Made in America (3 page)

“True,” he muses. “After doing something like this, there’s no doubt he’s probably selfish in the bed, too. I bet he’s never made a girl come in his life.”

“Tito!” I chide, but I can’t help but smile at his naughty humor. I’m the same way when I’m not exhausted and my feet aren’t aching from standing on them for six hours.

“I’m just saying,” he jokes. “Still, there must be some way we can get back at him.”

“
Him? We?
I don’t even know who he is, and besides, even if I did, what could I possibly do to get back at someone like that? You didn’t see this guy. He probably has more money than God. Blokes like that don’t give two fingers about what someone like me thinks of them.”

“Maybe not, but it’d still feel good, right?”

Can’t disagree with him there. I take another pull on the bottle and belch.

“At least post something on Facebook. That always makes me feel better.”

“Facebook. Everything with you is always Facebook, Facebook, Facebook.”

It’s true. He’s on there more than Mark Zuckerberg, I’m sure. Posting pictures of his food, writing status updates about how well him and his boyfriend, Frankie, are doing. It’s enough to make me gag, and not in the
oh look, a big cock in my mouth
, sort of way.

He runs out into the living room, snatches my phone out of my purse, and hands it to me. “Trust me,” he says.

“Fine,” I growl, yanking the phone out of his hands.

“Don’t forget to take a picture. People love pictures.”

I do as he asks, snapping a photo of the receipt. Then I write something to accompany it, click Post, and voila!

“Feel better?” Tito asks.

“A little.”

“Good.”

I finish off my watermelon punch and stand to bring it to the recycling bin.

“What was it you wanted to tell me, anyway?” I ask.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He excitedly jumps out of his chair and stops me mid-stride, the bottle still clutched firmly in my hand. He places his palms on my shoulders and grins the biggest grin I’ve ever seen. “You ready for this?”

“Yes!” I say, feeling his excitement.

But before he can say anything his expression of exuberance falters, and he stares past me into space. I turn to see what he’s looking at, but there’s nothing there.

“What?” I ask, suddenly worried that he might be having a stroke.

“I got it,” he whispers.

“Got what?”

“Grant Huffman, I remember where I’ve heard that name before.”

He runs into the living room and snatches his laptop off the coffee table. Rushing back into the kitchen, he sets it on the table and flips it open, leaving me standing next to him with the empty bottle still gripped in my hand. His fingers furiously tap at the keyboard and after a few moments he turns the screen toward me and asks, “Is this the guy?”

I look, and sure enough, there’s picture of suit guy staring back at me, looking as smug and handsome as ever.

“Yeah,” I scowl. “That’s him.”

“Raven, do you know who this guy is?”

“Sure,” I shrug. “Grant Huffman.”

“No, but do you
know
who he is?”

I shake my head.

“This is Grant Oliver Sebastian Huffman, and yes, his initials totally spell out GOSH, and for good reason. Forbes magazine listed him as one of the top billionaires under 35 in the country. He’s a financial mogul. Investments, stocks, bonds, trading, selling…you name it, and this guy’s done it. He owns Huffman Financial, and for a guy who deals in money, he’s not as stuck-up as you’d think. He’s trending all the time. Twitter, tabloids, New York Times, USA Today, TMZ. Women, money, power. He’s the total package.”

Tito sighs longingly at that part, staring at Grant Huffman’s impeccable picture. I don’t blame him. The guy is strikingly gorgeous.

But me? I stopped listening after he said billionaire. I knew this guy had a lot of money based on his suit alone, but a billionaire?

Holy shit.

Something in my brain clicks and I rush to grab my phone. Snatching it up, I head on over to Facebook with Tito looking diligently over my shoulder.

“Rave? What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? I’m deleting that picture,” I say frantically. “If this guy’s a billionaire, he could crush me under his thumb if he sees something like that.”

Tito grabs my hand, preventing me from doing anything with my phone. He looks at me, and I stare back at him as the corner of his mouth turns up into a mischievous grin.

“Tito…” I say wearily.

“Leave it,” he smiles. “Let’s see what happens.”

“Tito, no,” I protest.

“Come on, Rave. Have a little fun. When has a guy being a billionaire ever stopped you from being you?”

“I don’t know, and that’s probably because I don’t know any billionaires, and I’m not about to take my chances with this one.”

“Fine,” he dramatically relinquishes his hand. “If you don’t think this guy deserves to be reprimanded for the way he treated you, that’s fine. Delete it. But you’ll be setting back the women’s movement a hundred years, allowing any man with money to just walk all over your sweet ass, and the sweet asses of women everywhere without worrying about the consequences.”

I slump my shoulders and sigh. He does have a point. Guys like Grant Huffman are used to getting their way. Walking through life thinking they’re above the law. Untouchable. Facebook isn’t a court of law, and I’m not a judge, but maybe this lowly punishment will go a long way toward making guys like him see that not every girl they meet can be pushed around.

Besides, I have like, 200 friends on there. It’s not as if anybody of importance is going to see it.

“Fine,” I surrender. “I’ll leave the image and see what happens, but I’m telling you right now, if assassins show up in the middle of the night to off me, I’m throwing you under the bus and making a run for it.”

“Deal,” he beams.

He closes the laptop and takes a deep breath, and I remember that he had something to tell me. All this Grant Huffman mess left everything else by the wayside, and since Tito can be easily distracted sometimes, I nudge him a little back into the right headspace.

“So what is it you wanted to tell me.”

He thinks for a moment, and then that same, excited grin breaks out on his face as he remembers.

Taking my shoulders and spinning me to face him, he says, “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready, Tito. Come on, spill it.”

