CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
brOOKLYN
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Travis is a complicated man. Far more than I realized. Every day he shows me new layers I never expected. Waking up with his arms wrapped around me, I can’t help but want to know more about him.
I don’t really know much aside from what I’ve searched online. To be honest, there is very little. Even his social media is locked up tight.
It’s not important. Travis showed me his cards last night, and now I’m crystal clear this is just about sex.
Don’t mistake possession with love, Brook. But I won’t share your pussy. Make sure you understand that.
So why are we at one of the most exclusive resorts in the world? Maybe he just likes luxury. As if he’s going to book us into the Holiday Inn in the Bahamas. It doesn’t mean it’s about me.
Flying on a private jet was amazing. The flight was still long, and after he had a blowjob and I had a delicious risotto, we curled up and slept for a few hours. Then watched a movie before landing.
The whole thing felt far more intimate and romantic than I’d expected, and it’s becoming harder to keep both our rules and reality in check.
At least I know Travis won’t be getting down on one knee and proposing.
I thought about the conversation I had with Detective Ward this week. I’d reached out to Gareth regarding the Taylor story and its victims. He invited me to get a drink later in the afternoon.
Susan had officially filed her complaint with the Los Angeles Police Department via the non-emergency phone number and was receiving the support she needed.
“Is it enough, Gareth?” I asked the detective.
“Her complaint?” he asked, sipping his beer. “Probably not. It depends on the evidence she has. You know this.”
I did.
But I’d met with my lawyer yesterday, and she’d strongly warned against proceeding with this story.
“This isn’t like taking on the city councilors or any of the other causes you’ve done before. These men can be bullies. Nasty.”
“Exactly, Marie, that’s how he’s gotten away with this until now. Everyone knows Hollywood has been rife with sexual abuse.”
The Me-Too movement had blown that apart a few years ago. But it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“Maybe you’ve done enough. That is, before you have a lawsuit on your hands. If you’ve encouraged a few victims to file reports, let the cops do their thing.”
I needed to know if it was enough.
Despite Travis’s offer to protect and financially support me, it was the mental toll I now had to consider, along with how it would affect my business and the team. I know Milly and Scott were both invested, but they were also wary.
Detective Ward could help me understand the next steps for the victims and what to expect in regard to this story getting bigger.
“Yes I do, but I don’t know what you know,” I replied. “Sure, I reported a few cases as it went through the courts but never from this angle. Never as the person driving the story from my own business. The Times has a lot more influence and punch than Brooklyn McKenna.”
He took another sip, studying me.
“You need to be careful, Brook. Taylor is a powerful man, as are the rest of the Hollywood royalty, so to speak. You’re upsetting them.”
My brows had shot up. “Have you heard something?”
“There are still people at the station who remember you. Their lips are flapping. You know how it is; podcasters don’t exactly have a good reputation.”
Yeah. I was well aware.
“I’m an investigative journalist. With a podcast.” I argued.
“A good one. I know that. I’m just saying, Taylor has a reputation much like Pacino. Men of that era...they play by different rules.”
Jesus.
And I’d put myself in the firing line. But this is exactly why I had to keep going. It was these intimidation techniques that had women slinking into the shadows. It felt like my reputation was already on the line, and I had to follow through.
For me and these victims.
Including Terrance Taylor.
If I could find him and get him to speak up.
I’d forgotten to ask if the statute of limitations was relevant in this situation, but probably.
If not, Travis may know where he is.
This weekend is a chance to prod and get more information. Relying on the authorities to investigate someone like Leo Taylor was putting a lot of faith in a system I wasn’t sure I could. They got it wrong too often, and cases were bogged down in red tape.
If Leo Taylor had abused his son for years, along with all these women and men, then he didn’t deserve to walk free and certainly didn’t deserve a star on the Walk of Fame.
If people hated me for being the one to expose their beloved actor, then let them. I hadn’t committed the crime.
He had.
I was just telling the story.
Sigh.
I open eyes, not really wanting to move out of the warm cocoon of his arms, and blink, taking in our view—
Holy shit!
I gasp.
The Matterhorn is nothing short of spectacular and one of the most stunning things I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s draped in the morning sunshine, making me speechless.
