Layers: Book One (27 page)

I laugh to myself.
Great rhyme Marco
.

“Well I wish it would hurry the hell up. It’s starting to burn around the asshole area. I guess I should have listened to the spa lady and waxed after the goo.”

“Well, I don’t know if you had much of a choice with all that…hair going on down there” Jules spouts.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Like hell it wasn’t. I told you at the Ryan estate a couple of weeks ago you needed to wax. I hope you didn’t let Jaxson go down on that mess.”

“Well…”

“Good, God,” she huffs.

“He never complained.”

“Believe me he wanted to. No guy likes hairy pussy mouth.”

“Right Marco?” Jules asks.

“Some guys like hairy pussy.”

“How would you know, you’re a gaywad.”

“You asked.”

“Yes I did—clearly a mistake.”

“I kept my frontal region shaved. But the middle and back regions. No way. Been there—done that—never again. There is nothing worse than having razor rash between the cheeks.”

“Well, you’re right about that girlfriend” Jules adds.

“Yes there is” Marco pouts. “And it’s happening at this very moment. I have a goo hair up my ass and it’s driving me crazy.”

“A goo hair?” Jules questions.

“A hair covered in goo” Marco and I respond in unison. We laugh.

“You two freakin’—freak me out.”

“Try wiggling your ass,” I say.

“No, flex your cheeks, then do several Kegels” Jules says.

He moves his ass around.

“Any luck?” I ask.

“No… still there.”

I try to turn over. “I’d pull it out if I could reach your ass. They have us so tightly bound it’s hard to breathe.”

“See if you can flip to your side or back” Jules instructs.

“Yeah, right. I’d like to see you do that girlfriend,” He says.

“Well, it can’t be any worse than having a hair up your vagina.”

“You got me there, Jules. Having no vagina and all that” he grumbles.

“I’ve had hairs up my vagina. No biggie I just pulled them out.”

“If you can reach it. I’m talking about hairs way up.”

“How would you even know it was there?”

“Believe me Lex, you’d know. I had one that drove me friggin’ nuts. It felt like an ant was crawling around in there.”

“That sounds awful!” I huff.

“It was insane. I tried everything to get it out. I tried washing it out with a hand shower, douching, dislodging it with a dildo… Nothing worked so I made an appointment with my OBGYN. She couldn’t find anything. She thought I was fucking crazy. She wrote me a prescription for anxiety medication and a referral to a psychiatrist. I thought hell—maybe I am going nuts.

“So I tried to ignore it, but fuck me. I knew something was up there. I was so desperate that I called Carl Clark.”

“Twelve-inch Carl?” I ask.

“Yeah, that Carl.”

“Jules?” Marco asks. “Isn’t he the guy that asked you to marry him and you told him you only went out with him because he had a huge cock?”

“Yeah, he’s the one. He’s not popular with the ladies because of his stellar looks and personality. At least I told him the truth.”

“Yeah, after you fucked him for months,” I add.

“Hey, I gave you his cell number. I was more than willing to share.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. So you called him because…?”

“I was hoping that his twelve plus inches and a load of lube would dislodge the hair.”

“And he agreed to help?” Marco smirks.

“He was more than happy to help. But after two days and countless orgasms, all I got was a UTI.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What happened next?” I ask because I’m just a stupid idiot. And Lord help me, I want to know.

“Well, I had to get an antibiotic for my UTI but there was no way I was going to go back to my OBGYN. So I asked Carrie, my PA, to set me up with her doctor. So I go see her and I tell her my story. I even dropped Carl’s name thinking I’d owed him for his effort. But she knew all about Carl and his twelve plus inches. Nice dick—no personality. So anyway, she tells me about this new magnifying scope that the office just got in. I made an appointment for the next day and she looks up there, and finds two five inch hairs growing from my vaginal wall.”

“Oh my hell,” I say.

“She pulled those suckers out, and I was good as new.”

“My God Jules, I’d never believe that story if it had happened to anyone other than you.”

“Yeah, all the good stuff happens to me.” She pouts.

The next day Marco and Henry drop me off at the airport.

Henry hugs and kisses me then gives Marco and me a minute.

“Princess” Marco says as he hugs me.

And, yes, you guessed it…I’m crying like a crazy idiot.

“I love you. Go settle things and come back to us.”

“You know that as soon as I step into the corporate jet my life will no longer be mine. I’ll have to move to London.”

“So then you’ll send us your jet and Henry and I will be there in a few hours.”

“Promise.”

“Promise, princess.”

“Alexia, you have challenged, angered and disappointed me more than anyone in my life.”

Gram, I’m sorry that I’m such a disappointment.”

“Alexia please let me finish. In return I‘ve been controlling, demanding, and unfair. You’ve always told me that you’re not like me and that you can’t ever be like me. For years I took this as an insult. But in the last few I’ve realized that you’re better that I am or could ever be.”

“Gram, that’s not true.”

“No. Let me finish. When your grandfather died I wasn’t prepared for the enormity of heading a billion-dollar corporation. I didn’t know shit about the business world. But I had no choice because a Grant or guardian must take the helm.

“I’ve never really understood the heir laws. They’ve always seemed medieval,” I add.

