Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) (26 page)

“It’s good to see you again, Paul.” Bradley’s familiar voice from somewhere over my shoulder caught my attention. I smiled, admiring the confident, sexy way he spoke.

“Likewise, Emerson! I’ve been dying to speak to you. Are the rumors true?”

I would have turned around to look for him, but the question in a strong English accent had me pause.

“You know what they say about rumors, Paul: they’re carried by haters, spread by fools, and accepted by idiots.” That was received with a full bellied laugh.

“So, you aren’t shacked up with the porn star, Wiska James.”

And now they had my full, rapt attention.

“Yeah, I heard where Kasper failed, you nailed it. You’re wining and dining this sexy skin-flick chick straight from your bed and into Brutal Babes.”

My heart suddenly flipped, and for all the wrong reasons. My stomach lurched, and I pressed a shaking hand to it.

“It appears someone can’t keep their mouth shut,” Bradley growled.

Oh, my god, he didn’t even deny it. I took a few staggering steps forward, and soon those clumsy movements were fluid and fast as I wound my way through the crowd, my eyes glued to the big doors at the end of the room. Once I reached them, I panicked, not quite sure which way Bradley and I had entered from.

“Miss, can I be of assistance?” asked a young woman, dressed in a uniform not dissimilar from the servers inside the ballroom.

“How do I get out of here?” I asked, my voice shaky, barely recognizable to myself.

“Just head down the hall here, pass the staircase, and you’ll see the entrance directly in front of you.”

“Thank you,” I somehow managed to squeeze out.

The elegant decor that had held my attention when we entered was now lost to panic and shock. I staggered into the cool night air with relief. I’d barely been able to breathe inside, and now I found a modicum of peace in the fresh air that filled my lungs. I clung to the side of the building for a moment, my mind a whirl of messy confusion. While one part of me refused to believe Bradley’s entire effort to romance me was a charade, the other part of me, the part already betrayed by another man so recently, kicked in. This hurt was a million times more painful than what happened with Kasper, though. All Kasper had managed to do was damage my pride. Bradley had damaged something much more valuable—my heart.

“Wiska?” came a familiar voice.

I looked up into the concerned eyes of Aedan.

“Can you take me back to the apartment?” I asked, my throat tight with emotion.

“Where’s Emerson, love?”

“Please, Aedan, otherwise, I’ll hail a cab, or walk.” I glanced around the driveway, which was virtually free of traffic, the Lexus we had rode in parked to one side.

“Shall I get Emerson first?” he asked cautiously.

“No, I need to go, right now, please, Aedan,” I begged, a tear finally slipping free and tumbling down my cheek.

“Oh, love, you’re gonna break my heart.”

He reached for my arm and gently led me to the car, opening the back door and closing it with a quiet click as soon as I was seated. Another tear slipped free, followed by another, and another. Once the car was moving, Aedan cast a worried frown in my direction through the rearview mirror.

“Did Emerson do something to upset you, love?”

I managed a despondent nod.

“Is there anything I can do? Someone I can call?”

The tears were falling in a steady cadence now, and I rubbed my chest in an effort to relieve the pain that seemed buried deep beneath the skin there.

“Just get me back to his apartment so I can get Casey and leave.”

I just wanted to go home. I wanted my things, I wanted my bed, I wanted my fluffy slippers and comfy pajamas. I wanted to curl into a ball on my couch and cry so hard until I puked. I wanted my own toilet bowl to puke in. But most of all, I wanted to be numb to this pain that was crushing me with ruthless force.

Bradley

My brow furrowed as I looked over the crowd once more. Wiska had been gone a while now, far longer than your average bathroom break should take. My body still throbbed with anger over the conversation with Paul and his associate, Reece. Their assumption that I was bedding Wiska on the premise of wooing her over to Brutal Babes had made me feel ill. Someone most definitely couldn’t keep their mouth shut, and from that mouth spilled lies and deceit. I tried to find out where Paul had heard the rumor, but as soon as he noticed my anger, he became awfully quiet for someone who’d been only too eager to talk moments ago. They wouldn’t be speaking of Wiska so callously again, though, certainly not in front of me. I might not have fists that can fly, but I sure as shit had a tongue that can cut down the tallest ego in less than five seconds flat. My verbal assault had Paul wincing more than twice. I found myself wondering if it was worth taking some lessons on how to throw a punch just so I could feel the satisfaction of his nose breaking under my fist. I tried to unclench those fists now as I searched for Wiska.

“Excuse me, do you remember the date I came through here with a short while ago?” I asked the staff member stationed at the entrance to the ballroom. “Blonde hair, blue backless dress.”

Her eyes lit up, and she nodded quickly. “Oh yes, she came through here about twenty minutes ago. She was looking for the exit.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my thoughts lost to confusion and concern as I made my way toward the castle entrance.

“She didn’t look well, sir. She seemed pretty upset,” the staff member added.

I nodded, my worry increasing as I navigated the long hall and foyer. Racing through the open doors, I expected to see Wiska waiting for me, but the driveway was empty, and nothing but cars appeared to sit in the small adjoining parking lot. Pulling my cell phone from my back pocket, I tried to call her. It didn’t even ring, just went straight to voicemail.

