by Emme Rollins
Really? I thought. What kind of sheltered douchebag has no idea what that is?
“It's puke,” I snapped. I was starting to lose my patience. The chaos of the hotel suite weighed heavily on me, setting me on edge. I hated that every step I took was on something other than the floor. No square inch of horizontal surface had escaped the wreckage, and I couldn't stand it. The urge to purge made my palms itch. I tried to suppress it and dragged Randy towards the source of the vomit smell: the men's bathroom suite.
As we entered, Randy gagged, and I finally found our culprit. Or at least, I hoped it was our culprit. I couldn't see his face, but a pair of long, well-muscled legs—not unlike another set of well-muscled legs I'd been admiring not a few hours before—were sticking out of the shower stall. His shoes and socks were missing The other half of his body lay inside the shower stall. Gingerly, I shoved a bong aside with my foot and stepped over him, peering into the stall. Randy, somewhat foolishly, did the same.
Vomit. Vomit everywhere. On the walls. On the floor. Crusted on the man's clothes. The stench of it hit us like a freight train and even I, who had spent more hours than I could count dealing with the presents discourteous drunks left me in our bathrooms at the bar, found it almost overwhelming. Poor Randy didn't stand a chance.
His presence at my back disappeared, and I heard him retch and then lose his lunch in the toilet. I wasn't feeling so hot myself, but someone had to be the adult here. Licking my lips, I knelt down and put two shaking fingers against the man's throat.
To my relief, I found his pulse right away, thrumming strong and sure.
“Is he okay?”
I looked up to see Kent hovering in the bathroom doorway, his face as white as a sheet.
I felt sorry for him in that moment. When he said he needed a babysitter for his little brother, I hadn't quite been sure what he meant, but now I could see why. He must be at his wit's end trying to keep this kid from killing himself all the time. The thought made me unbearably sad. My own family was large and warm; I couldn't even imagine how terrible it must feel to know that one of them was headed down a dark path. In fact, the only one of us who could even be remotely considered to be the troubled one was... me.
Well, shit. I made a mental note to hug Rose extra hard when I got home.
Abruptly I stood up. “He's fine,” I said. “He probably threw up from alcohol, so he purged a lot of poison. He's going to have a bruise across his stomach from that step that comes down from the shower, but other than that he should be okay.”
Kent let out a breath. “Good,” he said. “Get him up.” And he retreated into the bedroom.
Randy was still heaving into the can, so it looked like it was all up to me at this point. I tilted my head and studied the slack face of the unconscious man in the shower.
...Yeah, that was Carter Hudson, all right. I'd seen his face everywhere in the past few months, along with the lead singer. The drummer and Kent seemed to linger in the background more often than not, but I bet that suited them just fine. Carter was more fine-boned than his brother, more beautiful. Well. Except for the vomit. That was kind of ruining it for me.
I reached out and turned on the water.
Almost immediately Carter Hudson sputtered to life, so he wasn't mostly dead. Just half dead. That was good. He coughed and struggled to get to his hands and knees. The black t-shirt he wore became plastered to whip-like body composed entirely of lean muscle and sinew. When he finally lifted his head into the lukewarm spray and spotted me, he smiled.
“Well hello, beautiful,” he said. “Somebody better call God 'cause I bet it hurt when you fell from heaven.” His eyes crossed briefly. “Is that how it goes?”
Fucking wow. “Hello Mr. Hudson,” I replied. “My name is Rebecca Alton. Kent has told me to take care of you. Why don't you get the rest of the way into the shower?”
He didn't respond. He was still pretty out of it. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings, but when he glanced down his body he shook his head. “No way,” he told me. “That'll wreck my threads!”
Who the fuck actually says threads? I wondered. “Then take them off, but get in that shower by the count of ten or you'll be sorry.”
