Chapter 1
ETHAN
I stared deadly at the pen stand, my heavy-lidded eyes barely staying up. Fuck. I need to sleep. Then I remembered how I had slept last night and smiled.
“Ethan!”
My skin jumped, my eyes fluttering open and blinking at my agent, Elliot Warner, with wide innocent eyes. I rubbed my eyes and shuffled in my seat.
I drawled, “What now? Am I getting detention again?”
He sighed audibly, a sign that I had fucked up badly this time. Not going to lie, I had been fucking up since last year, so he has been sighing a lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was the reason behind the white thinning hair on his sides.
“Not detention. But our sponsors are cutting the endorsement deals,” he ran a hand through his hair and sat down behind his massive oak wood desk and lit up a cigar.
The stench of smoke woke me up from the hangover, my skin crawling with the need to put the cigarette in between my lips and inhale—No, we are not going there, Ethan.
I replayed his words twice in my head and drank a glass of water. “Why the endorsement deals? I scored a gold medal, didn’t I?”
I don’t know why I even bothered asking that when I knew the answer.
I had fucked up. Big time.
Elliot smiled at me like a father would at his son. “You punched Richard fucking Jane. Did you forget about that when you spent time with Aretta last night? Seriously, Kane, what the fuck were you thinking?”
I slouched in my seat, looking at the lollipop wrapped in sparkly red paper.
Of course, I remember it. How could I forget punching the famous celebrity reporter, Richard Jane.
It felt so good doing it that I forgot his cameraman had the footage and leaked it on the internet, so I was on every celebrity news.
Ethan Kane, the twenty-five-year-old swim athlete and a model, punched Richard Jane, fleeing away from the scene to spend the night with the famous pop singer, Aretta.
I remember how it all started. Liam and I were invited to the VS fashion show as we were top swimmers after passing USA Swimming Olympic Trials with A-Level qualification standards. But he bailed on me at the last moment as he had some issues with his family to deal with and couldn’t arrive there.
“How did you sleep last night?” Elliot asked, his voice stern while he watched me with his piercing coal black eyes.
I smiled thinking about last night. About Aretta. I ran my hand through my hair and smirked at him, “I slept like a baby.”
He gave me the briefest smile. “Touché. Hope you had fun last night, Kane, because you need to clean up your act or your sponsors are cutting you out of the endorsement deals.”
I frowned, my head still throbbing slightly from the little alcohol I had last night. “Clean up what act?”
He leaned back in his chair and I knew I was about to get a lecture.
“Oh, let me think. Last month you slept with Chris Moore’s wife, and then your dick didn’t have enough so you slept with his twenty-one-year-old daughter a week later, officially removing you from his modelling gig.
Not to mention, Julian. You were drunk and flirted with a female cop and slept with her in the back of her cop car.
Do you know how hard it was for me to clean that up?
And last night, you punched Richard fucking Jane in front of his cameraman, and every news, fashion and fitness magazine is talking about you. ”
I flashed him a grin.
He glared at me.
My grin dropped. I sighed, keeping my elbows on his large oak wood desk.
“Okay, first of all, Chris Moore’s wife is hot; you have seen her.
How could I resist when she wanted me to fuck her on her bed?
And the daughter was really sweet. We were both tipsy after a party and it just happened.
About Julian, um, long story short. Someone caught her with her handcuffed to the door because we lost the key. Not to mention, Richard deserved it.”
My nerves twitched just thinking about Richard, the oh so fancy reporter who I hated with all my guts. Especially after what he did last night.
Elliot, my agent and a good friend, knew I wouldn’t have resorted to violence without a motive. His jaw ticked when he said, “HR doesn’t care about that shit, Kane. They want you to clean up your act.”
Of course, they wanted me to clean up my act. I needed to clean up my act. I could imagine my mothers’ faces when they saw the news and called me later to talk to me about it. I closed my eyes and wondered how everything went to shit.
The music was too loud at the after party of the VS show.
I took a flute of champagne and downed it in three gulps.
My bow tie was itching me, so I took it off, tugged at a few buttons and kept it in my pocket.
The air felt too heavy with perfume, alcohol and something female and musky.
