FOLLOW(40)

“So I’m a free spirit, so what? I’m cool with it. And you’re such an asshole for bringing up that money. I’m off the ground now, bro. I’m gonna be paying you back soon.”

“Yeah, I was,” I admit. But I laugh anyway. “Dad’s so easy though, can you blame me?”

“You know what, V? You know what your biggest problem is?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I have too much money? I have too many girls?”

“You have it too easy. And one of these days, Vaughn, the shit’s gonna get hard and you’re not gonna know what to do. You live this charmed life and you think everything is forever. Money, girls, cars, jobs… but it’s not, brother. It’s finite. Everything and everyone has an expiration date.”

“Whatever.”

“So when your day comes, I do not want to hear your bitching.”

And then he pushes open the door to the men’s room and disappears inside.

I huff out a breath of air and shake my head. Fuck him. He’s just mad because he never made it as an actor and I’ve got blockbusters lined up in post-production for the next year and a half.

And I’ve got Grace. He might be a little jealous of that too, because while Conner can get a girl, he can’t seem to keep one.

I never have that problem.

My problem is how to get rid of them.





Chapter Nineteen



#IHaveLostMyMind



WHAT the hell am I doing?

This thought runs through my brain the whole way back to my bungalow.

Because I mean, what the hell, Grace? I do not even recognize myself right now. Since when do I let a man treat me like this? And yeah, I get that he’s a movie star, a man I’ve been obsessed with for years—but this?

I admit, I’m not usually one for confrontation and I have a hard time saying no to people. But this is not me. This person cannot be me.

And what the hell was that back there? He planned for me to meet his parents so he could humiliate me.

I don’t care how many ways you look at it, that’s what that was. Pure and simple. He was mad because I can’t be like the sluts he likes to fuck, so he made me pay for it.

Note to self, saying no to Vaughn Asher has consequences.

Right. But so does saying yes. Because saying yes gives him permission to do this shit. Is this what I am? A plaything for a wealthy man? Willing to sell myself to gain—what? What am I getting out of this tryst, as he likes to call it?

Fame? No, certainly not. He wants me to be a secret. Which is fine with me, I’m with his sister Sam on that shit. I have no desire to be in the spotlight with him or as a victim of his fetishes.

Gifts? I huff out a long breath of air. Yes, I have to admit as I look down at my clothes, I accepted a gift from him and I enjoyed it.

And now this whole outfit feels dirty.

I push my key card into the bungalow door and immediately begin taking off my clothes. I fold it all very carefully, sans underwear, since Vaughn still has those in his pocket, and place it all back inside the box. I run my fingertips across the fabric for a moment, enjoying the quality. It’s something I’d never in a million years be able to just buy without guilt over spending so much.

This makes me pause, because I’m like most girls who grew up with lots of limits in place. I want more. I do, I admit it. I want more than just a working a job that takes up most of my life just so I can afford to live in a neighborhood that doesn’t scare the shit out of me. I want to be taken to dinner and given presents to make me feel special. I want all those things.

But the reality of that want is that the men who are capable of fulfilling it are always asking for more than I’m willing to give in return. This present was given to me for the wrong reasons. It was a payoff. It was a consolation. It was a bribe.

Do as I say, Grace, and I’ll give you the things you want.

But do I really want them if that’s how I have to get them? Isn’t getting them part of the journey? Aren’t things like success and money and a nice big house supposed to be the result of hard work, determination, tenacity, and a little bit of luck?

This dress symbolizes all the wrong things for me. It was all luck. There’s no hard work in being Asher’s plaything. There’s no satisfaction beyond an orgasm. I don’t want to be lucky, I want to be good. I want to succeed at more than just following the sexual commands of an ego-inflated movie star.

And I’m ashamed of myself for allowing this to happen. For being drawn in, for being seduced by him.

He seduced me into being someone else.

And it’s got nothing to do with the sex. Some of that is the real me, obviously, since I get off on it. That’s not the problem. The problem is not me, actually. It’s him.