Guilty as Gorgeous | Chapter 4
"You can let go now," Phutphitchaya said through gritted teeth once they were finally alone.
"Paan, you're naked," Phanthakant replied, his voice as blunt as his glowering expression. He shot a look at Wikrant, who stood hovering awkwardly by the door, unsure of his next move.
"Don't worry, I've seen Shanya stripped down so often I'm used to it," Wikrant's answer caused the fierce glint in Phanthakant's eyes to flare with such intensity that the manager instinctively clutched his chest. "Er... I mean, we're basically the same gender."
"Turn around," Phanthakant barked.
"No, you let go of me first," she countered.
"He's still a man, regardless."
"I trust him a hundred times more than I trust you," Phutphitchaya hissed, her body flush with a rising fever she told herself was born of rage and nothing else. "Turn around, Wan Hom."
"On it," Wikrant complied, regretful to miss such a provocative sight, though his ears remained perked like radar.
The moment those muscular arms loosened their grip, she immediately threw her arms across her chest, her face burning. She glared at him with pure enmity and nearly gasped when he reached down to help pull up her dress, which lay bunched around the curves of her hips. He did so with a heavy-lidded, lingering gaze, showing utter disregard for the conduct of a gentleman.
"Stop it," she panted, clutching his large hand as the fabric slid past her dark pink peaks. The scoundrel had seized the chance to caress her until the very last second.
"Just helping you get dressed, sweetheart. Sexy," he said with an innocent face that failed to mask the eyes of a starving wolf.
"I didn't ask for help."
"Accepting a little assistance won't bruise your pride, darling."
"I said I don't want it," Phutphitchaya snapped as she pushed herself up, only to wince at a sharp ache in her hip.
"What is it?"
"You knocked me off the sofa and into a table. What do you think?"
She had thrashed about like a sacrificial lamb, refusing to listen to reason, forcing him to catch her and pull her on top of him. And this was the thanks he got? Phanthakant shrugged wearily.
"If this is the kind of foreplay you prefer, Paan, next time we should do it on the carpet or a large bed. It'll be safer."
"You call attempted rape 'foreplay'?" Phutphitchaya screamed, her patience at an end.
The man, who had never come close to rape until tonight, stared at her in silence. He could still feel the smoldering power of the desire she had ignited. He knew for a fact that if no one had burst in to interrupt, he might truly have crossed the line into assaulting her. Even with a third party present, the scent of her clung to his senses, and the sweet taste on his tongue affected him like a female's pheromones acting on a male in heat.
Excessive alcohol in his veins might have lowered his inhibitions, but he didn't believe it was the true cause of his crossing the boundaries she accused him of. He hadn't let 'hormones' drive his sexual behavior over his 'brain' since his reckless teenage years.
"How would you like me to take responsibility, then?"
"Do you even know how to say sorry?"
Phanthakant made a face and shrugged, letting his body language answer for him.
"Shameless. You do wrong and refuse to even admit it," Phutphitchaya spat, incensed by his nonchalance.
The man was the definition of arrogant. He seemed utterly incapable of shame as he continued to watch her with the eyes of a predator.
"I admit it. Tell me what you want, sweetheart." He didn't just speak; he reached for a wallet that had fallen from the table, opened it, and held out a business card. His eyes were smiling—a look that made her feel mocked.
"I don't want anything from you," she wheezed in fury. She slapped his hand away, sending the card fluttering to the floor, before turning to snatch up her bra from nearby. She scrambled behind a bookshelf to finish dressing.
"Is Shanya's schedule full this month?"
The deep voice addressed her manager, making Phutphitchaya's ears prick up.
"Er... it's nearly full. But Shanya probably won't take more work; her drama just wrapped, and she likely wants to rest."
"I have an advertisement for a car brand..." He named a latest European luxury brand, one of the businesses his company imported for the high-end market. "We're launching a campaign to dominate the market."
"I'm not taking it!" she cried out before even finishing her dressing.
"I'll pay the same rate as the country's number-one leading lady."
Wikrant's eyes went as wide as goose eggs. "How many days of shooting?"
"Until the job is done. The details need to be discussed with the advertising department."
"I told you, I'm not taking it!" Phutphitchaya stepped out from behind the shelf, marched over, and snatched the business card her manager was eyeing greedily. She slapped it back onto Phanthakant's broad chest. He didn't even flinch. "Don't bother offering me work."
Phanthakant let the card fall to the floor. "Don't like work, sweetheart?"
"I like all work—unless it's from someone like you."
"Even if there's no other work left for you?"
"Don't you threaten me. You think you're that big of a deal?"
"Big enough to ensure you don't have a job. Let's go." Wikrant intervened quickly, grabbing the slender arm of his only actress before turning to the large man. "Apologies again, sir."
"Why are you apologizing? He hasn't said a single word of apology to us!"
"Let's talk in the car, Paan."
"What about Namfon? Have you seen her yet?" Even in her rage, she hadn't forgotten the reason she'd come to this hellhole.
"Mr. Wat sent someone to get her."
Once Wikrant confirmed this, the station's top villain shot a final, vengeful glare from her amber eyes at the tall man. She allowed herself to be dragged out, still feeling the heat of his gaze boring into her until the heavy wooden door shut. A repulsive shiver ran down her spine, making her slender frame tremble as she finally broke free.
"Are you okay, Paan?" the manager asked, draping his blazer over her shoulders.
"Why were you so polite to him? Didn't you see he tried to rape me?"