He bites his knuckles and squeals, “Frankie and I got engaged! I’m moving out!”

My face drops, and with it the empty bottle I’m still holding. It smashes on the floor, breaking into tiny glass fragments that pepper the linoleum and cut at my ankles.

Moving out?

Son of a bitch.

RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES!

TMZ

Oh My Gosh! What’s Grant Huffman Done Now?

NEW YORK POST

Gosh, Golly, Gee, Give a Girl a Break!

E! ONLINE

Gosh, What a Jerk

JUST JARED

Grant Huffman: Billionaire Playboy Exposed as a Billion Dollar Ass

RADAR ONLINE

Huffman in A Huff!

BUZZFEED

Grant Huffman Offered His Waitress a Tip, and You Won’t Believe What Happened Next!

PEREZ HILTON

Oh Gosh, Not This Guy Again

YAHOO CELEBRITY

What Grant Huffman Did Was Unforgivable

PEOPLE

Grant Huffman Shows His True Colors

- 3 -

Grant

Talk about your PR nightmare.

Sitting in my office, I stare at my computer. At the same image I’ve been staring at for the past week. The image that has caused me more stress than anything in recent memory.

Fucking Raven Young. I knew she was a vixen when I first saw her, but I just couldn’t help myself, could I?

Christ, who knew that going to a sports bar with Alan was going to land me in so much hot water? Sure, I didn’t
have
to write what I did on that receipt, but it was just some harmless fun. Now I’ve had to suspend Alan, feigning ignorance on the whole “fun bags” comment, and issue a public apology to the same girl I haven’t been able to get out of my mind all week.

And not just because of what she posted online.

I’m still thinking about her tits, her ass, her goddamn tattoos. All of her. Girl’s got a lot of spunk to do what she did.

I bet she didn’t expect it to blow up like this, though.

Her image of my receipt and what I wrote went viral. Because she shared it publicly on Facebook, anyone can, and did, see it. It spread like wildfire, getting picked up by news outlets, TMZ, and the like. Painting me, Grant Huffman, as an insufferable ass, and sending my PR department into spin control.

Not exactly how I thought my week was going to go.

But she’s going to get hers.

Along with a public apology, she also demanded a personal one.

I slam my MacBook closed and check my watch. She should be here any minute.

I stand and head over to the wardrobe in the corner. Opening the door, I peer into the mirror on the inside of it. Straighten my tie. I’m not a nervous person by nature, but the idea of Raven Young coming here has got me on edge. I don’t know whether I’m going to apologize, or bend her over my desk and give her a good spanking.

No, can’t do that. It’ll just add more fuel to a fire that is finally starting to succumb to the mass media’s ADHD. Hot topic one day, forgotten the next. Thankfully, some Kardashian did something yesterday to turn all the attention away from me.

Gotta love those Kardashians.

Strolling back over to my desk, I take a swig of Perrier to wet my whistle. I notice my palms are a bit clammy, but no bother. It’s not like I’m going to be shaking hands with the woman who got her licks in while she could.

She’ll be in and out quicker than I was with April this morning.

The phone rings and I snatch it up.

“Mr. Huffman,” my assistant says. “Miss Young is here to see you.”

“Just send her in,” I bark.

God, this girl has me all kinds of edgy today.

I slam the receiver down and remain standing. My office door swings open and there she is, only she’s not what I remember.

Not at all.

Fuck me.

Her hair is no longer red, white, and blue. It’s a deep shade of amber that flows like a fiery waterfall down to shoulders that are covered conservatively in a cream colored blouse. A blouse that’s buttoned up so as to not reveal any cleavage, but there’s no hiding what she’s got underneath it.

She looks absolutely stunning, and her blouse is short sleeved which does nothing to hide the tattoos on her arms.

Probably likes it in the ass.

Alan’s words echo in my mind, but I shake them away. I can’t think like that right now. I don’t want to think like that right now.

She walks over and I glance down, gazing upon a black, pencil skirt that hugs her thighs, coming down to just above her knees. A pair of beige pumps adorn her feet and today she’s wearing glasses, though her big doe eyes are clearly still visible, and they look at me with a mixture of wonder and repulsion.

I imagine that’s how a lot of women are looking at me after what happened.

God, how could I have been such an ass? Look at her. Raven Young. I repeat her name over and over, never wanting to forget it.

Something tells me I never will.

“Please,” I offer my hand to a chair. “Have a seat.”

“I’ll stand,” she says coldly.

My ass is already halfway to my own chair and I pause, nod curtly at her, and rise back up.

“Very well.”

This morning I had a million things I wanted to say to her, but now I can’t remember a single one. I’ve been awestruck by females before, but those were in my earlier days. Being who I am, I attend a lot of parties, meet a lot of wealthy women, but eventually they all just sort of melt together into generic bimbos that are as forgettable as yesterday’s sunrise.

But not her. Not Raven Young.

She’s different than all the women I’ve ever known. When I saw her in the sports bar she was frayed around the edges. I thought I had her pegged. Now? Seeing her all cleaned up and how she’s presenting herself—fearless—she’s not the woman I expected to walk through my door. She’s not intimidated by me like most are.

And it’s turning me the fuck on so much because all I can think about is taming her with my cock.

“I’m here for my apology,” she begins, opening the lines of communication between us.

“Oh, you’ll get an apology, but I think you owe me one as well,” I tell her smugly.

Raven’s jaw hangs slack for a moment. Opens and closes like she wants to say something but the words are lost on her tongue. When she manages to find her voice again, there’s fire in her eyes as she screeches, “I owe you an apology?”