“They are what they are, my dear. I don’t really understand all of them either, but like I’ve said many times before, they can’t be broken. It would be like rewriting America’s Constitution. It can’t be done. A direct decedent must inherit. And if the heir isn’t of age, then in can be held in guardianship for twenty years. I held guardianship three years for your father, and twelve for you. I’ve held it for you Alexia, because you’re the future of Grant International. You’re my legacy.”

“Gram, I’m not. I just…I can’t.”

“I know my dear. I know you’re not ready. I can only hold guardianship for five more years, so this is what I propose. I will give you up to five years to get your head and life straight. Five years to live on your own and not be you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you can take a timeout from being Alexia Grant. You’ve been saying to me for years that you don’t want to be you, so this is your opportunity.”

“Like an alter ego?”

“Yes. You can go anywhere and do anything you want with a few stipulations.”

“Okay, what are the stipulations?

“You will have limited access to your funds. I’d like you to be as independent as possible. If you choose to become someone else, you become that person. You can’t be both, so you tell no one. You’ve often told me you’d like to go back and live in New York. And I know you’ve missed Marco and Jules since they moved back there. So of course they would have to know… but no one else.”

“I think that’s do-able. I don’t really have any other connections there; it would be a good choice. What else?”

“You must live a low profile life. Stay out of the spotlight and away from the press. If the press were to find out about your alter ego the fallout could be substantial. Alexia, I’m not kidding about this. You need to stay out of trouble and keep out of relationships and situations that could draw attention to you. You will also have to make an occasional trip to London to keep any possible rumors squelched—I’ll keep the wolves at bay.”

“Any other stipulations?”

“I will not interfere in your life unless it’s warranted. I will not travel to New York, but insist that we keep in touch—holidays etc. One final stipulation—if I give you five years—you give me five years as CEO. If, at the end of these five years you feel unable to continue, then we’ll come up with another plan.

So, my dear, when you’re ready to take over, send for the corporate jet.

Once you step on the plane you will be Alisa Alexia Lizbet Marie Grant––Grant heir and CEO of Grant International. There will be no going back.

Okay, so now you know that I’m a freakin’ heiress and hell yeah, it’s freakin’ crazy mad. Me. Alisa Alexia Lizbet Marie Grant—the future of an international conglomerate—known as Grant International.

What? My name? I know sick—bad—not good. Who in the hell gives their kid five initials? I was born in the 1980s not the 1880s for Christ’s sakes.

Are you still with me? Great. Let’s continue. So why did Gram give me a time out? Why did I become Alexia Keith? Let’s start at the beginning. It’s not easy being an heiress. I know what you’re thinking or saying to yourself—because I’ve heard it all before.

Poor baby—so much money—so little time. You think you have problems bitch—you don’t know shit. We have the same problem—where should we holiday—the villa in France, the chalet in Switzerland, or the private Island in the Caribbean? Oh dear—such a quandary.

You know what I say to that. We all shit from the same hole—bitch.

I don’t expect anyone to feel sorry for me. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m just telling my story. Growing up can be a challenge—for anyone.

Throw in weird, awkward, shy, geeky, girl. Add endless press and paparazzi. Toss in pre-determined expectations and responsibilities. Mix in manipulative, deceitful, abusive friends. Lob in loss of parents and a kid brother. Shove in a grandmother that fucking drives you nuts, and you can never ever seem to please. Put it all into a blender—what do you get? Well, you don’t get a frozen daiquiri, my friend. You get one
messed-up kid.

And as the kid grew—her mess grew. So, at the age of twenty her mess took her over. She lost it, went off the deep end, crashed and burned. Ended up in a private mental facility in Wales. In other words—I went fucking crazy and was checked into a nut house.

After months of mental rehabilitation (coloring and building houses out of Popsicle sticks) I knew three things.

One: I hated my life and most everyone in it.

Two: I wasn’t ready to take on my inherited responsibilities.

Three: I needed a break from my life—an intermission—a timeout. I knew that if I didn’t make some changes in my life—I wasn’t going to make it. So, there you have it, the reason I became Alexia Keith.

London City Airport, London England.

“Sorry, dear, I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No, not too long,” I say, as I kiss my Gram and climb into her Rover.

“Hey, Stewart, how are you?” I ask my Gram’s long time driver and best friend.

Stewart happens to be in love with Gram and they’ve been on-again, off again lovers, but Gram has a thing for younger men.

“Brilliant, lass. Good to have you home.”
Yeah, fucking brilliant!

“You look tired and thin.”

And the bashing begins.
“Nice to see you too, Gram.”

“Don’t be smart with me, Alexia. I can tell that you’ve lost weight.”

“I told you that I’ve had a stomach virus or something.”

“What did you think of your new jet?”

“It was new?” Okay, I knew it was new. I just like yanking her chain
.
Lord knows she yanks mine.

Gram rolls her eyes at me.

“So where am I staying?”

“With me until we get your place remodeled.”

We? Yeah, right.

“Gram, my house doesn’t need remodeling.”

“I think it does.”

There is no arguing with Gram. Even if you’re brave enough to try—it doesn’t freakin’ matter, she always gets her way.

She gives me a once over. “Are you wearing a padded bra?”

“What?”

“Your tatas look…larger.”

“Gram, please. Can you wait a few hours before you start picking me apart?”

“I’m not picking you apart. I’m making an observation.”

She turns and squeezes my right breast.