Vegas Love

by Jillian Dodd

  But on set, she ignores me.

  At first, I take it personally.

  But then I catch her looking at me and see the hurt in her eyes.

  Hurting her is absolutely the last thing I want to do.

  While I'm counting down the minutes until they break for lunch, I get a text from Chloe.

  Chloe: My twin-sense tells me that you're close, but you haven't called or seen your sister. What the hell is up with that?

  Me: I haven't been here that long. And I'm working.

  Chloe: Babysitting Ashlyn Roberts must be a rough job. Carter and I have a little wager going about how long it will be before you bang her. If you could make it happen by this weekend, that'd be great. Originally, I thought you'd meet at the wedding, so I gave it two days. But when you got waylaid, we had to redo our bets.

  Me: What makes you think I'd get with her?

  Chloe: Because she's your perfect type. On steroids.

  Me: My perfect type?

  Chloe: You should know this, but based on the fact that you dated Kelli for years, you obviously don't. Your perfect type is a fun-loving, free-spirited girl with light brown hair and a perfect nose. Ashlyn Roberts epitomizes your dream girl. That's why she's your dream girl on steroids.

  Me: You're so clever.

  Chloe: I still, seriously, don't see what you saw in Kelli, but whatever. (How many times did I tell you she was wrong for you?) I'm still hoping that someday you will see the error of your ways and admit that I was right.

  And . . . I'm still waiting for that day.

  Me: Fine. You were right.

  Chloe: Hallelujah, I'm going to call the weather station. Hell just froze over.

  Me: Shut up. Did you really think I would sleep with Ash in two days? You're crazy.

  Chloe: Oh, it's ASH, is it? That alone should answer your question. I had this grand vision. Zach breaks up with Ashlyn after promising to stand by her. She's devastated and vulnerable. You meet. It's love at first sight. Or, at least lust at first sight. You work your charm. Poof. Next thing you know, she's in bed with you and your wonderful sister is $500 richer. And, seriously, there's this Rebecca Minkoff fringe bag that I'm DYING for. You need to make this happen.

  Me: Surely, Carter mentioned to you that Cade told me that absolutely under no circumstances am I to sleep with Ashlyn.

  Chloe: Since when have you ever listened to anyone?

  Me: Point.

  Chloe: Which is what makes this whole babysitting thing so exciting to watch. It's a recipe for disaster or happiness, depending on whose side you're on.

  Me: Whose side are you on?

  Chloe: Yours. Carter also told me how you really met. On the beach. That she thought you were him. That she came for bacon. That your chemistry was off the charts. I need to see it in person. Bring her to the house on Saturday for the game.

  Me: I'm not sure Cade would approve of that. You know how he is about family stuff.

  Chloe: Which is why I never get to meet all the movie stars he works with. Which is bullshit, because I know Ashlyn and I are going to be new best friends. I've told him that since he took her on as a client. Fucking Palmer.

  Me: You loved Palmer.

  Chloe: Still do. But it's not my fault that Cade fell in love with a client and it went to shit. Regardless, you need to bring her. Mom's making lasagna.

  Me: Chloe, I'd like to, but I can't.

  Me: Well, then, you leave me no choice. Bring her to dinner or I'm telling Mom about the time you and Carter broke the vase with Great Grandma's ashes playing baseball in the house and blamed it on the cat.

  Me: You wouldn't dare.

  Chloe: Oh, but I would. Poor Gigi ended up in a dust buster because of you.

  Me: Fine. I'll ask, but she may have plans.

  Chloe: I love you. Seriously. I'm really happy you're back in town.

  Me: I am too :) Mom told me you're dating someone new.

  Chloe: More like hooking up with someone new, but I can't exactly tell Mom that. I'm her last hope for grandkids, apparently. Really, one of you needs to get married and have a spawn to take some of the pressure off me.

  Me: So do you like this guy?

  Chloe: He delivered pizza to my friend's house. He's hot. That's what I like about him.

  Me: You're way worse than me. See you Saturday.

  At lunch, Ashlyn picks at a salmon salad and then retreats to her dressing room.

  I follow her.

  "Don't you ever knock?" she says, one hand hidden behind her back.

  I grab her hand and hold it up, exposing a bag of Cheetos, and grin at her.

  "What's with that smirk?"

  "You told me that you sneak back to your dressing room and eat crap snacks."

  "The only reason I jog every morning is so I can eat whatever I want," she laughs. "But if I eat it out there, everyone looks at me like I'm crazy. I just can't face another day of salmon. I mean, would it be that bad to bring in some cookies?"

  I steal a bite out of her hand.

  Her eyes get sad again. "You were gone this morning."

  I take another out of the bag and feed it to her. "I didn't want to wake you. I also didn't want to get caught sneaking in. Carter would tell Cade and I'd get fired."

  "I don't want you to get fired," she says softly.

  I tenderly touch her face. "You weren't upset, were you?"

  Her shoulders drop. For someone who is such a good actress, she seems to have a hard time hiding her emotions from me. "I cried."

