my wretched life.”
Cruz’ stoic expression remained. “Yeah, I can.”
He grunted.
Cruz was looking at him oddly and he knew his bodyguard was speculating. “What?” he snapped at him.
“What did you do to her?”
“Is that a professional question?” he shot back.
“You may not answer, Sir.”
He was silent for a while. Then he sighed. “That girl is...intriguing.”
“Who?”
He gave his bodyguard a sour look.
“She is quite lovely,” Cruz said.
“Works well with you, too, I can see,” he bit out, pissed that Cruz found the girl attractive, too.
Cruz shrugged. “I’m a man who appreciates natural beauty.”
He grunted again. “I wonder what she saw in Ben. She’s way too young for him.”
“It isn’t you to actually wonder so much about stuff like that. If you like her, you know you can have her.”
“She is with Ben!” he emphasized, as if that stopped him before from stealing somebody else’s woman without remorse.
“Did she tell you that?”
“Not exactly...”
Cruz dusted imaginary lint from his impeccably pressed outer suit. If he wasn’t Dare Montgomery and easily recognizable everywhere, Cruz would be mistaken for his boss. His bodyguard was always looking straight off of Savile Row.
“Is it possible that maybe, you just jumped to the wrong conclusion?”
He thought of Celine’s reaction when he insinuated that she was Ben’s mistress. Man, was she enraged? “But what the hell is she doing with ole Ben?”
“Did you know that people associate with each other not only to fuck or abuse each other?”
He ignored Cruz’ barb. “She lives at the Sommerset. How old is she? Maybe in her early twenties? How in hell can she afford a place like that without a high-paying job? She’s Ben’s PA. Figure that.”
“Maybe she’s an heiress. Who knows?”
He snorted. That was exactly what Celine told him. “She doesn’t look like one. You’ve seen her.”
“Not all women wear grand clothes to look like one, you know? I know for a fact that you’ve slept with women wearing expensive clothes and you’ve paid for every piece of article in their bodies.”
“I don’t need your sarcasm right now.”
Cruz shrugged. “Just a thought, is all.”
He fell silent.
Cruz said no more.
Dare pensively looked outside the window as the limo cruised along Hollywood Boulevard.
Cruz was playing devil’s advocate for the girl’s benefit but they both knew the real score. In Hollywood, to trust women was handing them the authority to gut you while you sleep. For a huge celebrity like him, he had learned how to deal with the most beautiful temptresses-- to sleep with his eyes wide open and never beside a woman, and most especially not beside a woman he just fucked.
Did your success do this to you? Turn you into a hard core cynic?
Her simple question hit him solidly in the gut. But he knew it was a calculated barb. The little girl can deliver lines worthy of a movie script. With great acting, too. Her tears looked genuine enough for the cam. She was good.
He had to give it to her. She gave a great performance a while back, playing the victim to the hilt. How many times had women played this trick on him? He’d had paternity suits left and right, laughable claims that amounted to nothing as his lawyers knew what to do when women got too desperate for whatever reason. He’d had women suing him for sexual harassment, too, when they all jumped to his bed uninvited. He’d had a small fortune allocated just for such female shit.
Nothing had changed. Women would do anything to better their lives, including peddling their dignity to men who were willing to pay. He had a great personal example of such breed.
He swallowed, as the acrid taste of unwanted memories briefly tried to make a flashback. Even now, after so many years, it would still crop up here and there in the peripheries of his consciousness, when he was distracted, fragmented scenes of the past that he had
Cruz’ stoic expression remained. “Yeah, I can.”
He grunted.
Cruz was looking at him oddly and he knew his bodyguard was speculating. “What?” he snapped at him.
“What did you do to her?”
“Is that a professional question?” he shot back.
“You may not answer, Sir.”
He was silent for a while. Then he sighed. “That girl is...intriguing.”
“Who?”
He gave his bodyguard a sour look.
“She is quite lovely,” Cruz said.
“Works well with you, too, I can see,” he bit out, pissed that Cruz found the girl attractive, too.
Cruz shrugged. “I’m a man who appreciates natural beauty.”
He grunted again. “I wonder what she saw in Ben. She’s way too young for him.”
“It isn’t you to actually wonder so much about stuff like that. If you like her, you know you can have her.”
“She is with Ben!” he emphasized, as if that stopped him before from stealing somebody else’s woman without remorse.
“Did she tell you that?”
“Not exactly...”
Cruz dusted imaginary lint from his impeccably pressed outer suit. If he wasn’t Dare Montgomery and easily recognizable everywhere, Cruz would be mistaken for his boss. His bodyguard was always looking straight off of Savile Row.
“Is it possible that maybe, you just jumped to the wrong conclusion?”
He thought of Celine’s reaction when he insinuated that she was Ben’s mistress. Man, was she enraged? “But what the hell is she doing with ole Ben?”
“Did you know that people associate with each other not only to fuck or abuse each other?”
He ignored Cruz’ barb. “She lives at the Sommerset. How old is she? Maybe in her early twenties? How in hell can she afford a place like that without a high-paying job? She’s Ben’s PA. Figure that.”
“Maybe she’s an heiress. Who knows?”
He snorted. That was exactly what Celine told him. “She doesn’t look like one. You’ve seen her.”
“Not all women wear grand clothes to look like one, you know? I know for a fact that you’ve slept with women wearing expensive clothes and you’ve paid for every piece of article in their bodies.”
“I don’t need your sarcasm right now.”
Cruz shrugged. “Just a thought, is all.”
He fell silent.
Cruz said no more.
Dare pensively looked outside the window as the limo cruised along Hollywood Boulevard.
Cruz was playing devil’s advocate for the girl’s benefit but they both knew the real score. In Hollywood, to trust women was handing them the authority to gut you while you sleep. For a huge celebrity like him, he had learned how to deal with the most beautiful temptresses-- to sleep with his eyes wide open and never beside a woman, and most especially not beside a woman he just fucked.
Did your success do this to you? Turn you into a hard core cynic?
Her simple question hit him solidly in the gut. But he knew it was a calculated barb. The little girl can deliver lines worthy of a movie script. With great acting, too. Her tears looked genuine enough for the cam. She was good.
He had to give it to her. She gave a great performance a while back, playing the victim to the hilt. How many times had women played this trick on him? He’d had paternity suits left and right, laughable claims that amounted to nothing as his lawyers knew what to do when women got too desperate for whatever reason. He’d had women suing him for sexual harassment, too, when they all jumped to his bed uninvited. He’d had a small fortune allocated just for such female shit.
Nothing had changed. Women would do anything to better their lives, including peddling their dignity to men who were willing to pay. He had a great personal example of such breed.
He swallowed, as the acrid taste of unwanted memories briefly tried to make a flashback. Even now, after so many years, it would still crop up here and there in the peripheries of his consciousness, when he was distracted, fragmented scenes of the past that he had
Similar Books