"His name is Phanthakant. He's the only grandson of Lord Anant Damrongkrittaphas. Have you never heard of him?"
Who hadn't heard of the owner of the massive conglomerate and the various businesses of one of the wealthiest patriarchs in the country? Phutphitchaya bit her lip.
"So what? Being the grandson of a billionaire gives him the right to be arrogant and bully people?"
"The Lord handed over the entire operation to Mr. Phanthakant years ago."
"I didn't know."
"Everyone in the industry knows. But the media prefers images of the Lord because he's been legendary for so long. Mention his name and everyone knows who he is."
"Well, the business will probably go bust under the grandson," she cursed, her resentment unyielding.
"Who told you that?" Wikrant clicked his tongue. "They say he follows in the Lord's footsteps in every way, only he's sharper. He doesn't spend all his time in Thailand because he's mixed-race. His mother is a high-society Weston; she's on the New York social pages all the time."
"Hmph!"
"Just like the host of this house. Mr. Wasawat's mother is old money, and his father is American. I heard they've been close since their school days abroad." Wikrant shared this as an insider; his own family had a stable private business and knew almost every wealthy and high-society group in Thailand.
Just a couple of wicked bad boys with good start-up capital. They have the advantage, so they love buying women, Phutphitchaya grumbled internally as they reached the main hall. The host, Watshon, and the housekeeper were waiting.
The latter cast a judgmental look at the actress, as if she were the one in the wrong.
Still fuming, the on-screen villain returned the look with a double-strength glare, caring nothing for anyone's status until Rotjana huffed and looked away.
"Miss Shanya, you're alright, I hope?" the host addressed her directly, his expression as polite as his soft tone, which slightly eased her simmering temper.
"I'm fine. I only went in to ask you about her, since I didn't know which room Namfon was in."
"Wes is a bit drunk. My apologies again, Miss Shanya."
"You can't take the blame for a crime you didn't commit. But thank you for coming to find me."
"Sakol heard... er... things didn't sound good, but he didn't dare go in, so he came to tell the housekeeper."
"Your housekeeper probably thought I was throwing myself at your friend," the girl turned her 'villain eyes' on the woman, knowing her guess was right when she saw the other's cheekbones flush red as she looked away. "Some women are unlucky simply because people of their own gender keep kicking them when they're down."
"I didn't..." The housekeeper's mouth hung open, her face falling.
Wasawat cleared his throat. "Ms. Rotjana told me, just as Mr. Wan arrived to find you and Miss Watshon."
"Why come for me?" Watshon, sitting a distance away with a cold expression, asked.
"Phi Lek has been trying to contact you about a new script you cast for; he needs to submit it to the station executives. You haven't answered your phone for two days."
"I cast for it because I didn't know he was in it. Now that I know, I've changed my mind."
The 'he' Watshon referred to was a fellow actor at the station. They had dated back when she was still a leading lady, but when the scandalous news broke—the very cause of her career's decline—their relationship withered because the man couldn't handle the scandal. He chose to walk away instead of standing by her side.
The path of love turning into parallel lines wasn't as painful as the fact that the famous actor had then become close to Phutphitchaya for a while, following a scripted 'shipped couple' trope that looked like it might turn into a real-life romance. At the same time, several photos of Watshon meeting her sugar daddy were leaked.
Watshon's bitterness ran deep, and she had grown increasingly cold toward Phutphitchaya ever since, despite the villain actress denying anything was going on.
"Shall we go back and talk at Wan Hom's condo?"
"Talk here. I have to get back to work," Watshon refused to budge.
The villain actress let out a secret sigh. "I want you to think about work first. There are only so many people at the station; you can't run forever, Namfon." She spoke softly, knowing well the state of the other's bank account, which was bleeding red.
"You can say that because everyone wants you. You're the one who interfered and went to beg Phi Lek. Don't think I don't know."
"I was the one who spoke to him," Wikrant cut in, sitting close to Watshon and pulling her shoulders into a firm, comforting embrace. "Paan and I are very worried about you, Namfon. What are friends for if they can't be relied on?"
"I want to stand on my own feet without relying on others for once."
"You already do that..." Phutphitchaya said uncomfortably, mindful of the stranger present. She offered an apologetic look as she sat on the other side of the sofa, lightly touching Watshon's arm, only to wince when the other coldly pulled away, refusing to look at her.
"I'm working. You shouldn't have been so rude as to come in here."
"Let's go talk outside, Namfon," Wikrant pleaded this time.
"Miss Watshon, please go ahead," Wasawat said, seeing the situation grow awkward.
The actress bit her lip but eventually nodded, raising her hands in a wai to bid him farewell. "I'm sorry for this."
"I should be the one apologizing, especially to Miss Shanya," the host said gravely, his tone softening as he looked at the other woman.
Watshon turned away to hide thoughts known only to her. Many men she knew looked at Phutphitchaya with obsession, drawn to her striking beauty. Some tried desperately to win the villain actress's heart. Some even used methods far more depraved.
Yet, the one who suffered the worst consequences was her—the one who had been a close friend since they entered the industry, someone who had helped, counseled, and shared secrets like only women can. They knew each other's hearts better than any other colleagues. She had even been a frequent guest at Shanya's house, familiar with Prayong, Shanya's mother, and her siblings.
Fate was a cruel joke.
She, who should have had everything—both career and love—was left with nothing.
She didn't want to blame Shanya, because she knew the other felt guilty and had always tried to help her.
But sometimes...
Just sometimes, Watshon thought it might have been better if she had never had a friend named Phutphitchaya.