Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(189)

"Thank you, Ethan," I tell him with a smile, and I don't even know if  I'm thanking him for the breakfast, or for the sex. I guess it's both.  When he finally leaves, I wait until I hear the elevator going down, and  only then do I get up.

I take a long shower, and then I get dressed; Ethan left a new dress and  matching bra and thong for me on the bathroom. Already feeling hungry, I  stumble toward the living room, and when I get there, it's as if I've  been hit by thunder. My eyes go straight to the briefcase sitting on the  coffee table and my heart stops beating.

He left the Illicit Escape prototype behind.

I walk toward it, my heart now racing, but I can't even bring myself to  touch it. Here it is, the one thing capable of buying my freedom from  Simon. My way out. All I have to do is pack it up, shut the briefcase  and forget that Ethan exists. So simple, and so hard.

That's when I hear my phone ring. I go toward the sound, and find it  lying on the couch, next to my purse. On the screen, there's a single  name: Simon. Sighing heavily, I pick the phone up and press it against  my ear.

"Where are you?" he asks me immediately, the tone of his voice a disgusting one. He treats me as if I'm his slave.

"Home," I lie. I can't bring myself to tell him the truth.

"Any news? I want this over with as fast as possible, Brittney," he continues, a veiled threat in the way his words get to me.

"I'm working on it. But it's not as easy as you think …  He doesn't leave  that thing where someone can just pick it up, you know?" I continue to  lie, suddenly feeling nauseous. I feel like I'm falling down a hole, and  I don't know when I'm going to hit the ground.

"Don't fuck with me, Brittney," he hisses, and I can almost imagine his  disgusting face contorting with rage. "You know what I can do." I feel  like I'm going to be sick. More than anyone, I know what Simon can do …  I  close my eyes, and remain silent, the memories of moments long gone  flashing behind my eyelids. "If he finds out where you are, you are  fucked, bitch. You better remember that."         

     



 

"Simon, I … "

"Don't you fucking try to stall. I know you're on the run, hiding like a  scared little girl …  And if you don't get me the prototype, I'll tell  him where he can find you. Let's see how tough you are when your sweet  ex-boyfriend is choking the life out of you." Oh, God. How did it get to  this? The worst part is that I'm not scared for myself. No, if my ex  finds out that I ran away after discovering his secret, more people will  suffer.

When I was younger, I used to hang out with the wrong crowd. One thing  led to another, and the next thing I knew, I was head over heels with  one of these assholes women say they hate, but then end up with. Except  this asshole wasn't just bad …  He was evil. I knew that the first time I  had to put on makeup to hide the bruises. I remember that during a visit  to the ER my right eye was so swollen that I thought I'd never be able  to see again.

I thought of running away more than once …  I thought of fighting back.  But things are never that easy, hun. You see, my lovely ex had more  secrets than he cared to share. And once I got down to the bottom of it,  I knew I was trapped. I couldn't do a thing. If I tried to fight back,  I'd be putting other women in danger.

That's why one day something just snapped inside of me and I left. I  came here to New York, looking to start over and forget all about my  past …  A new start, just like in the movies. Of course, the past has its  ways of catching up to you. Call it bad luck; call it karma …  Call it  whatever you want. Thing is, now that Simon knows about my past, he's  using it as a threat to make me do his bidding. And I don't know what to  do. I really don't.

Tears start to well in my eyes, and I have to take a deep breath to stop  myself from sobbing. "I'll get it done," I whisper, one lone tear  streaming down my face. "I'll fucking do it."

With that, I end the call and throw the phone into my purse. I place the  glasses inside the briefcase, shut it, and leave the apartment.

I have no choice, it's the only thought echoing inside my head. I have no choice.





150





Ethan





I hear a whistle coming from my right side and I look up to a see a  woman smiling. Her teeth are so white they almost seem blue. She's  completely naked, except for a pair of stilettos on her feet. She has  great breasts and a great body; I'll give her that, but I have zero  interest in exchanging fucking flirty banter with her, if that's what  she's hoping for.