An empty threat, but he was still either high or hungover and it worked. Rolling over, he divested himself of his pants and boxers, then worked his shirt off over his head. Within a few minutes he was completely naked... and I couldn't help but notice how nice he looked. I mean, yeah, he'd just vomited all over himself and was apparently the biggest poser in the world who had actually made it, but he had an ass that wouldn't quit. I wondered if it ran in the family.
...Who was I kidding? I knew it did. I'd had my eyes plastered on Kent's ass every single time he walked off in an authoritative huff.
“Like what you see?” Carter asked.
I shrugged. “Seen better,” I told him, striving to maintain some sort of professional distance. What would Supernanny do? “Now get in the shower while I start on this mess.”
Carter climbed into the shower and sat on the floor, curling up into a ball and letting the warm water run over him. I decided he was probably fine there for a bit.
I checked on Randy and found him done tossing his cookies. He had the decency to look ashamed of himself.
“You think you can go find some clothes for him to wear?” I asked him.
Miserably, he nodded. I think it was clear at that point that he wasn't going to get the job. Hauling himself to his feet, he moped out of the bathroom in search of clothes, and I set about tidying up the bathroom.
By the time I was done, it wasn't perfect, but it was considerably neater. The trick had been to throw everything that looked even remotely like trash into the little pail sitting under the sink. Then it was to throw the rest into all the extra bags I found. Glass bottles clanged together, scented with alcohol and half-smoked cigarettes and discarded roaches. I took it upon myself to throw out any pairs of panties or underwear that didn't look like they'd fit Carter, and by the time I was done the bathroom was nearing merely unacceptable rather than disaster area. It felt surprisingly good, and I wondered if Rose hadn't been right. Cleaning was far more rewarding than slowly killing a bunch of depressed alcoholics or serving up spiked excuses for people to cheat on their spouses.
I leaned in the shower to check on Carter and found him asleep again. I turned the water over to cold.
“Holy shit!” he said, jerking awake. “What was that for?”
“Rise and shine, sleepy head,” I told him. “It's time to get up!”
He scowled at me. “I thought you were my new personal assistant?” he said, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“I'm auditioning,” I told him.
“Well, you're failing,” he complained as he hopped out of the shower and snatched the towel I offered. “Dousing me with cold water is not a good way to get a job.” He started to rub down, fighting back the shivers.
“I'm afraid you don't have any say in that, Carter,” Kent said from the doorway. His face, before so full of anger and intensity was now perfectly serene and composed, as though he had finally mastered his emotions. I didn't buy it for a second. He was just another time bomb waiting to go off.
Carter didn't seem to know this, however. “You are such a dick,” he said to his brother.
“Get dressed,” Kent commanded, and threw a small pile of clothes at him, then disappeared again.
“Cocksucker,” Carter muttered under his breath, and I realized that while he was very cute and very sexy, the reason he needed a babysitter was because he was just a teenager on the inside. Immature to the extreme. No wonder he was getting carried away with the fast and loose lifestyle of a rock star, and no wonder Kent seemed so tired. It must be like trying to control a sixteen year old that just got his hands on the car keys for the first time.
With sharp, shivering gestures, Carter pulled the clothes on—they seemed a bit big on him and might not have been his own at all—but he still jerked with cold, and I
felt bad. “Here,” I said, picking up the hairdryer and aiming it at him. “Hold still.”
“You're going to dry me off?” he asked, incredulous.
“You'll feel better after I do,” I told him. “Just trust me.”
He sighed and assented. I warmed him up with the dryer, and when he'd stopped shaking I put it away. “All right,” I said in a brisk voice, “let's get to work.”
“Work?” he said. “What do you mean?”
I gave him an innocent look. “I mean let's clean up this penthouse. You made a mess, you have to clean it up.”
He stared at me as though I'd just sprouted two extra heads and started belting out “Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree” in harmony with myself. “You can't be serious,” he said at last. “That's what housekeepers are for.”
I glared at him. “Don't be a jerk. No housekeeper gets paid enough to clean up a mess like this.”
