by Grant, Pippa
Huh.
I should get Wyatt a cardboard cutout of himself. Ellie would love that.
But the point is, everybody I know has pictures of family somewhere.
Sarah doesn’t.
Not in her living room. Not in the hallway. Not in the kitchen—yeah, I’m peeking.
Whoa.
Is she all alone in the world? An orphan? Abandoned? Abused?
Shit shit shit.
I fucked up hardcore, and I suddenly want to grab her in a hug and promise her she doesn’t have to ever be alone again.
Mackenzie’s slumped happily on the stiff upholstered couch, a goofy grin on her face. Charlie looks at me, and I shake my head, because I have this feeling hugging Sarah would only result in one of my nuts finding a new home somewhere between my intestines.
Time to leave the poor woman alone.
At least for now. Maybe in another six months or so, I can casually drop by, we’ll have a good laugh, I’ll offer to make her some sweet tea—oh, yeah, sweet tea, and cornbread, and bread pudding, and cinnamon rolls, and—and I need to stop thinking before I start drooling.
But she’s my sister’s neighbor. It’ll be hard on Ellie if I don’t make this right.
“If you change your mind—” I start.
“I won’t.”
“Beck will donate a million dollars to the conservation charity of your choice if you let us interview him apologizing to you on camera,” Charlie announces.
I start to shake my head at her again—I’ve tormented Sarah enough, and I’m not interested in pissing her off more—when I realize both of the other women have frozen.
Mackenzie’s jaw hits her collarbones.
And Sarah just went a shade of white that resembles bleached summer clouds. But she doesn’t let being pale stop her. She spins on her heel and narrows those dark eyes at me. Feels like I’m watching a demon being summoned, and it’s fucking hot as hell.
Or maybe I need to cool it with the Buffy reruns.
“Does your girlfriend always spend your money for you?” she asks.
“Girlfriend? Oh, he wishes,” Charlie says with a chuckle.
“Charlie’s my executive assistant,” I tell Sarah. “And yeah, she pretty much does. Usually very smartly.”
“Except today.”
“No, today too. Happy to donate to any and all of your favorite causes. Make it two million. I can say sorry bigger.”
“How often does he have to buy himself out of trouble?” Mackenzie asks Charlie.
“Couple times a year,” she replies cheerfully. “This job is not boring.”
“You’re welcome,” I tell her.
“Here’s the situation,” she says to Sarah. “We have a charity deal that’s hanging in the balance. With all the negative press—yes, yes, rightfully deserved—we’re worried that it’s going to fall through, because his partner isn’t too happy with being associated with us right now. You’re not obligated to accept his apology. You’re not obligated to forgive him. But it would be doing a great service to kids all over the nation who would stand to benefit from our new foundation. All we’re asking is if you’d work with us to smooth over his lapse in judgment and poor social media skills.”
“Hello, guilt trip,” Sarah says.
“It’s a million fucking dollars,” Mackenzie squeaks at her.
“Two,” I correct.
Swear on the underwear that made me richer than god, Sarah goes so pale she could star in a vampire show.
Mackenzie’s not watching the game. She’s just sitting there doing a mouse impersonation. Nose twitching, little squeaky noises slipping out of her lips when she’s not forming real words.
Sarah’s eyes bore into mine. “Contract?”
Smart lady. I like it. “Twenty-four hours. Or overnight. I can get a rush job.”
“Probably sooner,” Charlie offers.
She licks her lips. Swallows so hard I can see her throat working. Her eyes are getting shiny, her chin is wobbling, and whoa.
She’s afraid of cameras.
Maybe she’s not an orphan. Maybe she’s part of a government experiment gone wrong. Or in witness protection.
I open my mouth to call it off, to tell her I’ll send five million wherever the hell she wants, she doesn’t have to get on camera with me, when she cuts me off before I can utter a syllable.
“You’ll talk about the giraffes.”
Didn’t see that coming, but at least it wasn’t a taser this time. “If you’re sure you want to do this.”
“Not just tonight, but in every interview for the next two weeks and anytime a reporter mentions my name.”
Whoa. She’s not fucking around. “You know I’m just a stupid underwear model, right? Lot for a guy like me to remember.”
“I want it in writing.”
“We need the apology video ASAP,” Charlie says quietly. She’s got that hint of sorry laced in with the you’re running out of negotiating room tone down solid. “The sooner, the better for all of us.”
“So the video before the contract.”
“I’ll make a phone call and get our legal team on it right now. But if you want your lawyer to look over it—”
“Not necessary. I speak Hollywood.”
Unease crawls over my skin, and I see it reflected in the flinch in Charlie’s mouth.
Not witness protection or a government program gone wrong, then.
Not that I really thought those things were a possibility. Mostly.
Sarah blinks away the shine in her eyes and crosses her arms. “You can use my first name only, and we do the video tonight. Right now. Mackenzie will record it. When I have the contract, you can have the video.”
Not exactly unreasonable. I shoot another look at Charlie, who gives a small nod.
“It might take a few hours for hair and makeup—” she starts.
