Twisted Little Thing Read online

  "It's up to you now," he said, as he sent me off.

  Up to me. Again. As pushy and confident as he is on the one hand, he sure wants to be certain that the interest is mutual.

  I try to be as quiet as possible when I enter the apartment. It is not even ten a.m. and both Yuka and I are usually still asleep at this time.

  Much to my surprise, she is already up, though. I find her sitting at our small kitchen table, reading a magazine and sipping on her first morning coffee.

  She grins at me. "Good morning, party girl."

  "Good morning, bar slave," I reply. "How come you're up already?"

  She rolls her eyes. "Brunch date with someone who thinks that it's okay to chase people out of the house at eleven a.m."

  "Mean," I comment, as I pour myself a coffee.

  "So," she says after I sat down opposite of her. "How was it? Nice guy?"

  I smile. "I wouldn't say 'nice', but interesting for sure."

  Yuka raises her eyebrows. "Ooh, that sounds intriguing! I'd pester you with questions, but I haven't even taken a shower yet and really need to get ready."

  Thank God.

  "Have fun," I say as she gets up from the chair.

  She winks at me. "Oh, don’t think you’re getting away that easily. I’ll annoy you with indecent questions later!"

  I reply with an awkward laugh and wave her off. She casts me one last menacing look before she leaves the kitchen.

  I languidly reach over the table to pull the magazine she was reading over to my side. Yuka is a sucker for the kind of women's magazines that report about nothing but fashion, make-up and gossip about famous people, none of whom I care about.

  I never actually read anything in these tabloids, but they are a good way to kill time when there is nothing else to do other than to drink my desperately needed morning coffee – and try to get him off my mind.

  The night was too intense, too confusing and overwhelming. I have no idea how to handle this one. I need some distraction and time to myself.

  It turns out that browsing through that ludicrous magazine was the worst idea I had all morning. After just a few pages, I end up at the VIP gossip section, the most ludicrous of all.

  And there he is, smiling back at me.

  Evan Beckhart – smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor?

  His picture accompanies the bold headline for today’s feature in 'The Country's Hottest Billionaire Bachelors' series.

  I almost drop my coffee mug. It feels like I have been plunged under a cold shower.

  CHAPTER VII

  Evan

  I send her on her way even though it’s the last thing I want to do. If it was up to me, we’d continue where we started last night. I feel like I only got a faint taste of what could be between us. This was nothing, just a start, and at the same time it was everything I could ask for.

  I want more. Her surrender tastes as luscious as expected, if not better. She surprised me, too. I didn’t expect her to be so compliant so quickly. Such a twisted little thing. It was like she has just been waiting to be handled by me. She danced like a puppet, and I was the puppet master controlling her strings. The way she went along with our play was surprisingly smooth. Yet, she still has a lot to learn, and I want to be the one to lead her down the road of submission.

  She’s a perfect match for me. But with her strong will, I expect more resistance when I start to really push her boundaries.

  If she lets me.

  I put matters into her hands for a reason. While I enjoy chasing after what belongs within my touch, I don’t like to do all the work if it’s not appreciated.

  There’s a thin line between too little and too much. If she becomes too clingy, too desperate for my attention, I know I will get tired of her quickly. But I don’t expect that to happen with her. She’s too conflicted, too stubborn and strong. What happened last night was new for her and she’ll need some time to process it.

  I, on the other hand, am as smitten as can be. As soon as she left, I found myself sitting in the restaurant on the uppermost floor of the hotel sipping on my usual black coffee and smiling like a dumbass.

  Be careful. Don’t let another one latch onto that stony heart of yours.

  I have to keep my head clear. She’s fun. She’s fucking sexy, enticing, delicious, and there are a million things I want to do to her. But I have to stay clear of emotional trouble. It’s destructive. I can’t have that.

  But just as that thought crosses my mind, I’m reminded of another thing that makes her so alluring to me.

  She has no idea who I am.

  Not only does she not care about my money, she doesn’t even know that I have any, and she also doesn’t know anything about me or my background. Of course, that’s subject to change. I won’t be the one to tell her, but with the life I’m leading, things can’t stay a secret forever, and she would have to live under a rock not to find about everything sooner or later. If I’m lucky, it will later rather than sooner. I’d like to have the chance for us to get to know each other without that shit interfering.

  Dating Sheila left a mark on my life in more than one way. I wouldn’t say that I regret being with her. Only weak people regret their own decisions. But I could do without the repercussions that came with it. I’d hate for them to impact my chances with Nicky.

  When I turned my back on Nicky and left her standing there in front of that club, leaving the decision up to her whether or not to follow me or to stay there, I wasn’t sure about anything. I saw that I had an effect on her, it was obvious. But there was no certainty. Nicky left me wondering. She made me feel the same insecurity that I’m sure feels normal to most people in situations like these. But I’m not most people. I always get the girl, and usually I don’t even have to put in much effort.