“It can't be that bad.”
I pointed into the bedroom. He tottered over to the door and looked at the carnage.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, and the rest is worse. So come on, let's go find some garbage bags.”
He still didn't move. “I thought you said that Kent told you to take care of me, not boss me around.”
Kent, hearing his name, appeared in the bedroom door again. “Actually,” he said, “I asked the two candidates to show me what they would do in this situation, were they to be employed by me. What has she asked you to do?”
Carter had the decency to redden. “She wants me to clean up!”
To my shock, Kent laughed. Kent seemed pretty shocked about it, too, to tell the truth. “Well,” he said after a minute, “why not? Carter, clean up this mess and don't do it again.”
“You're not the boss of me!” Carter said.
“Actually I kind of am,” Kent replied, his voice growing cold.
“I'll help.” I jumped in, detecting some rising tension. “Seriously, Carter, it'll go really fast with two people. I'm good at cleaning. Come on, it shouldn't take us too long.”
Carter turned and looked at me.
It was weird, but it seemed like it was the first time he actually saw me, as if before I was just one of a number of interchangeable human beings put in the world to make his life easier. Now that I was asking something of him... I was a little more real.
At last he threw up his hands. “Fine!” he said. “But only because I don't know where my wallet is and I have to find it to get out of here!”
“Great!” I said. “Let's go.”
The cleaning of the suite actually did take quite a bit of time, and the sun was setting by the time we were done. Carter, after he got over his initial resistance to the idea, started making jokes about the job.
(“You need some dildos, Rebecca? I have lots, apparently!”
“No, thanks.”
“There are seven here. That's enough to get arrested in Texas!”)
The whole time Kent watched us putter around, his face hard and drawn. Randy pitched in and helped when he was finally done being sick, and when at last we located Carter's wallet (in the automatic ice maker) the whole room was red with the light of the sunset, and it looked mostly better. Very little of it had been destroyed, as I had feared, except the curtains which were a lost cause. However, the rest of it was tidy and in order, and the ripped curtains were folded neatly on the dining room table. Whatever happened, Carter would probably only have to pay for the curtain re-hanging rather than an exorbitant cleaning bill. He might even be allowed back on hotel property! Anything could happen, right?
“I'm impressed,” Kent said finally, standing up. His blue-green eyes surveyed the rooms, and I could tell he actually was impressed. Hell, I was impressed. My back ached, my hands were dry, but the job was well done. Done. “Come on,” Kent continued. “We'll have to grab standby on the way back. I didn't know it would take this long.” He started walking toward the elevator.
“Wait,” Carter said. “I can't fly. I have to take Zodiac with us.”
Kent stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn around, but I saw him take a very deliberate breath as he attempted to remain calm. “Excuse me?” he said. “But who is Zodiac?”
Carter smiled. “My new dog.”
As one, we all peered past him and into the bedroom. As though by mutual consent, none of us had bothered the beast still sleeping on the down comforter. Light snores emanated from the bedroom suite. The beast slumbered.
“No,” Kent said.
“Yes,” Carter argued. “He'll fit just fine in the car.”
“Yes, after he's eaten all of us.”
A snort escaped me. A joke from Kent Hudson? This day had officially gone from in the realm of possibility to surreal to hallucinogenic.
Or maybe that was the sleep deprivation again.
The argument carried on for several moments, but even I could tell that Kent was worn down, and he finally agreed, just to get Carter to shut up about it. Carter went and retrieved the dog, and we all went downstairs and climbed back into the limo, where the argument continued the whole way to the airport.
“You don't need a dog.”
“Don't you remember when all those starlets had those itsy bitsy pooches that fit in purses? It's like that. I'll totally start a new trend.
“A bad trend. How bad are you going to feel when someone gets their head bitten off because they needed a dog like... like that?”
Zodiac drooled complacently.
“Zodiac wouldn't hurt a fly...”
