Hot Mess Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright © Emma Hart, 2020

  CHAPTER ONE – ELLE

  CHAPTER TWO – ELLE

  CHAPTER THREE – THEO

  CHAPTER FOUR – ELLE

  CHAPTER FIVE – ELLE

  CHAPTER SIX – THEO

  CHAPTER SEVEN – THEO

  CHAPTER EIGHT – ELLE

  CHAPTER NINE – ELLE

  CHAPTER TEN – THEO

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – ELLE

  CHAPTER TWELVE – ELLE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – THEO

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN – ELLE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – ELLE

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – THEO

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – ELLE

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – ELLE

  EPILOGUE – ELLE

  THE END

  COMING SOON: THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY EMMA HART

  HOT MESS

  Copyright © Emma Hart, 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Design by Emma Hart

  CHAPTER ONE – ELLE

  It’s not every day a video of you getting fucked in a broom closet shows up on the internet.

  You might think that it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world. I mean, who was Elle Evans, right? And why did it matter that her vagina getting pounded was on camera for the entire world to see?

  Well, I’ll tell you.

  Elle Evans—AKA, me—was one of, if not the, biggest lifestyle vloggers in the good old U S of A.

  People looked up to me. People cared about what I had to say. They cared about my cushion covers and my mascara and my volunteer missions at animal shelters and all that other stuff that shouldn’t matter to anyone other than me.

  But now, all they cared about that everyone has seen my ass. And my boobs. And what I looked like mid-orgasm.

  And it was all thanks to my asshole, jerkface, sleazebag, total dickhead of a salty ex-boyfriend, Mitch.

  It’s also why I was passing a sign that said, ‘WELCOME TO CREEK KEYS,’ a small Florida Keys island, hundreds of miles away from my apartment in New York City.

  New York. Where the media was. Where the people who wanted to know why Elle Evans had made a sex tape lived.

  Newsflash, buckos: Elle Evans didn’t make a sex tape. Her asshole of an ex did—without her knowledge, then posted it on the internet.

  So I was on the run. I kind of wished it was from the police; at least then this might have been mildly entertaining.

  But no, here I was, on the run.

  From my own ass on the internet.

  This was not me, let me make that clear. I never cussed, I never did anything inappropriate, and I was the most family-friendly vlogger in the world. I’d even reviewed toys with my niece, for goodness sake.

  Elle Evans was wholesome, family goodness.

  Until I wasn’t.

  I wanted to stick my head in the sand like an ostrich and never come up again.

  There was no coming back from this. If there was, it was like a one-percent chance. If that. That was generous. Nobody wanted their favorite vlogger to come back from this scandal.

  I could see them now—the comments. I could go live right this second from the seat of my car and tell the truth: that I had no idea about the video, that I didn’t know it would be posted, that it had well and truly blindsided me.

  But for every person who believed me, there would be someone who didn’t. Someone who would insist that I was saving face, that I was lying to make myself look better.

  I knew I would have to address it sooner or later, but that was a problem for later.

  Now, my problem was that I was on a strange island in Florida at the beginning of summer with nowhere to stay.

  Yeah. I hadn’t really thought this one through.

  I pulled onto a road that looked like it would guide me to the middle of town. I didn’t know. My phone had died around an hour ago when I’d hit the islands that made up the Florida Keys and I’d relied on signage ever since.

  It was a wonder I’d made it here without getting lost.

  All right, without getting lost more than once.

  Whatever.

  The further down the road I drove, the busier the sidewalks got. Nerves twisted in my stomach—if all these people were staying here, there was no way I’d find a place to stay tonight. Maybe even for the next few weeks. I would have to sleep in my car again tonight and keep driving tomorrow.

  Shit. I was sick of driving. I was sick of everything. I needed to catch a damn break, because God only knew I hadn’t caught one since my stupid ex—

  No. I wasn’t going to think about him again. I was only going to get riled up, and until I could figure out what to do about the situation, it wasn’t worth it.

  I wasn’t going to spare another thought on that no-good asshole. I had enough to think about.

  Like finding somewhere to sleep.

  And judging by the gurgling of my stomach, I also needed somewhere to eat.

  I drove for another minute or so until I pulled off what I assumed was Main Street. I could see the ocean, and I cracked my window so I could smell the sea air. A huge wooden building that had a sign proclaiming itself to be Crab Shack came into sight, and I pulled into the parking lot. Thankfully, I caught a space right as someone was reversing out, and I swung my car into the packed lot before someone else could steal it.

  I blew out a long breath. I was starving. I was sick of prepacked sandwiches and fast food at service stations.

  Hopefully, Crab Shack would have some good food.

  If there was even a table.

  Grabbing my purse, I got out of my car and headed toward the restaurant. I pushed open the large, driftwood-esque door and stepped inside.

  It was almost empty.

