by Kennedy Fox
“Ring, dammit! Ring!” My phone constantly goes off with texts and emails from Rachel, yet it’s conveniently dead silent now.
I search the table, kitchen counter, and dig between the couch cushions, then rush to my bedroom and search the bed, chair, floor. Nothing. Fuck.
“Okay, I can figure this out…” I stop and remind myself because if I don’t focus, I’m never going to find it and I’ll end up missing my ride. “I just need to retrace my steps.” I walk back down the hall, glare at the shoe I tripped over, look around the area where my bags were before leaving, and then go to the kitchen.
Wait…
I made coffee this morning before my shower. Opening the fridge door, I sigh in relief when I see my phone next to the bottle of creamer. Quickly grabbing it, I shut the door and grab my suitcases. By some miracle, I make it to the street just as my Uber pulls up.
Thank God.
The gentleman puts everything in the trunk. I’m thankful for his help because one of my suitcases weighs nearly fifty pounds. Preparing to be away from home for two weeks wasn’t easy. I won’t have much time to do laundry since I’ll be catering to Rachel’s every need, so I had to pack for every occasion and include a variety of shoes. This isn’t a pleasure trip, which means I’ll be expected to wear business attire until I’m finished for the day and can hide away in my room for the night.
Not only did I have to get my own things together, but I also spent the past three days packing Rachel’s bags and triple-checking our itinerary and reservations. It took five twelve-hour days to nail down her tour events and dates. Considering she only gave me three months’ notice meant I had to kiss ass and beg for locations to squeeze us in. On top of that, I had to find hotels that allowed animals since she plans to travel with Angel. Of course, when she’s in meetings or too busy, she expects me to feed the little devil and take her outside.
Have I mentioned how I’m not looking forward to being the babysitter bitch during this trip?
Even though I had to plead for space and accommodations for each event and worked day and night to get it all situated, Rachel insisted on re-confirmations even after I assured her everything would go off without a hitch several times.
Once I repeated everything to her yesterday afternoon, I left early to get my things in order. I’d asked my neighbor across the hall to keep an eye on my place and let her know I’d be gone for a couple of weeks. As a retired school teacher in her sixties, Margie’s always trying to hook me up with old guys from her book club. She nearly had a heart attack when I explained I’d be gone for that long and had to explain it was a work trip. Just another reminder I should probably get out more.
I make it to O’Hare International Airport and arrive at my gate with plenty of time to spare. I made sure to arrive early just in case security was backed up. Even after stopping for coffee and a pastry, I had an hour to work on my laptop before I boarded.
The flight was four hours long, and considering I stayed up late to finish packing and cleaning my apartment, I slept for the final two hours of the trip. I was able to read for a bit, but I was too anxious about having to meet Maverick Kingston in person to really focus on the words.
Playboy. Arrogant. Cocky and full of himself.
Those are just a few of the traits I’d heard from Presley. She’s well known in the book community for her photography skills and for having a huge following on Instagram. She takes extravagant bookish pictures and travels a ton. Presley knows everything there is to know about the drama between authors, readers, bloggers, and models. Anytime I need insider info, I just text her, and she has the full details within twenty minutes.
As soon as I land in LA, I text Maverick to let him know I’m here and that we need to meet up before we start our road trip to Dallas tomorrow.
Olivia: I just arrived at LAX. Can you meet at 4?
That gives me just enough time to check in to my hotel and freshen up.
Maverick: Sure, babe. Wear black leather pants and a red G-string. Don’t forget the whip.
What in the ever-loving fuck? I narrow my eyes as I read his message and am certain he meant that for someone else.
Olivia: I sincerely hope you’re joking. This is Olivia Carpenter, Rachel’s assistant. I’m here to pick you up for her tour...
Maverick: So...you want me to bring the whip instead?
I groan internally.
This is going to be a fucking nightmare.
Chapter Four
MAVERICK
I’m not particularly looking forward to meeting Miss Uptight Goody-Two-shoes, but she insists on meeting face-to-face before we leave tomorrow, as if I need to know how serious she is about this damn schedule. I offered to pick her up from the airport this morning, but she refused, stating she had rented a car and was more than capable of taking care of herself. Truthfully, Olivia is already rubbing my balls raw, and I’ve only spoken with her on the phone and through email. She’s warned and threatened me in a passive-aggressive way several times about being on my best behavior. I roll my eyes just thinking about the conversations we’ve had since I confirmed I’d be attending Rachel’s extended tour. Olivia’s been professional and to the point, but recently, the amount of detail in her emails have made my head spin. The woman has reiterated the schedule so many times, I feel like I could recite it by heart, word for word.
After I get ready for the day and run some errands, I spend my afternoon working out, because staying in the best shape possible is necessary for my profession. I eat healthy, lift weights five times a week, and even run on most days too. One of my only requirements for this trip was for whatever hotel we stayed in to have a gym with weights because I planned to continue my workouts while on the road. Luckily, Rachel backed me on that one so Olivia couldn’t argue it.