  It wasn’t until she showed up almost half an hour later that I knew I had won her, at least for the night. She had made up her mind by the time she walked through the door of that shisha bar. I could tell, because it was written all over her beautiful face.

  I take another sip of my coffee as I scan the city below. Somewhere down there, Nicky is driving home with one of my drivers. I know her kind, and I know that she despises being spoiled like this, being subjected to a lifestyle that disgusts her for no good reason.

  She’ll have to endure a lot more of that if she agrees to become mine.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Nicky

  Evan Beckhart – smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor?

  I cannot take my eyes off of the article. What a sneaky bastard! I had sex with one of 'the country's hottest billionaire bachelors' – and I didn't even know it!

  How could he not have mentioned this? Did he actively conceal it from me – or did he just expect me to know when he introduced himself? He could have used a fake name, after all. But he didn't. He actively ran the risk of me knowing who he is.

  I feel so stupid.

  What a great triumph it must have been for him to see me so clueless. The stupid hipster club girl who has no clue.

  Then again, I never really asked him what he does for a living. Not once. I just shared my silly assumptions and – as he called them – prejudices. And he prohibited any further questions by the time we went to the hotel.

  The expensive five-star hotel.

  "Damn," I whisper to myself, still sitting at the kitchen table and staring down at the article.

  "Did you say something?" I hear Yuka ask from the hall.

  Moments later, she appears at the doorway to the kitchen, tilting her head quizzically.

  I hastily close the magazine and shake my head. "No. Just mumbling to myself."

  "What have you been reading?" she asks, her words accompanied by an evil smirk. "You look like you saw a ghost."

  In a way, I feel like I did. The shock and surprise would be equally strong.

  "Nah, I'm just very... tired," I explain.

  Yuka shrugs and disappears back into the hall to fiish getting ready for her brunch date.

  "Take a nap until I come back," she calls out. "I still want to hear about your date last night."

  "Yeah, sure," I mumble absentmindedly.

  As usual, she is in a hurry and rushes out the door just a few seconds later, leaving me by myself with that startling article.

  I stare again at the magazine in front of me, pondering whether I should read the full article. Maybe I really did see a ghost? Maybe it wasn't Evan after all. I only glanced at the picture for a few seconds – and he could have used this guy’s name to impress me. Maybe he does this sort of thing all the time, taking advantage of his similarity in looks to get away with using Evan Beckharts' name to seduce impressionable young girls like me.

  I should at least confirm that my shock is justified and that I haven’t been taken advantage of. Or determine if I should forget about the guy and write him off as a pathetic, deceitful liar.

  But if it wasn’t the real Evan Beckhart, how could he afford the hotel then?

  Maybe he stole that guy's credit cards, too! Maybe he is a thief – a mobster, as I joked when we were entering the hotel.

  I have to know!

  I take a deep breath and open the magazine, slowly turning to the page of the article.

  Evan Beckhart – smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor?

  I am prepared this time and don't shy away as soon as his face appears in front of me. And yes, it is his face. There is no doubt about it. The guy I teased about being your average, boring office slave, the guy who somehow still managed to captivate me and lure me out of the club into his hotel room. The guy with whom I had one of, if not the most amazing sexual experiences of my life.

  There is no doubt that the man I spent last night with is the same man as the one
who is the subject of this article. The picture of him appears to be taken at some kind of charity event. He is dressed to the nines, sporting an extremely well-fitting black suit with a steel blue tie that makes his dark eyes stand out even more. His hair is styled differently, combed and gelled to the side, but it is definitely him.

  The article takes up the entire page, and there is a second photo in the lower right-hand corner. This picture is much smaller than the other one and appears to be a paparazzi shot taken of him and a woman as they left a coffee shop. He has his arm draped protectively around her as he tries to shield her from the photographer. Both of them are dressed casually.

  I cannot help noticing that she bears a striking resemblance to me. She is not only fair-skinned and slim, but her long, dark hair is casual-looking like mine. She is even dressed similarly in well-worn jeans and an oversized, cut-off t-shirt. Her thin arms are adorned with a bunch of wristbands in all kinds of colors – and she has tattoos. Rather nice tattoos, I might add.

  The ink – and the fact that she is prettier than me – might be the only difference between us, because I have not gotten around to having one done. Yet. It has been on my wish list forever, but I just couldn't commit to a design, let alone save enough money for it.

  As typical for these kinds of magazines, the subtitle for the picture is rather melodramatic: Did she break his heart? Sheila and Evan on a coffee run, only weeks before she disappeared from his life.

  Disappeared? Did they break up? Did she die? Or did she actually disappear?

  Curiosity gets the better of me, and I start reading the article, my heart beating wildly as I roam through the paragraphs. Thankfully, the text starts with a brief introduction about the life and career of "mysterious billionaire bachelor" Evan Beckhart. Apparently he is a "geek turned successful entrepreneur from Silicon Valley" who had his breakthrough at an age when most people are attending college. He – or his small start-up company – invented widely used office software that even I have heard of.

