Exposed: A British Bad Boy Romance Page 4

  “SHUT UP!” Alisha screeches.

  I wince and cover my ears, “Jesus, we’re not at a Bieber concert, no need to rupture my eardrums, Al.” For a moment, all I hear over her excited squeals is an incessant ringing.

  She’s nearly hyperventilating, still saying ‘oh my god, oh my god, shut up, oh my god’ over and over before she finally gets a grip and actually looks angry at me.

  “How long have you been holding out on me?”

  “What?”

  “Suze. This is HUGE. How could you not tell me right away? Is he as hot in person? I bet he’s even hotter. Holy shit, Suze. I’m so freaking jealous.”

  I groan again and can’t even bare to look at her, the excitement shining in her face is like looking into the sun — it burns.

  “You’re not getting it. He’s a complete asshole. He refuses to sit for the interview and says he doesn’t give a shit how he comes off looking in the article. I mean, how am I supposed to work with that?”

  “With your clothes off, on your back?” She nudges me with her elbow, her eyebrows waggling suggestively.

  “Ew. He’s not even that attractive.”

  He so is. Liar.

  Alisha purses her lips and crosses her arms, leveling a look at me that I know means she ain’t buying any of my shit, “Uh huh. Let’s just pull up a little image search of Chef Wild, shall we?” She pulls out her phone and types his name into the search bar.

  Suddenly I’m bombarded with images of Jasper’s smiling face, his rippling abs, those rock hard pecs.

  Damn it.

  “Oooh, this is a nice one,” Alisha says, clicking on an image of Jasper in an unbuttoned Chef coat, his glorious inked body on display.

  “That must be an older picture, he has more tattoos now,” I say, clapping a hand over my mouth in an instant.

  “Wha—… Oh. My. GOD! You’ve seen him naked, haven’t you? You dirty girl!”

  I feel my face burn and I know she’s reading way more into this than she should.

  “God, no. Al. Gross. This is work. I went to his hotel room—”

  “Bow chicka bow wow,” she sings, dancing in her seat. I roll my eyes.

  “God, you’re as bad as he is. No. Nothing happened. He’d just woken up and was in his… boxers,” I say, cringing, waiting for another squeal, but it doesn’t come.

  Alisha sucks her smoothie through a neon straw and folds her legs underneath her on the barstool, “First of all, nothing about this man is gross. Second of all, you need to get a piece of that.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but she soldiers on with a shushing hand gesture, “Third, don’t ever keep something this juicy from me again. Deal?”

  “Al, you don’t—”

  “Uh-buh-bup,” she says, “Deal?”

  I sigh, “Okay, but—”

  She arches an eyebrow at me and my objections fall flat.

  “He’s a womanizer. A jerk, crude and disgusting. I couldn’t… I just… no.”

  Now she’s rolling her eyes at me, “I’m not saying you need to get hitched and run off to the suburbs with a fucking Prius and a labradoodle. Jesus, Suze, just get laid. Have a little fun. I’m sure you can get him to open up that way, yeah?” She elbows me again, looking all too pleased with herself.

  I frown, but I have to admit, the thought is enticing. But… no. That would be entirely unprofessional and I’m not exactly eager to be another notch on Jasper Wild’s bedpost, no matter how sexy he is.

  Alisha studies me and then gasps, a huge grin splitting her face, “He flirted with you, didn’t he?” Her finger jabs my arm and I duck away, trying to hide the fresh flush that’s going to give me away.

  “I’m pretty sure he flirts with everyone,” I say, despite the little smile tugging at my lips.

  “Mhm,” Al says, reading me too well.

  “Well, I still have five miles to get in before work,” she says, popping off her seat, just beaming, “You’ll have to let me know how things go with the Wildman.” She smirks as she slips an earbud into her ear.

  “Al, I’m not gonna… That’s not…” but she’s already got the other earbud in and is just making that ‘yadda yadda’ hand gesture that always reminds me of a snapping turtle.

  “Have fuuuuuuun,” she sings a little too loudly on her way out the door.