After I finish at the gym, I head home to take a shower and get ready to meet Olivia. She was dead set on going to a public place—a coffee shop not too far from the airport—and refused the invitation to come to my apartment. It’s official, she’s a prude, which I knew after the first time I spoke with her.
Once I’m out of the shower, I slip on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and then step outside and schedule an Uber so I can catch up on some emails. Word has gotten out in the book world that my exclusivity expires after this summer, so photographers are desperately trying to book me. For the past few weeks, I’ve had an autoresponder send a message saying I will return all emails when I get back from traveling. Right now it’s too overwhelming to deal with. Maybe I need an Olivia in my life too? If she can handle Rachel Meadows’ intense schedule and attitude, the woman can pretty much handle anyone.
As the Uber pulls up, I hop inside and get lost in my phone. LA is a bitch to get through most of the time, so instead of struggling through bumper-to-bumper traffic, I prefer being in the back of a car so I can take care of business.
I read over the last email Olivia sent so it’s fresh in my mind. She made it a point to stress we needed to meet at four on the dot, so I purposely arrive late just to test the waters from the get-go, regardless of first impressions and all that. Give me an inch, and I’ll take a mile every single day.
When I walk into the coffee shop, I look around for an older, gray-haired woman and am pleasantly surprised when the only person in sight is a cute, uptight, sassy blonde with a scowl permanently fixated on her face.
Olivia Carpenter isn’t eighty, which is shocking considering the way she acts.
I smile. She rolls her eyes.
And just like that, we’re off to a good start.
Instead of rushing immediately toward her, I walk to the counter and take my time ordering a black coffee. Once the cup is handed over to me, I sit in front of her with a smirk. “Olivia?”
She looks down at her watch, then back at me unamused. “I said four. Not four twenty-five.”
I chuckle. Studying her. Already noticing her quirks. She’s the Hermione Granger of author assistants with her planners stacked high in
front of her, clothes perfectly pressed, and every button done up to her neck. Not a wisp of sandy blond hair is out of place from the bun tightly fixated on the back of her head, and she sits up straight as a board. I swear if the wind blows the wrong way, she’ll tip over.
I glance down at the bottle of water she’s drinking. “Who comes to a coffee house and drinks water?”
“I’ve had my daily allowance of caffeine already, thank you very much. Now, can we get down to business? I’m not one for small talk.” No kidding.
I’m actually taken aback by the way she’s treating me within the first thirty seconds of meeting me. Not many women blow me off like this, which makes me wonder if my charm is fading. It’s true, some women are immune to it, and Olivia already seems like she’s going to be a tough egg to crack. Then again, I’m always up for a good challenge.
I rub my hand across the scruff on my chin. “Sure thing. I’m ready to listen to you go over this again. But let me say this; when I close my eyes, all I can see is your three-page email detailing every second of my life for the next twelve days. But please, Miss Priss, continue.”
She ignores my frustration and opens a notebook where she has everything written out in the neatest handwriting I’ve ever seen with bullet points, timelines, and dates. My phone vibrates as she starts reading off our insane schedule, and I check a text message and respond. Instantly, she stops and stares at me. It’s actually the most attention she’s given me since I sat down.
“Are you even listening to me?” Her green eyes bore into me.
“Are you hungry? Do you need a Snickers? You seem a little cranky.” I tuck my phone in my pocket and give her a shit-eating grin.
She slams her notebook shut and glares at me. “This was obviously a huge mistake. I really hope I don’t kill you before the end of this. I value my job, and a murder rap wouldn’t look good for me.”
I chuckle, which only seems to set her off even more. “I’m sure Rachel and her raving fans wouldn’t appreciate that. I’m willing to bet they’d go on a witch hunt if that happened.”
Olivia huffs and interlocks her fingers together on the table. She looks like she wants to stand and strangle me but somehow shows great restraint. “Rachel expects you to be on your very best behavior during this tour because you’re representing her brand, which she’s worked very hard to establish over the last decade. That means you are required to arrive on time to all events. You need to be presentable and friendly to her readers. And you have to keep your dick in your pants. I know all this is going to be really hard for you, but those are the rules, and my job is to make sure you follow them. Understand? I’ve been voluntold to be your babysitter or truant officer—maybe both. So don’t test me and everything will be just fine.”
“Babysitter? That’s hilarious!” I laugh and take a sip of coffee. “I don’t need watching, though. I’m a big boy,” I respond sarcastically.
“I’ve heard how some models act at these events. I’ve been made well aware of your kind, Mr. Playboy,” she adds.
My eyebrows pop up. “Oh really? Please enlighten me then, Miss Priss. I’d love to know what preconceived notions you have about me so I can make them allllllll come true in the next twelve days,” I taunt, taking another swig of coffee.
“Stop calling me that,” Olivia demands between gritted teeth. We’ve been around each other for approximately ten minutes, and I’ve already managed to permanently smash in her buttons. Perfect. This is going to be fun.
“Are you always this arrogant?” she asks.
“Are you always so uptight?” I fire right back.
She shakes her head. “This is an absolute nightmare. We’re done here.”
Olivia stands up and grabs her notebooks and planners. She presses them against her chest and glares at me.
