Sinful Rewards 6 Page 5

  My billionaire hasn’t called me and I don’t expect to hear from him, ever. Someone must have told him the gossip by now. He has his own secrets to hide and he’ll distance himself from me as I distanced myself from my mom, trying to protect himself. Although I don’t like his actions, I understand them.

  My phone buzzes against my hip. It’s Francois, the man who caused my disgrace. I ignore his call, too angry to speak with him. He made a mistake, acting from a place of pain, but I can’t forgive him, not yet. I force myself to focus on my investigation of new hometowns.

  The door opens. “I’m home,” Cyndi sings as she struggles with two brand-new suitcases, her cheeks pink from the California sunshine. She’s wearing an oversized black concert T-shirt and leggings, a hideous combination that she previously wouldn’t be caught dead in.

  “Let me help you.” I hurry toward her.

  “Bee.” She drops everything and runs to meet me. I brace for impact, and five foot four inches of best friend slams into me, toppling me over. My back smacks against the hardwood floor and I groan, my body aching.

  “I missed you so much.” Cyndi wiggles on top of me, hugging me tightly. “It looks like a flower garden exploded in here.” She grins. I knew she’d like the bouquets. “You dirty whore.”

  I stiffen, my joy instantly dissipating. “You heard.” I push her off me and stand, needing to put space between us.

  “Yes, I heard.” Her green eyes dance. “I heard that you’re Lona LaMarre’s replacement, that you gave a father and son blow jobs at a fancy French restaurant, that you paid for the bill on your back, sexually servicing the entire staff, even the pimple-faced busboys.”

  “Oh my God.” I stagger backward, my calves hit the edge of the couch, and I fall, my ass striking the leather seat cushion hard.

  “You had a cock in every hole and one in each hand,” Cyndi continues, her voice lilting with laugher. She thinks this is funny while I’m sick to my stomach, bile rising in my throat. “Yet even with your mouth full, you managed to scream for more, more, more, asking the men and one well-endowed dwarf to give it to you harder.”

  “Stop talking.” I cover my ears, trying to block her words. “I can’t hear any more.”

  “You know what the best part is?” Cyndi doesn’t listen to me, giggles punctuating her words. “The rumors not only say you took it up the ass, multiple times, with a variety of men . . .”

  I curl my top lip, disgusted, Cyndi’s unhygienic stories about anal sex having turned me off that position for life.

  “But you supposedly had this orgy in a restaurant, where people eat. You had sex in a restaurant.” My best friend howls with laughter, slapping her thighs and stamping her feet on the floor, acting like a complete idiot. “Remember the freakout you had when you caught me and what’s his name going at it on the kitchen counter? You shrieked, scaring the guy so much, he departed without his prized black leather pants. I thought you were going to throw me out of my own condo.”

  “That wasn’t sanitary.” My face heats. Her man of the moment, a greasy-haired, skinny-assed bass player of a now-defunct indie band, had left a used condom on the counter. I haven’t set food directly on the surface since that encounter. “And this is serious.”

  “This is seriously funny.” Cyndi plunks next to me on the couch, breathing heavily, her well-endowed chest rising and falling. “When Angel first told me the rumors, I laughed until I cried.”

  I glower at her, not at all amused. “You can laugh. It isn’t you they’re talking about.”

  “Ahhh . . .” She waves her hands in the air. “They’ve been talking about me since I was twelve and developed these.” Cyndi arches her back, sticking out her chest. “They think I’m a slut.” I level a hard glance at my sex-obsessed friend and she grins. “I wasn’t a slut when the rumors started. I made a conscious decision to enjoy the reputation I was given.”

  “I’m not becoming a hooker,” I mutter. That’s not an option.

  “You couldn’t become a hooker.” Cyndi shakes her head, her blonde curls bouncing against her cheeks. “You don’t have it in you. You’re a good girl.”

  I’m not a good girl. My lips press together. I shouldn’t say anything. It will only make the situation worse, sealing my fate.

  Damn it. I have to tell her. I can’t keep this secret from my best friend.

  “Hawke slept over last night,” I confess.

  “No shit?” Cyndi bumps her shoulder against mine, the impact jarring me. “I guess his fucking was more than nice.”