  Part of me wants to crawl back into bed and keep feeling sorry for myself. The other part wants to punch Jasper Wild in his smug stupid face.

  Even if it is a particularly ruggedly handsome face. Even if I’m trying not to imagine his lips pressed against mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth, the stubble on his jaw rubbing against my cheek…

  Bzzzz.

  Thankfully, my phone distracts me from that disastrous train of thought and I see the text from Marcel.

  JW photo shoot today. 30 mins. Be there!!!!

  JW?

  Oh. Duh.

  I fire back a quick text, thanking him for the tip, without knowing if I’m actually going to go or not.

  He may not expect me to be there, so I could have the element of surprise on my side.

  On the other hand, following him around everywhere he goes is probably exactly what he wants.

  I look at Marcel’s text again. Four exclamation points is probably pretty serious.

  “Fine,” I grumble to no one, tossing my dirty dishes in the sink before I slink off to the bathroom to get myself presentable.

  I’m not putting any extra effort into my appearance. I certainly won’t be doing anything special with my wardrobe for him.

  Yep. Reeeeeeal convincing Susie.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jasper

  “Is all of this really necessary?” I grumble towards Elliot who’s standing off set to my left. He looks somewhat bemused as a half dozen strangers paw at me to unbutton my coat, adjust my make-up and muss my hair.

  “Yes, for the tenth time, it is,” he chuckles.

  Well, I’m glad someone finds it fucking funny.

  Meanwhile, I’m in front of a green screen being treated like a life-sized Ken doll. This definitely falls under the category of ‘things I really despise about this fucking job’.

  Photo shoots for chefs. Who’s ever even heard of such a thing? When I started out, chefs stayed in the fucking kitchen where they belonged with their tattoos, foul language, and drugs.

  But now, all of that is hot. It plays into this whole ‘bad boy’ image Elliot and the tabloids have concocted over the years.

  Don’t get me wrong — fame isn’t all bad. Getting the royal treatment everywhere I go is nice. Never having to do more than crook my finger at a woman before she’s crawling on her knees to me is certainly a perk. The paycheck and the swank flats aren’t bad either.

  But this. Being an animal on display for the masses… It’s pretty shit, really.

  One of the stage hands reaches for my belt and starts pulling at my pants.

  “Whoa, there, tiger. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I don’t play for that team,” I tell him, shoving his hands away from my waistband.

  He gives me this exasperated eyeroll and huffs in annoyance as he looks at Elliot and gestures to me without a word.

  What the fuck?

  Elliot brushes through the handful of people primping me and the set, the crew members shining hot lights down on us, and the photographer who’s barking demands at everyone.

  “What’s the problem?” Elliot asks, as if I’m a toddler throwing a tantrum, not a grown ass man being left out of the conversation.

  “Did I miss the memo about this being a nude shoot?” I joke.

  Elliot’s face is stony — he’s not amused; “Really, Jasper. I thought we had an understanding. This is for your career. You know I won’t steer you wrong, don’t you? Veronica du Mont is the hottest photog out there. You think you’re big now, just wait until she’s done with you, okay? Stop playing the diva and make all our lives easier.”

  I’ve never actually been spoken to like this…
by anyone — certainly not by Elliot. I don’t even have a response I’m so taken aback by it and the stagehand takes that as consent for ripping my pants off.

  “Clear the set!” Veronica yells.

  The people all around me disperse and I’m left in the middle of the set — a nice display of produce and cutlery on butcher block — holding my hands in front of my crotch for some semblance of modesty. I’m not exactly ashamed of my body, but it’s one thing to be confident and another entirely to be naked in front of fifty strangers.

  A door on the far side of the set opens, letting in a stream of sunlight and all the sounds of the city street.

  The photographer couldn’t care less, she’s got her camera around her neck and she’s fussing and fiddling with props and filters until she’s satisfied. Her glossy chestnut hair is pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head and the liner around her blue eyes really make them pop.

  And I’ve never been one to complain about a chick in yoga pants.