I sighed and tuned out the conversation and stared out the window at the desert passing me by. Zodiac wandered over to me, but I was too exhausted to push him away, so when he wormed his enormous skull underneath my hand for a pet, I scratched his ears and watched the scenery.
I started awake what seemed like only seconds later, but as I blinked to get my bearings I realized I was alone in the back of the limo with Kent. The light had changed to darkness and streetlights. Bolting upright, I glanced out the window and saw we had arrived at the airport. I must have actually fallen asleep. Embarrassed, I put my hands to my face and found I was pathetically grateful that I hadn't drooled all over myself. “Where's everyone else?” I demanded before I could stop myself. “And have you been sitting there watching me sleep?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I've been catching up on my emails.” He flashed his phone at me. “You looked so tired I decided to let you sleep after the others disembarked.
I peered around the limo. “What happened to the dog?”
Kent sighed. “Carter is getting in a far cheaper car than this one and driving him home. As for Mr. Seller, I thanked him for showing up, but let him know his services would not be needed.”
Mr. Seller? I thought groggily. Who the fuck is that? Then I realized it must be Randy. Poor Randy. He really was so desperate.
“So, uh...Does this mean I got the job?” I asked.
Silence fell as Kent leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. He still wore his crumpled suit, but the top buttons of his shirt were now undone, and I could see the delicious little triangle of skin flashing at me from beneath the cotton. I tried not to think about what it might taste like.
I dragged my eyes back to his, and I saw that his gaze was lingering on me in much the same fashion. My coat had fallen open, and my breasts—always a tad too big for my frame—thrust against the drooping material of my tube top. It would take nothing for him to lean over and slip it down, take my breast in his hand and swirl that rough, demanding tongue over my hard little nipple—
It was suddenly very hot and stuffy inside the limo, and I shifted uncomfortably as I felt my nipples harden in response to my ill-considered fantasies. I prayed the light was low enough that Kent wouldn't see.
He lifted one leg and crossed his ankle over his knee. I took this as a sign that he needed to hide his own response to me.
I licked my lips.
“I'm afraid the j
ob position is no longer available,” Kent said suddenly.
To my disappointment and disgust, I felt my heart drop. No, I hadn't wanted to babysit a grown man... but I also needed that money. And having Kent as my boss would suck in some ways... and hopefully suck in far better ways, too. “Oh,” I said, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice. “I see. Thank you for considering me, then. I'll just, uh... go home, then...” I put my hand on the door handle.
Kent held up a hand. “I didn't say that you would not be offered a job,” he said. “But it is a bit different. More rigorous. And you would be thrown into the spotlight if you took it.”
Ominous. But intriguing. “What do you mean?” I asked. “You're not going to offer me a position in the band, are you? Because I only play the triangle and the recorder, and I do both really badly...
“No,” he said. “I would like to contract your services still as Carter's handler.”
I blinked. “Then what's different about it?”
A thin smile sliced across his pouty lips. Humorless. Somehow painful.
“Not just babysitter,” he said. “I would like to contract you as a girlfriend. For Carter.”
Chapter Four
“So here's what I don't get,” Rose was saying on Tuesday morning as I prepared my breakfast. “If Carter Hudson is a rock star, couldn't he get a girlfriend on his own? One that would look after him without having to be paid?”
The ancient can opener in my hand slipped yet again from the elderly can of Spaghetti-Os I'd found at the back of the pantry. I swore. I would conquer this can. I would destroy it. Or else I'd give up or something.
Taking a deep breath, I put it down on the counter and tried to compose myself. I was feeling shitty for many reasons, and explaining to Rose what seemed perfectly reasonable last night in a darkened limo with an insanely hot man with whom I'd had the most indecent relations mere hours before was giving me a fresh headache. I chewed on a fingernail for a second, organizing my thoughts. “From what I can tell,” I finally said, “you can't trust people who are already in the industry to do that kind of job because they're all drunkards or hooked on blow. It has to be someone responsible.”