  I wince, wishing I’d never used that word to describe his kiss. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “What?” Her mouth drops open. “He slept over and you still didn’t put out?” Mirth fills the room again, her body shaking, and I grit my teeth. She doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation. “I take it back. You are a dirty whore.” Cyndi grins. “Maybe in a year, if Hawke behaves, you’ll allow him to touch your tits.”

  He’s done much more than touch my tits. “I’m not talking about this.”

  “Does he know he’s never getting butt sex?” My best friend won’t let the subject drop. “Because that can be a deal breaker for some men.”

  I frown. Some men expect anal sex?

  “Though according to gossip, you love it.” Laughter punctuates this tidbit. “You sucked one man off after he’d been in your ass.”

  “I told you I didn’t want to hear any more.” Ugh. Will I ever purge that nasty visual from my brain?

  “Bee, you’ll hear about it.” Cyndi stops giggling. “Someone will tell you, and wouldn’t you prefer that I was that someone?” She hugs me. “We’ll laugh about it and then it won’t hurt as much.”

  Is this what she does? My best friend is always joking about being a slut. Are her gibes at herself a coping mechanism?

  “Everyone thinks I’m a whore,” I mutter. “Your dad will think that.”

  Cyndi tilts her head and scrunches her nose. “Yeah, you’re right.” She nods. “Daddy is in Asia right now, returning to the States tomorrow, but when he finally hears the gossip, he’ll think that. He always says there’s a kernel of truth in every rumor.”

  I don’t say anything because he’s correct. I’m not a whore but I am a sexual pervert, liking to watch and be watched.

  “Don’t worry.” Cyndi pats my arm. “I’ll convince him you’re a good girl.”

  She can’t even convince her dad to develop a wasabi-flavored jelly bean. “If you have to ask me to leave—”

  “I won’t.” Cyndi hugs me tighter. She smells like men’s cologne. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re my best friend, and I need you.” Her words warm me to the bone, restoring my optimism. She hasn’t abandoned me, not yet. “I need you now more than ever,” she adds.

  “Because of the Cole situation?” I guess. The hideous shirt she’s wearing must belong to him. She spent the weekend with the movie star, devoting more time to him than to any of her previous lovers, and she took home a souvenir. She likes him, more than she’s ever liked anyone else.

  “Because of the Cole situation,” she confirms, her expression turning grim. “He has messed me up, Bee, thrown me off my game.”

  I know all about being messed up. “You didn’t fuck the pilot, did you?”

  Her face turns red. “He was cute, but I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why.”

  “You care for Cole. That’s why.” And I care for Hawke. He’s the reason I didn’t fall in love with Nicolas, the reason I wasn’t able to commit to my handsome billionaire. “I’m surprised you didn’t consider staying on the West Coast. Your family has that San Diego plant.” Cyndi would be safe in California, far away from the gossip and the men stalking me.

  “I considered it.” She walks across the main room. “I considered marriage, babies, a four-car garage, growing old together.” She knocks the biggest suitcase down, the thud of twisted nylon fabric against hardwood loud. “Then I remembered who he was and who I am. Neither of us comm
it to anyone or anything.”

  “We’ve been friends for years.” I follow her. “That’s a commitment.”

  “That’s different.” Cyndi unzips the bulging bag. “You’re not using me for sex. You like me because we have fashion in common. Cole and I don’t have that connection.”

  “That’s not why I love you.” I kneel next to the suitcase, perusing her new clothes. “If it was, our friendship would be over. Skull and crossbones leggings?” I hold the offending garment up. “What were you thinking?”

  Cyndi snatches them from me. “Cole’s ex-girlfriend had a pair.”

  “That’s probably the reason she’s an ex-girlfriend.” I grin. My best friend doesn’t grin back. She’s upset, in a tizzy over her West Coast movie star. “I love you because you’re the nicest person I know and because you make me laugh.”

  “I make Cole laugh also.” Cyndi examines her horrendous leggings, her head bowed and her expression thoughtful.

  “Then the poor guy is likely halfway in love with you already,” I reply, wanting this happiness for my friend. “But don’t press your luck and wear these around him.” I flick the offensive garment with my fingers. “They’re awful.”