  Relief made my shoulders sag. The beach on the other side was packed and it was the middle of the afternoon, so that was probably why. The only people in here were a few people who looked to be in their early twenties, two older couples, and a family with three young kids, one of whom was currently pretending to be a walrus with two straws in his mouth.

  “Hello, darlin’! Are you eatin’ inside or outside?”

  I looked around at the thick, Southern drawl that had greeted me. It came from a tall, curvy woman with wildly curly, blonde hair and a homely smile. She beamed at me, little wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes.

  “I ain’t gonna bite ya, sugar,” she chortled. “Just you?”

  Lord, I needed to get a grip on myself.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been driving for hours and I’m exhausted. Yes, just me.” I returned her smile with as much warmth as I could muster. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t you worry about it.” She pulled a menu card from the stand on the hostess’s station with a flair. “I got you the perfect table. Come on now.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  I followed her across the restaurant to a tiny, two-person table in the corner. That sounded bitchy, but it wasn’t—it had an amazing view of the golden sand beach and turquoise ocean that disappeared into the horizon.

  “You sit yourself down here,” she said. “My name is Charity and I’m gonna be your server today. Would you like a drink or do you want a minute?”

  “Some water would be amazing. And a coffee, if you have one.”

  She chuckled. “Of course we got us some coffee. You
give me 5 minutes and I’ll bring that over for ya, honey.”

  I smiled as she turned and sashayed away, humming a tune I recognized as Post Malone’s latest song.

  Seriously.

  That song had been stuck in my head for at least three weeks.

  It was gonna be there for another three.

  With a sigh, I opened the menu and perused it. I swear to God my mouth drooled at the items on offer—there was everything from mac and cheese to burgers and fresh fish.

  Oh, man. The burger was calling my name, and so was a bowl of bacon mac and cheese.

  Well, that was the easiest decision I’d ever made in my life.

  Charity returned with both my coffee and a huge glass of iced water. “Are you ready to order, honey?”

  “Sure am,” I replied, then relayed my order.

  “That mac and cheese is to die for,” she said, scribbling it down. “Is that everything?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I smiled and handed her back the menu.

  She took it and beamed at me. “I’ll get that sent back. Won’t be long!” she sang, turning and leaving me again.

  I sagged down the moment she was out of sight. Instinctively, I reached for my phone, but there was nothing there.

  Obviously.

  I’d left my actual phone in my apartment in New York, and the cheap smartphone I’d purchased to get me to here was dead in my car.

  If this journey had taught me anything, it was how ridiculously reliant I was on my phone and social media. How much validation I needed from both of those things.

  If and when I returned to the online word, I was going to make a difference.

  I was going to show the real life, how many shots it took to get the perfect photo, how long it took to edit the videos I posted.

  If I was ever able to show my face again.

  Dramatic, but whatever. I’d had my entire world pulled out from under me. I was allowed to be dramatic.

  “Now I don’t wanna hear that you’re bein’ bad for your daddy,” Charity said, making me look up from the splodge on the table I’d been staring at. “Otherwise I’mma hafta put you to work here.”

  The little girl she was talking to sighed and flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder. “Miss Charity, I’m being good. I vacuumed today!”

  “Darn straight you did, Ari!” She winked at the little girl who looked around nine or ten years old. “Now take a seat and I’ll bring you a lemonade while your daddy—wait, where is he?”

  With a heavy sign, the little girl slipped into a chair at an empty table a few away from me and shuffled herself into the table. “He’s on the phone to “that bloody plumber” because “that bloody bath is still leaking.” He said he’ll be right in.”

  Charity barked out a noise that sounded half way between a cough and a laugh. “Arielle! You can’t repeat those words.”

  The girl—Arielle—looked up at Charity with innocence shining in her eyes. “You asked. I told you.”

  “The good Lord must have given your father patience in buckets,” Charity muttered.

  “Not really,” Arielle replied. “He used worse words than that before I came in here.”

  I bit back a laugh at that. The girl was full of spunk and sass, and she kinda reminded me of myself as a kid.

  Charity murmured under her breath. “I’ll get you a lemonade. You sit there quietly, and no more repeating your daddy’s potty mouth, ya hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I dropped my gaze so I wasn’t staring and turned to look out of the window. She was adorable, but I wasn’t in the habit of staring at people. Much less people’s children.

  No matter how hard I stared out of the window, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. It was the last thing I needed to feel right now, but when I glanced around, the eyes I felt on me belonged to the little girl.

  The moment she realized I knew she was looking, she jerked her head down and played with the napkin in front of her.

  Great. She knew who I was.

  I looked away from her and once again reached for a phone that wasn’t there.

  Damn it.

  “Here you go, darlin’.” Charity bustled over with my food, making me sit up straight. She set both the burger and fries and the small bowl of bacon mac and cheese on the table in front of me. “Can I get you anything else… uh, I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Elle.” I smiled. “I’m good, thank you.”

