The Baby Blue Bentley {Russell Westbrook}

Chapter II

Monica had been shown the grand tour of her parents accounting firm. It stood one of the tallest buildings in downtown "OKC", as the citizens called it, which still wasn't even that big. Monica had a hard time concentrating on her work, given to her in the new office. She constantly found her mind wandering away from the papers and to LA, Sean, modeling and the life that seemed to be calling her name.

She threw her pencil down in frustration, tossing her dark brown curls out of her face. Unlike Desiree and their mother, Dominique, Monica's hair was real. Monica grasped her purse, moving towards the door, shutting off the lights and slamming the door shut. Thank God the day was over, because she couldn't concentrate a second longer. Nothing had seemed to been going her way today ever since she spilled coffee all over the receptionist, the moment she walked in the door.

Monica then realized she closed her door, leaving the office key inside. "Shit," she muttered, forgetting the doors locked immediately. Both a blessing and a curse. "Whatever, I'll figure it out tomorrow morning." Just reminding herself tomorrow would be another day in this hellhole, sent shivers down her spine. Monica spun on her heels, dodging Desiree, Dominique and her father, Marcus's offices, knowing they would attempt to make her oversee one more financial record, which would push her over the edge, forcing her to rip out her real hair, which wasn't an option.

She scurried out of the lobby, ignoring the receptionist's mean mug, and going right to her Mercedes-Benz. Her parents could have easily paid how much she spent, but her parents were all about life lessons, and this had to be one. Monica stepped into her car, turning it on and leaving the parking lot, going to the nearest gas station she could find. She knew nothing about this city. Nothing.

Monica pulled her car out of the lot and onto the busy road, spotting a gas station at the next corner. None of the cars on this road even compared to her cream Mercedes, allowing a small smirk to play upon her lips. Until she laid her eyes upon a blue Bentley at the gas station. As girly as Monica was, she really did have a grand fascination for cars. She pulled into a pump, filling up her gas tank, and then stepping back into her car. She watched the Bentley behind her, not noticing she was in reverse. She stepped her foot down on the gas pedal, only to slam right into the front of the Bentley. It took her by total surprise, as she jolted forward.

No, no, no, no. Her parents were going to hate her after this. Another thing they would have to pay for. Fuck, this could not be happening.

"What the fuck!" A man's voice greeted her ears as she cringed in her driver's seat. She pushed herself out of the car, pushing her sunglasses higher up her nose.

"Sir," She began, trying to calm down his attitude. Monica knew she would have been enraged too, but he was not aware of the situation she was in. Something about his attitude let her know she didn't think he would care.

"This is a 346,000 dollar car you just crashed your... your shit bucket into!" He shouted pointing to Monica's Mercedes.

"Excuse me?" She asked him, narrowing her eyes. There is no way in hell he just called her Mercedes a "shit bucket." "My car is not anything cheap either, I'll have you know, pal."

"Do you even know who I am?" He sneered, rolling his eyes.

"If you're in Oklahoma City, obviously not anyone important," Monica snapped, draping her arms over her busty chest.

"I'm Russell fucking Westbrook, I'll have you know," He gave Monica attitude. Monica thought about it for a second. She had to admit the name did ring a bell, but she didn't know him. "You know... on the Oklahoma City Thunder."

"And I'm Monica Jones. Sorry, I don't watch minor league baseball," Monica sneered, the OKC Thunder were baseball, right? He chuckled.

"As in the NBA," Monica narrowed her eyes at him, then remembered he couldn't see behind her sunglasses. Russell seemed to pick up the hint. "Professional basketball! You know what... that's beside the point, you're paying for my car."

"Look, Mister Westbrook," He cut Monica off.

"Mister Westbrook? So now you're going to act nice when I bring up paying for my car," He scoffs, chuckling and shaking his head. Yes, that's what I'm doing, Monica thinks, but refrains from saying so. She finds it extremely difficult to be nice to the man who has just as a smart mouth as she does. She needed to be nice to get herself out of this one.

"Maybe if you hear me out and understand my current financial and family situation, you will find the kindness in your heart to let this one slide," Monica offered, Russell adding an eyeroll. He was practically the male version of Monica. A drama queen.

"I'm sure you have a ton of financial and family problems," He snorts, "With that Benz, that Movado watch you're wearing, the Jimmy Choo heels, Louis Vuitton handbag and that weave..."

"Hey! Watch it, this is au naturale," Monica pats down her hair, giving it a light tug.

"Right, about as natural as you," He rolls his eyes and runs his large hands over his face. "You know what? Whatever. What is your current situation?" Monica didn't feel right explaining her detailed personal life to a stranger, let alone a rude stranger at that, but what other choice did she have?

"I had a little incident last month where I spent a ton of money," She waved her hand to show it was no big deal, "I live in LA. My parents were infuriated and I am a model... and I could have had my boyfriend, Sean, pay for it, but of course, my parents want me to learn a stupid lesson about money, so I have to live here for the next year or so. They could have easily paid for it but whatever. I have to work for their accounting firm. It's hell." Russell seemed to study Monica's straight face for a few minutes, debating whether he should believe the young woman. He narrowed his eyes at her and tapped his foot. "Look," She slid her sunglasses off and onto the collar of her shirt, "I swear on my all natural green eyes that I am telling you the truth..." Russell didn't look like he was budging, "Please... my parents can't know or I'll have to stay in this hellhole longer."

"Well, my car has to be paid for," He snapped, Monica not appreciating his tone.

"Please." Monica begged, snapping her hands together in front of him. "And I don't beg." Russell rolled his eyes, but stood his ground. "How about we go on a date? My treat. I'm sure you'd love to go on a date with all this." Russell chuckled at what she said, cockiness still prominent in his voice.

"Number one; I don't date," Russell stated, cracking a smile towards Monica, his attempt to humiliate her. "Number two; you clearly stated you have a boyfriend... not that that would ever stop me." As soon as the words left Russell's mouth, Monica let out a small gasp. What was that supposed to mean, Monica couldn't help but wonder. Was Russell Westbrook the cockiest, rudest man alive hitting on her?

"Yes, I do," Monica collected herself, proud to be introducing her boyfriend, "Big Sean, the rapper." Russell laughed hysterically when she said this, leaving her in shock.

"Big Sean? That's funny. That's really funny," He sneered, bursting into laughter once again. Monica found him extremely rude, but she couldn't help but find him charming. Suddenly she couldn't stop looking his gorgeous, toned body up and down, hoping he wouldn't see her stealing looks.

"Sean's a great guy," Monica attempted to stand up for her boyfriend. "But... Russell," she acted like she had forgotten his name, "I will do anything, anything, to get out of this."

Russell's eyes brightened up when Monica said this. Anything. "Anything?" He asked, looking her thick body up and down, raising his sunglasses. Monica felt reprimanded, but even a little turned on. They both knew what Russell was hinting to. Monica was tempted, but she imagined Sean kissing her, smiling at her, caressing her...

"I have a boyfriend," She snapped, standing her ground to Russell's very tempting offer.

"And once again, that's never, ever stopped me," He gave her a devilish grin, as Monica shook her head.

"You're sick," she commented before stepping into her Mercedes. "Have a wonderful day." He shouted something at her, but she drove out of the gas station as fast as she could. Fucking dickhead thinking that he was a basketball player he was going to get some type of special treatment from me. He thought wrong, Monica thought to herself.