Travis stirs, his arms stretching under me as he yawns loudly. Then he tackles me and I’m underneath him before I can finish my breath.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful in the mornings.” He groans into my neck.
I slap his pec, momentarily taking in how delicious his muscular chest is, and shove him. “Look outside. Forget me. Look—it’s magnificent.”
“Your pussy is magnificent.” He growls and slides his tongue down my neck.
“Don’t be ridiculous, look at it,” I say with a lot less punch than a minute ago because the feel of his body on mine, his mouth sliding down my body and sucking on my nipple... Well...fuck that mountain.
His face is between my legs. “I’m looking.”
For the following thirty minutes, I could be in lower Manhattan or here in the Swiss Alps and it wouldn’t matter. I cry out his name when my first orgasm crashes through me, then draw in a gasp when he grips my wrists, restraining me with one hand as he slams inside me with his morning wood.
After he comes, I get my arms back and loop them around his neck. “Good morning to you, too.”
“I’m going to feed you then we’re doing that again.”
“Aren’t we skiing?”
“Do you ski?”
“Isn’t that why we’re here?”
Travis snorts as if that was a stupid question, then flops down onto his back. Finally, he turns his head and takes in the view. I snuggle against him, and his arm loops around me, tucking me into his side and together, we take in the jaw-dropping, snow-covered sight.
“I just wanted to impress you so I could have sex with you more.”
“Honestly, a pair of Louboutin’s from their latest collection would’ve worked just as well.” I press my smile against his chest, trying not to giggle.
His cheeky eyes drop to mine, sparkling playfully.
I’m well aware I haven’t been this happy for a long time, and it’s a little terrifying. Especially because it’s not real. But it’s how I feel, and that’s real enough for me.
Our gaze remains locked, a fuzzy feeling building between us, and I watch his mouth part as if he’s going to say—
Travis suddenly climbs out of bed.
Did he feel that?
Or am I being manipulated? The private jet, the sexy, muscular man, the romantic suite, and the white mountainous paradise that towers over us.
Probably.
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TRAVIS
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WE HEAD DOWN to the restaurant for breakfast and sit by a window after walking around the luxury hotel. Brook hasn’t taken her eyes off the mountain, and I get it.
I like watching her as if I’m the giant that placed it before her and should pound my chest and say, me did that.
Fresh fruit, poached eggs, crunchy bacon, and freshly baked sourdough are delivered to the table along with coffee and cream.
“If I were a billionaire, I’d live like this every day,” Brook says, biting into the bacon, grinning.
“How do you think I got the billions?” I sip my coffee and slide my eyes over her wool-covered breasts. I might not be able to see her cleavage, but I know what her pink nipples look like, and with a wink, I can make them hard.
I think I might be addicted to having control over her body. Cancel that—I am.
There’s no thinking needed.
The answer to my question? It’s not by vacationing at absurdly expensive holiday resorts.
“Please, the interest alone would keep you living in luxury for the rest of your life.”
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I love the way this woman eats with no shame. It’s refreshing and sexy as hell.
“So you think I should turn into one of those fat rich bastards and do nothing with my life?”
“You could do some philanthropy stuff.”
“That’s what people with no money say.”
She laughs.
“Okay, fair enough, but help me understand.”
“Such a journalist.” I place my cup down and lean my sweater-covered arm on the table. I hate not being able to touch her from here. “It’s hard to understand.”
“Try me.”
“Most people on the planet work to make money,” I say, and she nods. “But what many don’t realize is that the work they do also gives a person purpose. And I don’t mean paying taxes or putting food on the table.”
“Explain.”
“During our careers, while working, we learn and develop skills. We find out who we are while discovering what we love doing—or don’t love doing—and how we work with others.
We build friendships, meet lovers, find out what our pet peeves are.
Usually because of annoying colleagues. Essentially, it’s where we develop as humans. ”
Most people are too busy being in survival mode to reflect on this while they’re living it out. Or creating a family, working out how to pay the mortgage, keeping the wife happy with an annual vacation, and delaying the belly fat.
“You could do that while building homes with Habitat for Humanity or feeding the starving children.”
“Causes that have existed for decades and don’t seem to change anything.” I shrug. “That’s not where change happens.”
“You’re right.” Brook frowns. “I guess it’s easy to imagine what you’d do if you had billions, but different when you have it.”
