Bad Boy - A Stepbrother Romance Page 27

  “Oh, get over it. I’ll clean up later.”

  I gingerly moved an old Thai takeout container from the kitchen counter and then put my bag down before perching up on a barstool which sat near it.

  “I guess we better get started,” I said. “Unless I’ve interrupted you sleeping with the entire Victoria’s Secret catalog lineup.”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, I’m here alone.”

  “That must be a first,” I shot back.

  “Hilarious. Well, let’s get down to business.”

  I pulled out a file I’d quickly made up this morning after Pierce had called and offered me the job. “Okay, so you know why I’m here,” I said, patting the bench.

  He sat down on a barstool next to me. “Yep. You’re here to fix my image and manage me; make sure I don’t do stupid shit. And you’ll book me better modeling jobs, apparently.”

  “Pretty much, yeah,” I replied, glad he wasn’t making this difficult for me yet. “Anyway, I’ve been looking at a bunch of recent gossip blog posts about you, and you have two main problems.”

  He grinned. “This and this?” he said, flexing his biceps. “Too muscular and powerful?”

  I frowned. “Once again, you’re an idiot who can’t take anything seriously. Why am I even surprised?”

  “Sorry. Go on,” he replied, flashing me a panty-melting grin.

  I swallowed hard, knowing I had to resist. “Your first problem is the fact that you’re a gigantic man-whore. You’ve practically slept with every woman in this city.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You have according to the internet.”

  “Yeah, and nothing false has ever been written on the internet,” he said sarcastically. “Look, I go out a lot, and I try to have a good time. Doesn’t mean I’m fucking literally every girl I’m photographed with.”

  “So you haven’t slept with her, her and her?” I asked, sliding a few recent photos over to him. The photos were of him practically falling out of three different nightclubs with three different socialites.

  “Well, fine, maybe I slept with those three…”

  I felt a stab of anguish as he admitted it. I didn’t know why, but part of me had been wishing he’d deny it all. The three women in question were the complete opposite of me—they were tall, leggy and blonde. I felt like a frumpy Lord of the Rings hobbit compared to them, even though I usually didn’t feel insecure about my body.

  I soldiered on despite the awful feeling. “Anyway, people don’t take you seriously,” I said. “They think you’re an irresponsible party animal. A playboy.”

  He smirked. “What’s so bad about that?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re not handsome enough to be this dumb,” I replied. “You know exactly what’s bad about that.”

  He feigned a deeply hurt expression. “Ooh, that was harsh,” he said. “I think I’ll need to go to a hospital after that burn. Seriously, though. Enlighten me. What’s wrong with being called a playboy? Are you talking about it in regards to my career, or something else…?”

  I blushed. I wanted to fully answer his question, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do so right now. “Let’s just stick to how it affects your career,” I said. “If people don’t take you seriously, you’ll never book serious campaigns.”

  “I booked a Calvin Klein campaign a few months back,” he said. “That’s pretty serious.”

  “Yes, and they dropped you after your image took a turn for the worse, which brings me to your second major problem. The drug scandal.”

  “You don’t think I did that, do you? Do you really think I’d risk my life—and other people’s lives—by doing blow right before a major race?”

  I shrugged. “How would I know?”

  “Are you serious, Anya? One of the first things I ever said to you was how much I hate drugs. Remember? Your shitty date was high as fuck, and you were bitching about that when I said it.”

  My face turned even hotter. “You said and did a lot of disingenuous stuff that night.”

  “Did I? Right, sure. Guess that means I’m definitely a junkie then,” he said, eyes darkening.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. He actually looked hurt, and I felt like a bitch for pressing the issue, even though I couldn’t stand him.

  He let out a long sigh. “It’s fine, I guess. I don’t blame you for thinking I did it. It looked pretty suspicious when my whole pit crew tested positive for coke, except for me. The cops know I wasn’t doing it, but everyone else thinks my Dad paid them off to falsify the test results.”

