Chapter 7
At seven sharp, Brady pulls up in front of Vanessa’s house, her car, still parked outside, collecting dirt and bird crap. I ring at the front door, but hear no doorbell inside. I knock.
Vanessa opens, and I smile, trying not to look like I’ve been struck with a perfect pussy in my face.
Are there little hearts dancing in my eyes?
Hope not. I’m trying to play hard to get, but not that hard.
There’s a fine line between being an asshole and being a lovable asshole. I’m gunning for lovable.
Her hair pulled up in an elegant bun somehow opens her pretty face and exposes the curve of her neck, and as I stare, a single curl drops over her shoulder. Was that on purpose or does Jesus want me to drool like a boxer on a bone?
The breasts, though classy, show a tease of cleavage in a seductive way that makes me wanna wedge my cock in there. Her waist is small, her hips are big, and those cute black leather heels are staying on when I lay her on the bed and fuck her tonight.
Lazily, I drag my eyes from the shoes back up to her face. “I’m counting the hours when the clock strikes midnight and we’re in my bedroom.”
“You look…handsome,” she says.
I always do. “Thank you. You look like my future wife.”
Vanessa’s eyes widen.
I smile.
“You’re funny.”
Joke’s on you, doll. “Come along. We’re two minutes behind. Not your fault, of course. I hadn’t accounted for standing out here and staring at your beauty.” I lift my elbow. She places a hand on it, and the ring sparkles over my dark suit. The paparazzi will have a field day.
Vanessa folds inside the limo like she’s spent a lifetime in a tight dress and high heels, when I know—because I paid the Serb data geek for her file—Vanessa grew up in a small town in Nebraska, in a town of not even ten thousand people.
After her father passed from a mining accident, her mother tried committing suicide three times.
All three times, the girls found her, and one of those times, Jen, Vanessa’s twin, drove Mom to the hospital. They were thirteen.
At eighteen, her brother went to jail for a series of murders, and due to the town’s growing unwelcome, the girls moved to Los Angeles. They tried acting.
Neither of the two made it on the big screen, though Jen made a few commercials where she met an LA bachelor playboy who really was a playboy, unlike me who only dresses as fine as one.
My dick doesn’t poke places I don’t intend to commit to.
It’s a complete and utter waste of my time as it was a waste of Jen’s.
Jen spent years abusing drugs and bouncing between a rock star and the playboy. Years during which the sisters grew apart.
Vanessa moved to Chicago first, and eventually, Jen joined her, committing herself to rehab at home, likely because working-class America cannot afford rehab.
I’m unsure what Vanessa needed the money for now, but she needs it nevertheless.
I have plenty of money. What I don’t have is a wife to spoil.
Before I sit down in the limo across from her, I swipe up her foot, then reach into my pocket. Phone at one ear, nice, smooth foot in one hand, I press the heel of the sexy Mary Jane shoe (I know women’s fashion as well as I know the clock) over my dick.
I’ve become a foot guy. I jab the heel into my balls and growl at the jewelry shop man on the phone, “Prepare the shop for an invasion of ladies.”
Jaxon sighs. “Why is it no guys ever invade the shop? Last time Boriskov barged in like a Viking on a mission, I think I almost came in my pants. Anyhows, is your lady sporting the ring this evening at the gala?”
“She is.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hellway.”
“Anytime. Your service is impressive, and I like to promote and be associated with impressive services.”
“I’m impressive in the sack too.”
“I’ll be sure to mention that to the appropriate men if any happen to come my way this evening.” I hang up and squeeze Nessa’s ankle. “Tonight, you’ll lock these ankles around my waist while I put a baby inside you.”
“Oh my God.”
“No sense in time wasting. Life is short, and I was born knowing what I want. You are what I want.” I’ve started praying for the extra two likes since it's well past the first half hour of us meeting. I’m not sure if they’re coming, and I’m not sure I’m willing to let her go if they don’t come, but the universe tends to treat me well when I trust my intuition.
I have a gut feeling about Vanessa, and like anything intuitive, it isn't tangible. It just is.
Vanessa opens her mouth, then closes it. “I’m…” She giggles and shows me the top of her hand. “With this ring, I thee shock. I put it on my engagement finger to throw you off, make you squirm a little, maybe reconsider. You shouldn’t joke around with a woman’s feelings this way.”
“I’m not joking.” I’ve never been a funny guy. The funnies mainly happen in my head. Other people don’t need to hear about the tomato sauce.
“You’re making fun of what I told you about saving myself for my husband.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Well then, with this ring, I’ve only encouraged your delusions, because you can’t be serious.”
Excuse the fuck out of me. I sit up. “Delusions?”
“You bought my hymen for a night. That was the contract.”
“And I intend to collect on said hymen and use it to buy my way into the rest of your life. Keep that in mind tonight when the paparazzi swarm you and ask questions. I won’t be doing any talking, but you’re welcome to.
Take care with what you say, because as far as I’m concerned, we’re living with three kids and a golden retriever ten years in the future already.
So as you deny my so-called delusions, know that you’ll waste time retracting your words a few months from now when our first baby comes.
You can pick a name. Any name you like. Gabriel, perhaps? ”
Vanessa looks away. “Why would you say that name?”
Because I’m a dick, and she called my intentions for us delusional. Now I’m gonna stab her back, teach her a lesson. Biting a shark never ends well for the goldfish. “It was your brother’s name, wasn’t it?” The serial killer.
She takes a deep breath. “You had me followed or…”
“Researched. Skeletons in the closet will come up in the papers, and I need to be prepared. You need to be prepared.”
She rests her head on the back of the seat. “This isn’t what I expected. I expected a one-night stand.”
“Neither did I when I agreed to attend the auction. But then I bought the hymen that lives inside a girl who wants marriage before she puts out for me.”
Nessa lifts her head. “Making fun of me is cruel, and cruelty looks bad on you.”
This conversation isn’t how I intended to spend my limo ride. Arguments tend to be time-wasting activities, especially since I won’t fold on this one and changing my mind on our engagement is a moot point.
She wants her husband to break her hymen.
I bought the hymen and therefore became the husband.
Which part of our wants is unclear, unrealistic, or even delusional? It is all very simple and clear to me.
“What happened to the sweet man from yesterday?” she asks, pouring gasoline on the fire.
“You called this thing between us fucking delusional.” I don’t curse.
“If you intended to throw me off, you have, but not for the reasons you thought you would. You won a round, but, baby doll”—I lean in—“life is a war, and little wins don’t count when one faces a conqueror aiming at a big score.
I retreat so as not to ruin our evening. How about you?”
Vanessa surprises me. She lifts her other foot and puts it in my lap. “I want to enjoy our evening too.”
Back on scheduled activities, I smile. “If you do what I say, I’ll make you enjoy it.”