Perfectly Imperfect by Harper Sloan
"ARE YOU OKAY?" KANE ASKS, his eyes not leaving my father.
"Uh ..." I stammer, my anger dying with the shock of seeing him here.
"Right." He smiles slightly, his gaze colliding with mine, and I watch in fascination as his softens just a breath before looking over my shoulder and becoming a mask of anger. What is that about? He doesn't lose the hard look of anger until he looks back at me. His eyes roamed over my face before moving down my body. I shift, uncomfortable, and pull my dress at the waist, hoping it isn't sticking too tightly to my body. Those cerulean orbs narrow at my movement and only cause me to pull a little more. God, this is embarrassing. "Stop that," he commands harshly, and I instantly drop my arms.
I hear my father clear his throat before addressing the witnesses to our heated fight. "Kane, you'll have to forgive me. I thought our appointment was later today. Willow was just leaving."
Dismissed.
Again.
By the man who I have called my father for my whole life. The only one I've ever known, even if he wasn't the one who helped give me life. Instead, he's always been the one who has resented the fact I existed. Hello, Daddy issues anyone?
Kirby moves into the room and clasps her hand in mine, giving my father a clear f-you by making her stance at my side known. I try to pull my hand from hers, knowing my father won't hesitate to reprimand her for butting in. She digs her fingers in, grasping hold of my hand until the strength of her hold is bruising and her nails are biting in warning.
"Kirby, stop," I plead.
"No. Not this time, Willow."
I try, once again, to remove my hand, but she holds strong.
"Is this how you treat your own family, Dominic? I would hate to see how you treat someone outside that bond."
My eyes widen as Kane speaks. His voice is strong and true as it rumbles around us like thunder. I watch in rapt fascination as he stands up to my father. For me. I haven't had someone other than Eddie and Kirby go to bat for me in close to ten years. In fact, the only person I remember ever doing it before was my mother.
Why is he doing this? He doesn't even know me.
My relief that he obviously didn't hear everything is short-lived when my father speaks.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that, Kane. It's unfortunate, but it seems like my stepdaughter needed a firm hand. You'll understand one day when you have kids of your own. It's necessary to be hard. Please sit. I'll have Ivy set up the conference room." He clears his throat before continuing. "Willow?"
I move my eyes from the detailed study of Kane's body and glance over at my father. Maybe he's changed his mind. Perhaps this was all just a daydream ... yes, I'm sure it's all a big misunderstanding. "Sir?"
"A word?" He walks around his desk and flicks his hand toward the doorway. I'm sure this is when he's going to admit it was a big prank--admittedly, not funny in the least, but I'm sure there's a reason. However, I'm not sure that would matter now that the verbal damage is done.
Kane doesn't move as my father attempts to get through the door. Not surprisingly, he radiates a dominating presence that leaves no room for argument. He slips his gaze from mine to look down at where my father is standing in front of him before looking back just as quickly.
Not many people can look down at Dominic Logan. At six-foot-one, he's always been one of the taller males who floats around the agency. Most of our male models sit somewhere around five-foot-ten; the females, though, most of them are right about level with him. Not Kane though. It's hard to tell someone's height from magazines, television, and movies, but Kane has to be pushing closer to six and a half feet.
His eyes are holding mine over the top of my father's head, and I feel Kirby's hand tighten. What is he doing?
"Oh, Kane, sweetheart! It's been ages." All four of us look into the outer sanctum as Ivy comes strutting back down the hall, her voice breaking the silence around us. I look over at my father to see a beaming smile in place before moving my gaze to Kane. His eyes are no longer on mine but assessing Ivy. Perfect. Freaking. Ivy.
Well, I'm certainly not going to stick around for this. I would prefer to keep the fantasy I've built around the image of Kane Masters on my pedestal of 'the perfect man,' and I know anything he might do right now would ruin that. Or actually, what Ivy might do, and his subsequent reaction to her.
I've yet to meet a man who could see Poison Ivy for the evil human being that she is. Kane will just be like the rest stuck in her spell.