  “Oh. That sucks,” I said, feeling even worse for him.

  “Guess it comes with the territory. Everyone assumes shit like that when you’re from a wealthy family. You’ll find out soon enough, now that you’re part of our family. But the drug thing is just a rumor, I swear. I’ve never touched coke.”

  “Okay, fine. I believe you,” I said, waving my hand. Cam grinned and nodded, obviously pleased to hear that. “Anyway, let’s talk about what we’re going to do to start fixing your image.”

  I grabbed some notes from my folder and started outlining ideas for him, and then I mentioned something I’d come up with just before I came over here. “I got into contact with Marko Schreiber, and he’s agreed to feature you in his next shoot for Aubé.”

  Cam raised an eyebrow. “Marko Schreiber? As in the Marko Schreiber?”

  I nodded, a self-satisfied grin on my face. I was pretty proud of what I’d managed to do already, even though I’d only had this internship for a few hours.

  Marko Schreiber was a famous photographer who lived and worked in the city. He usually worked on big commercial fashion advertisements for major magazines and websites, but occasionally he agreed to do shoots for smaller boutique clothing companies, like Aubé. Unlike what happened with most ad campaigns, he picked all the models, rather than leaving that to the magazine editors or advertising departments. Apparently they let him do that because he had a great eye for talent, so everyone trusted his judgment.

  Every time he used a new model, even in smaller campaigns, demand for the model in question skyrocketed. That was very rare, though, because he tended to use the same models over and over.

  Luckily for me, he was Kara’s uncle, and she’d always been his favorite niece. She’d been over the moon with excitement when she’d found out that the infamous Cam Meyers was my new stepbrother—though she didn’t know about my history with him, of course—and when I’d told her about the internship, she’d called her uncle and asked him if he’d do her a favor for me. He’d agreed immediately, saying he’d be happy to do anything for a friend of hers. When I’d spoken to him, he’d told me that he’d actually been a fan of Cam’s look for a while, and he’d said that he’d use him for his next Aubé campaign as long as I promised that Cam wouldn’t cause any trouble.

  Now I just had to keep my fingers crossed and hope Cam didn’t screw it up.

  “So the shoot for that is in four and a half weeks,” I said. “That gives us time to focus on doing a few things to clean up your image, and it also gives us time to go to the Hamptons for our parents’ honeymoon thing.”

  Even though I didn’t really want to go on vacation with Cam, I was still looking forward to the Hamptons trip. I’d never been there before, seeing as it was basically a playground for the wealthy, and I couldn’t wait to do some sightseeing and get in some beach time with my Mom. I’d been over-exerting myself with my college work and Twitch gaming channel lately, and things were only going to get busier with this internship. A vacation would be a good way to relax before I threw myself back into it all.

  “Cool. I still can’t believe you managed to book a shoot with Marko Schreiber,” Cam replied. “Pretty impressive, Anya.”

  “Thanks. But you should really thank my friend Kara. She helped me with it a lot. Anyway, it should be good. I’ve been looking at some of his previous campaigns, and he’s amazing, as I’m sure you already know. He’s really good at capturing people�
�s personalities and making them look great.”

  “You saying I don’t already look great?” he said with a grin.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  He scooted his barstool closer to mine. “So…back to what we were talking about earlier. What’s so bad about me allegedly being a playboy? In general, not just in regards to my career.”

  “Do I really have to spell it out for you?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I wanna hear it from you.”

  “Fine,” I replied, my cheeks growing warm again. “Guys like you—so-called players—you think life is just a game, and you don’t realize you’re hurting people with your actions. But your games are stupid, because I don’t think they make you interesting or desirable. It just makes me think you’re a waste of time and energy.”

  He grinned, even though I’d insulted him. “But life is a game. You can either be a player or a toy,” he replied. He leaned closer, his face only inches from mine. “And I don’t want to be a toy.”