  "Why?"

  She shakes her head as tears form. "I don't know."

  I hug her tightly. "I do. I told you, you need someone to take care of you. Let me take care of you."

  She brightens. "I'm off early today. Would you want to do something?"

  I think about what she said to me about being a house whore. How she wants a home.

  "I know exactly what we should do."

  "Let me guess, it involves us being naked."

  Well, if you want to go look at houses naked, I'm fine with that."

  Her eyes get huge. "You want to look at houses with me?"

  "Yes. I want you to be happy. Happiness isn't just about money. You told me that you hate where you're living. Tell me why," I say, taking her hands in mine and peppering them with kisses.

  "I love Malibu. It's beautiful and the ocean is beautiful. But the houses are really close together where I am, so I always feel crowded. I want space. A yard. I want to walk around naked in my backyard without the neighbors calling and complaining."

  "If I was your neighbor, I'd be encouraging that behavior. You said you're a house whore. That you have houses you drive by. Maybe today we should actually go inside."

  "I told you I'm a house whore?"

  "You told me a lot."

  "Damn champagne," she says with a laugh.

  "So do you have a list of places you'd like to see?"

  She nods and hands me her phone, pulling up a real estate app. "My favorites are saved here."

  I scroll through her list. "While you work, I'll get this all set up. Heck, Mrs. Sexy, maybe we should get a place together."

  She bites her lip. She's so damn cute. "Are you even interested in looking at houses, really?"

  "I'm pretty interested in you."

  I go lock the door then pick her up, carry her to the couch, and uphold my wedding vows.

  Again.

  After a hot quickie, she goes back to filming and I get to work, starting with a call to my brother.

  "I heard you told off Kenton at lunch yesterday," he says without a greeting.

  "She's right. He's an ass."

  "He's well respected in the industry."

  "Hmm. Didn't seem like it at lunch. In fact, most of the nobodies like me were practically applauding."

  "And how did Ashlyn take what you did?"

  "She liked it. I think we're becoming friends. In fact, she told me that she hates her house. Apparently, her manager said she needs to stay in he
r leased house. What I want to know is why. Does she work with a financial manager, like we do for our trusts?"

  "No, she lets her manager and his accountant do it all."

  "That's not good. Okay, well, find out what you can. She's off early this afternoon and I'm going to look at houses with her."

  "I wondered why she always leases. Sounds like she's not getting good advice. There are a lot of tax benefits to owning, not to mention a good investment."

  "Yeah, I didn't say anything to her, but something fishy is going on with her manager. You need to look into that."

  "I'll see what I can find out. Carter told me that you met her on the beach and she came over for breakfast."

  "Yeah, she thought I was him."

  "And you've become friends so fast that she wants to spend her time off with you?"

  "Isn't that what you wanted me to do? Does she have very many friends?"

  "Other than Harper, no. Most are more like party friends. You know the kind."

  "Sure, they are there when you want to party, but disappear anytime you really need them."

  "Exactly."

  "I assume you're okay with us becoming friends?"

  He's quiet for a beat. "Cash, you've been having a lot of fun."

  "What's that got to do with anything?"

  "I don't want her to be your fun."

  I should tell him. Tell him right now before it goes any further. That she's not just fun, she's my wife.

  But, I can't.

  So I fire back with, "I'm gonna say one word. Palmer."

  "I hate that name."

  "Because you've never gotten over her. Just because you got in a personal mess with a client, doesn't mean you should hold it against her forever. Besides, Ashlyn isn't my client. She's yours. It's not the same thing."

  "You work for me, that makes her your client too. Everyone knows you don't shit where you eat."

  "I get it. You don't want us to date."

  "No, I don't want you to fuck. Big difference."

  "So are you saying that if I liked her, like if we fell in love, it would be okay?"

  My brother sighs audibly. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Palmer is the reason I'm so adamant about you not sleeping with Ashlyn. Trust me, mixing business with pleasure just screws everything up. I'll see what I can find out about her lease and get back to you."

  "Do you have a realtor you use? I was thinking about calling Dad's friend."

  "That's exactly who I would recommend. I'll text you his contact information. And, Cash?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I know you've only been on set for a short time, but reports are that she seems happy and hasn't been high."

  "I know. And thanks."

  More Complicated

  Ashlyn

  I'm in a shitty mood when we stop for dinner.

  "You seem frustrated. I thought you'd have fun," Cash says to me.

  I can't help it. I let out a big sigh. "I'm just so disappointed."

  "Because you didn't find a house you loved?"

  "Yes. The last one we looked at was my online favorite. It's new, modern, sleek. Has gorgeous views. That infinity pool and spa on the cliff belong in a magazine."

  "So what didn't you like about it in person?"

  "It was so white it was practically blinding. It's not that I didn't think it was pretty, I just couldn't picture myself living there. I couldn't picture myself living in any of them."

  "Why?"

  I shake my head, because I don't know the answer.