Frustrated, I looked around for Aedan and the Lexus, and found them both missing. Getting more confused and more worried by the minute, I called Aedan.

“Mr. Emerson,” he answered in a somber voice.

“Aedan, where are you? Have you seen Wiska? I can’t find her, and I’m worried.”

He let out a long sigh. “I have her, sir. She came out of the manor somewhat upset, asked me to take her back to the apartment, and I pulled up here not long ago. I’m waiting in the car for her and her friend Casey.”

“What the fuck’s going on, Aedan?” I growled as I raced down the steps two at a time. I approached a waiting cab sitting on one side of the driveway, the driver leaning against the front door having a smoke.

“I’m not sure. She was awfully upset, and apparently, you put those tears on her face.”

It was said as an accusation, and it brought me up short, literally. I was standing frozen not ten feet from the cab, the driver looking at me expectantly.

“She was crying?”

“That she was, Mr. Emerson.”

“What the fuck happened? She went to the bathroom, and that was the last I saw of her.”

“I’m not sure. She’s not willin’ to talk to me about it, but I’ll give you this—she’s packing her belongings right this minute. If you want a chance to find out where you fucked up, I’d suggest you get yourself a cab and get home. I’ll try and stall ’em, but I’m guessing she’s going to be ready to leave ASAP.”

I practically threw myself into the back of the cab, and the driver sat in front of the steering wheel calmly and far too slowly.

“If you can get me to Hyde Park in less than fifteen minutes, I’ll give you a one thousand pound tip.”

The driver gave me a disbelieving look, and we fell into a frustrating stare-off.

“Two thousand pounds, and now you have fourteen minutes.”

He revved the engine, threw it into gear, and did an impressive, noisy skid on the asphalt before the car lurched off in the direction of my apartment.

The roads were blissfully clear, the scenery whizzing past me in a blur as Abram, my Russian driver, navigated London like a seasoned professional. I didn’t care one bit about the two thousand pounds I was going to have to pay; I was just grateful he was driving like a maniac. I directed him to my street and saw Aedan’s Lexus parked outside my home. The car was running, and the parking lights were on.

“Give me five,” I said as I jumped from the vehicle before it had come to a complete stop.

Racing towards the Lexus, I didn’t notice Casey come at me from the side. One minute I was running for Wiska, her blonde hair clearly evident in the back window of the Lexus, and the next minute I was being slammed up against the brick wall.

“I warned you,” Casey growled, and I barely recognized the raging man. He looked pissed, he sounded pissed, and it was clearly evident I was the reason for it. “I told you if you hurt her, I’d destroy you.” I went to speak, and Casey shoved an angry, shaking finger in my face. “Don’t, don’t speak, don’t breathe, and definitely don’t look at her. She’s nothing but a memory, one I hope haunts you until your dying day. Stay away, Emerson,” he spat, shoving me hard against the wall while he climbed into the backseat.

I was dumbfounded, completely shocked by Casey’s anger and utterly bewildered by Wiska’s dismissal of me. I had no idea what I had done to warrant their behavior, and my mind spun with disbelief. I watched the car drive off, and with it, they took my heart.

“You paying that two thousand cash or card, Mister?” Abram called out, and I barely heard him over the thunder that beat in my ears.

What had I done? And worse yet, what had I lost?

*

Time had little meaning when you were chemically inconvenienced by your best friend Pappy Van Winkle. The bottle of whiskey stared at me from my coffee table, almost daring me not to drink it. I shrugged and reached for it. I’d already drunk half; it would be a crime not to finish it.

My apartment was dark, the blinds were drawn, and all the lights were out except for the lamp in the corner. It had been lit when I walked into the place two weeks ago, right after Wiska drove off into the night like a scorned lover, and I hadn’t bothered to turn it off since. I hadn’t moved anything. My bed was still a rumpled mess from when I’d last made love to her. I’d been sleeping on the couch, unable to stand the scent of her that clung to my sheets.

I’d stumbled out for food once and alcohol a few more times. Floyd had very carefully navigated my drunken ass back to my apartment door yesterday when I decided to drink my Pappy on the cab ride home.

I hadn’t bothered to call Aedan; he wasn’t answering my calls, anyway. No one was; not Wiska, not Casey, not Lionel, not Decker, not even fucking Andi. Ridiculous thing was, I had no idea why. So why bother, right? Why not drown my misery in a bottle of fucking whiskey and enjoy the peaceful numbness it gifted me with. Anger then began to brew.

This was the pattern I had been living for two weeks. Dejected self-loathing and misery lasted until about the halfway mark of the Pappy bottle, then anger set in. If I was going to be in misery, I deserved to know why, at the very fucking least. I took another long drink from the bottle. If the past two weeks were anything to go by, I’d reach the bottom and pass out, sleep twelve hours, wake up, vomit, eat, then start drinking all over again. Fucking perfect.

I glanced at the closed blinds and immediately hated them. Wiska wanted them closed because of her fear of heights. Well, she wasn’t here anymore, so I could open the fucking things.