"Come on, Kirb," I whisper and tug her forward. I have to suck in to make it through the doorway Kane occupies, but no amount of air forced through my panicked lungs would make me a smaller person. Nope; instead, my large breasts rub against his chest, and I hold back a shiver with the friction of his touch. I cringe when I think about what he must think. Someone like Ivy would have no trouble slipping through. I turn to look at Kirby, avoiding his penetrating gaze at all costs, and my shoulders drop when I see her move past him with no trouble at all. Her slim build makes it easy to walk through the narrow opening provided with little effort.
"I brought you a trash bag, Wills," Ivy says with a slither.
"For what, Ivy?" I say with rancorous sarcasm dripping from my tone.
"For all your shit, sister dear." She laughs, her face not moving from her tight-lipped sneer.
"You bitch," Kirby fumes.
"You have ten minutes, Willow," she continues. "Make sure you turn in your keycard to the offices as well as any other property of Logan Agency you might think you have rights to. Ten minutes, Willow, to remove all your shit and don't let me see you back here again."
Perhaps, it was years of verbal abuse from my father, sister, and Brad. Maybe it was years of self-hatred finally boiling over the tipping point. Coming to a head between who I was and who I have worked so hard to become. Or maybe I just finally had enough. Recognizing when you hit the ground of rock bottom and it turns into quicksand puts into perspective that you really don't have anything left to lose. They've taken it all, but they will not get my pride. Whatever the driving force behind it--I snap. And I don't snap in a pretty, ladylike fashion where I whip off a metaphorical white glove and slap some faces.
No. Not me.
In typical Willow fashion, I go big when my crazy surfaces.
"I hate you!" I scream. "For years, I've been your punching bag. For YEARS, I've put up with everything you've thrown at me verbally. I've been nothing but a glorified human pile of crap for the two of you to step in whenever you need to feel better about yourself. You want me gone? Every piece of me? Fine!"
I look over at Kane. The instant reminder of our first encounter has me ripping my hand from Kirby's and bending to snatch my shoes off my feet, tossing them at Kirby. Not this time, heels, not this time. She catches them easily despite her shock. Moving toward Ivy, I grab the bag before marching over to my desk. I throw in anything that isn't 'Logan Agency' property. I'm a tornado of mental torment chanting mine over and over again as I snatch whatever I can. Pencils, pens--mine. Tape--mine. Notepad--mine. Little pillow for back support--mine. Mug with a cute little kitten on it--mine. All freaking MINE!
I stomp from my desk to the coffee table in the sitting area, grab all the magazines I had been in charge of buying each week from the little vendor on the corner of our building, and throw them in too. The fake flowers sitting on the small table near the hallway mouth are thrown in the bag too since I was the one who purchased them in the hopes of adding some happiness around here. Happiness! Ha, what a joke.
In my hysteria, I throw open the kitchen door and start to dump sugar packets and coffee stirring sticks into my bag. Because I'll be damned if I let him make his demanded coffee with ease. Have fun finding three sugars now, jerk!
By the time I've grabbed anything I could deem general property, my trash bag was full to the point of straining the lining. I huff back to Kirby and thrust the bag at her, making her fumble a little to keep hold of my shoes and grab the balled up end.
I p
"There, Dominic," I pant angrily. "There is the rest of your stupid property. Thank you for reminding me that I luckily share none of your blood. If I never see you again, it will be a day too soon."
I look over toward Kane, wondering again why he was even here to begin with, but when I see Ivy in his arms, I stop caring enough to ask. I know for a fact she doesn't know him. She looked as shocked as I did that day in the lawyer's office. But leave it to her to hook her claws into another man who's spoken for. Let's hope his relationship fares better than the one Ivy has already succeeded in ruining.
Just as well.
"Be careful with that one. Her bite is deadly," I mumble heatedly toward him.
