Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel Read online

  "You mindfucked me the first week in the house. You kept having these stupid parties and I was about two MC Hammer songs away from committing mass murder."

  "I guess I can see why you had a certain impression of me."

  "Ya think?"

  "Here's my theory: I think we're alike in many ways." I huffed out a sarcastic laugh and turned to face him to gauge if he's serious or if he's bullshitting me. "No, really. We both fear getting attached. Except, I just go from person to person and you put up the Great Wall of China of relationships. For some reason though, I feel like myself around you more than I ever could with anyone else. Like the Heath everyone else knows is some sort of act or role I am trying to fill. I didn't realize it until you came along though. I feel like I have a home when you're around. I'm not always searching, wandering, trying to find a place where I belong. A binge-watch marathon with you is so much more fun than a night of clubbing."

  "Heath..." I didn't know what I was going to say, but I felt like I needed to stop him, because the things he was saying could not be unsaid. But he knew what I was trying to do and in his usual fashion, he persisted.

  "I know it's scary, investing your feelings into someone who could hurt you, but then what's the point? I take risks. I am a risk taker and I want to take a risk on us because there is a chance we could be something amazing. But if you walk away and don't even place a bet, that's a guaranteed loss."

  "I don't know if I can take that again Heath. And you're a risky gamble. I've seen your behavior. That's what all this has been...my avoidance, it's that I am prepared to have nothing at all rather than lose something important to me. I can't take any more loss. I just can't."

  "Listen, you know if there is anyone who understands loss, it's me. I maybe carefree, but I am not careless. I don't ever want to hurt you. I know I've been an immature jackass. It's just when we met, there was something about you and I went into overdrive. It's what's worked for me in the past. I don't know how else to explain it other than that you turned me into a 16-year-old all over again. You made me nervous."

  "Nervous?" I laughed at the absurdity of the male model telling me that I made him nervous.

  "Yeah and damn you for that, no one has ever made me nervous. You were just so indifferent and unimpressed, and that doesn't happen."

  "You're so modest."

  "Oh come on."

  "No, no, you're right. I've seen how panties disintegrate in your presence. That's why I struggle with this. I worked with an NBA superstar for years before you. Women throw themselves at him too. I know what that does to guys. I know what happens in relationships."

  "Please don't compare me to those NBA guys."

  "You know what I mean."

  "I wish you wouldn't use other people as a way to measure me."

  "Fair request, I suppose."

  "And yes, you made me nervous. You're fucking gorgeous, and I know you try to pretend you don't know it, but you do. You knew what you were doing when you got dressed up for the interview, and the party before the accident. But when it all settled, when we could just talk, you're funny and intelligent and talented too. I spoke to Mindy about you, you know?"

  "That backstabbing bitch! She didn't tell me anything," I said with a smile.

  "She thinks you should write your own books and have your own show. You have so much fucking potential and with Mindy, you have the connections."

  "I know, I just felt like I needed more experience before I did that."

  "Fuck it, fuck being cautious. You are great now. Sometimes you just have to jump in and then learn how to swim."

  "Also known as drowning."

  "You're a pain in the ass." He brushed my hair away from my face. I admired his golden sparkling skin, his smooth flaxen tendrils, his incredibly deep blue eyes, all of which reflected the small amount of street light that filtered through the windows.

  "I know."

  "Those nights when you and I would just talk, don't tell me you didn't feel what I felt."

  I looked down. "I'm here, aren't I?"

  "Come on, let's put all of our chips on the table. Go big or go home."

  "O-m-g, did you just take this terrible gambling metaphor to the next level?"

  "Yes I did. I am a regular fucking Walt Whitman, except I love pussy."

  I gasped and then laughed into his chest. "You are so crude!" I said in a faux-prissy voice.

  "You love it. 'Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage.'"

  "Methinks you are smart under that pretty face of yours," I say, surprised by his Whitman quote.

  "Methinks you are sweet underneath that magnificent scowl of yours."