Instantly, I stand too. “Great talk.”
She groans and walks toward the door, and I follow, checking her out in the process. Olivia is tall, though she’s wearing heels. Her black skirt hugs her tiny waist and accentuates her curves. She looks like she just walked out of an episode of Law & Order with how put together she is. I chuckle at her expense and continue to follow her to the car that’s perfectly parallel parked. As she unlocks it and sets her library of planners in the passenger seat, I stop.
“Please tell me you didn’t rent a fucking Toyota Prius for a long road trip.”
She turns on her heels and takes a step toward me. “Or what?”
“It’s seriously one of the shittiest cars a person can rent for someone my size. You couldn’t have gotten something more comfortable or spacious? I’m six foot two, for crying out loud.”
“And when you’re cramping, think about the amazing gas mileage we’re going to get and the money we’re going to save by going hybrid.” For the first time all day, she smiles, but it’s smug as fuck. Almost as if she gets some sick satisfaction out of the fact I will be tortured for the next two weeks. I’m pretty sure she does.
I swallow hard. I’m actually pissed. “Well then, I might have to call Rachel and let her know I won’t be able to make it after all.”
Olivia narrows her eyes at me, and I see a glimpse of panic flash across her face. “You wouldn’t.”
Tilting my head, I cross my arms across my chest. “Test me.” I repeat her words from earlier, throwing them back in her face just to see if she’ll combust with anger.
“If you did that…” She stops herself and bites her tongue, so she doesn’t continue.
“What? What are you going to do?”
We stand there and stare at each other before Olivia relents. “Fine, whatever. Didn’t realize we were using threats here. You have no idea what you just started, Maverick.”
“Whatever it is, I promise you, I’ll finish it, Miss Priss.”
She shakes her head and climbs into the shitty Prius mumbling something under her breath, and I’m pretty sure I heard her call me an asshole. Before starts the car, she rolls down the passenger window but refuses to look at me.
“I’ll be at your house at seven. Don’t make me wait.” As I watch her drive away and turn in the absolute wrong direction, I let out a laugh. I may have pushed Olivia’s buttons, but she’s managed to push mine right back. The next two weeks of my life are going to be a lot more interesting than I originally thought, and I’m sure she’s thinking the same.
I look up at the cloudless blue sky, and a smile fills my face. Someone better say a prayer for Olivia because now I’m even more determined to wear her down to the bone, and I have a week and a half to do it.
Challenge accepted.
Chapter Five
OLIVIA
Maverick Kingston managed to get under my skin in less than an hour and then showed up in my dreams last night.
Not by choice.
Ugh! The man is infuriating. He doesn’t take anything seriously and treats life like one big frat party. So, the next eleven days should be a blast.
After his not-so-subtle threat about not going on this road trip in a Prius, I had no choice but to replace the rental car. Driving with him will be painful enough. I don’t need to hear him complain the whole time about the damn car.
Once I grab some coffee, I head over to Maverick’s place and text him.
Olivia: I’m here. Use the bathroom before you come out. Our first stop isn’t for five hours.
Maverick: Don’t worry, babe. I’ll bring a bottle of water and reuse it ;)
I groan, almost wishing I’d kept the Prius now.
Sipping on my coffee, I adjust the radio and play something mellow. It helps me relax, and if I’m going to be driving in LA traffic this early, I’ll need to stay calm.
“Well, well, well…” I hear Maverick say in a singsong voice. He throws his luggage into the back and flashes me a victorious smile as he climbs into the passenger side. “Nice wheels.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice,” I grind out. “Also, do you have something against being on time?”
&n
bsp; “This is California, babe. We’re a chill type of people here.”
“Stop calling me babe,” I tell him harshly as I pull onto the road. The GPS is already set, and it says we’re twelve hours from our first hotel. This is going to be a long, miserable day. “I’m not your babe, and my name is Olivia.”
“Well, Olivia. You aren’t in Kansas anymore. You can lose the bitter, uptight attitude.”
I scrunch my nose. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. “I’m from Chicago.”
He snorts, adjusting his seat and shifting it back to make room for his long legs. “That definitely explains it.”
I roll my eyes though I’m not looking at him.
“Can I turn off this church music?” Maverick asks thirty minutes into our trip. He leans forward and starts messing with the knob.
“It’s nice driving music,” I argue, swatting his hand away.
“You can’t be serious. This shit is gonna put you to sleep, and then we’re going to crash and die. You really want that on your conscience?”
The corner of his lips tilts up just the slightest.
“Guess it wouldn’t matter. I’d be dead.” I flash a smug smile right back at him.
“Oh, I see how it is. You look all innocent and smart, but deep down, you have this morbidity to you.”
I shoot him a look. “You’re the morbid one with all your crashing and dying talk.” I turn my music back on. “Now no more talking about it because if I don’t get you to these events on time, Rachel will actually kill me.”
“Why you so scared of her anyway? I could fit her in my pocket. She looks harmless enough.”
Glancing at him, I shake my head, then force myself to focus on the road. “You know she’s anything but harmless.”