I, Porn Star (I #1) (16 page)

She knows better
than to call my name again.

Back in my car, I
pop the key in the ignition but don’t start the engine. My fingers wrap around
the steering wheel, eyes closed with my head against the seat rest. For endless
moments, I’m lost.

The hate, the
vengeance and sex are instruments that oil my existence and keep my compass
true. But thinking about her…my mother…always casts me adrift.

She was the
purest thing in my life. The truest. A delicate flower in a nest of vipers. Her
love was the closest thing that came to making me wish I was a better person.
For her, I like to think I would’ve striven to be a less diabolical version of
myself. Her every look once held that promise, that hope for me. And somewhere
along the umbilical that connected a mother’s love to her son, a seed dared to
sprout inside of me. Until it was mercilessly destroyed.

A fragile seed in
a nest of vipers. Adele Blackwood had had no hope.

The burning in my
chest spreads wide, upward, past my throat, my nasal passages to settle behind
my eyes. I swallow the rancid taste of bile and let the black grief engulf me.

I should’ve done
more. I should’ve saved her.

But
you didn’t
.

My eyes tear
open. I release my death grip on the steering wheel and start the engine. I
drive aimlessly for an hour until I end up exactly where I shouldn’t be. Hell’s
Kitchen. I park across the street and stare at the building.

The lamps she
left on emit a soft and welcoming glow, the opposite of what I’m feeling right
now. The opposite of what she’ll feel if I let myself in and let hell break
free.

Hell’s attraction
grows as I sit there, my engine idling. Without taking my eyes off the large
square window, behind which my perfect poison lies, I hit the call button on my
steering wheel.

“Yes, Boss,”
Fionnella, my homely ex-government operative and trusted team leader, responds.
She’s been with me from the beginning; is the only one who knows Q’s identity
and what the end game is. She also has a horse in this race, which keeps her
motivated.

“Would you
believe me if I apologized for calling you so late?” I enquire. Up above, I
swear I see Lucky’s shadow cross the window, but I accept my mind is in full
chaos mode and could be making shit up.

“I believe
remorse may have crossed your mind for a second, sir.”

“If that counts,
I’d appreciate an update.”

“The only update
since we spoke this evening is the results of her blood work. No surprises to
report. She’s healthy. Yours came back clean too.”

My cock, pleased
with the news, stirs and twitches. I relax my head against the seat and cup my
dick. My last memorable fuck was a twenty-four-hour bender with a Latina
spitfire three weeks ago. She’d welcomed my darkness, and things may have
gotten a little out of hand, not enough for me to lose every shred of sanity,
but close enough.

The clean bill of
health brings a spike of impatience. “I need pros and cons of moving the
schedule forward by a week.”

“The set up at
the property will be finished in forty-eight hours. The crew-vetting should
also be done by Monday. Her birth control shot will be fully effective from Saturday.”

“All pros.”

“The cons depend
on whether you intend to stay put for a while once you get to the property. She
doesn’t have a passport and her fake ID is the worst I’ve seen. Even a tenth
grader would spot the flaws a mile away. She’s not naïve, so I can only
conclude she was desperate enough, for whatever reason, to accept the first one
she came across.”

My cock thickens,
and I breathe out. The part of me that should be ashamed for getting hard at
the thought of her desperation is blissfully bankrupt enough not to get in the
way of my hard on.

“If I need to
take her out of the country, can you organize it?”

Fionnella sighs.
“Of course, sir. But I’d appreciate as much advance notice as possible. I trust
the people I work with, but I’m never comfortable with stuff to do with photos.
Too much room for error.”

“You’ll have your
notice.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up, pull
my gaze from the window and ease my foot from the brake pedal.

Lucky may well
fall through my cracks, but I intend the experience to be nothing short of
memorable.

16

TAKE TWO

Fionnella’s text
to me on Friday morning is the first warning that the dress rehearsal is over.

A
driver will fetch you at seven pm. Be ready. Please ensure all the relevant
ties are severed with discretion.

I read and reread
the text, wondering if she believed me about Miguel. Perhaps she thinks we’re
more than just co-workers? But the message makes me think of what to tell
Sully. Granted, he never intimated his job offer would be permanent. He helped
me out when I was in need. There will be a dozen others to take my place within
a day.

But as I near
Blackwood Tower, it’s neither Miguel nor Sully who occupy my mind. Today will
be the last day I serve Quinn Blackwood. Will he invite me to lunch again, or
will he request just coffee, like he did yesterday, instruct me to serve it at
the sofa set in his office, and drink it while sitting far too close to me?

