by Maria Luis
Jas sipped her champagne, unimpressed. “Yes, well,” she said loftily, “we are an Emmy-award-winning show. There’s no room to slack. Every strap of ribbon or button needs to serve a purpose in creating a culture of fashion.”
Frankly, Luke had never watched Thick of the Woods and “culture of fashion” was not in his personal dictionary. Rifles, tactical gear, IEDs—those words registered something in his brain. They also triggered memories, memories that he immediately thrust to the side.
But apparently the phrase “culture of fashion” meant something to Anna because she launched into action. “Let me show you this set, then. My cousin, our designer, created this piece with Savra’s character in mind.” She chose a mannequin wearing a bra that looked like it belonged to Madonna from the 1980s: leather, pointy tits, and thick straps wrapping over the shoulders. Luke was half-terrified. “Savra is very much an independent female on the show. Her past as a slave was mimicked here in the link brocade encircling the breasts and on the straps.”
Jas studied the bra top, an indecipherable mask settling over her face. “It’s . . . interesting.”
Luke winced, especially when he saw Blondie’s reaction. Her blue eyes darkened with barely concealed disappointment and her lips flat-lined. Much as he wanted to escape, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave Anna to fend for herself among the Hollywood vultures. So, he made himself useful by pouring champagne into the flutes and handing them out.
Who didn’t like a good glass of the bubbly?
Maybe, if they were lucky, the sweet bubbles would tame Jas’s tart tongue.
He saved Anna’s flute for last. With his cane providing much needed stability after an already active day, he closed in on her and caught her attention with the word, “honey.”
Like earlier, her azure gaze clung to his, a question he refused to answer hovering in their depths. “Your champagne,” he said in a low voice. He dropped his lips to her ear to murmur, “Don’t let them terrify you.”
She accepted the flute, a tremulous smile playing on her lips. “Thanks, baby cakes.”
Then she winked.
Ah, there was her spunk.
Mission accomplished.
Luke retreated to the refreshment table and dug in to the crackers and the cheese he’d carefully sliced. He was so consumed by watching Anna work the group as the savvy entrepreneur that he hardly realized he had company until a voice spoke up.
“Your girlfriend is about to make the deal of her life,” said the guy from earlier, the one who’d claimed Luke to be well-proportioned. Martin, was it? Max? Hell, Luke couldn’t remember, but as long as he kept the conversation short and simple, he doubted he’d have time to embarrass both himself and Anna.
He popped a cracker into his mouth. “Is she?”
Though he wasn’t facing Martin, there was no mistaking the man’s pointed stare. “Do you know who Jas Oliveria is?”
Not a fucking clue. “Can’t say that I do. This is Anna’s business.”
“And you do . . . what?”
Luke didn’t think he was imagining the other man’s condescending tone. It sent a fissure of annoyance through him. Before his discharge from the army, Luke had been known as Sergeant First Class O’Connor. Now, he was just . . . O’Connor, Herbal Retail Specialist.
It had the ring of a glorified pot dealer—not exactly resumé-worthy and definitely not a title that would impress a dude from Hollywood. Not that Luke particularly wanted to impress the guy.
“I was in the army until recently.”
“So, the cane isn’t permanent?”
The urge to ream Martin in the face was strong. Strong enough that Luke’s knuckles tingled just at the thought of making contact. He promptly shoved another cracker into his mouth, and bit out, “Not permanent.”
“Might I ask what happened?”
Jesus, were personal boundaries not a thing anymore? Luke tightened his grip on the cane. “You can ask,” he drawled, “but don’t be surprised when you’re not given an answer.”
“I figured as much.”
Luke finally looked at the guy. “Then why bother?”
Martin shrugged. “I wanted to see your reaction.”
More than anything, Luke hated when people wanted to poke at the soldier and see what happened. He wasn’t a museum object with a goddamn description placard. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation about his discharge.