  But even though the bossy photographer ticks all the boxes and clearly wanted to get me naked, I’m just not that into it.

  She’s positioning me right where she wants me, trying out a variety of phallic food objects for me to hold in front of my crotch because somehow that’s considered ‘art’. Out of the corner of my eye I look for Elliot, wanting to confirm — yes, again — if this is all really necessary, when I spot him talking to someone.

  Not just anyone, either. Her honey curls are pulled up today and she’s wearing this tight little pencil skirt that has me doing a double-take.

  “Look this way, please,” Veronica says, grabbing my chin and twisting my head.

  What is Suzette doing here?

  I try to turn my head again, but Veronica’s grip is like a steel trap.

  Behind me, a crowd has gathered to ogle my bare ass and I’m losing my patience fast.

  Mercifully, Elliot ushers people away and makes sure no one’s sneaking fucking mobile pictures and before long, Veronica seems satisfied with the shots she’s gotten.

  I’m slipping back into a pair of shorts away from the prying eyes of the crew when the photographer approaches me, cocking a hip against the faux-butcher block counter on the set.

  “Not too bad, Wild,” she says with mischief twinkling in her eyes.

  “You know, I’d love to work with you again sometime. Maybe something more editorial?”

  There’s only inches between us and before I can ask ‘What’s more editorial than a cucumber for a dick?’ I realize she’s talking about us fucking.

  Normally I’d be all over that, but then I hear Susie laugh at something Elliot says and the thought of being left out burns me like a branding iron.

  “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not that much of a narcissist,” I say, holding up a finger to halt Veronica’s encroachment, “If you’ll excuse me.”

  She purses her lips in a pout that isn’t near as sexy as Susie’s and I walk away before she can stop me.

  “Liar,” Suzette appears at my side, grinning like the cat that ate a whole fucking flock of canaries.

  “Beg pardon?”

  She rolls her eyes, “That you’re not a narcissist? You totally are.”

  She fails to notice the steel beam behind her or how easy it is for me to close the distance between us and make her squirm against it.

  “And you’re a little too nosy for your own good,” I husk in her ear, watching with delight as her eyes darken with lust for just a moment before she shakes it off.

  Her arms fold across her chest, blocking my access to those sinfully supple breasts, “That’s kind of my job.”

  “Mmm. Fair point,” I say, backing away from her, turning my eye to Elliot.

  Before I walk away, Suzette has something else to say, “I’m a little hurt, really.”

  I hear the amusement in her voice and it intrigues me, God help me.

  “Oh?” I ask, turning with an arched brow.

  “Well, yeah,” and there’s that sexy fucking pout that’s been driving me wild in my dreams the past few nights, “I thought I was special, but apparently you’ll show your ass to literally anybody.”

  The pout vanishes and is replaced by the Cheshire Cat grin and I’m not sure which I like more. Fuck. What is wrong with me?

  I hold up my hands, “I was ambushed. I had no idea I’d be taking my pants off for anyone but you, today,” I grin and watch the color creep into her cheeks as she parses my words.

  I expect her to throw up her hands and groan at me, but instead she volleys one of my own signature smirks my way, “Smooth, but don’t think for a moment that I want to see you with your pants off.”

  Though she says the words with enough believability, she ruins the whole effect by flicking her eyes down my body.

  “Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that, luv,” I say, shrugging into a t-shirt that some nameless crew person hands me.

  “I will!” She says, “I mean… I don’t have to tell myself anything because it’s true.”

  “It’s cute how you fumble for words when you lie,” I say with a grin.

  She rolls her eyes, “Whatever. Where do you want to do this?”

  “Oh! Straight to the point. I like it. Well,” I say, rubbing my chin thoughtfully, “I personally wouldn’t be bothered to do it right here in front of everyone, but I think you’re rather more modest, am I right? I’m not quite sure I could sustain an erection in the teddy bear and lace monstrosity that I assume is your bedroom, though. So my place, it is.”

  Her jaw drops and for a split second I’m quite sure she’s going to hit me — not that I wouldn’t deserve it.

