My Best Friend's Brother(6)

By: Amy Brent




That was my life, really. Sleeping, eating, promoting, talking, then destressing after a long day. I didn’t have time for much.


Especially with regard to tall, handsome playboys with their crispy little grins.


I walked back into my dressing room and promptly sat down on the couch. My head was swimming with Mason’s sharp green eyes, even though I’d just conducted an interview with a local woman who had been adopting terminally ill children. He knew what he had done. The sly comments and the little grins in the interview yesterday. He knew he had been getting to me, and something about that excited me. There was something about a man with confidence who took what he wanted, no questions asked. I could sympathize because I was the same way. Bold. Blunt. Independent. Self-made. I had a talent and a passion, and I found a way to peddle that to the masses.


Just like he had.


A knock came at my door, and I simply didn’t answer it. My assistant knew that if I didn’t answer and it wasn’t important, to simply leave it be. Removing my glasses, I clasped the bridge of my nose, trying to rid myself of the beautiful way his body seemed to loom over me and the way his soothing voice ran down the edges of my skin and the way his hand had felt in the dip of my waist.


I heard my assistant slide a note underneath the door, and it caught my attention. It obviously wasn’t important, but it was pertinent enough for her to risk a note. I got up from the couch and strode over to the door, picking up the piece of paper off the floor. Expecting to find a note, I was shocked when I opened it up and saw eight numbers all in a row with Mason’s signature beneath it.


I was holding Mason Baker’s telephone number.


Why hadn’t she given this to me yesterday after the interview? When had she received it? If he called down here to leave his number, why didn’t he simply ask for me? If he had the money to get my assistant’s number, then he surely had the means to get mine.


Why the fuck did I care?


I honestly didn’t know what to do with it. I wasn’t an idiot, so I knew about the scandals from the woman who’d accused him of sexual harassment and the woman who claimed to be pregnant by him. The baby was shown not to be his and the sexual harassment lawsuit fell apart when it was found the woman was lying, but the man did have a great deal of money.


And money got you many things in the court system nowadays.


At any rate, why in the world was he trying to snag another woman? That fake pregnancy scandal was only, like, two fucking weeks old. How tacky was that? Oh, the baby’s not mine, time to hop on the train and fuck another bitch? What kind of game did he think he was playing?


On the other hand, he was beautiful. That was probably what got him all the attention from women anyway. That and his fervently deep pockets and his love of spoiling the women on his arm. He was well-known for treating his dime-a-dozen women to lavish things, buying them diamonds to drip off their bodies before casting them aside. The latest woman he dated was still being seen in the fully-loaded pink BMW convertible he’d bought for her.


I had to admit, a small part of me wanted to call him. He was into me during that interview, I could tell. And with that dick-swinging video of him running, two things were certain. He had a cock he would wield, and he kept his body fit for the taking.


I felt a shiver ricochet up my spine right before he jumped into my mind. My ex. My fucking ex sucking the face off my ex-host.


It had crumbled my walls when I’d seen him. That man had been everything to me. Tight, tailored suits, took care of his appearance. Never got on me for the time it took me to get ready. Had no issues waiting one, even two hours for me to put myself together. He always wanted to look his best, and he always cheered me on when I looked my best. We were successful, a rising power couple.


Until I caught him jamming his tongue down the throat of the person I usually did my show with.


Thankfully, I floated the show just fine. I started the show on my own, took on a co-host when the money started coming in, and didn’t look back. It was nice, volleying the show to someone every once in a while. We were able to add new segments, talk about new and exciting topics, and if there was ever a time I was sick, there was someone already standing in.


But I also had no issues firing her, and ever since, my show has taken off even more. I’m more successful than I’d ever been in the beginning, and it was because of the stance I took and the zero-tolerance policy I reigned down that garnered me that following.


I just happened to leave out the fact that I got her fired because I was fucking livid.


I stuffed the number into my pocket and grabbed my purse. I was meeting my best friend for dinner, and I didn’t want to be late. Emma Nelson was the only other person in Dallas besides Angie that I ever talked to. Being famous didn’t lend a lifestyle that allowed me to make friends easily. Most people either segued into my money, some sort of donation, or used my platform and following as a way to bolster their own social media campaigns and followings.

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