Going for another cracker and a slice of cheese, Luke popped the pairing into his mouth and chewed. It was either that or succumb to the urge to bash the asshole over the head with his cane.
“You answered just as I thought you would,” Martin murmured, going for the champagne bottle and refilling his flute. “I hope you realize that if Ms. Bryce is offered this deal, you won’t have a place with her. The media likes a good story, but they like the story of a single, entrepreneurial woman even more.”
It was on the tip of Luke’s tongue to admit that there wouldn’t be a problem because he and Blondie weren’t actually dating. But . . . he ground his teeth. As much as he hated to admit it, Martin the Dick had a point. America wouldn’t find a lingerie boutique owner and a former soldier to be a perfect match.
Especially not an injured soldier who couldn’t even walk his dog around the block twice a day.
Keeping his focus fixed on the group, he made sure to maintain the nonchalance in his voice when he said, “Not sure how this is your problem.”
“I’m the head of public relations for the crew and cast of Thick of the Woods.”
How impressive. Luke held back a snort. “Again, I don’t see how my relationship with Anna concerns you.”
“I suppose it doesn’t.”
Luke’s back stiffened. “You got that right—”
“But when Jas makes her an offer, it’s going to include more than just the panties, Mr. O’Connor. It’s going to entail Anna flying back and forth to LA, long hours for as long as the show is aired on TV. Once Jas finds a designer she likes, she latches on until the very end.”
“I hear leeches do the same thing.”
The ensuing silence was a good indicator that Luke had succeeded in pissing off Martin. The guy clearly had grown soft, being in the position that he was, with no one to speak up to him in fear that they’d lose their job.
Luke had nothing to lose. And the way he saw it, neither did Blondie—either this Jas lady commissioned La Parisienne for the pieces or she didn’t. One fake relationship wouldn’t make a difference at the end of the day, no matter what Martin said.
Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Jas hired the boutique and then promptly never spoke directly to Anna again.
“Listen,” Luke said, dropping a hand on Martin’s stiff shoulder, “if Anna wants to break up, that’s her call. Until then, I’m gonna keep a good thing going.” He gestured to the man’s champagne flute. “Until then, don’t mind if I suggest keeping your opinions to yourself. I’d say a lot more but the threat of being put in the doghouse is enough to keep me quiet.”
With one more nod, Luke was on his way. He stepped close to Anna, laying a hand on her shoulder to capture her attention. “You need anything else from me?”
Lifting a finger to Jas and the others for a moment alone, Anna pulled Luke to the side and away from curious ears. With her fingers brushing his bicep, she tilted her chin back to meet his gaze and, fuck, but he felt that one look way more acutely than he wanted to. “Are you leaving?”
He wanted to both pull her closer and push her far, far away. “Do you need me to stay?”
Her hand fell away to tuck a stray blonde hair behind her ear. “I think I’ll be okay.”
Why did he suddenly wish she’d asked him to stick around? Luke shoved the random emotion to the side. “Okay.”
“Thank you—I really appreciate everything you’ve done today.” So lightly he almost didn’t feel it, she touched her finger to the back of his hand. “I’ll swing by on the way home to take Sassy out.”
“No,” he rushed to say, hating the way her gaze shuttered at the word, “I’ve got him. If I can walk here from the store, I can take my dog around the block.”
The two of them needed to get back on track. They weren’t dating. They weren’t even friends. Sure, he’d lent a hand today but that didn’t have to mean anything more. She’d enlisted him to find her the perfect guy, and Luke was assuredly not the perfect guy for her or for anyone else.
Like Martin the Dick had said, any relationship between Luke and Anna was doomed to die and he wasn’t even referring to the celebrity world. He was talking about real relationships between two non-celebrities.
He wouldn’t make a good boyfriend and she had Julian to think of too.
He glanced over to the costume crew, noting their impatient expressions, and leaned down to press a platonic kiss to Anna’s cheek. If he felt the crazy urge to move his lips over two inches and claim her lips with his, he chalked it up to still being hung over. On his withdrawal, he whispered, “Give me a call tonight. I’ve got a date to find you for this week.”