I stood up and swayed. Using the back of the sofa to find my balance, I staggered over to the window and pulled the blinds back so fast I was surprised they didn’t tear from their tracking. My forehead hit the glass window with a heavy thump, and I admired the view from my balcony. I snorted. You couldn’t really call it a balcony, it was more like a ledge for pigeons to shit on.

When I turned, my foot caught the rug and Pappy Van Winkle made sure I tumbled right onto my drunken ass. I allowed my body to slump to the floor and hoped the world would stop spinning now that I was lying down. It didn’t.

I recalled the first day Wiska had spent in London, in this very apartment, flat out on her ass just like this, minus the Pappy. I’d been watching her dance around the living room for a good five minutes before she fell over in an ungraceful heap. It had taken every memory of my mom and grandma to convince my hard-on to back the fuck off as I watched her. She had been so beautiful. I’d been mesmerized by the sight of her, like a fucking fairy moving around the room with such youthful energy. I shook my head in an effort to dislodge the memory. The memories hurt and the thought of my future hurt more.

I was supposed to be moving in two days; the movers were arriving tomorrow to start packing. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had an office ready for me in New York, but no girlfriend, no home, and apparently, no friends. I had originally planned to rent an apartment somewhere close to Wiska, but I had no idea where she lived, and at the moment, I think she would shoot me on sight, for god knows what reason.

“Idiot,” I slurred. “She’s a porn star. Probably was just using you for your fine ass body.”

I’d googled her, and god how I wished I could erase the images from my mind. That fucker Google had so many pictures of my woman, and the videos, fuck, they’d made me puke. I could appreciate it was top grade HD porn, but seeing her with another man, and woman, fired an anger in me that was a little scary. Then I’d sat down with Pappy, poured my heart out to him while he poured his whiskey out to me, and I’d found that numb place I loved so much.

A gentle vibrating noise caught my attention, and I found my cell phone laying on the floor beside the sofa. I rolled towards it and checked the screen.

“I’ll be fucked.”

I swiped the screen, and it opened on the third attempt. I lifted the device to my ear and opened my mouth to speak.

“You motherfucking, dumb as shit prick,” was spat in the earpiece by one familiar and currently disliked voice.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Emerson is currently not here right now, and he’s not taking messages, so fuck you.” I tried not to slur. I truly did.

“You dumb shit, you’re hanging with Pappy, aren’t you?” Decker sighed.

“Nope,” I managed.

“Fuck me, Bradley, what the hell did you go and do this for?”

“Hang with Pappy?” I garbled.

“Andi’s been with Wiska. She told her what you did.”

“She did? Fucking awesome, so enlighten me.”

“You were fucking her for your boss. YOU’RE WORKING FOR WILLIE FUCKING BIANCO?” Decker screamed into the phone.

“Ummm, nope, and as of late last night, when I told him to fuck off, probably nope on that count, too.”

“So, you weren’t fucking Wiska in an effort to lure her to Brutal Babes? And you got fired from the fucking mob? Is that even possible? Will you wake up beside a decapitated horse head?”

“I wasn’t fucking Wiska. We were making love!” I snapped. “That sounded gay, didn’t it?” I then said sulkily.

“No, bro, Casey would never use the term ‘making love’. You’re in love with her?” He sounded incredulous.

“Was,” I murmured. “She fucked off and left me, so I’m trying hard not to be. I think I’ve gone from E to V, or maybe I’m stuck somewhere in the middle.”

Decker sighed, again. “Bro, I have no idea what you are talking about. I can’t believe you work for the mob, and you never told me. What do you do for them, anyway?”

“Financial advisor.”

“You launder their money?”

“Fuck no,” I said defensively and tried to sit up; however, it seemed my apartment was presently at a forty five degree angle, and I slid right back down. “The money is already laundered when I get it.”

Decker laughed. “You cock. I’m gonna beat some sense into you when I see you next. I’m looking for flights right now.”

“Sweet, I’ll wave as I pass you by on my trip to the US.”

“You’re coming home?”

“Yup, I had plans to spend the rest of my life with this sweet little porn star, with a rack . . . shit, that rack is the stuff of dreams, and that ass . . . I cock slapped that fine ass.”

“Hold up, you cock-slapped her? For real?” Decker chuckled.

“Uh huh.” The memory immediately made me antsy. I tried to stand up again and failed. Vlad tried to stand up for the memory, too, but apparently, he was also drunk.

“So, she has a hot body. I’m sure London is full of women with great racks and tight asses.”

I practically growled at Decker’s arrogant, blasé impression of Wiska. It offended my heart and ears to hear him discredit the woman so easily.

“She’s not just a piece of ass. She’s smart; she’s funny; she’s kinda crazy; and I want her back. I want the woman that dances on a pole like a stripper queen, the one whose laugh sounds like fucking bells or some shit, the one who lights up a room as soon as she enters it back. I want my fucking pussycat back.” It was a well delivered tirade considering how slurred the words came out.

“Then, dude, you need to put Pappy down and get your head straight. When did you get a cat?”

“’Bout nine weeks ago.” I sulked.

“Okay, sober the fuck up, pull your head out of your ass, and get home so you can sort this shit out and grow old with a woman rather than your hand.”