Chapter 3

• REMY
• Monaco.
• The playground of the rich and famous, and gold-diggers and wannabes.
• The city where you could not only name your pleasure, but indulge in it.
• Grand James Bond type of casino. Trendy bars and clubs, surf, sun, and sand, not leaving out the lusty busty women. You name it, it was there.
• After an intense six months of late nights in the recording studio, my fifth album was wrapped up and ready to break into the market. It was a cause to celebrate.
• My producers Kyle Kinley and Jordan told me it was my best album yet and while that was high praise coming from the best in the business, I felt empty. Unsatisfied. Inadequate.
• Driving in my luxury sports car with my close friend Jerome aka Cash, who was nursing a heartbreak, I punched his shoulder to get him out of his funk. He’d shown up at my house in Lyon France last night and after resting from flying from LA he spilled the tea. He needed to let loose and I was just the wingman he needed.
• And he was just the distraction I no longer got any fulfillment from my lavish celebrity lifestyle. I was a millionaire at twenty-one. A successful A-lister celebrity with hits topping the charts right up there with my mentors. My TV series College Brat was still in the top ten most-watched shows. I was selling records like hotcakes and had endless endorsements, but still, I felt…
• Like something was missing. Like I needed a new challenge.
• A popular Latino song by Maluma blasted in the overpriced club and two groupies fought over who was worthy to give me a lap dance. Cash had his hands or should I say thighs full with another girl but he wasn’t even into it. He was a chick magnet not only because most girls believed he was Michael Evans Behling aka Jordan Baker from All American, but because he could move like no other on the dance floor.
• Sitting on the plush leather couch, I watched the winner bounce her silicone butt on my thighs, and… I felt…something.
• But sex was the last thing on my mind tonight. Or not.
• Fake booty or not, the blonde groupie in the gold dress really knew how to work it. “If you keep doing that,” I whispered into her ear, clutching her thighs as she ground into me. “I just might take you home with me.”
• Flicking her sun-kissed hair back, she giggled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
• For once the media was right by correctly labeling me a bad boy. In the words of my predecessor Jordan Carter before he got shackled, ‘I’m a bad boy and I do very bad things.’
• “You are not good enough to mess up my sheets, petite amie.” You’d think she’d be put off, she wasn’t. “The back alley will do for a girl like you.”
• “Oui,” she panted, riding my denim-clad thigh like she was at a rodeo. “Please? S’il te plait chéri,” she begged for it.
• “I’m going to take you against the brick wall and bruise this beautiful back,” my fingers trailed down her spine and she moaned. “Hard and rough. Would you like that?”
• “Yes!” If I’d told her to lick the dirt off the floor to get a piece of me she would have done it with no questions asked. and if you think I’m being too vain, I once put the theory to the test. The girl not only licked the floor she lapped the soles of my shoes too.
• “You’ve got five seconds to run out to the back and wait for me like the thirsty girl that you are.” The words had barely left my lips and she was gone, stumbling on her heels as she ran along.
• Cash’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You’re evil incarnate, Le Roux.” He slid closer and clinked his tumbler with mine. “Are you going to do another John Mayer on her?”
• “What to do, frérot?” Twisting my lips to the side, I tapped my chin. “To screw or not to screw?”
• “You need to answer your phone,” he nodded to the dancing iPhone on the glass tabletop in front of us. “Person is pretty persistent.”
• “Could turn into Plan B,” I shrugged, bending over and swiping the phone up. “Zack?” My eyebrows snapped together when I saw my long-lost step-brother’s number flashing on my screen.
• “Why is he calling?” Cash was equally puzzled. He knew every bit of the ugly history between us.
• “I don’t know,” I fought an internal battle. “Could be something to do with our baby sister, maybe?”
• “The only way you will know is if you answer it,” he pointed out.
• “You’re right,” I agreed, rising to my feet and trying to find a quiet place. Turning into a narrow passageway, I slipped into someone’s office and closed the door. “What do you want?”
• “Hey,” Zack said. “I need your help?”
• “Is it Trinity? Didn’t you get the check that I sent?”
• “We got it-look man, I know you don’t like me-”
• “Understatement.”
• “But, I’m in deep trouble and you might be the only one that could help me…please, Remy??”
• I should cut the phone. I should hang up, he and his cheating, husband-stealer of a mother deserved no better after the way they hurt my family. But the desperation in his voice made me hear him out.
• Taking a seat behind the desk piled with paperwork, I listened to the whole mess. He didn’t hold back and told me everything.
• “So…” he sighed. “Will you help me?”
• “Why should I?” My parents were both dead because of his mother.
• “I…I don’t know. I’m desperate Remy. I know you hate me because of what happened with your mother-
• “Don’t you dare speak about my mother!” My fist met the hardwood and the old desk creaked in protest.
• “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do and can’t go to prison for something I didn’t do.”
• “You stalked your ex and even broke into her house to try and steal your- or is it her phone back?” The dude was a mess, he couldn’t even buy himself a freakin’ phone. Were things that bad?
• “Yes, but only to try and get her-
• “And now she’s slapped you with a restraining order,” I grunted, glancing up as someone came through the door, bringing the sound of one of my favorite songs. Holding out a finger to the guy he nodded in understanding and backed out again.
• “Yes,” Zack answered. “But I didn’t do the other stuff I’m being accused of.”
• “Gosh, I love this song.” Humming along to Heat Waves by Glass Animals, I took time before responding. I could be out there dancing or screwing what’s her name with the gold dress? “You tapped the teacher, no?”
• My brother huffed again. “I did but-”
• “Then I hope it was worth it, mon frère. May those steamy memories of you banging the brains out of your professor keep you warm in the cold jail cell. Au revoir.” My thumb tapped the red button on the screen and I swung my legs off the table. “One quick screw coming up,” I mumbled to myself as I made my way to the alley. And yes, the gold dress groupie girl was patiently waiting.
• Her face was brighter than the corner street light when I stepped out the back door. “Rules are simple, petite amie.” Lighting a cigarette, I took a long drag and blew the smoke into her eager face. “I don’t kiss. I don’t panty peel. I don’t do repeats. Comprenez vous?”
• Her head bobbed up and down as she sprang into action, her hands tugging down her legs thong in one motion.
• Ça Alors, I loved fast learners.