  Goddammit. As much as I wanted to slap his smarmy face, part of me couldn’t help but want to be a toy. His toy…

  I pushed the thought aside. “That’s a load of crap. Now get the hell out of my face,” I said, a little too angrily. I was mostly angry at myself for actually being aroused by him.

  He drew back. “Fine. You know, I have no idea why you’ve got such a problem with me, but I’m sick of playing nice when all you do is throw it back in my face. It’s so childish. If we’re done with this work shit, then maybe you should go. I’ve got stuff to do.”

  He thought I was childish? At least I knew how to keep a damned house clean, unlike him. Asshole. I hopped off my barstool, and he followed suit.

  “Are you serious? You don’t know why I have a problem with you?” I said. “Oh, and by the way, you have a really funny way of ‘playing nice’.”

  His face darkened. “No, I really don’t know why you hate me, and honestly, I’m tired of second-guessing myself and wondering where the hell it all went wrong with you. I’ve spent the last eighteen months wishing I knew.”

  “Sure, sure. If you really don’t know, then you’re even dumber than you look,” I said, stuffing my things back into my bag. “Anyway, don’t worry—I’m leaving.”

  I turned to go, and he called out after me as I marched over to the elevator. “So you’re just gonna run away again, huh?”

  I whirled back around, glaring at him. “You’re the one who said I should leave!”

  “I changed my mind. I’m sick of wondering. Tell me what the fuck I did, and I promise I’ll never bring it up again. You owe me that much.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Just fucking tell me, Anya,” he said, advancing towards me.

  I shrank backwards and almost crashed right into the elevator door. He grabbed hold of my waist to steady me, and a jolt of electricity shot through my system.

  “Tell me,” he said. “I need to know. You keep acting like I did something awful to you, but I swear…I have no idea what it is.”

  “You did do something awful,” I choked out, looking down at his arm around my waist. I couldn’t look into his eyes, or I might actually melt into a puddle on the floor. “If I tell you, will you honestly never bring it up again? I really don’t want to think about it anymore.”

  Even as I said it, I knew it was impossible. I’d always be thinking about it, no matter how hard I tried.

  Cam nodded. “I promise. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never a scout,” I whispered, remembering the first conversation we’d ever had. It had almost gone the exact same way, with the mention of the scout stuff.

  He released his grip on my waist, and my legs trembled as he led me over to the sofa.

  “Shoot,” he said.

  I haltingly filled him in on everything; what I’d heard in the kitchen that night, how awful I’d felt for weeks afterwards, and how I’d regretted that night and wished it never happened. I even told him how I’d dated other guys since him, and none of those relationships had worked out because I’d still felt totally hung up on someone who’d treated me so awfully.

  “No one wants to be treated like an option, Cam,” I said, nearly finished with my confession. “And that’s what I was to you, apparently. One of your options for the night.”

  His eyes widened as I spoke, and his jaw was practically on the floor by the time I was finally done talking. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he said. “That’s it? That’s why you left?”

  “Well, it was horrible,” I mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. “Maybe something like that wouldn’t hurt you, but it hurt me a lot. It was my first time and all.”

  He slid his hand under my chin and tilted my face up, forcing me to look at him. “Anya…that’s all bullshit. I’ve never slept with a girl called Tiffany, and I definitely didn’t sleep with any other girls that night. It was only you, and I only wanted it to be you.”

  “How would you even know if you’ve never slept with a girl with that name? You’ve screwed basically everyone in the universe,” I replied.

  He sighed. “I won’t deny that I’ve hooked up with my fair share of girls since you left that night, but fuck, Anya…I mostly did it to try and forget you. I even pick all these girls who don’t look anything like you, just so I won’t be reminded of you all the time. I know that sounds fucked up, but it’s the truth. And believe me, I’ve never been with a girl called Tiffany.”

  I still didn’t believe him. He was famous for his silver tongue with women, and I’d fallen for it once before. I’d already vowed not to make that mistake again.

