Page 120 of Stroked by (Stroked)
The tramp!
So when she said she was going to scout venues that sold my water, you can see why I grew skeptical of her intentions. Lucky for me, I’m vastly intelligent, so I put on my sunglasses and followed her around, Mission Impossible-style. Tom Cruise has nothing on my skills.
The minute I saw her go into a corridor of some sort, I knew she was up to something. What I didn’t expect was for Reese to walk in after her. I thought maybe, just maybe they were planning a secret surprise party to honor my beauty, but when I heard grunting, I knew they were both shaking hands with the devil.
Sex!
They were having sex. It was unmistakable.
Even though I burned with fury, I couldn’t help but feel sad for poor Clyde. Here he is, taking one for the team and dating this atrocious woman who refuses to brush her hair, and what does she do? Cheats on him. Makes me want to start a Kickstarter campaign for him to raise money for the obvious therapy he’ll need.
Now, I could be the woman who slinks away and lets the trout-face woman get away with it, or I can be the person my daddy raised me to be and confront that nasty trench-mouth.
That’s why I have the pleasure of standing in front of Mauve, staring her down as fear rolls on repeat through her eyes.
“Bellini, it’s not—”
“What I think?” I finish for her. She swallows hard and I take that as indication she is terrified of me, rightfully so. “So not only do you cheat on your boyfriend, Clyde, but you are a compulsive liar as well.”
She sighs and lowers her head, so I continue. “I heard you two in there, flapping your bodies together like animals in heat. Have you no respect for yourself? That you not only have to have coitus outside of the sanctity of marriage with someone else’s man, but you have to do it in what I can only assume is a broom closet?”
“It’s not a broom closet,” she says foolishly.
“That is irrelevant. What about Clyde? What about me?”
She looks to the side and then speaks up. “Both are fake relationships, Bellini. I know what you and Reese have is all for show, and I made up Clyde.”
“What?” I snap. “So you’re not a lesbian, and there is no Clyde?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Unbelievable!” I raise my hands in frustration. “What kind of monster are you? Did you go to the College of Lying, Manipulative Shrews and major in being a whore bag? By the looks of it, you graduated with honors.”
“Bellini—”
I hold up my hand to stop her.
“I suggest you keep that double-dealing, dick-sucking mouth of yours shut. Got it?” She nods, her hands twisting in front of her. “I’m going to give you two options here. Both benefit me and both shank you in the ass with a shiv.” I don’t give her a chance to respond and continue on. “First option: you can leave right now, pack your pathetic, ratty-old bags and sit in the airport for a flight back home, quit your job and never lay eyes on Reese or me again. Second option: you can try to stay, sit around with production, sucking on Jasper’s butt like you’ve been doing for the past month or so while I go to the press and tell everyone how Reese is a lying, cheating sack of scum, destroying that precious little image he’s been trying to build up by doing this show.”
Her eyes immediately water up, trying to gather some kind of sympathy from me, but little does she know I have zero empathy for people who lie, cheat, and make a mockery of themselves. Plus, it’s fun messing with her. I know Pope Francis would be okay with it . . . I hope.
“So what’s it going to be?”
She wavers on what to do but then asks, “If I leave you won’t do anything to Reese?”
“Nope.” I smile at her. “Why would I want to spoil his chance at gold? Plus, I do have a show to worry about. However, I’m willing to give that all up if you try to stick around. Honestly, you’ve been a flesh-eating virus since you arrived, and I’m done.”
“Okay,” she says on a heavy breath. “I’ll leave.”
“Smart choice, now hand me your phone.”
“Why?” she asks, pulling her purse to the side.
“Because, why would I want you texting or calling Reese to tell him what’s going on? Give me your phone. It’s time to delete everything and block his number.”
“You can’t do that.” She pulls away some more.
“Fine.” I shrug my shoulders. “I will just go talk to NBC right now; you know Matt Lauer will salivate over this story. The underdog is really just a stupid piece of crap who doesn’t deserve a gold. Knowing me, I can cause enough of a mess to have Reese disqualified. I know people.”
