Pretty Bitches Read online

  PRETTY BITCHES

  A NOVEL BY: APRIL EZELL WILSON

  Copyright

  April Ezell Wilson Pretty Bitches

  © 2013, AEW Self publishing ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Wilson, Ezell April.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

   CHAPTER 1: GLENLIVET

   CHAPTER 2: THE DATE

   CHAPTER 3: BLACKOUT

   CHAPTER 4: FARMHOUSE

   CHAPTER 5: I WILL

   CHAPTER 6: MEET THE GUYS

   CHAPTER 7: ANOTHER BITCH

   CHAPTER 8: I DO

   CHAPTER 9: OH YES WE DID

   CHAPTER 10: GOODBYE

  CHAPTER ONE: GLENLIVET

  It was one of those epic hangover mornings. You know when you open your eyes and want to pull off your head. Then when that delicious feeling sinks in you are hit with the horrific bits and pieces of what could be the worst memory in history. Did I really fucking do that? That is usually a question that I find myself asking the morning after.

  I said what? There’s another famous one I frequent.

  Ahhh, the lovely feelings you are rammed with after a night of unadulterated drinking and possible sex? Wait, what? Who in the fuck is in my bed and how did I get home?

  I sighed and reached for the water that was missing from my end table and swore like hell because it was gone. That means I’m going to have to actually move my legs, which I am not entirely certain are still attached to my body. Everything hurt with each heartbeat. The ceiling was fairly still but the rest of the room was a thrumming strobe because of the separate heartbeat behind my eyes.

  That’s it; I’m really never drinking again—until five o’clock because I’m meeting Lila at Pressed to hear about her new fuck mate. That’s what we call them—men that have nothing to offer other than a spectacular orgasm and zero pillow talk, partially because they have an average IQ of a hamster. We are too busy with work to worry about feigned relationships. If I wanted to talk about my feelings or the fact I’m more fucked up than a virgin at a whorehouse I would gladly stalk my therapist even more that I already do.

  He’s just going to have to get his ass in gear and get outta my bed. I have to be in the office in an hour and let’s be honest; I’m going to need some prep work to even get my tits in a bra today.

  I slap my hand across his chest. I know, not the most pleasant way to wake up but this is mission critical and he just tried to sink my boat.

  I heard a loud gasp through his teeth and I chanced a glance over. Hmm, actually not too bad, Em. He’s got that recently fucked hair but that face could be on the cover of next months issue. I took a moment to stare at his tanned pretty face. And my, my what a face it was. Too bad I can’t remember if he was a good lay. Oh well, as pleasant as this little tête-à-tête has been he needed to roll on out.

  I slapped again because apparently the first one wasn’t clear enough. This time I put some punch to it and ended with a few claw marks across his perfectly waxed chest.

  That one got his attention. “Hey, what the fuck?” He rolled to his side and fisted his hands in his eyes while he let out a huge yawn.

  “You need to get moving, sugar; I have to be at work shortly and I’m not going to be late, even for that pretty face.” I patted him several times on the arm and twisted my whisky soaked body from the silk sheets and made my way to the bathroom. Moments later I am greeted by said stranger perched in my doorway while I am having my morning pee.

  Ok, really, is he fucking kidding me? “Uh, the front door is at the other end of the house, use it.” I knew I was being unnecessarily bitchy but he was now encroaching my very personal space and I had my limit.

  “Whoa, babe. Take it easy, I’m just enjoying the view, gorgeous.” He ran his eyes from tip to tail on me then continued, “Last night was pretty fucking spectacular lady, and you have moves I didn’t know existed. I am totally into those whips you brought out, I never knew I’d like to be handcuffed but you made it my new favorite thing.” He licked his lips and gave me that, ‘I fucked you hard’ face.

  I rolled my eyes. I cannot believe I brought out my good stash. He wasn’t even worth the trouble of disinfecting everything now. Dammit. I gotta get a handle on myself. I’m not really sure what has been going on in my fog-laden brain lately but it sure as hell wasn’t in the game.

  “Yea, well take that as your parting gift. Hope you enjoyed it. Make sure you pull the front door completely closed when you leave, it has a habit of sticking.” I waved a dismissive hand and continued the wipe process.

  He stood there with the oddest look of incredulity and flipped me off as he turned from the door. I muttered, “classy” under my breath and moved to the shower. This was my favorite part of the day—washing the guilt away.

  After two tugs on the spastic zipper of my ridiculously expensive dress I stuffed my feet in my Gucci stilettos and walked out the door.

  Elliot was waiting by the curb as he does every morning. He has caught some verbal beat downs and morning after rants far too many times. I give him a raise about once a month. Hell, he fucking deserves it for the shit he puts up with—me.

  “Morning Miss Landon.” His voice was like a raspy wasp with a constant buzz. It annoyed the shit out of me.