His eyes fire at mine before looking down at the woman in his arms. Apparently, he's just noticing for the first time that she is wrapped around him like a little monkey. No, monkeys are cute. Snake. That's it. Like the deadly snake she is.
I don't give any of them another second of my time. I can feel the tears coming, but I refuse to let one drop in this room. I vaguely hear Ivy say something as I walk through the room and down the hallway. My silent, shoeless footsteps pad quickly and the tapping of Kirby's heels follow right behind me.
Without a backward glance, I leave behind another part of my life that was slowly drowning me.
Six months earlier
The offices of Buchanan and Buchanan
I'M NOT EASILY ENAMORED WITH someone. In my line of work, a beautiful face is a dime a dozen, and usually, those beautiful faces hold nothing but vapor between their ears. It's made the simplest of relationships all but impossible. The intrigue was missing. Nothing there was compelling enough to keep my attention past a quick glance.
I wouldn't say I'm a saint, but I'm losing interest in meager exchanges of sweaty bodies and awkward good-byes. That dreaded period of holding my breath and waiting to see if our shared encounter would make it into the rags. Meeting someone when you're a celebrity of my status has also been a big consternation for the last few years. Women want Kane Masters the icon and not Kane Masters the man. They couldn't care less what makes me tick, what makes me happy, what goals I desire for my future. They want the status and money that comes with being on my side. The only future they can see is one I would have to pay for.
It's been fifteen long years since I starred in my first lead role. Fifteen years of nothing but success that has no chance of slowing down anytime soon. I could stop making movies tomorrow and that success would never die. It used to be the only thing I wanted in life. Acting was my one and only aspiration. It was never a question of if I would become one of the most demanded names in Hollywood--it was always when. Two years after my first major motion picture role, I won my first Oscar. The year after that, another. Multiple awards followed. SAGs, Golden Globes, BAFTA--British Academy of Film and Television Awards--you name it; I hold it in a shiny case in the media room of my Malibu beach house.
But in all of that success, it's become painfully obvious to me in the last couple of years that I was missing something in my life. The meaningless affairs dwindled down to nothing. The attraction to the women in my normal circles disappeared. I began to see them for what they were, and I've been struggling significantly with that.
I want companionship. I want a partner I can build a life with outside the insanity of my celebrity status. I want more for my future than bright lights around me.
Aside from my brothers, my few closest friends, and my parents, there really wasn't anything left for me. I've begun to believe I would never find someone to fill the emptiness haunting me.
Bottom line--I'm lonely. Surrounded by millions and still the loneliest motherfucker around.
But I will never be lonely enough to settle for one of the vapid, fake women who surround my lifestyle. I want someone real. I need a challenge. I want to feel that connection to someone I've never been able to find. That one you read about. The one that makes you feel alive. Awakens you with just a glance. I know it's out there because I felt it once before; a fleeting feeling gone just as quickly as it hit, but it's out there ... otherwise, the movies they pay me millions to create wouldn't be instant blockbusters. Everyone dreams of finding that feeling. And until I find it, I'm afraid I'll spend the rest of my days wandering around like a lost puppy.
Even my agent has noticed a change in my normally full throttled drive. I've slowed down on the circuit; taking fewer offered roles, I'm focusing more on producing and directing. If I'm quite honest, I'm not even sure acting is something I want to do anymore. The industry has lost its glamor; I know if I have any hopes of finding that life partner I crave and a chance at making my dreams a reality, being in the spotlight will blind me from the path to find those things.
Who would guess that the real Kane Masters is a lonely little boy wandering around in a thirty-five-year-old's skin second-guessing every decision he's made up to this point? If I had just followed my brother, Kyle, in his footsteps outside this life of fame, would I be married now, too? Have kids? Be able to walk the streets without paparazzi swarming me? I'm sure, at the very least, I would be able to form lasting relationships with the absence of the lie-riddled tabloids. Kyle still struggles because of Jessica, his wife's own fame, but they've been able to carve out a life for themselves that seems to work.