  “How did that girl know about your birthmark, then?” I said. “She couldn’t have known that about you unless she...”

  My voice trailed off, and Cam rubbed his chin and shook his head. “Shit, I don’t know. What did this Tiffany girl look like again?”

  “Tall. Blonde. Kind of a cat-like face. You introduced me to her earlier that night.”

  “Oh, that Tiffany. Tiffany Wells.”

  “So you have slept with her before.”

  “Fuck no. She was a model at an underwear catalog shoot I did only a week or so before that party. I guess that explains how she knew about the birthmark.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “It was a pretty low-budget thing in some shitty studio. No dressing rooms or anything; just one big room. We all had to get dressed in front of each other.”

  He saw the expression on my face and smiled. “It’s a common thing. Ask any model. No one cares—it’s just bodies. Practically everyone in the industry has seen each other naked at some point, in a totally non-sexual way.”

  “Oh.”

  “So I guess she was right near me and looking at me when I got changed, and she saw my birthmark. There’s pretty bright lighting in those studios. It’s kinda hard to miss even the smallest details on someone.”

  “So you really never hooked up with her?” I asked in a small voice. If that was actually true, then I was a prize idiot.

  “Of course not. Look, Anya, you’ve got to understand. It’s like what I said earlier. When you’re even a little bit famous, people all want a piece of you, or they at least pretend to have had a piece of you for attention. Do you know how many girls have claimed to have hooked up with me when I’ve never even touched them?”

  “I’m guessing a lot?”

  “Yeah. Some random guy even punched me once, because he thought I’d slept with his girl. I’d never even met her! She’d just bragged to all her friends that she’d met me one night and hooked up with me while he was out of town. It’s just bullshit attention seeking.”

  I still didn’t know whether to believe him or not. I wanted to, but even as I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking back to how hurt I’d been that night. For all I knew, he’d done exactly what Tiffany had said, and he was just lying to me now; playing me so that he could sleep with me again. After all, it did seem quite convenient that he’d com
e up with an excuse for everything so quickly, and at the restaurant last night, he’d made it pretty clear that he wanted to have sex with me again.

  And the way he’d said he purposely only slept with girls who looked nothing like me, just so he wouldn’t have to think about me as often? Ugh. That was totally a line. It had to be. Normal guys didn’t say stuff like that, did they?

  No. Players said stuff like that to try and woo girls back to them after they’d already broken their hearts.

  A second later, I realized several minutes had gone by without me saying anything, and he leaned forward.

  “Anya,” he murmured, his hand moving to my right thigh. “Do you believe me?”

  Chapter 6

  Cam

  Anya hadn’t spoken in almost five minutes now.

  It was still hard for me to believe what she’d just told me. All this time…all these months…it was just a misunderstanding created by some bitchy girl who’d been claiming to have slept with me on the same night that Anya and I were together. I couldn’t blame Anya too much for believing her all this time; after all, I did have a certain reputation, and Anya had been younger and more naïve back then.

  As for Tiffany—my god, what an absolute bitch. I didn’t care if people talked shit about me, seeing as it happened all the time, but she’d said awful things about Anya that night, and that filled me with pure rage. I couldn’t stand the idea of Anya sitting there in my kitchen, being so awfully hurt as she overheard all those horrible things that Tiffany had said about her bedroom skills.

  I wasn’t saying I wanted to murder Tiffany or anything, but if she was in hospital in a coma, let’s just say I’d probably unplug her life support to charge my phone.

  “Anya?” I said, pulling my hand back from her leg. I shouldn’t have touched her; it was a step too far.

  She finally shook her head and mumbled. “I don’t know what to say.”

  I sighed. “It’s okay. I get it. You thought I hurt you for this long, so it’ll probably take a while before you trust me again. But I swear, I’m telling the truth. You know, I even searched for you after you left that night.”