Tarnished Love by Bianca Borell
CHLOE
Why did I allow it? That kiss, his lips on mine. Six months later, I still pine for it. We clicked on the most basic level for one second, two people who fight the attraction, but it pushes them together. The clicking camera pulls me back, and I press my chest into the male model as we pose in our swimsuits. After we finish the shoot, we go out and celebrate. Alan and I end up kissing, and I drag him out of the pub. We stumble into my hotel room and crash onto the bed. When I blink awake, I reach for my phone and bolt out of bed when I see how late it is, leaving him sound asleep. After a quick shower, I pull on jeans and a shirt, gather my things, and rush to catch the plane back home.
Not long after I’ve entered my apartment, Anabelle rushes through the door, wearing a pencil skirt and a shirt, looking classy.
“Congratulations, hotel manager.”
“You’re back,” she squeals, and we embrace.
“It’s not every day you get such a promotion.”
I am happy for her, just one small tinge of jealousy sparks. I have always imagined having a stable home, a stable job. Instead I have different countries, fresh faces, new beds, and thousands of followers. But this is not a pity party for me.
“We’re going out tonight.”
Ah, time to drink to forget that my father forgot about my birthday, and my mother apologized but was at a beauty clinic paid for by her new lover, and it had to be on my twenty-third birthday. As for me, I spent it at a photo shoot, wearing a bikini top and a scrap of material to hide my pussy and afterwards in my hotel room with someone sliding in and out of me after too many drinks to count, to care. Enough to forget me, him, my life.
She plucks something out of her purse, and a tremor filled with emotions rocks me. She will always remember and Damien too. I peel the gift open and inside a bracelet hangs with a C dangling. I wrap my arms around her.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“Nonsense. You’re my best friend, and I got a raise.”
***
I pick a one-shoulder, silver sequin dress that hangs barely one inch below my bottom and paint my lips in the most vivid red I own.
“You look amazing,” she says, but she bites down on her lower lip in a “you’re so beautiful and I have self-confidence issues” way and it breaks my heart.
“You are beautiful too, Annabelle, your curves, your flawless skin, and most of all you are your own woman.”
“I guess.”
How I hate lack of self-confidence in women. We could conquer the universe, but instead we let the bullshit pick at us and deflate us.
I force her into a strapless black dress that hugs her slim waist and curvy bottom, and she smiles at her reflection. I drain a flute of champagne, and we stumble into a taxi. When we arrive, I note the mass of people and the pounding music and relax for the first time in days. I crane my head around and see Damien, hands tucked in his pockets, in the VIP section upstairs.
“It’s impossible for a guy to come close to looking as good as him.” Anabelle sighs, and I nod because I think the same almost every time I see him.
When I reach the top of the stairs, he pulls me into an embrace, and I clasp my hands around him. He stiffens but allows me this singular moment to forget that my life spirals out of control. The faces of some fellow models greet me, and I drain one glass after the other.
“Chloe, it’s late. I have to work tomorrow. Let’s go,” says Anabelle, but I shake my head, no. Tonight I want to pass out—not thinking, not feeling anymore.
“Just go. I’ll be fine. Damien is here.” Worry etches in her eyes, and after she hugs me, she walks to Damien, and he nods to whatever she says.
“Chloe, you’re not made for this kind of lifestyle,” Damien says when he plops down beside me.
In response, I snatch the bottle of champagne off the table and refill my glass. I would have slammed it on his head if he stopped me. He had dozens of meltdowns over Bria, now it’s my turn.
“Tomorrow, when you’re sober, we’re going to talk.” He rises and greets someone, and my hand trembles on the glass when Filip’s penetrating, flickering gold and green eyes meet mine. My pulse throbs in my neck, and I drain another glass. Why did he have to come?
“Chloe.”
“Prick.” He unbuttons his blazer and invades my personal space as he takes the seat next to me, and I roll my eyes at him.
“So, tonight’s plan is to get shitfaced?”
“You got me.” His eyebrows draw together in confusion. I guess I slurred so I am in phase one. If I become touchy, it is phase two. I never get to phase three and let something slip past my lips.
His intense gaze on me sears my skin. I bend and grab two ice cubes and slide them down my neck as I let the sudden cold wake me the fuck up. When they melt on my skin, I tilt my head and what I catch in his eyes has me squeezing my thighs together. My hands find his chest covered by an impeccable, soft, white dress shirt.
