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"By puking before I go on stage."
"Oh, my god, seriously?"
"Unfortunately, yes. But once I puke, I’m fine. And then I’m on stage and I forget everything—all my troubles, my love life, or lack thereof, everything." She glances into the distance. "There’s only me and the audience. It’s heaven."
"Gosh, I envy the fact that you have a talent."
"You do, too." She looks at me. "You have a way of making your clients confide in you so you can design the best PR plan. That’s a talent I haven’t seen too many people have."
Maybe, that’s why Cade confided in me, too?"Thanks," I murmur.
"Only stating what I’ve observed." She smiles. "So, what are you going to do?"
I begin to pace. "I can’t go through with this fake marriage thing. I can’t."
"So, tell him."
"You think he’ll listen to me?"
"So, you’re going to let him walk all over you, is that it?"
I stop, then scowl at her. "What are you trying to say?"
"Draw the line. Show him he can’t take you for granted. No matter what your kink is—"
I open my mouth, but she raises her hand. "No matter how the two of you are when you’re intimate, you need to show him that you know your mind, that you can stand up for yourself. It’s the only way he’s going to respect you, you know?" Her forehead furrows. "Besides, maybe you already have the upper hand?"
"Eh?" I frown.
"He’s the one who proposed you fake marry him. He needs this more than you."
"So, you mean to say I can use the situation to my advantage?"
Her features brighten. "Now you’re talking. Own the circumstances. He’s given his word to your brother that he’ll watch over you—"
"—so he says," I scoff.
"So, use the situation to your advantage. Can you do that?"
30
Cade
"You sure are taking your frustration out on that thing, hmm?" JJ Kane smirks at me from behind the punching bag.
I’m at the gym in the 7A Club. Being back from tour means I have a few weeks off before I need to report back to the team’s fitness sessions. Doesn’t mean I’m going to slack off when it comes to working out. For an athlete like me, my reflexes and fitness levels are what set me apart on the field. It means the difference between being good and being great. And considering I’m pushing thirty, it’s even more important to keep myself in top form. Which means, working out, at least, three hours a day. I could use the gym at Lords, but after being on tour for eight months with the same set of men, I don’t want to see their faces again for a while, so 7A is the perfect escape.
If only I could also dissuade my friends and acquaintances from coming by and saying hi.
I scowl at JJ, hoping he’ll get the message and leave. But the wanker merely widens his grin and nods toward the speed bag. Okay then. I gather my strength, then ram my left fist into the punching bag, then the right, then the left again and the other. I keep at it until my biceps burn, my triceps scream in agony, and my shoulders protest. Sweat drips down my temples and clings to my chest planes by the time I pant to a stop. My chest rises and falls as I take a step back.
"Not bad." JJ snatches up the towel I dropped to the ground earlier and hands it to me.
I nod my thanks and wipe my face before balling it and throwing it back at him. Without any change in expression, he hangs it around his neck, then beckons to the mat. "How many sit-ups can you do before you collapse, you reckon?"
"Many more than you can, I reckon," I scoff.
JJ’s smile widens. "Not a competition, ol’ chap."