  A hint of a smile curls Cyndi’s lips. “They are awful, aren’t they?” She tosses them back into the suitcase. “And I’m over Cole,” she says as though she’s trying to convince herself. “Angel and I will go clubbing tonight, pick up some hot men, forget all about him.”

  It’s a sound plan, similar to mine. A new guy will distract Cyndi, a new city will distract me, and we’ll no longer wish for men we can’t have.

  “Be careful,” I caution. “The hooker fan club is aggressive.” I glance pointedly at the bank of blooms on the counter. “The crazies might track you down and try to contact you.”

  “I spent the weekend with a movie star.” Cyndi sorts through her clothing, her face darkening, and my heart squeezes. She’s thinking of Cole again, missing him. “I’ve had a crash course in dealing with aggressive fan clubs.” She brings a shirt closer to her face, sniffs the wrinkled fabric, and makes a face. The entire bag smells funky, like sweaty gym socks. “That training wasn’t needed as Cole stayed by my side the entire time. We had one weekend of fun and now we’re done, splitsville. In a week, I won’t even remember his name.”

  “Whose name?” I force a joke.

  “Exactly.” Cyndi doesn’t laugh, determined to forget her movie star.

  In a week, I’ll be gone, leaving Chicago for a new city, a city where no one knows me. Will Hawke forget me also? Will he call another woman “love” or “sweetheart,” offer to protect her, hold her while she sleeps?

  I grab Cyndi’s laundry hamper and dump the contents of the suitcase into the wicker container, disgruntled with the world.

  Chapter Five

  THE GROCERIES ARRIVE, and Cyndi helps me put them away, remarking on how large the order is. I don’t tell her that I’ve ordered for a couple of weeks, preparing for my eviction. My best friend in the whole world won’t starve, though she might set the condo on fire. Her culinary skills are challenged.

  I make chicken fried steak, biscuits, and gravy for dinner, another recipe borrowed from Karl, the diner’s chef. Cyndi tells me about her weekend, her face softening whenever she talks about the man she’s trying to forget. I wonder if my face does the same when I talk about Hawke, the man I must leave behind.

  As we put our dirty dishes in the dishwasher, Cyndi’s plate licked clean, my phone hums against my hip.

  “Is it the Frenchman again?” she asks.

  “He wants to get to know me.” I sweep fallen petals off the floor, the mess driving me crazy. Francois has been calling me all evening, his persistence earning him some points with me. “He should have done that before he created this chaos.”

  “Is he hunky?” Cyndi flounces to the couch, turns on the TV, searches for an entertainment news program.

  “He’s good-looking,” I admit. “His family owns a vineyard in Napa Valley.”

  “California is beautiful.” My best friend is thinking about Cole again. “Your Frenchman has balls. Most men, after making a huge mistake like he did, would avoid the woman they wronged, thinking they could never recover from it.”

  “He’s an army guy. They’re trained to face hostile situations.” I turn the bottle of wine and study the label. The design is gorgeous, the font eye-catching yet classy. If Francois was involved in the packaging, he has great taste.

  “Your Hawke is an army guy too.” Cyndi gazes at the TV screen. “Pour me a glass.”

  “We shouldn’t drink.” I remove two glasses from a cabinet. “And Hawke is a former marine, not an army guy. He would have investigated me before making any accusations.” I struggle with the corkscrew.

  “The Frenchman is impulsive. That means he’ll be wild in bed. There would be no sleeping when he slept over,” my friend teases. “And he’s rich.”

  “He is rich,” I concede, finally freeing the cork. Jacques, Francois’s dad, sniffed the cork at the restaurant, so I decide to be fancy and do the same thing. All I smell is wine.

  “Aren’t you going clubbing with Angel tonight?” I pour the wine into the glasses.

  “Shhh . . .” Cyndi shushes me as she increases the volume on the TV. I hurry to her side and hand her one of the glasses.

  Cole, the man Cyndi is trying to forget, lounges on a stool, dressed in an exquisitely crafted tuxedo, his black hair spiked, the tattoo on his arm concealed. My best friend leans closer to the screen, her eyes wide, the emotion on her gorgeous face almost painful to witness. She loves him and a part of me, the silly romantic part, wants their relationship to work, wants her to have the forever I can’t have.