And he had a woman to find for himself. Clearly his self-imposed celibacy was wreaking havoc on his mind. Brady had told him to stop living like a monk—tonight, he planned to shed the robes and get back on the wagon.
Maybe then he’d remember that he wasn’t interested in Anna Bryce.
16
“Luke told me that you own a shop?” Anna’s date said three nights later at Tuck’s. He cut a slice of his steak and popped it into his mouth, chewing and chewing and chewing until Anna swore the man was eating a stick of gum as opposed to filet mignon.
She sighed, swirling her fork around her crawfish pasta dish. Aside from the obnoxious chewing, there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with Jason Rush. There just wasn’t anything particularly right about him either. From the crewcut hairstyle to the polo and jeans he’d donned for their date, Jason was . . . safe.
She hid another sigh as she sipped her wine. How bad was it that the one quality she’d desperately wanted in a guy had become the one quality that she found off-putting? After receiving Luke’s brusque text that he’d found her perfect match, Anna had felt desperate to make this one work.
How many dates could she go on before she realized that the men weren’t the problem—she was.
She’d hoped for sparks to ignite the moment Jason’s hand had clasped hers. Instead, she’d been oddly aware that his hands were freezing even though he’d just removed a pair of gloves. Which brought her to her next complaint: gloves in November just weren’t necessary in New Orleans.
As they’d taken their seats at a table in the back of the bar, she’d hoped for the conversation to prove engaging. While it wasn’t un-engaging, she certainly wasn’t on the edge of her seat with any amount of anticipation.
And then the chewing . . .
To hell with it, she decided, dropping her fork to the plate. The silver clattered loudly and caused Jason to pause mid-bite. Anna couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry. “Why did you agree to this date?”
Chew, chew, chew. His swallow was audible, even amidst the sounds of chattering guests and soft jazz playing. “Excuse me?”
It was too late to turn back now. “This date,” she repeated, “why did you agree to it? I know why I agreed to it, but why did you?”
He tossed a panicked look about the bar. “Luke’s an old buddy of mine . . .”
Luke, Luke, Luke! In the three weeks since they’d met, he’d somehow managed to take her life and put it through a meat grinder. And, yes, she understood that she had no one to blame but herself. She’d been the one to dare him into this dating challenge. She’d been the one to push him into finding her Mr. Right.
But he’d been the one to enlist Julian as his personal dog walker, a job that Jules adored more and more every day. Especially when Luke let Anna’s son stick around the house and talk football, Julian’s favorite topic.
And she certainly couldn’t forget this past Sunday, when Luke had been the one to tell Jas and the rest of the costume crew that they were dating. It was his fault that she’d spent the last three nights tossing and turning in bed wondering what dating Luke O’Connor would mean.
The loss of your good sense, that’s what.
She was already there.
Picking up her glass, she swirled the wine in the bottom of the bowl and took another sip. She knew that Luke was watching her from his spot in their booth—knew, too, that he could hear every word that she said.
His hip might be shot, but his hearing was just fine.
Good. She wanted him to hear every word of this conversation.
She smiled tightly at the man opposite her. “So, is this a pity date?”
“What?” Jason’s slack jaw snapped shut. “This isn’t a pity date.”
“Then why, when you went to the restroom ten minutes ago, did I hear you ask Luke over there”—Anna sarcastically wiggled her fingers in the booth’s direction—“for my name again?” Another sip of her wine and Anna leaned back in her chair. It was sadistic of her, she knew, but she was wholly enjoying watching Jason Rush squirm.
“I remembered your name.” Jason stuck a finger beneath the collar of his polo and tilted his head to the side. “Amber.”
She experienced a moment of second-guessing before closing the door on her conscience. If he couldn’t even remember after being told a third time . . . “It’s Ashley.”