  “Elliot.” I swung my newly electrolysis leg over the seat and folded into the back.

  The ride to the office takes me through the hell that is Times Square. If I could burn it off the map, I would. The usual tourists litter the streets and hamper my commute. I swear even more, which is incredible. They just can’t get the premise behind ‘my car will run your ass over, idiot’ if you step into the fucking street one more time for a useless scenic photo of a bum on a park bench or a trust fund baby walking her silly stupid mutt.

  Finally, just as my nerves had been tested to the brink we pulled in front of the building. Elliott, opened my door and I was promptly greeted by Ed. Ed is a character and a fixture in my life. He’s quite possibly the best doorman ever and he gives me my shit right back.

  “Morning there, Landon.” He is the only person on this earth that I allow to call me that.

  I threw him my wicked smile. “Well, looks like you actually made an effort this morning, Ed. What is that, bourbon or stale sex, I smell?”

  He gave me a loud cackle and opened the door to the building. The huge Golden sign blasts me every morning and I swear it is better than sex sometimes.

  “Vogue.”

  I give it a good sex sigh and continue down the long elaborate hallway leading to the elevators. I pressed the thirty-second floor and thumbed through the proposed layout and stories for next months issue.

  I head the creative division and consult with every facet of the magazine. It is, most days, heart attack inducing stress with deadlines and last minute decisions but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  I passed Jenni (yeah, with a fucking i) and turn for the double doors that bare Emberly Landon.

  Melanie, my secretary, was dutifully typing away and fisting the phone at the same time. I loved her juggling skills and rapt attention to detail. I couldn’t function without her. Now granted, she’s as uptight as they come. I wonder, quite often, if she were to sell the diamonds that came from her ass she wouldn’t need this job.

  “Morning Miss Landon. I have Bob Sirch from Gucci on the line and also, your ten o’clock is early. W
hat would you like me to tell him?” Even her tone sounded uptight.

  I just reached for my door handle. “Tell Bob that I will call him when I get the damn numbers together and stop pestering me or he won’t have any form of an ad in Vogue the rest of the year.”

  “Tell my ten o’clock to go get a coffee and come back on time.” She shot a smug smile and gave a curt nod.

  I plopped my leather case on the fifteen thousand dollar desk and threw my sunglasses in the drawer. My chair was inviting me in and I sank into the soft Napa leather and opened my laptop.

  And so it began…

  By noon I’d made one intern quit and reduced the other to sobs. I don’t take kindly to half-ass work and I do not coddle. They need to lean how to not be such dumbasses.

  Lila breezed in shortly after four o’clock and stood at the top of my desk drumming her insanely long fingernails. I sighed but never looked up from my computer. Moment’s later I was greeted with a surly throat clearing and a suggestive hum.

  I finally lifted my eyes to the top of my glasses and gave her an extreme eyebrow. “Is there something I can do for you, pretty bitch?”

  That is our nickname across most of Manhattan— The Pretty Bitches.

  She rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what the fuck I want. Who was that panty creamer you left with last night?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “You know I have no idea and I really could care less.”

  “Oh no. Not that easy this time slut. He was a keeper and I need to have details. I saw that bulge darling, I know you got to be walking a little slow today.”

  The smartass smile etched across her face had me lifting the corners of my mouth. True, I was a bit worn today but he was nothing I would get worked up for again.

  I rolled my eyes, again and turned back to the screen. She took the hint and plopped down in my armchair.

  “Uh, careful with the stitching, that chair cost more than you make in a month.” I said, annoyed.

  She just picked her fingernails and discarded imaginary clippings onto the seat.

  Bitch.

  “Why don’t you tell me about your pretty new little fuck mate. Does he like to wear a diaper and get spanked like the last one?” I asked, amused.

  She snorted and flicked her wrist at me. “I bet I can make him do that if I wanted. Strangely the spanking part is kind of fun and makes me a little hot, actually.”

  I laughed out loud at the absurdity and continued my assault on the daily article count. We chatted idly for the next hour as I finished up. At five o’clock she was shoving my purse into my arms and basically pushed me out the door.

  A half hour later and two verbal assaults at tourists we pulled in front of Pressed. It one of my favorite fixes—a martini bar with hot men serving you endless spirits. We made our way to our reserved table and were quickly greeted with our signature drinks. We come here enough that they actually named a drink after us.

  The Pretty Bitch Blush.

  It had a nice ring and packed a solid punch in the gut.

  After our third round I saw the blinding show of teeth as Lila spotted her fresh meat across the room. I followed her gaze and landed upon one fine specimen. He was at least as tall as me, maybe 6’1 and had a head full of thick black shiny hair, which was sculpted into a mass of waves and slicked back. He was a good twenty feet away and I could still see the ice blue eyes that were staring daggers at Lila. He stalked across the room and just about every woman in the place straightened up and batted eyelashes.