  It’s idiotic. I sip the wine I shouldn’t be drinking, my alcohol tolerance low. She has left Cole as I will leave Hawke.

  “You’ve been linked to a lengthy list of beautiful women,” the female reporter gushes, her face flushed. “Our viewers want to know if America’s bad boy will ever settle down.”

  “A week ago, I would have said ‘No, never, Krista,’ ” Cole drawls, his southern accent pronounced. “But then, ten years ago, I would have never thought this Tennessee boy would be in Hollywood.”

  “What are you saying?” The blonde interviewer vibrates with excitement, sensing a breaking story.

  “What is he saying?” I ask, exchanging a glance with Cyndi, hope unfurling inside me. If her relationship with Cole survives their separation, maybe my relationship with Hawke will survive.

  “Are you in a committed relationship?” the interviewer asks. “Is Cole Travers off the market?”

  “Yes, Cole Travers is off the market.” The movie star flashes his million-dollar smile. “I’m not ready to share her with the world, but when I do, you’ll be the first person I call.”

  “Only we’ve been given this exclusive.” The interviewer faces the camera. “Cole Travers is dating a yet-to-be-identified mystery woman.”

  “You’re that mystery woman. Cole loves you.” I hold up my glass of wine, toasting my vivacious friend, the only woman I know who could tame Hollywood’s number one bachelor. “I knew it.”

  “It’s not me, Bee.” Cyndi turns the TV off, her face crumbling. “He’s not talking about me. We never once mentioned being in a relationship.” Tears streak down her cheeks, the agony reflecting in her eyes cutting me into two.

  Had he been seeing other people during their fabulous weekend together? I frown, confused. “But—”

  The doorbell rings. “That’s Angel.” She brushes her fingertips over her skin. “Tell her I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  I stare at her. She plans to go clubbing? “But—”

  “I can’t talk about it, not now.” Cyndi runs into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her, leaving me to deal with her catty friend. I gulp the wine, the liquor warming my core, and I square my shoulders, willing to do this, to do anything to make her feel better.

  I peer thro
ugh the peephole, confirm it’s the anorexic blonde, and I let her into the condo. “Cyndi will be with you in five minutes.”

  Angel is clad in a body-hugging Jonathan Saunders black crepe dress with Jason Wu pumps. She may be a bitch but she’s always impeccably dressed, her taste as fine as she is wicked.

  “You should have taken my advice and stuck to your own kind, Babette.” She murders my name yet again. “Everyone in Chicago thinks you’re a whore.” Disdain drips from her voice. “And they will always think that.”

  “I know that.” I lift my chin, meeting her cold gaze.

  “If you cared for Cyn at all, you’d leave, return to whatever hole you crawled out of.” She spreads her fingers, examining her perfectly polished nails. “Before you destroy her life as you destroyed yours.”

  “I’ll leave when she’s safe.” I grit my teeth, swallowing my emotion, not wishing to give Angel the satisfaction of knowing she hurt me. “Stay with Cyndi tonight. She shouldn’t be alone. She might be in danger because of what I’ve done.”

  “That’s your problem.” Angel shrugs. “Everyone will be going to R. The cast of Chicago 3015 will be there.” She confirms my suspicions. Nicolas won’t allow Cyndi, his nemesis’s daughter, into his club. Angel knows this. She plans to ditch my best friend, leave her at the door, alone and unprotected.

  I can’t allow this. “If you go to R, enjoy it because it will be your last time at that club.” I lower my voice, not wanting Cyndi to hear me. “I introduced Cyndi to Cole. I can talk to Nicolas Rainer and have you banned from his club,” I bluff, doubting that Nicolas will speak to me, ever again, not after he hears the gossip.

  “You don’t have that power.” Angel’s eyes flash. “You’re nobody.”

  “Am I nobody?” I glance around me, at the flowers sent by some of Chicago’s most influential men. I’ve never met these men, but Cyndi’s so-called friend doesn’t know this. For the first time in my life, I have social clout.

  Angel presses her thin lips together and I know I’ve won. She won’t abandon Cyndi tonight. My best friend will be safe.