“No hair. No makeup.” Sarah slides a look at me. “For either of us.”
“Sarah,” Mackenzie hisses. “At least let them do your makeup.”
She shakes her head and leans over to pull out a drawer in the carved bureau along the wall between the kitchen and living room. “Phones, tablets, and computers all in here, and we can get started. Except mine. We’ll use my phone.”
“Beck,” Charlie says, a warning coloring her tone, and yeah, she’s right.
This might be a really bad idea, and we might get taken for a ride.
There’s no telling how she’ll come off on camera. Especially a cell phone camera, with no lights, no makeup, and no crew.
An apology video is supposed to make both of us look good.
And it’s not that Sarah looks bad. She’s cute under all the messy hair and suspicion.
But when you’ve been a celebrity as long as I have, you know the difference a single hair out of place can make in the court of public opinion.
“We’ve got a guy who can do makeup so it looks like you’re not wearing any,” I offer her. “The camera’s sometimes—”
“No.” She points to the open drawer again. “You have two minutes before I change my mind.”
“I’m sending an email to our legal team,” Charlie tells her. “Let’s make sure I’ve got your conditions right first.”
Sarah squints at her, then at me, and I’m suddenly one hundred percent certain we’re not just talking to a woman whose Twitter profile proclaims her Environmental Avenger, Science Geek, and Animal Lover with a fear of needles.
This is a woman with secrets.
And I want to know every last one.
Six
Sarah
I don’t need Beck Ryder’s money. I don’t want anything to do with fame. If I could undo the last twenty-four hours, I would in a heartbeat.
But I can’t.
All of my secrets will probably be exposed one way or another. The question is how soon, and how much good can I do before then.
This isn’t about me.
It’s about getting the word out abo
ut the giraffes. And the honeybees. And the endless list of other endangered animals.
My parents could give me money for donations for the giraffes and playground equipment.
I changed my name to get away from their fame.
But they can’t provide a platform.
Next to my parents, I’m that chick who owl bombed her high school prom. Next to Beck, I’m a frumpy cranky science geek that no one will look too closely at.
And even if they do, they might not connect the dots.
He can give me a bigger platform that won’t be overshadowed by my past.
He can help me save the world.
I just have to call my parents and ask them to please ignore any videos of me going around the internet, and deny to their friends that it’s me.
So, less than twenty-four hours after my respectable social media presence blew up thanks to his idiocy, I’m pointing him to a spindle chair at my second-hand kitchen table while my best friend misses a baseball game to use my phone to record us.
I really need to come clean with Mackenzie.
Soon.
I swear.
Soon.
“You have to sit on my right,” I tell him.
“Ah. So we get your good side?” he asks with a flirty grin.
My right side is my good side. My eyes crinkle unevenly when I smile, and I’ve always thought the right side looks less weird with it, but I point to a heart-shaped mole high on my right cheek, which is probably my most distinctive feature. “Sure.”
“Huh. Didn’t even notice,” he says, and then he pulls his shirt off.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
“Look.” He twists and points to his left shoulder blade, where there’s a liver-colored birthmark about the size of a quarter. “I have one too. Mine looks like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.”
“Put your shirt back on.” Gah, he’s not all that airbrushed in those billboards. Good lord, the man is ripped. I try to tell myself it means he spends a quarter of his day in the gym, or that he has a really good plastic surgeon, and also that it’s ridiculously stupid that his easy grin is charming my nipples.
Crap.
Am I wearing a bra? The last thing I need is for the message to get lost behind people noticing that my nipples are straining to watch the underwear model in my kitchen.
Good gravy, I just thought that.
And it’s not even the weirdest thought I’ve ever had, but it’s been over a decade since I left home and changed my name, so it’s been a while since I’ve had weird thoughts.
I’d really hoped I’d left that all behind.
Also, if I had to have my body come back to life after the disaster that was Trent Fornicus last year—and yes, he was just as good at it as his name suggests—does it have to happen now?
For an underwear model?
“Wait,” I say.
Beck lifts a brow.
Dammit, even his brows are Hollywood perfection.
He probably manscapes too.
Although, he does have a reasonable amount of chest hair. Not like he’s furry, but if he’s manscaping, he’s not straight-up waxing.
“Wait…for…?” he says.
I shake my head. Get it together, Sarah. “I never show my face, so why is anyone going to believe that I’m @must_love_bees and that you didn’t just hire someone to stand here and pretend to be me?”
He glances at Charlie, who gives him a you’re on your own, buddy look.
“You can post the video on your account,” he says.
“How will people know you didn’t hack me?”
“You already tasered me once. Much fun as it was the first time, I’m not going to do anything to prompt that again.”
Despite his easy grin about the whole thing, I’m going red. I can feel it.
And I don’t do pretty red. It’s one of the things my mother always lamented. Oh, Serendipity, I so wish you’d gotten my lovely blush instead of your father’s brutish blotches. People will judge you horribly.
“I didn’t know it was you,” I start, but Beck waves me off, still grinning.
“Eh. I deserved it. For a lot of reasons.”