  ***

  We couldn't have asked for better weather during our last day in Paris. The sky was clear, but there was a gentle, warm breeze in the air; perfect for walking around and taking in sights without melting into a pool of sweat. I wore my plunder from Colette: a navy blue and white striped pointe sleeveless shift mini dress with blood-red flats and that gorgeous scarf over my shoulders, although try as I might I could not re-create Celeste's perfect knot. I felt very Parisienne. Heath looked flawless as usual, with a low v-neck heather-gray t-shirt (the type only a model could pull off), under a cream linen blazer, and a pair of slim jeans with a pair of navy slip-on Vans. His hair looked like he had raked his fingers through it, pushing it all back and relying on its thickness to stay in place versus layering on product.

  "I kind of miss the gold skin," I said to him as he loaded his wallet into his back pocket.

  "We should have a body-painting party. Just you and me."

  "That sounds messy."

  "And fun."

  I give him a suspicious look as I could see the wheels turning in his head, but he quickly changed the subject.

  "Alright, are you hungry? I am fucking starving, I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon."

  "You poor thing," I pouted at him, with half genuine sympathy, half sarcasm. "There's a ton of cheese and fruit left over."

  "We'll snack on that later in bed," Heath winked at me. That horny rascal.

  As we were about to exit the lobby Heath stopped. "Wait right here." I watched from a distance as he walked up to the concierge's counter and engaged her in conversation. I could tell by the way she played with her hair and leaned forward as she giggled that she was already bitten by the Hillabrand bug. I resisted the urge to follow him and see what they were talking about; I didn't want to appear jealous or nosey. After a few minutes, Heath returned with a smile on his face and slapped my ass. I jumped and quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed, but everyone was buzzing around in the lobby minding their own business.

  "Heath!" I scolded.

  "Couldn't help myself," he smirked.

  We arrived at Cafe Constant, a well-known restaurant close to the Eiffel Tower. Just as the hostess informed us that the wait would be about thirty minutes, a couple of giggling Americans walked up and asked for a photo and autograph from Heath. The hostess's eyes lit up when she recognized who he was.

  Heath graciously posed with the girls, who were probably no older than 19, and the hostess, now realizing he was "important," offered to seat us immediately.

  He quickly eyed the other people hanging around who had arrived before us. "That's okay, we'll wait. Are you okay with that?" he asked me as he tenderly rested his hand on the small of my back. I knew he was famished, and his graciousness in waiting with everyone else made me smile inside.

  "Sure," I said. We walked out to the sidewalk to wait. "That was nice of you, not to use your celebrity."

  "I'm no saint, but you know already know that," he grinned as he nudged me. "I just try not to use it when I don't need to. I can wait a half hour, it's gorgeous out here anyway."

  Karma must have been on our side because we were called within 20 minutes. We were seated at a small outdoor table. A cute French girl named Yvette introduced herself as our server.

  "Bonjoor madem-wa-selle!" Heath said in the most
pathetic, over-the-top French accent I had ever heard. I shook my head, looking down in embarrassment.

  She giggled and her cheeks turned a fuchsia color. "Bonjour. Would you like to start with something to drink? An appetizer?"

  "French fries?" Heath joked as he cocked his eyebrows. Again, she giggled. I watched the interaction feeling humored and embarrassed all at the same time. "I'm just kidding, Yvette. Do you know what you would like Sadie?"

  "Actually, I think I need a few minutes."

  Yvette nodded and gave us some time to think.

  "What?" he asked innocently when he noticed the look on my face.

  "You are such a flirt."

  "Me?"

  I almost spit out my water laughing at his 100%, pure, grade-A bullshit response. "Yes, you!" I wasn't upset, in fact I held a strange admiration for how he could just make nearly any straight (or even not straight) woman blush.

  "I promise you I wasn't flirting. I just like to make people feel comfortable. Is that so wrong?"

