Dirty Bad Strangers(8)

By: Jade West

“Don’t believe me?! Ask your agent. See what he has to say about another scandal. You can wave goodbye to your cosy little sportswear sponsorship, the fucking deodorant ads as well. You’ll be washed up, forced to sell your seedy fucking life story to the lads’ mags to put clothes on your back, is that what you want?”

I brushed past her. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. The future’s bright.”

“It’s true.” Then came the trembling lip. I hate it when she pulls that shit. “You dislike me that much that you want to ruin everything for me? Drag my name through the mud?”

“Always so much melodrama...”

“You want to see the world laughing at us, is that it? Pitying us.”

The word pity stung. It stung hard. “Nobody is going to be pitying us, April.”

“She’ll blab, Jason. She’s that type.”

I smiled. “You seriously think I’m calling the girl from the game last week? She was in my eyeline for two minutes tops.”

Her eyes widened. “Then who? Please, God, not Celia Matherson... I have a charity fundraiser with her next month... or, wait... it’s not Kaylee Ryan, is it? Is it Kaylee?”

“It’s no one.”

She pursed her lips like she does at her tacky photo shoots. “Didn’t sound like no one. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the calls, Jase. I’ve fucking noticed.”

“Trust me, it’s no one that will cause any problems.”

She closed the gap between us, frosty blue eyes glaring. “Everyone is out to cause problems! They just want the right fucking price!”

“Not this time.”

“How can you be so sure?”

I tossed her the phone, admiring her expression of shock as she scrolled through the premium rate numbers. “Because she’s a fucking chatline operator.”

April’s eyes narrowed to slashes of venom. “Chatline?! You’re getting your kicks on fucking chat lines?!” She laughed. A cold, hard, nasty laugh. “Then you’re an even bigger fucking loser than I thought.”

I snatched my phone back and made my exit.

Stupid, nasty, gold-digging fucking bitch. Only this time maybe she was fucking right for once.

Chatline wouldn’t cut it, not forever. I wanted that girl for fucking real.


April rapped at my bedroom door. I checked out the alarm clock with bleary eyes. Nine a.m.

“What?” I groaned.

She flounced her way in, hair extensions bouncing around her tiny waist. “Peace offering.” She placed the mug on the bedside table and perched herself dangerously close to me.

I eyed her suspiciously, waiting for her to speak.

“You do remember, don’t you?”

I took a swig of coffee. “Remember what?”

“The gala for the homeless this evening.”

So much for my pissing rest day. “No, I don’t remember.”

“It’s in your calendar. Everyone’s going, Reece and Kate, Richard Kent, Jacqueline Daly, even Veronica Ashdown.”

I sat up in bed, feigning excitement. “Why didn’t you say so? Shit, if Veronica Ashdown is going we’ll simply have to be there.”

“Don’t take the piss,” she snapped. “We need this.”

“I need this like a hole in the fucking head.”

She grabbed my chin, ran her dainty thumb over my stubble. “You need a shave. I’ve already picked out a tux. Hmm, haircut overdue as well.”

“No shave, and no haircut.”

Her grip tightened. “Why do you think you have the deodorant ads, Jase? It’s because you’re a hot fucking piece of man meat. You want to ruin that as well? Why is everything such a bloody battle with you?”

I swatted her hand away. “I said no more galas, or balls, or televised fucking singalongs. I don’t want VIP tickets to any bloody charity events. I couldn’t give a shit what your stupid fucking limelight-hogging friends think of me.”

“What do you want, then? Chatline girls and pay-per-minute webcam? A tramp beard maybe? Classy.” She raised herself from the bed. “Reece is coming for us at seven. Fabien is over soon to pick my outfit, I’ll let you know which cufflinks you need.”

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