"Drop me off here, Cam," I tell my driver, bodyguard, and friend when he pulls up to my attorney's office at Buchanan and Buchanan. "I'll just be a second. I need to see if Steven looked over the contract I had dropped off yesterday and I'll be right back. Just wait here and I'll be quick." He gives me a hard look, and I know damn well it's because he hates that I brush off the potential dangers my celebrity status brings. "Seriously, Cam. No one has ever caused a scene here before, and I'm just going to be in and out."
Cam begrudgingly nods but doesn't reply. I hear him turn up the book he had been listening to before I jumped in the car earlier this morning. Normally, I don't give a shit what he's listening to, but he's been on a romance kick lately and he knows I'll get pissed if I start getting into a book only to have to stop. Those romance books get me hooked every time.
Call me a pussy--but there's nothing wrong with a man who enjoys a good romance book. My dad always said the best way to learn what a woman wants is to pick up some of the smut they love to read so much. Written by a woman, it might as well be a road map to instant pleasure.
I laugh to myself as I take the elevator up and step into the immaculate offices of Buchanan and Buchanan. I look over at the couple standing off to the side and give them a nod. I see recognition flash in the man's eyes, but the woman next to him catches my gaze.
She's beautiful--I'll give her that, even with the shocked recognition written over her features. But her beauty isn't something that causes me to take a second look. I will never understand why women feel the need to erase everything that makes them soft and feminine to turn themselves into one of those masks you pick up at Halloween. You know, the ones you put on and you could be screaming and carrying on within, but there wouldn't be a flinch in your facial features.
Fake.
Unattractive.
I move my gaze from her frozen face and look down at her thin body. Don't get me wrong; I'm sure there are men who love the sleekness of a smaller woman, but not me. I've always been attracted to women with curves. Because the women within my inner circle favor--like this woman--to pay for their beauty, the better part of my adult relationships have been with women like her by my side, even though my prefere
My best friend, Mia, was the voice of reason when my last serious relationship ended ten years ago. Jenn had left me claiming she couldn't keep up with the expectations of being by my side. I still don't understand it completely, but according to Mia, the media will rip anyone who isn't society's idea of perfect to shreds--something Jenn had been subject to for the vast duration of our relationship. Naive enough to believe that 'love' was strong enough to protect anyone; no one was more shocked than I was when she didn't last long after we publicly came out as a couple.
Since that day, it's been nothing but women like the one before me. Women who I hold back with--not just emotionally, but also physically. Yeah, I love my women to have curves because I find them mouth-wateringly attractive, but also because when they lacked those curves I crave, I always feared I would break them if I fucked how I love to fuck.
Hard.
Bruising.
Rough.
Nothing but meaningless hookups followed the departure of Jenn. Hookups that I learned very quickly were a waste of my time and a headache of attachment issues from the women when you were done.
I turn the second her eyes flash with recognition, shaking me out of my thoughts as I walk over to Stacy, another insipid woman. Fake tits, annoying laugh, and a self-centered air seeping from her pores. I ignore her flirting and let her know I need to speak with Steven, turning before she can speak again and walking over to take a seat while I wait.
That's when I see her.
A flash of something familiar hits me as I study her. I've seen this woman before. Somewhere, our paths have crossed. She looks miserable, but even that can't disguise her beauty. A cloak of anxiety and fear wrap her body tightly as she shakes slightly while twisting her fingers together in her lap nervously. Her legs bounce and the movement makes her chest quiver. Moves that, even with them covered in fabric, I can tell are her natural tits.
Huge, larger-than-a-handful tits.
Fuck, I want to see her face. I've felt this before. A jolt to my senses I've experienced before followed by a protectiveness I've never felt before ... not even with Jenn.
I sit in the chair to her left, just out of her eyesight, and wait for her to move. The way she has her head tilted now, I can't see her face through her long thick brown hair. I take the time to study the rest of her, trying to place her body. Her thighs look like the kind that would cushion my hips as I powered into her body. Her body--ripe, full, and all woman--has my groin tightening.