  "When you look like that," I gestured to him, "going out of your way to make women feel comfortable is automatically flirting."

  "We balance each other out. You're a bit more reserved around new people."

  "I guess."

  "Does it bother you? That I'm friendly?"

  "No...I wouldn't want to change you. As long as it's just you being friendly." What am I saying? Is he asking for my permission? The conversation started to enter that murky territory again that I know we would inevitably have to settle: What is this thing? What are we doing? How can we be both employee/employer AND maintain or grow whatever this budding new thing is that we have? I didn't feel like I was in any position to tell him to act in any way. At that point, all we were officially were colleagues fucking on vacation.

  Yvette returned just in time to halt any further conversation.

  "Do you have any questions?"

  We hadn't even looked at the menu yet. "You know what? I am going to let my lady-friend here chose for us. Isn't she beautiful?" That mofo could be so charming when he wanted to be.

  Yvette smirked, "Oui, she is very pretty." She turned to me, "You have beautiful skin."

  "Thank you," I said quietly, feeling a little overwhelmed by the compliments coming from all directions. This moment was typical with Heath, when he saw me getting uncomfortable, he would often choose to lay himself on thicker. Resistance was futile.

  "She's a chef. A chef to the stars." There he goes, laying it on me.

  "That is amazing. Who have you worked with?" Yvette asked.

  "I have done work for some actors and actresses, Sarah Jessica Parker, the Timberlakes, Robert DeNiro. My main client was a basketball player in New York City. Right now however, this fella over here is who I work for." Perfect way to get the attention off of me.

  "Oh," she eyed him to see if she could recognize his face.

  "He's a model. Can't you tell?" I asked playfully.

  "Well..." she clearly didn't want to say anything out of line.

  "I'm just messing with you! Anyway, I know it's busy in here, I don't want to keep you for long. I think we'll go with the foie gras terrine and the soft boiled egg to start. We'll each have a glass of Chateau d'Yquem." I looked over at Heath for his approval and he gestured back to remind me I was the boss here.

  The appetizers arrived shortly after and we quickly both spread the foie gras onto crostini. It was dense and decadent and melted in my mouth like butter. We each let out an audible moan with the first bite.

  "I've never had foie gras before."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. You know I'll try anything, but usually, I stick to what I know when I eat out."

  "Do you know what it's made of?"

  "No..." he said fearfully as he swallowed the contents of his last bite.

  "Fatty goose liver. And you don't even want to know how they make it happen. It's literally a guilty pleasure."

  "You're right. I don't want to know."

  We dipped into the egg, which was covered in breadcrumbs and atop a bed of ratatouille, bacon, and a parmesan cream foam. It was superb. Shortly after, the chef stopped at our table, after being told by Yvette that I was a celebrity chef. We had a pleasant conversation and he insisted in making us a special duck entree. By the time we left the restaurant, we were both as stuffed as a pre-foie gras-ed goose.

  Our next stop was the Eiffel Tower, and we really needed the walking. We climbed all available staircases by foot, only taking the lift to the open air observation deck at the top. After looking out at the stunning views of Paris for a few minutes, Heath declared: "We should take a picture." He took out his phone and asked an older woman if she would snap some. He whispered in my ear as we posed, "you ask the mature people so if they try to run off with your phone you can tackle them much easier." I let out a loud laugh as she snapped the first pic.

  "What a beautiful couple," the kind lady said after the first picture. "You would make beautiful children." Awkward.

  "I think so too," Heath said, as usual, unfazed by any situation that most might find socially awkward. While my mind was still spinning about how to navigate the woman's comment, I felt my body swoop away from the ground. As I called out some random noise, I found myself in Heath's arms as the lady snapped away.

  "Smile!" he said.

  Onlookers watched and smiled and some other strangers began to snap pictures on their own cameras. "I'm going to kill you," I whispered in his ear.