Even now, I
recall the brush of his thigh against mine; the sandalwood and male musk that
flowed from his skin. The way his lower lip curved on the cup, his strong
throat as he swallowed.

He still hasn’t
asked me for the favor I owe him. And he won’t get the chance after today. The
thought produces a spike of regret that unnerves me more than I know is wise to
allow.

It’s enough to
make me contemplate a different scenario for myself. One where I return to
Blackwood Tower in a month’s time, and ask Sully for my job back. But then in a
month, provided the shit show of variables fall into place, I’ll be too busy
finding a way to talk Clayton into sparing my life in return for one million
dollars to think about Blackwood Tower. And I’ll be trying to do all that with
Clayton without placing myself anywhere in his orbit.

Or divulging the
secret that’s locked tight in my heart.

Provided I manage
to jump all those hurdles, then yes, I might give returning to Blackwood Tower
and asking for my job back a try, so I can go back to lusting after its
unattainable and questionably unstable CEO.

I half-snort as I
change into uniform for my last day. Miguel is nowhere to be seen, which is a
little surprising, but I secure my locker and head for Sully’s office.

The middle-aged
man listens to me, a thoughtful frown in place, and shrugs when I’m done
thanking him. “It’s no big deal. What I did for you, I hope someone else
would’ve done for my kid. I’ll have a job on my hands to get someone for Mr.
Blackwood though. He seems taken with you.”

My heart skips a
beat. “I don’t think so.”

Sully smiles.
“You know how many times the man’s had lunch in his office since he took over
from his father three years ago?”

I shake my head.

“Far less than
you think. And certainly not every day for a week like he has this past week.”

“I…I don’t think
that was because of me.”

“Don’t sell yourself
short, Elly. The best things come in small packages. Or so my wife tells me.”
He waves me away. “Go on, now. Make the best of your last day. And don’t forget
to come pick up your pay when you’re done.”

The morning
rushes by, probably because time, like the rest of my life, is determined to
give me the finger, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of Quinn’s
frosted doors. His EA, a sylph-like brunette with an expression as neutral as
Switzerland, aims a remote at the door to release the lock.

“He’s not in yet,
but he’s on his way up. He wants you to proceed as normal.”

I start to nod,
but she’s already re-engrossed in her task. I wheel in the trolley and unload
today’s offering of sushi and accompanying dishes. I’m setting down the crystal
goblet containing bluefin tuna topped with Osetra caviar when I sense him
behind me.

“Elly. Hello.”

I swallow and
turn around. “Hello, Mr. Blackwood.”

Eyes as bright
and deadly as the sun rake me up and down before they settle on my mouth. “Call
me Quinn, please.
Mr. Blackwood
is a man who has the unhealthy habit of
wanting to make his employees do things they may not want to,” he divulges in a
stage whisper, sexy and pulse destroying.

My breath reacts
accordingly. “Things like what?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He half-turns and
throws his coat over the sofa. “Things I deem wise not to introduce before
lunch, in case it turns your stomach.”

“I’m not
delicate.”

For some reason,
that reply invites that terrifying deathly stillness. Only his eyes move. He tracks
my lips to my racing pulse. From my breasts to my hips to my feet and back up.

“Do you know how
I feel about you, Elly?”

I actually gasp
in shock at the unexpected question. “I…no, I don’t.”

He nods, as if
we’re discussing the price of Kobe beef. “That’s fortunate because I don’t know
either, save to admit that every time I hear you speak, every time you look at
me, I want to reach for that cheap garment that has the audacity to lay against
your perfect skin, rip it off your body and spend a considerable amount of time
doing terrible things to you. So I’m most relieved to learn you’re not
delicate.”

The latent power
behind his words, the fierce focus propels me back a step. My hip bumps the
dining table. “You can’t.”

He strides
forward, his gaze merciless. “Mr. Blackwood
most definitely
can. Quinn
undeniably wants to. But he’s prepared to listen to pleading arguments.”

“Do you often
think of and refer to yourself as separate entities?”

A whisper of a
smile threatens to transform his face, but a stronger force, a frightening
force, devours it before it can live. “My shrink probably thinks I am. She
finds me…challenging. In fact, she may have had a hand in this little
vignette.”

My eyes widen.
“She told you to tell me what you want to do to me?”

“She advocates
laying one’s card on the table. The only card I’m interested in right now is
the
I-want-to-fuck-you-blind
card. And since you’re not running
screaming out the door, perhaps her idea has merit, after all?”