  He reaches under the table, takes my hand and puts it on his knee. "Tell me why."

  "I don't know, okay," I say, getting angry because I can't tell him what having a home would mean to me. How it's what I've always dreamed of. How it's what I imagined coming home to when I was a kid and not the disaster that was my house after my dad died.

  But since I met him, that dream has become even more complicated because I don't want to live in the house by myself.

  I want to live in it with him.

  Am I desperate for attention? Is that why I keep choosing the wrong guys? Am I just so needy that I'm not picky? I take anyone who will toss some attention my way?

  Do I have daddy issues?

  Do I need to see a shrink?

  Is it wrong to want love? Crave love? Weren't we made to love each other?

  He rubs his finger across the top of my hand, pulling me back to the present. To his adorable face that is still so beautiful it makes my heart ache.

  And I think I've figured out the reason for the ache.

  I don't want him to leave.

  "So tell me what characteristics your dream house has," he says, and I'm just wishing he'd drop it. I need to go back to my own world--my normal world--and stop feeling like I'm living in a fairytale every time he's around.

  Because fairytales and real world don't mix.

  "I'm not sure," I reply.

  He leans closer. "It's okay that you didn't find the right one today. You will. I want to help you."

  "But why do you even care?"

  "Because," he says, kissing me.

  I back away quickly, hoping no one saw. I don't want him to get fired. I'd never forgive myself if I ruined his close-knit relationship with his family.

  "I'm really tired and have an early call time tomorrow. I'm going to head home," I tell him.

  But he doesn't give up.

  "So it's the way the house made you feel, not how it looked?"

  "Yeah, I guess."

  "And how did the last house make you feel?"

  "Cold."

  He scrunches up his nose and nods his head, seemingly understanding what I want. It's freaking adorable.

  He's adorable.

  "Tell me about your family," he says. The way he says it is commanding. Like I have no choice but to tell him.

  But I haven't told anyone, really. And I'm not going to start with him. I grab some money out of my bag, toss it on the table to cover the bill, and stand up. "I want to leave."

  Emotional Hook

  Cash

  I'm trying to figure out what I did to piss her off.

  I took her house hunting to try to help her find what she wants.

  But as we're driving back from dinner, it hits me that she knows exactly what she wants. She just doesn't want to talk about it.

  I think back to what I read. About her dad passing away when she was young and about how she doesn't talk about her family.

  I think she craves a home.

  A real home. One where she feels loved.

  And as I look at her defeated body language, I realize that I want to be a part of that place. I want to be there for her and be the one who kisses it and makes it all better.

  When we get to her house, she hops out of the car before I can even get it into park.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," she says, clearly struggling to hold it together. I've seen that look on my sister's face numerous times. She's about ready to start bawling and wants to do it in private. Although I will never claim to understand the female race, I do think that having a twin sister helps me better understand their emotions. Or at least understand that they are just more emotional.

  She's standing at the garage door, entering her code. She slams her fist into the keypad. "Dammit."

  And I see the tears forming.

  "What's your code?"

  "Eighty-seven sixty-two."

  I grab her hand, enter the code, and pull her inside.

  "I told you I'm tired. You should go."

  "No. You can cry first if you need to, but you're going to talk to me."

  "How do you know I want to cry?"

  "I have a twin sister. I can see the signs."

  She covers her face with her hands. "I don't know why I'm so emotional about this. Maybe it's all just hitting me. The sex tape. Zach breaking up with me."

  I wrap my arms around her. "I think you're upset you didn't find a house."

  She sniffles
and wipes away the few tears that have dared to fall. "Maybe," she says quietly.

  "You shouldn't be. It's the first time you've ever looked at houses. It was a bit overwhelming. It's a big investment and you don't want to make a mistake," I say, letting her off the emotional hook, even though I suspect it's more than that.

  "I think you're right."

  I lead her into her living room, sit on the couch and pull her onto my lap. She straddles me and takes my face in her hands.

  "Are you really as sweet as you seem, Cash?"

  Other than at my brother's house, when we were supposedly introduced, this is the first time she's called me Cash. I know she's being serious.

  "I'm not sweet, I'm just sweet on you."

  "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're too perfect." She runs her hands across my biceps causing me to instantly become aroused. And it doesn't help that she keeps squirming around on my lap. Does she not realize what that does to me? I try to think about anything. Anything but the way her hips are smashed against mine. Mom. Think about Mom. Mom is in the kitchen. Mom is baking food. Baking her specialty. Warm, homemade fudge with--

  Shit. Wrong thing to think of. Way wrong. Now all I can think about is the warmth inside her.

  And I'm trying to be sensitive here. I want her to take me seriously.

  But she knows.

  She has to be able to feel me. I'm as hard as freaking granite.

  "I'm sorry," I say, attempting to move her off me. But she doesn't freaking budge. And, truth be told, I'm not trying that hard. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I want to talk to you about the house. I know it's important to you. But you can't seem to sit still and it's driving me nuts."

  She pulls her shirt off in response.