"Well, someone's looking smoking hot today," she purrs. She pushes a  stray section of blonde hair behind her ear and walks closer, placing  her hand on my arm.

"Don't you have a promotional shoot to be at Amy?" I ask, not giving her another glance.

She gets the hint and walks off. I can hear the sound of her heels  clicking against the hard floor. I listen until it fades with her  distance.

I swear, not more than five fucking minutes later, another woman walks up to me. She's a little more clothed, but not by much.

"Is this silk?" she asks, playfully running her hand along my tie.

"Yes, it is," I reply, only half listening. My response is curt and  unenthusiastic. I move my body just out of her fucking reach.

"Care to join me for a drink tonight …  and maybe something more?" she  asks, a devilish grin on her face. I know exactly what she's  insinuating.

"Not tonight doll," I say dismissively. Don't get me wrong; she's hot  and easily fuckable, but I just don't care. Normally, I'd be up for  bending most of these women over and fucking them …  but now I have my  sights on only one. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but it's true.  Ethan fucking Kane getting attached? But before you think I'm growing  soft on you, I'm not. I'm just into Brittney, okay?

I watch as a frown forms on the actress' face-I can't even remember her  name-and she moves on. I don't think most of these new actresses ever  expected me to be so uninterested in them-given my reputation and all.

I enjoy a relatively peaceful next 20 minutes when I suddenly feel two arms wrapped around my waist.

"How's my handsome boss today?" the voice asks. I turn around and see  that it's Carla. Remember her from the scene we shot in the upper  middle-class suburban home, complete with crochet on the tables, a giant  52" flat screen TV on the wall, pictures of a fictional family, and a  roaring fireplace?

That was all before Brittney. Back then, it felt fine fucking Carla. She  wasn't anything amazing, but my cock didn't seem to complain. After  Brittney, I don't want anything to do fucking do with her.

I give Carla a smile but don't say much. I really don't have anything to say, but I don't want to be over-the-top rude.

"When are we gonna shoot another scene together?" she purrs.

"I'm really too busy for that these days," I say. She gives me a puzzled  look. I've never been one to stay out of shoots completely. But she  shrugs her own confusion away, gives me one more quick hug goodbye, and  walks off.

I begin to walk off as well, and then hear another voice.

"Ethan, there you are!"

Great. Can't I get any time to think around this place without women fawning all over me?

"Look, I need everyone to leave me al-" I say, but I'm cut off. It's Cheryl.

"It's important," she says.

"Sorry, I didn't realize it was you," I reply. "I've been bombarded ever since I walked in the door."

"Where's the prototype?" she asks me. "You left here with it yesterday, but I don't see it anywhere."

"I left it at home."

"You what?" Cheryl asks. She looks genuinely shocked.

"It's fine. I'll bring it back in tomorrow."

"Ethan, do you realize what you've done? You've left our only  prototype-the one piece of technology that we're banking on and pouring  all of our resources into-exposed and unguarded. Would you leave a  million dollars on the sidewalk and expect it to be there the next day?"

"It's not like I left it on the street corner," I say. "That's not a  good analogy. This is my apartment we're talking about. It's safe there.  No one is going to touch it."

"Are you sure about that?" Cheryl asks, her eyes narrowing. "I don't  think that was the wisest thing to do because you weren't alone  …  You  had Brittney over."

"How did you know that?" I ask.

"I dropped her off near One57 yesterday and just as I thought, she ended up at your place."

For a moment I wonder if Cheryl has resorted to stalking me at my own apartment now.

"Look, I know you worry, but I trust her," I say.

"Since when have you become so trusting of strangers?" she asks.

"It's not like that  …  I've gotten to really know Brittney. She's not a  stranger. I can trust her. She's opened up to me. You can trust her  too."

Are you listening to yourself?" Cheryl asks, shaking her head. "Prove to me that she can be trusted."