I could smell the hair products from the striking lady sitting beside me during the dinner.
I jumped when her hand landed on my thigh and gave it a squeeze.
I smiled, turning to her when she flashed me a toothy grin, her red lipstick perfect for her lips.
But there was something in her gaze, which I didn’t want right then.
Especially when her claws painted in the same shade of red trailed upwards.
I held her wrist, leaning closer to her and whispered in her ear, “Slide your hand anymore further and I will make sure that your ass is bruised with my belt marks till next week.”
Pulling away, I flashed her a small smile, watching her gape at me. She clearly didn’t expect that and moved her hand on her lap when I let it go.
After the dessert was served, I looked at the chocolate mousse and felt bile rising in my mouth. I quickly excused myself to the washroom and splashed some cold water on my face. It is nothing, Ethan. Just calm down. Count to ten. I wiped my face and stared at the blue-green eyes across me.
The door of the washroom opened, and I closed my eyes when it was the same lady who had sat beside me during the meal.
Chris Moore’s wife, Sadie Moore. I clenched my jaw when she trailed her hand on my arm, but I still felt her touch through my suit.
I straightened up, easily towering in front of her, and she dropped her hand.
“I . . . I would like that,” she whispered, her eyes wide with lust.
I tilted my head.
“I want you to do that, Ethan. I have heard rumors about—”
Waving her off, I said, “Not tonight. Go find someone else.” My eyes raked over her curvy frame and met hers. I smirked, “You wouldn’t be able to handle it, anyway. Goodnight, Mrs. Moore. Tell your husband I said hello.”
Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment as I left her alone in the washroom.
I checked my phone, seeing three missed calls from Aretta and one from my mom.
After letting my agent know I was leaving, I made my way out of the hotel and breathed in the warm crisp air of Los Angeles.
The atmosphere was dark with few glowing lights decorated along the porch of the hotel.
I wondered whether I should pack my bags to go back to San Diego, visit my family, or go visit Aretta.
I looked up at the night sky and waited for my driver.
I frowned, hearing a commotion over my shoulder.
My mouth set in a grim line when I saw who it was, Richard Jane.
Sliding my hands in my slacks, I turned toward them and saw that the hotel security was far away from the reporter, his cameraman, and the model they wanted to interview.
I was about to turn away, thinking it was an everyday thing when I heard her words.
“Please move away,” her voice was stern. Her heels clicked against the cobblestone when she took a step back as he got too close to her.
My jaw clenched and palms turned into fists when the cameraman zoomed in on her face. But I had my doubts that he was zooming in on something else.
Richard’s voice was low and heavy, his face wrinkled with age as he was nearing his fifties. Still the best Hollywood reporter out there. He leaned in and asked, “Just answer one question, Ma’am. Did you or did you not frame the nip slip at Coachella?”
I rolled my eyes. Are you fucking kidding me?
She flinched away, giving him a disgusting look. “I am not going to answer that, and it’s none of your fucking business.” Her hands were on his chest, trying to get away from him, “Seriously, move the fuck away.”
Images flashed in my mind. Her wavy brown hair mussed, puffy eyes stained with tears, lips quivering and her hands in fists.
Just because of men like him. I swallowed the lump in my throat thinking about that diary page which had blurry words because her tears had smudged the black ink on the paper.
I couldn’t watch this any longer.
“She told you to move, Jane.”
The cameraman turned toward me, so did Richard and Emma. She was an aspiring model, and after working with her on a couple of shoots, I knew how sweet she was. He stepped back from her and flared his angry red nose at me.
“Shove it, Ethan. Is there something going on between you two? It will make a great headline. Ethan Kane strikes another model’s pussy again,” he chuckled, his yellow-stained lower teeth grinning at me.
I didn’t feel like giving him a reply and raised my palm for her. She accepted it with a small smile, and I pulled her closer, away from Richard.
“Let him be, Ethan. He is an asshole,” she whispered when I turned to escort her away from there.
“What did you just say, you bitch?” Richard spat.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of my lips, but Emma yelped when she was pushed down from behind. I helped her up, seeing a slight bruise on her knee. I asked her if she was okay. She was not. She looked like she was about to cry.