  His company was acquired by a much bigger one a few years ago, and since then, he has been steadily increasing his wealth by making smart investments in other promising start-ups that succeeded wthout fail. He really seems to have a knack for selecting the best new and upcoming technology market, and has made a fortune by investing in social apps.

  Even with my general aversion toward this glutted market of gadgetry and seemingly useless innovations, I have to admit that I am impressed. He never had anything handed to him and worked hard to be where he is now. He also seems to be involved in charity activities and is described as living a rather frugal life despite his immeasurable wealth.

  Well, he still lures his nightlife acquisitions into five-star accommodations, so I disagree with the reference to living a "frugal lifestyle".

  If anything, he tried to be one of us low-budget hipsters last night, the ones who live with roommates in crappy little apartments because they cannot afford to live there on their own. Us, those who have to think twice before ordering another drink when they go out.

  The article goes on to describe his private life, wondering why a man like him – handsome, stupidly rich, and seemingly good-hearted – is still single as he nears 30. He appears to have been unattached most of his life – except for that one woman he was pictured with leaving the coffee shop.

  If I had shown even the slightest interest in gossip magazines, I would have known who Evan was right from the start. Apparently, he has been in the spotlight for several years, not only because of his own success story, but because the woman he was dating was a well known soap opera star, another area about which I have absolutely no knowledge. They even used to live together here in Pasadena where she was working at the time.

  I continue reading to find out more about them and how things ended, but the article does not include that information. At some point, it seems, they broke up. Or she broke up with him. Much to the sorrow of the article's writer – and many readers, I am sure – it was never revealed which of them ended the relationship, or for what reason. All that is known is that he moved out of the home they shared and disappeared from the public eye for months.

  She, on the other hand, continued in her role on the soap opera and made public appearances as usual. She refused to comment on their relationship, however.

  "Not one word ever crossed Sheila’s lips about the status of their relationship," the article concluded. With so little information, of course, the author felt inclined to make assumptions about the situation and presumed that Evan had endured terrible heartbreak at the hands of the soap opera star. This assumption was purely based on him disappearing from the spotlight, while she didn't. Never mind that she is an actress and constantly in public, while he is a self-made billionaire and entrepreneur who can remain behind closed doors if he chooses.

  But who cares about logic and facts, right?

  I shake my head as I continue reading. Every sentence reminds me of why I loathe these magazines so much. So many assumptions, melodramatic thoughts and words put into people's mouths that it's sickening.

  The lack of real information in an article of this length is astonishing. I don't feel like I have learned a lot more about him or his ill-fated relationship than I knew from simply reading the subtitle to the article and looking at the pictures.

  There are interesting facts that seem to be relevant to me, though. The first one is the uncanny resemblance I share with his former girlfriend Sheila. The second is that he is still living in this city, instead of going back to the outskirts of San Francisco, his original home before relocating here to be closer to her.

  Their break-up took place more than a year ago. Is he still mourning his loss and trying to fulfill his longing by fucking random girls who bear a resemblance to her?

  After all, that might have been the reason he approached me in the first place. Erratic dancing and free spirit, my ass – maybe it was just the fact that I reminded him of her.

  A lump has formed in my throat and I feel utterly betrayed.

  No matter how great the sex or how enticing this man was, I will not be somebody's placeholder. If he is still mourning his ex-girlfriend and I just happen to look like her, then I should write him off as soon as possible.

  Then again, he did leave it up to me to contact him. Despite my complete ignorance of who he really was during our first night together, he must be aware that eventually I will find out about all of this. This magazine article is less than two weeks old, so it is current. He and his failed relationship are no secret to the public – or at least to the part of the population who actually keeps up on celebrity gossip like this.

  What am I supposed to do? Just a few minutes ago, I was rather certain that I wanted to see him again. I would make him wait a little, maybe. But I was ready to contact him again. I wanted more.

  But now I am anything but sure about my next step. I am confused and hurt. And I feel extremely stupid for not knowing who he was.

  Yuka is going to have her fun with that story, for sure.

  She might be the best person to ask for advice in this manner, though.

  For now, I decide to follow her first piece of advice today, and I slip off to my bedroom to take a good long nap until she comes back.

  CHAPTER IX

  Nicky

  Much to my surprise, I fall asleep within just a few moments of resting my tired head on the pillow. I am woken up by Yuka's characteristic door slamming when she returns from her brunch date. I really like her, but consideration and thoughtfulness toward her roommate are truly not her strong suits.

  Though she is a tiny person, she manages to trample through the place like an elephant, making enough noise for three people, slamming doors and constantly causing things to fall off the shelves.

  The good thing about her noisiness is that I always know where she is. It is easy to trace her steps through the apartment just by listening. She first heads for her room, probably to change clothes, which is always the first thing she does when she comes home. She has a certain pair of bright yellow sweatpants that she always wears at home – and only at home. I have never seen her lounging around in anything else, usually accompanied by a headband in a similar color to keep her thick, wild hair out of her face.