“Fuck.” He ran a hand over his short hair and gave an awkward ha-ha that couldn’t have sounded faker had he practiced for a week straight. “Ashley, right, right.” He narrowed his eyes. “You do own a store, don’t you? Something with clothes and, uh . . .”
There came a crossroads in every woman’s life. At the age of thirty-two, it seemed Anna had just hit hers. She could either get angry or she could have fun. At least the latter would provide great material for when she next spoke with Shaelyn and Jade about her dating misadventures.
Planting her elbows on the table, Anna propped her chin on her upturned hands. “I do own a store,” she murmured, “a pet supply shop. We sell everything from leashes to flea medicine to doggie clothes.”
“Uh, that’s great.” He shoved another cut of filet into his mouth. Chew, chew, chew.
Luke O’Connor was going to die.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Guuulllppppp. “Sure, yeah.” Jason guzzled his beer. “A secret, that’s cool.”
“When I have sex, I prefer to be on top.”
Instant desire flooded her date’s eyes. “Yeah?” he asked in a voice some might describe as silky. “I like my women on top. Keeps me from getting tired, you know?”
As in, so you can be lazy as the woman does all the work. Anna could read between the lines, and Jason Rush wasn’t even making it difficult for her. “Mhmm,” she hummed, letting one hand drop to trace idle circles on the tabletop. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”
The guy one table over started coughing.
From the awed expression on Jason’s mouth, he wasn’t that far behind. “How dirty?”
“Very dirty,” Anna confirmed. “So dirty that I always need to attend confession afterward.”
His gaze grew unfocused with lust. “Always?”
“Always.” She leaned forward to conspiratorially whisper, “Especially after I put on my strap-on and have my way with you.”
She waited smugly for the fog of lust to fade.
Three . . .
His mouth opened and closed like a fish’s.
Two . . .
“You’re . . .” He shook his head, as though hoping to clear his mind.
She sipped her wine. “I’m quite good. Very gentle. Of course, there are some prepping steps but you don’t have to do a thing.”
The cougher next door shoved his chair away from the table and stumbled over to the bar. Anna turned back to her date. “What do you say?”
She stifled a smile as he, too, scraped his chair back. “You�
��re a freak!” he hissed, throwing a cautionary glance over his shoulder to see who else might have heard. “No way am I letting you fuck me in the ass.”
Anna lifted a finger, wagging it back and forth tauntingly. “Very gentle.”
She watched in amusement as Jason Rush tore out of the bar, with not a single glance thrown back at their table. After flagging down a server for the check, Anna deliberately kept her attention on her wine and the half-eaten food spread before her.
“Here you are, Miss.” The server placed the black checkout book on the table. “Whenever you’re ready. No rush.”
She’d been ready forty-five minutes ago when she’d first sat down. “Give me a second and I’ll get that card for you right now.” Digging through her purse, she withdrew her wallet and placed her card on the checkout book. “Here you go,” she said, feigning a smile she didn’t feel.
When the server promised to be right back, Anna finished her wine and slid into her jacket, untangling her hair from the hood and letting the strands fall down over her shoulders. She needed to get out of here, fast, before Luke stalked her down for a chit-chat she most desperately did not want to have at the moment.
Right now, if your name wasn’t Ben & Jerry, Anna wasn’t interested in talking.
Lady Luck was clearly not on her side today because it wasn’t more than thirty seconds after the server had disappeared with her card that Luke dropped into Jason’s chair. She allowed herself a quick glimpse of his face and found herself completely unsurprised by the frustration tugging at his rugged features.
He waited for the cougher next door to resume his seat, then snapped, “What the fuck was that, Anna?”
She stood. She could just as easily wait for the check by the hostess stand.
The slow, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of Luke’s cane indicated that he had no intention of letting her slip off into the night as she wished he would. The server found her easily enough, handing out the checkbook. Anna scrawled a tip onto the receipt, along with her signature.
Without another glance behind her, she stalked outside and headed for her parked car a block away.