Blood rushes
through me at the speed of lightning. My tongue is so thick in my mouth I have
to maneuver my jaw before I can speak. And each word I’m about to utter feels
like it’s riveted with spikes. “Mr.…Quinn, I’m sorry, but today’s my last day.”

He doesn’t blink.
“Your last day.”

I swallow hard and
nod. “Yes, I handed in my notice this morning.”

“Why?”

My teeth worry
the inside of my lip while I fight to maintain eye contact. Looking away will
rat me out. “My position was never permanent and I…I need to take some time off
for personal reasons.”

 
“So, let me get this straight. You
resigned this morning?”

Thoughts of being
fucked by Mr. Quinn Blackwood recede a bit as panic flares. “Yes.”

“I see.”

He relieves me of
the napkin I forgot I was holding and places it on the table. When his fingers
wrap around mine, that flare unleashes harder but this time with a whole heap
of lust. He escorts me to his desk and pushes me into the seat before it. He remains
at my side as he hits a number on his phone.

“Mr. Blackwood,
how may I help you?” a nauseatingly responsive female voice enquires.

“Nancy, can you
tell me if this company has abandoned the notice period before employment
termination clause?”

My breath slams
out and stays out.

“No, Mr.
Blackwood. The handbook clearly states the minimum of two weeks for junior
employees and a sliding scale upward for senior employees.”

“Illuminating as
always, Nancy. Thanks.”

He disconnects
and leans against the desk, ankles crossed, thick arms folded as he stares at
me. “Someone has dropped the ball downstairs. Would you care to enlighten me as
to who that person is?”

Ice and lust and
panic and the urge to kick my own ass, hard, fight for supremacy. I shake my
head, both to dispel the forces, and to buy myself some time. There’s no way
I’m throwing Sully under the bus, but all it’ll take is a simple phone call for
Quinn to find out who hired me.

“I…don’t want to
get anyone into trouble.”

“I feel as if
we’ve had a variation of this conversation. Very recently.”

I purse my lips
but silence won’t do me any favors right now. “Please, Mr. Blackwood.”

Heat flares in
his eyes. He remains silent for a full minute, before he stands. “Come.”

He leads me to
the dining table. The special containers holding sushi and the tuna on ice have
done their job in not ruining lunch on top of everything else. Quinn doesn’t
seat me at the opposite end of the dining table this time. He sets one place at
the head of the table and motions me to sit.

Wracked in
trepidation, I take a seat. He takes the seat next to me and picks up the
delicate fork, heaps up a mouthful of caviar-topped tuna and presents it to me.
This room, this man, even the food has an insane effect on me. I open my mouth
and take the morsel. Heavenly flavors burst on my tongue and I want to close my
eyes and die at the bombardment of sensations inside and out.

As I’m chewing,
he reaches into his jacket and takes out a business card. Or what I imagine is
a business card. It’s black with gold numbers on it, which he slides across the
table to me.

“Do you have a
phone?”

I hesitate.
Technically, the phone in my possession is for a specific purpose, which I’m
sure doesn’t include the scenario I’m mired in right now. So I should say no. “Yes.”

He waits.

I reach into my
pocket and retrieve it.

He holds out his
hand and I place the phone in it. A few taps later, a phone on his desk rings.
He cancels the call and hands me back my phone along with the card.

I return them
both to my pocket. The near silence of the whole thing fascinates and terrifies
me.

Quinn’s lids
descend as he arranges another perfect mouthful. “Prior to today, you owed me…
something
,
didn’t you, Elly?”

“Yes.”

“So now, you owe
me something plus two weeks.” It isn’t framed as a question. I owe Quinn
Blackwood two weeks.

“I can’t give you
two weeks. I have to be somewhere else.”

He raises the
fork again, feeds me another mouthful. “For how long?”

“A couple of
weeks. Maybe three. I can’t get out of it.”

“Then we’ll make
a deal, Elly. You go do your thing that you can’t get out of. Maybe I’ll call
you at some point, maybe I won’t. Either way, when you’re done with this
thing
, you come back here and give me
two weeks.”

“You want me to
come back and work for you?”

“That is to be
decided. After all, I’ll have a couple of weeks, maybe three, to work out
exactly what I want from you.”

“What if I don’t
come back?”

He takes his time
to feed me another mouthful, before cold blue eyes hook hard into mine. I have
no doubt that the terrifying Mr. Blackwood is in residence. “If you don’t come
back, Elly, every single one of the sixty-eight people working down in your
precious basement will be fired.”