  "Looking forward to it."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Honestly, I don't think I could have planned a better day out in Paris with Heath than the one we had. Maybe this could work. Maybe I only made things worse by expecting the worst from Heath. And I know that a vacation is not a good time to decide on a relationship. Much like our time cooped up in his house, it was an artificial environment, but I couldn't help feeling that glimmer of hope. Heath was so much more complex than I had given him credit for. He wasn't just some crass, thoughtless jerk. He could be kind, and caring, and tender. And maybe just how he had brought out the most man-hating, conflicted version of myself I could muster when we first met, I might have caused him to be the most horn-doggy, douchebaggy version of himself.

  Maybe the frog could become the prince! But in this case, instead of kissing it, you had to sit on its face. And we all know I’ve fulfilled that requirement multiple times over.

  But now that we were relaxed, and we both could just admit that there was something between us, everything smoothed out, everything felt right. I had no idea my perfect day would get even perfect-er (deal with it grammar hawks!)

  We entered the lobby to the hotel all smiles. We had decided to skip dinner out, having had such a large lunch, and Heath said he had dessert for us back in the room, but he wouldn't give me any more details.

  When we got into the elevator, Heath grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him. Can I just interject here and tell you how much I loved having a fully-functional Heath? He raked his fingers through my hair and clenched it at the roots, passionately kissing me as I leaned against him, his hardness already pressing against my belly.

  "Mmmm," I said, rubbing my hand over his pants.

  "You smell so good."

  "That's the perfume you got me. I thought you'd like it."

  "I've been thinking about fucking you all day," he said as the elevator bell rang. I quickly spun around, but he kept me pressed against him to hide his raging hard-on. We both nodded at another couple as they entered the elevator and we side-shimmied out in unison.

  "Come here, woman!" Heath said, throwing me over his shoulder as soon as the elevator closed behind us.

  "You are such an animal," I said as he fumbled with the keycard. "I bet you're regretting this decision to throw me over your shoulder after all the food I ate today. I think I gained fifteen pounds."

  "You need to promise me something."

  "Oh lord. Why does that statement terrify me?"

  "Promise."<
br />
  "Okay."

  "Cover your eyes and don't open them until I say so."

  "Surprises make me nervous."

  "They should when they're coming from me. Now cover your eyes."

  I did, and and then felt the cadence of his steps underneath me as he walked into the suite, then he slid me over his front; from the firmness of the tiles at my feet, I knew we were in the bathroom. "Keep your eyes covered."

  "Okay dammit!"

  The sound of his footsteps vanished into another room and was followed the sounds of him fumbling around. "Ahhhh," I tensely called out, doing a pee-pee dance in my spot, unable to do anything else with the nervous energy.

  Finally, he said: "Open your eyes."

  There he was, standing in all of his butt-naked, Adonis-like glory, holding what looked like a medium-sized jar of gold paint.

  "Wha-?" I instantly recalled our conversation that morning. He doesn't waste any time. "Is that body paint?"

  "One better; edible paint. They use it on cakes and such. Now get naked."

  I buried my face in my hands and laughed to myself in disbelief. "You are something else."

  "I know I am," he smirked. "I pay attention to everything, so you need to watch what you say around me. Now, move it along."

  "Okay," I said as I exhaled. "Could you unzip me?"

  "Of course," he said, pursing his lips like he was eying a scrumptious meal. He put down the jar and helped me out of my clothes so that I was now completely naked.

  "Since I am so experienced with body paint, I think I'll go first."

  "I'm all yours," I said, raising my hands up.

  He licked his lips and he examined my body, biting his sexy-ass bottom lip as he decided his first move. This must have been what he was talking about to the concierge. I thought he was flirting when really, he was asking her to find and deliver edible body paint to our room. That devil.

  He took a few steps towards me, "I think you know where I'll go first." He took the brush out, and wiped it against the rim of the jar. Then he took the tip of the brush and softly painted my nipple. "Your breasts are my favorite things in the world. I just wanted to let you know that. If we were in a plane about to go down, I would say goodbye to them first."