“You’re awful happy for a guy who deserved it.”
His grin goes sheepish. “Bad habit. Terrible habit. Being happy, I mean. I’m trying to quit.”
Is he—is he flirting with me? “The camera’s on, isn’t it?” I say.
“Yep, I’m rolling,” Mackenzie announces. “Go on. You two are adorable.”
I shoot her a what the hell? look.
She grins and gives me a thumbs-up.
I sigh. We can edit this out. “Okay. Let’s do this.” Before I puke.
Or change my mind and bolt for the Himalayas.
Save the giraffes, Sarah. Be the difference you want to see in the world. Best chance, right here.
“You sure?” Beck asks.
I don’t like how he’s watching me.
Because there’s a lot of concern in those pretty blue eyes of his, and he’s doing a damn good job of making me feel like his concern is for me, and not this foundation that I know he’s trying to salvage.
I nod anyway, because the world really does need to know that the giraffes are endangered.
Charlie is standing by my kitchen sink, watching. She’s given up her phone, but she’s taking notes on a pad of paper.
Beck looks at Mackenzie, and his smile actually fades. “Hey, people of the world. Beck Ryder here with a huge apology to pretty much all of you, but mostly to this lovely lady right here. Sarah, also known as @must_love_bees on Twitter.”
I force a smile, though now that we’re actually recording, I’m definitely going to vomit. “Hi.”
Beck angles closer, and the weirdest sensation of warmth floods my chest when he drapes his ape arm over the back of my chair. Like this is going to be okay, even though I know it’s completely illogical for his arm to be comforting.
I guess it’s like bungee jumping while attached to a bungee jumping instructor.
You know he knows what he’s doing, so you’re going to survive, even though you also know that there’s still a possibility that this will be the time the cord snaps.
“Tell you a story?” Beck asks me.
I lick my lips, because dammit, it’s hot in here. “Is it about you?”
His gaze dips to my lips, then back to my eyes, and he grins at me. “My sister would like you. You know she got engaged this week?”
“And you wish her a lifetime of popping out babies and mopping floors and greeting her big strong provider with a baked chicken and a smile every night for the rest of her life?” Oh my god, I sound like a nagging asshole.
“That tweet was in really poor taste, wasn’t it?” he says quietly.
“Pretty much,” I reply, just as quietly.
“Both my parents worked the whole time I was growing up,” he tells me. “Both of them. Together. They own an environmental engineering firm.”
“I know. That’s why your sister follows me. We’re all trying to save the world.”
“Except me.” His brows furrow for half a second. “You’re trying to save the giraffes.”
“They’re endangered.”
“But we see them in zoos all the time.”
I heave an exasperated sigh. “Just because you see them in zoos doesn’t mean they’re not endangered in the wild. Zoos work with conservationists. Pandas were endangered for a long time. But because we knew it, people worked to save them. They’re still vulnerable, but we’re making progress. No one knows giraffes are endangered though. That’s why it’s such a big deal that Persephone, the giraffe at the Copper Valley zoo, is having a baby. It’s not just about the cute baby giraffe. It’s about survival of the species.”
“And honeybees?” he asks.
Those are the magic words.
I can talk about honeybees for hours.
Mackenzie’s not there. Charlie’s not there. I’m just telling the underwe
ar ape how important honeybees are for our food supply and the whole ecological chain of events that matters so much to me.
Completely and totally geeking out.
And if he’s not listening, he’s still making me feel like he is, nodding along, asking more questions, cracking the occasional joke that’s actually funny.
I pause, because I realize I’m rambling, and he smiles at me.
Not a hey, lady, want to see me in my underwear pose? smile, but a friendly, I get it, I’m passionate about things too smile.
“You care,” he says.
“Everybody cares about something. What do you care about?”
“My family.”
He doesn’t even pause, and I don’t know if that’s because it’s the answer he’s trained to give, or if he really has kept himself that grounded through the years.
He bends one long arm to scratch his neck, his grin going rueful again. “My mom chewed me out pretty bad this morning,” he tells me. “Never too old to get an ass-chewing when you deserve it, you know?”
“If you need more ass-chewing, I have a friend who’s really pissed at you too,” I offer.
He laughs. “Yeah, I think I met her in the park this morning. She threw a yoga brick at me.”
“You might’ve deserved it.”
“I’m pretty lucky that’s all she threw. That was an asshole tweet. I shouldn’t have even sent it to my sister privately. She works hard. Really hard. You know we almost lost her in a car accident about eighteen months ago?”
I knew Ellie walked with a limp when I moved in next to her a year ago, but I didn’t know why. I shake my head.
“She worked her tail off to walk again, to get back to work, and she just finished a project that’ll save the city a buttload of money every year in energy costs. And I just model underwear and encourage people to wear comfortable stylish clothes.” He shakes his head. “You keep doing you, Sarah. Save your giraffes. World needs more people like you. Give it up, Taser Lady.”
He holds out a fist, and even though the last person I fist-bumped was a drunk stranger on the light-rail downtown over a year ago, I bump his fist back.
He grins at me.