  “My bedroom does not have teddy bears and lace, but you’ll never know that because you’re not going anywhere near it or me. And… you can keep your…” she gestures wildly at my lower half.

  “Erections?” I offer.

  “Yes, those to yourself. I mean where do you want to do the interview?”

  “Given more thought to what you have to offer me, then?” I ask, still amusing myself with the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the fire in her eyes. She may look innocent and demure on the outside, but this girl’s a bloody firecracker and I can’t wait to see her burst.

  Rather than looking shy and embarrassed, she looks as though I’ve played right into her hand, raising her brow and tapping her chin, “You know, I haven’t. But I’ll bet I know who could answer that question for us.” With a gleam in her eyes she breaks free from me and makes a beeline toward Elliot.

  In two long strides I’ve caught up to her and have her elbow in my grip, whirling her around. Her feet wobble in the too-tall heels and she catches herself against my chest, filling my nostrils with the coconut and raspberry scent of her shampoo.

  “What’s the matter, Jasper?” She whispers, her eyes slightly glazed as our embrace affects her the same it does me, “Don’t want to hear what Elliot has to say?”

  I grit my teeth and make a face, “I know damn well what Elliot has to say.”

  Suzette wrenches her arm free and crosses them across her chest again, looking so damn pleased with herself.

  Point Susie.

  “Fine,” I growl, “but I’m not a cheap date. If you want to get anything out of me, you’ll have to get me hammered.”

  Her smile lights up her whole face and — fuck me — my heart expands in my chest at the sight of it and I realize I’d do fucking anything to see her smile like that.

  You’re such an knobhead. This bird’s gotten in your head. Shake it off, lad.

  “Don’t worry,” she says extending a hand to me, “a few cocktails and you’ll be telling me all your secrets.”

  I eye her hand like it might bite me and say “None of those cocktails are going to wind up in my lap now, are they?”

  She looks embarrassed for a moment and then seems to find her nerve again, “And give you an excuse to whip your pants off? Nah, the next one will be on your head.”

  Her hand’s sti
ll hovering between us and I slip mine into it as she tugs me out of the warehouse we’d been shooting in. I can’t help but notice how perfectly her palm fits against mine and how soft her fingers are, clasped around my rough gnarled ones.

  Holy shit. I might be in trouble.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Susie

  I don’t know if it’s Alisha’s pep talk still ringing in my ears, or the way Jasper’s eyes spark when he’s trying to get a rise out of me, or if it’s just my eight-month dry spell, but I’m actually looking forward to getting drinks with Jasper.

  It’s the middle of the afternoon — too early for clubs — so Jasper takes me to this swank little place he says is owned by a friend. The host seems to instantly recognize him — pretty much everyone in the restaurant world does — and asks if he’d like the ‘regular spot’.

  “How often do you come here that you have a regular spot?” I ask as we follow the host in his crisply ironed and starched suit.

  Jasper wags a finger at me, “Ah ah, not time for questions yet, but I’ll let you have this one. I’ve only been to Miami a handful of times before we started working on 28, but I always make a point to stop in and see Jeremy.”

  We walk through a busy section of the restaurant back towards a covert curved corner booth with dim lighting and close proximity to the bar.

  Figures.

  I feel a flush of heat creep up my neck as I realize how easy it would be to fool around in a booth like this — and then a stab of jealousy rips through me as I realize Jasper’s probably already taken advantage of that aspect of the place with someone else.

  Jealousy? That can’t be the right word for that feeling.

  Jasper takes his seat on one side of the curved banquette and I sit opposite him, putting as much room as possible between us, lest Alisha’s advice start taking root too firmly.

  Who knows what I’ll do with a few drinks?

  Not that I’m planning on drinking; that’s for Jasper. Loosen him up, make him feel comfortable and lower his guards.

  “Would you like a menu, Chef?” the host asks with carefully enunciated syllables.

  Jasper waves his hand dismissively, “That won’t be necessary, we’re drinking our lunch today,” he smirks.