  “Enjoy your food, Elle.” She winked and left me, flapping a hand in the direction of the girl who’d been watching me.

  I didn’t want to be rude to her, but I really was freaking hungry.

  I almost moaned when the mac and cheese hit my tongue. It tasted so good, like heaven in a bowl, but that could have just been because I’d been living off fried chicken and fast food burgers for what felt like forever.

  After I’d inhaled half the bowl, I pushed it to the side and reached for a napkin to wipe my mouth.

  “Are you Elle Evans?”

  I jerked at the sound of my name. It was from the girl. I forced a smile to my face and nodded. “I am. It’s Arielle, right?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know my name?”

  “I heard Charity say it.”

  “Oh!” She giggled. “Yes, I’m Arielle. Sorry to interrupt you eating. I just wondered.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

  “Arielle. Are you disturbing this woman eating?” A deep voice with a strong British accent joined the conversation, and when I looked up, I swear my ovaries grew a mind of their own and leapt right out of my body, only to explode into fireworks above my head.

  The man was tall—at least six-foot-three, and he had just enough obvious muscle definition that he didn’t look like a beansprout, as my mom called those kind of men. His dark hair was cut short on the sides of his head and left a little longer on the top, and stubble the same, chocolate brown coated his jaw, giving way for pink lips that were currently pursed in annoyance.

  “No!” Arielle folded her arms across her chest. “She said it was fine, Dad.”

  His ice-blue eyes softened ever so slightly. “Just because she said it was fine doesn’t mean it is. Some people are polite.” He turned his gaze on me, recognition flashing in her eyes. “I’m sorry she bothered you.”

  I smiled. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t mind.”

  “Told you,” Arielle grumbled, slumping down in her chair.

  “Arielle,” he warned without taking his eyes off me. “She’ll leave you be now.” He walked over to the table without waiting for a response and sat opposite Arielle. “Stop slouching or I’ll have to ship you off to Paris. I hear they’re looking for a new hunchback.”

  “Oh, my God. Dad.”

  I hid a laugh, turning my attention back to my food. I was glad he’d come over when he did—I had no idea what Arielle knew about me, I had no idea if she knew what had happened, and the last thing I wanted was to have to go deep into something, especially when I was trying to hide.

  So the fact I’d been discovered within thirty minutes of me rolling into town didn’t work in my favor.

  CHAPTER TWO – ELLE

  “How was your food?” Charity swept over with what I was pretty sure was her trademark beaming smile on her face.

  “Amazing,” I said honestly. “Best I’ve had in days, but I have been surviving off gas station snacks and fast food, so…”

  She chuckled. “Where did ya drive from?”

  “New York.”

  “Ooh, I’ve always wanted to go there! All them fancy lights and big buildings. It’s a little different from where I grew up.” She winked. “Although I reckon I’d be fed up of it in a couple days and be beggin’ for the beach.”

  I smiled. “You probably would.”

  “Do you want your check?”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  She picked up the plates and disappeared. I sighed in
to my hand and looked out at the water. I still needed a place to stay. Charity was the only person I could think of to ask—she seemed like she was the kind of woman who knew just about everything about everyone in town, so if there was a place to stay, she’d know.

  “Here ya go, darlin’.” She put a cracked leather wallet on the table in front of me. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “I do have a question,” I said hesitantly.

  She held up one finger and looked around the diner. Seeing there was nobody else who needed her, she sat down in the chair opposite me with such warmth in her face I wanted to cry. “What can I do for ya?”

  “This is a really long shot, but I have nowhere to stay. Do you know if there are any hotels or bed and breakfasts or something with any vacancies?”

  “Whew, child.” She blew out her cheeks and shook her head. “Second weeka June? You’re askin’ for a miracle there.”

  “I figured as much.” I grimaced. “No worries.”

  “How long you lookin’ for?”

  “As long as possible, but I’ll take anything at this point. It’s gotta beat sleeping in my car.”

  She tilted her head to the side and studied me for a moment. A tiny wave of discomfort washed over me, and I got the feeling that Charity knew exactly who I was.

  More than that, she knew what I was running from.

  “Hey, Theo!” She turned in her chair and looked in the direction of the British man and his daughter.

  “Yes?” He did the same, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. “What did I do this time?”

  “Nothin’ yet,” she replied. “You’re in the business of giving people a place to sleep. You know anyone with a room in town?”

  “You make it sound like I’m running a warehouse full of sleeping bags,” he said dryly. “I doubt anyone in town has a place right now. Why?”

  “Elle here needs a bed for the night. You reckon old Harry has space?”

  Theo shook his head. “No chance. He’s running his Scrabble competition this weekend, isn’t he?”

  “Dad,” Arielle said. “We have the beach house.”

  Charity’s face lit up. “You do!”