naïve idiot, and I was just one of a whole host of girls he’d probably had lined up for the night.

  So that was basically it.

  I’d given away my virginity to a dirty player on a stupid, impulsive whim, all because I’d somehow deluded myself into thinking that sleeping with a guy I’d just met was a good idea.

  I guess the whole thing was partially my fault. We’d only just met, and there I was expecting some sort of immediate exclusivity from him? That was dumb. Still, it freaking stung to hear that Tiffany girl talking about how she’d screwed him only an hour or so after he’d been inside me…while I’d still been asleep in his bedroom. I hated him for making me feel so expendable, and I hated the things he’d said about me. How could he say I was crappy and boring? It had been my first time, and he’d known that. What had he honestly expected; for me to screw like a porn star?

  I hated him even more for coming back to bed and falling asleep next to me after screwing another girl in the bathroom without a friggin’ condom. How disgusting could be possibly be? At least he’d used protection with me. Who knew what kind of diseases he had? Yet another thing I hadn’t considered in my epically idiotic decision to lose my virginity to him…

  After I’d finally summoned up the courage to get back up off the floor, I’d gone back into his room, grabbed a pink lipstick out of my bag and left him a not-so-nice message on his mirror. I now knew he was the most disgusting, arrogant guy in New York, and I’d wanted to kill him, but all I’d written was ‘PRICK’ rather than the lengthy death threat I would have preferred, seeing as that would’ve taken too long.

  Then I’d finally left, tears still stinging my eyes.

  I guess I was grateful for one thing. Despite all our talking that night, I hadn’t told him where I went to college, and I hadn’t given him my last name or my number, so he had no way of tracking me down after that night for another booty call. At the time, I’d assumed that I’d give him my numb
er the next morning when he took me home.

  Thank god for small miracles, huh?

  So yeah, now you see…I wasn’t just a bitch to him for no reason. I had a very good reason to dislike him, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be stuck working with him on my internship for the next few months.

  The man next to me stepped out of the elevator on his floor, and I was all alone for a moment. I took a deep breath, and the door pinged twenty seconds later as it arrived on the top floor. It opened right into the foyer of Cam’s apartment as long as a special pass-card was swiped in a slot under the buttons; a detail I remembered from the night of the party. Pierce had couriered one of those keycards to me this morning.

  “Cam?” I called out as I stepped into the open-plan lounge room. Ugh, what was that smell?

  I looked over to the coffee table to see three pizza boxes and several empty beer cans sitting there. I guess they’d been there for a while, because that seemed to be where the most pungent smell was coming from.

  Clothes, shoes and socks littered the floor as well, and I called out again. “Cam? Where are you?”

  He appeared a second later, clad in boxer shorts only, and I almost drooled despite how much I despised him. Try to breathe, I told myself. Ignore the abs and biceps…and the tattoos. Just breathe.

  “Hey, sis,” he said with a wink. “I see the doorman let you up with no issues. I guess now you know you don’t look like a criminal.”

  “Put some clothes on, please,” I said, my voice stiff as I ignored his wiseass remark.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t like what you see.”

  I waved my hand at the room beyond us. “I really don’t like what I see. This place is filthy. Do you ever clean?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “I would’ve thought a rich brat like you would have a housekeeper.”

  “Rich brat, huh? Nice of you. Anyway, not all of us are totally dependent on staff,” he said.

  I gestured towards a dirty white sock on the floor beside me. “You sure about that?”