  He came to a graceful stop at the corner of the booth and reached for her hand lifting her from the seat and planting a painful looking kiss to her bee-stung lips.

  Well, collagen filled lips.

  She straightened her jacket and licked her lips.

  Classy, Lila.

  “Emberly Landon, meet Anthony Broward.” She was looking at him like she was eye fucking him right there at the bar.

  He tugged a grin to his lips. “Well, it is certainly my pleasure, Emberly.” He reached for my hand and I suddenly wanted to cut off the appendage. Something about him made my skin crawl.

  He slid into the booth next to her and basically rested his hand on her tits. The next hour drug so slowly I was out of cracks to count on the ceiling. Thankfully a colleague pulled Anthony away and I was left with a heat filled Lila probing me with her eyes.

  “So, is he fucking hot or what?” She sighed.

  I lifted my shoulders and let them fall. “Or what.”

  She seemed honestly miffed by my dismissal. But honestly, he was as slimy as they come and the fact that she couldn’t see it made me question her sanity.

  “Seriously? Are you really trying to tell me that he is Governor’s Ball material? What the fuck Lila, he’s a pig and a really cheesy one at that.”

  She was contrite. “You’re just pissed he’s fucking me and not you.” She crossed her arms over her extremely large cosmetic breasts and huffed.

  “Yeah, I’m real jealous Lil. It’s just seeping from my bones.” I slurped the rest of my drink and grabbed my clutch. “I’m out, have fun slumming it tonight.”

  She shot me an eat shit look and I blew her a kiss as I slid from the booth.

  I nodded to a few tables and sent several one finger waves at my fellow sharks and drifted out the door. The air had a bite to it and it was May. Usually very mild and inviting but this just made your nipples hard and stick out like candy to the passer-bys.

  Elliott grabbed my door and steadied my wobbly arm into the seat. Those drinks are good but damn they go straight to your head. As we crept through the city the more annoyed I became at how my evening was turning into a lame couch night.

  “Hey, park it near Nunia’s.” I shrilled.

  He eyed me from the rearview but complied.

  Within thirty minutes I was entering the swaying club. Not really my scene at all, but drastic times call for drastic measures.

  The bitch I absolutely hate the most greeted me at the door. Thank God I have exclusive access at every bar in town, otherwise I’d be out in the cold.

  The typical scene play out in front of me. Trashy heiresses coking it up in the corners while the Wall Street tycoons boozed it and eye fucked anything with tits and a trust fund. I sighed to myself, why did I think this would be a good idea?

  I made my way through the crowd acknowledging several catcalls and nods in my direction. I walked directly to the marble bar. Another bitch I can’t stand was working the bar tonight and she had narrowed eyes taking me in. I could practically hear the mental lashing she was giving me, and that brought a huge smile to my lips. Just for her.

  “Glenlivet neat.” I purred.

  She sneered and as she turned for the glass I added, “Oh, and make sure your nasty fingers don’t touch the rim where my lips touch. I don’t need a bout of herpes.”

  If I thought she was pissed before she was downright murderous now and I couldn’t have been more entertained.

  I watched her like a hawk as she poured making sure she didn’t spill a little arsenic for flavor. She slid it roughly to my hand and sloshed a nice amount on my fingertips.

  I just winked and toasted.

  Finally I turned my gaze around the room. It was the same old faces just varying degrees of slime. I sipped my amber liquid and studied the scene. I noticed Walter McDaniel giving me the eye from the table adjacent to Brett Stokes whom was equally burning holes through my clothing with his stare. I considered them both remembering the night with each of them. Brett had come within five minutes, which is the biggest cardinal sin in casual sex world and Walter had a hook for a dick. I just rolled my eyes in each direction and turned my attention to something that may be worth a shit to entertain.

  I wasn’t here for sex. I’d had my fill of that for a while I was just here for a little distraction. Work was weighing on me this week and I needed to get my approval on several major pieces in next month’s edition before I hauled my ass across the globe to a major photo
shoot in Anchorage.

  I was in mid drink when a bassy voice murmured in my ear. “When were you in Scotland?” I turned my attention to the familiar Scottish accent and immediately warmed from head to toe. He had hair the color of chestnuts and blue artic eyes that practically pierced through my head. I rolled over his features and I couldn’t have been more thrilled. Even with the tailored suit I could see the outline of his ridiculously chiseled chest. I made my way back up his frame and realized that I was actually looking up into his eyes, which rarely happens. He slipped one hand into his trousers and smiled as he took a sip and prompted me with his eyes.

  I suddenly realized I had not answered his question and I was inching closer to a full minute of ogling at that point. His eyes danced across the features of my face as he added, “I ask that because only someone with Scottish experience would appreciate that drink in your hand.”