Phase two.
I shouldn’t drink anymore, but with his heart pounding under my palm, I forget everything.
“What is it about you?”
“I could ask you the same.” I am so over this push and pull between us. I release him and pick up the glass, but he takes it from me, and I fumble to get it back. It spills between us, and the bastard takes my hand and sucks on my fingers. I moan. Wait, there was something else, and his smirk pulls me out of my daze.
“Give me back my drink.”
“No.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He arches an eyebrow in response and leans back, expecting me to continue.
I snag the bottle, lift it to my lips, and take a gulp. I laugh as champagne rolls from the corners of my mouth, and he takes it away from me.
“Fuck.”
“I get whatever I want.”
“You will so fucking regret it tomorrow.”
“That’s tomorrow, Filip, tonight it feels great,” I confess, and he nods, as if he understands. As if the rich prick could ever understand abandonment issues, never being a priority to anyone. I sway my hips, my hands gliding from my hair to my body, and I get lost in the music. Damien catches me as I buckle forward.
“You’ve had enough.”
“No,” I whine, but his eyes burn with determination. Fine. On the way out of the club, his phone pings, and he swears under his breath.
“What is it?” asks Filip. Wait, why is the prick leaving alone? Half of the women in the bar stare at him and the other half at Damien. Yep, some ultra out of this world genes with these two.
“Your sister.” Still not Bria. Still not over her. I snort, and they both side-eye me. Fuck you both, I think, but zip my mouth closed.
“What does Bria want at this hour?” Filip’s voice drops to concern, and Damien’s eyebrows furrow at his phone.
“She’s not happy that we don’t have a corporate day care center and assures me if we created one, we would see the positive impact on the employees and their productivity.”
“Ah, good.” He relaxes, and I swear my inebriated heart relaxes too.
He eyes me as if he can’t decide what to do.
“Just go.” Please, let me have my dignity. We all know he will choose the work she wants him to do on a Friday night instead of driving me home. “I’ll take a cab.”
“No,” both deadpan, and Filip locks his hands around his neck and says, “I’ll drive her home.”
“No,” I shout, and he pierces me with a heated look.
“I will.”
“Filip. Chloe, I have to take care of this.” I don’t let the queen demands your attention slip. He storms off while I stare back at the black town car that whisks him away, because yes, he has a driver ready at a swipe of his thumb.
“Come on, Chloe, let’s get your drunk ass home.” I intend to march up to him and poke the fuck out of his chest when I forget my body and brain are in a fight. I stumble forward, free falling. I don’t faceplant on the cement but onto something just as hard: his chest.
“Okay, honey. I’ll carry you.”
“Don’t call me that,” I mumble as he throws me over his shoulder. I forget the nausea bubbling in my stomach when I glance at his round firm backside. I squeeze it, he stops, and giggles erupt.
“You’re an ass, but that ass of yours . . .”
He slides me down his body, and the sensations ripple through me.
“How I’d love to fuck you until that mouth of yours is too raw to tease me.” I gulp as he yanks the door open and pushes me inside his BMW. I land on my hands and knees.
“Now, this is a sight.” I snap up my head at him, and he lifts his arms in surrender. As I settle into the passenger seat, he rounds the car and hops in the driver’s seat.
Once we’re moving, my thoughts settle on Filip. When he holds me or touches me something good happens, and it doesn’t hurt. A tear rolls down my face and the stupid ass misreads what caused my emotional distress.
“He will always pick her, Chloe.”
I pull my legs to my chin and wrap my hands around them.
“But why?” I whisper more to myself, to understand him better, my best friend and the only man in my life.
“It has always been her. Since they were kids, and then it all went down.”
“This is why . . . ?”
“Why what?”
“You’re afraid to get hurt.”
“Love always hurts.”
Especially the unrequited one, I sigh, and he asks, “Ever been in love, Chloe?”
“No.”
“Hope it stays that way.”
“Not all love stories end in tragedy.”
“I don’t want to find out.”
I peer around, taking in the spotless interior, cream leather seats, his lingering scent—earthy, intense, him—driving my hormones crazy. Pretty rich boy. His eyes with flickers of green find mine, and he smiles, melting me. Why do I have to react like this with him? I close my eyes as the engine purrs to life, and it lulls me to sleep.
