Blake inhales and on the loud exhale, he says icily, “So, Kat, you’re a big star now.”

Blakey? Kat? Do they know each other intimately? Former fuck buddies? This is not the time to ask. I keep my big mouth shut.

Katrina sneers. “I would have been a bigger star if you’d picked up my show instead of that rinky-dink cable network.”

“It wasn’t a good fit.”

“I’m sure it was a better fit than your wife’s skanky little pussy.”

Blake’s cheeks flare and I can feel my own reddening. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“Jesus, put a lid on it, Katrina. What’s wrong with you?”

With a smirk, she slides out of the chair and saunters off. “See you later, Brandy-Poo.”

I’m mortified. How could she embarrass me like that in front of my boss? The second most powerful man at Conquest Broadcasting.

“Man, I’m sorry for that. I don’t know what got into her. Maybe she had too much to drink.” Which I know isn’t true because there was no trace of alcohol on her breath, and she sure as hell couldn’t walk in those heels sloshed.

“Don’t worry about it.”

I can’t help myself; I need to know. “Did you and she have some kind of thing?”

Blake tightens his lips once more. “My father always says: ‘Sometimes the past is better left behind.’ I’ll leave it at that.”

The irony of his words gets under my skin. If only I could remember mine. In the meantime, I’m going to find out what their story is.

Brandon

I’ve barely stepped inside my house when Katrina comes sprinting up to me. She’s dressed in a very skimpy bright red bikini that exposes her voluminous tits and her long, toned legs that seem to extend to her armpits. Her eyes are bloodshot and her face is streaked with tears. Looks like she’s been crying.

She flings her arms around my shoulders, clinging to me, pressing her firm breasts against my pecs, so I can’t take another step without taking her with me. In her mile-high mules, she’s eye level with me.

“Let go of me, Katrina.” My voice is gruff. I’m still reeling from her mortifying behavior in front of Blake Burns.

She runs one hand along the side of my jaw and bats her eyes. “Oh, Brandon, you have the right to be mad at me. The way I behaved today was so out of line. I’m so, so, sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

She holds me in her feline gaze imploringly. I draw in a sharp breath through my nose and exhale. “We need to talk.”

She nods. And then a seductive smile slithers across her billowy lips.

“Let’s take it outside.” Her cloying floral cologne is smothering me. I need some fresh air.

“Can I pour myself a glass of champagne first?”

“Fine.” I stab the word at her while she ambles to the kitchen with the grace of a gazelle. Her platinum mane cascades down her back and bounces along.

Five minutes later, we’re seated on my terrace, my back to the guesthouse where Zoey resides. The January air is balmy. I cut to the chase.

“So, what’s the story with you and Blake Burns?”

Seductively folding one bare leg over the other, Katrina takes a sip of her champagne. “I never really wanted to tell you about him, but I suppose I have no choice.”

“Level with me, Katrina.” My voice is authoritative. I’m all ears.

She sets the crystal flute on the small table between us. And with a lick of her upper lip, she begins.

“Blake and I have known each other almost our entire lives. Our families were best friends, and we went to the same schools right through high school. During a vacation in Capri, we fell in love. And I never stopped loving him. I thought I was destined to marry him and so did Mommy. It was a match made in heaven. Like royalty. We were practically engaged.”

Her eyes narrow. “Then that repulsive peon, Jennifer McCoy, stepped into the picture, and when he chose her over me, it totally broke my heart.”

My eyes bore into her. “Are you saying you’re still in love with him?”

She flings her head and huffs. “Hardly. I hate his guts for what he did to me. And I hate his wife even more. The bitch did something really evil and manipulative that I can never forget. Or forgive.”

“Like what?”

Her face darkens and her voice grows cold with fury. “I can’t talk about it, but let’s just say it’ll follow me everywhere.”

She brushes her long manicured nails across a faint scar below her collarbone that shimmers in the late afternoon sun. I’ve never noticed it before on account of the high necklines she favors. It looks like the remnants of a former tattoo. A five-letter name. I can vaguely make out the first letter—a “B.” “B” like in B-L-A-K-E? While curious, I fold my arms in my lap and let her continue.

“So, darling, when I found out you were having lunch today with Blake, I couldn’t resist.”

Despite her explanation, another surge of anger blasts through my chest. “It was an important business lunch, Katrina. You had no right to be there. Your behavior and the things you said totally mortified me.”

“I couldn’t help it. I was just acting out my anger.” Her pouty expression begs for sympathy. “I hope you can understand.”

No, I don’t understand, but the past is the past. Not dwelling on the irony of that thought, I blow out a breath. “Just don’t let anything like that ever happen again.”

“Is that a threat, Brandon?” Her voice is pitchy, as if she’s challenging me.

“No, it’s an order.”

Tears cluster in her cat-green eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m working on my anger issues with my therapist.”

“That’s good.” My voice is monotone.

“Can you forgive me?” She returns to the champagne.

“Yes.” I don’t tell her that I’m not going to forget about this incident. Forgetting anything is the last thing I want to do in my amnesiac state.

“Thank you, darling.” A few fat tears roll down her high cheekbones, taking some of her mascara with them. My eyes stay on her as she rises and repositions herself in front of me. Squatting down, she works the button of my jeans and then yanks down my fly. My big flaccid dick sits parked between my legs.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to make it up to you,” she purrs.

I don’t stir. And then without warning, she dumps the remainder of her champagne on my shaft, soaking my cock, my balls, and my jeans. I jolt from the sudden cold sensation.

“Jesus, Katrina. What the fuck?”

“Do you still love me?” She rolls her tongue around the circumference of my dripping wet crown.

My breath hitches. I seriously don’t know the answer to that question. And it’s like my drenched cock is rolling its eyes and saying: Don’t look at me. I have no clue.

“Show me you love me,” she lilts, gripping the base. Her billowy lips descend on my length and then make their way back up. She repeats the movements, picking up speed. My soft cock doesn’t respond. I just want to tuck it back into my jeans and get away from her.

“Dammit, Brandon. What’s wrong with you?” she growls before going down on me again.

Squeezing my eyes, I groan loudly and almost leap up from my chair. “Christ. What the hell are you doing?”

An unexpected answer. “I’m delivering your sides—the lines you need to rehearse for this week’s upcoming shoot.”

My eyes pop open. Shit. Zoey.

She slaps a folder down on the table. “I’m sorry to interrupt something so important.”

“Zo—”

She cuts me off. “I’m off to a meeting with my dad. I’ll have my phone with me so call or text me if anything else ‘important’ comes up.” In addition to air-quoting the word important, she puts a sarcastic emphasis on the last two words.

“No, wait.” My voice takes on urgency that borders on panic. Like I’m silently saying, “Please don’t leave me alone with Katrina.” My cock smarts.