I study her as she continues eating, the way her brows have furrowed as she attempts to work out a path she would take if she had immense wealth.
I love her mind.
Most women try to find a way for me to spend my money on them. Not Brook; she’s busy encouraging me to save a forest or third world country. And calculating how long it would take to get a billion dollars so she can become rich enough to help the world.
It’s both unsettling and cute.
She glances up.
“Worked it out yet?”
“So far, by my calculations, I’ve lost all my money. Twice.” Brook sighs and glances back out at the mountain. “Being a billionaire is hard.”
I laugh.
Her eyes return to mine, a soft smile on her lips, then it fades. “Tell me about your family.”
What?
“Are you interviewing me?” I get really interested in buttering my sourdough, then bite into it.
“I’m having a conversation with you over breakfast.” Brook lifts a shoulder. “Because I’m not a billionaire, I thought we could talk about things we might have in common. I have a family. You have a family. Ergo...”
“That’s quite an assumption there, Ms. McKenna.”
Her face pales.
Damn.
I could’ve handled that better. The last thing I want to do is draw unwanted attention to my family situation, but what’s done is done.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry. What happened?” Brook tilts her head the way she does when she is being compassionate.
Truthfully, I’ve not given this part of my plan much thought. I thought wining and dining her, and keeping her busy with orgasms would be enough.
Why I underestimated her, I don’t know.
I don’t have a family, and I don’t like the idea of lying to her.
“Both dead.” I wipe my mouth with my napkin.
It’s not a lie. My mother died. My father is dead to me.
“That’s tragic. Were you young?” she gasps quietly.
“Yes.” I nod. “What about you?”
Brooklyn blinks, aware I’ve deflected, but she presses her lips together, allowing it, thinking it’s a painful subject.
It is, and it isn’t.
I barely remember my mother, and my father tortured and abused me.
“Dad is a doctor, as you know, and Mom is a professor at Columbia. Which was annoying when I was a student there.” She smiles.
“You didn’t follow in their footsteps?” I ask, keeping the conversation on her.
“If Dad had his way, I’d be working in a hospital right now.” She snorts out a dry laugh.
“Nurse Brooklyn. Sexy.”
“ Doctor McKenna, thank you very much.”
“So, you don’t like blood or...”
“I wanted to be a journalist. I’ve always been interested in getting to the heart of a story. To the truth.”
Good. I’m counting on it.
But I don’t want her digging too far into me and my new life. I’m not the story here—Leo Taylor is.
“What about your kids? Are they going to be doctors or professors? Lawyers?” I ask, and when her gaze darts away, I’m curious.
“Who says I’m having children?” She asks, and something tightens in my chest. I have no idea what the hell it’s about, but I’m gripped by a sadness I sense from her.
Is there a possibility she won’t be a mother? A health reason? The belief she never will?
If her father is a doctor, surely he’s spoken to her about all the things she can do. Even if it is on her own.
A growl inside my chest threatens to come out. I clench my napkin, blocking out the direction of my thoughts...and her sleeping with another man. Becoming pregnant.
Fuck.
What is wrong with me?
“Why wouldn’t you?” I ask, searching for a way to divert this topic.
“Not all women want to procreate.” She looks me right in the eye, challenging me.
Bullshit. There is no way Brook doesn’t want to be a mother. I don’t look away. I search for the truth as those globes swirl with emotion.
“What was his name?” I demand.
Some asshole hurt her, and I want to know who. And his fucking address.
Brooklyn shakes her head. “There’s no sad story here, Trav.” She’s started calling me Trav and while I normally fucking hate nicknames, I like it. “I just don’t think there’s some great love in my future or the possibility of having that man’s children.”
I lean across the table. “Bullshit.”
She jumps a little, taken aback by my reaction.
So the fuck am I.
“You’re thirty-one years old, not seventy-one.” I sit back, shaking my head. “You want to know how I became a fucking billionaire? Because I didn’t give up. I didn’t let anyone else dictate to me what I could and couldn’t do.”
She tosses her napkin onto her plate, looking mad.
“I’m sure it was more than that. Many people have determination and willpower. They aren’t uber wealthy. And I can’t make someone love me.”
Really?
Because you’re doing a fucking good job on me, sweetheart.