I must have dozed off in the lounger at some point because when I woke up things had gotten really rowdy. I could make out a few voices yelling from inside the house and something was going on over by the cabana near the back fence. When I’d stumbled over there I’d seen the tosser from next door hanging over the top of our dividing wall, with a video recorder in his hand.
It’s from this point things got pretty messy and I’m kinda patchy on the details. I know there was name calling, I think mostly by me. I definitely know I gave him what I would have to assume was solid advice on how to better pork his missus. Mostly so he’d have something better to do than hang over my back fence like a giant twat.
I’m not sure at what point the cops arrived, or how I ended up in the back of a patrol unit. The front gates must be open though, because there are cameras flashing blindingly in all the windows and my name is being shouted through the glass.
I do however remember to call Rash.
“Ronald Ashton, Esquire! Listen mate, you might want to give Miss Prissy Knickers the heads up. Seems I’ve just been arrested; in fact if you turn on your telly right now, I’m waving to you from the back of the copper’s car. Well not so much a wave as the bird, but it’s yours. Anyway, you reckon she’s the ducks bollocks, how about we see what she’s going to do with this little shit storm”.
Hanging up without waiting for his response, I flop sideways across the entire back seat and pass out.
CHAPTER 3
Piper
I have no idea what I’m walking into, but this is Seth’s last chance. If he’s not down for the help, I can’t retain him as a client and waste my time. My job is to help, regardless if I’m being paid, we don’t have the reputation of being the best just because. We actually help our clients, whether we like them personally or not. The staff at ESM would move heaven and earth for a client and to get a job done. We’ve all worked magic, changed public opinion, changed clients lives to get what they want, all because that’s what we love to do. It’s an amazing feeling when you’ve worked countless hours, sometimes pleaded and begged, made bargains, hell, I’ve even had to promise my dad’s band would play at some magazine head’s sixtieth birthday party, just to get the client what they hired me for. That’s why I do this. To see at the end of the job, that you’ve helped someone, it’s a heady feeling. But for the first time, this job for Seth, I don’t know if he’s someone I can fix. Even if he accepts the help, part of me wonders if his career is too damaged at this point.
I watched Seth’s little neighbor fight over and over, not because I was looking for it, but because it was everywhere. It was all over social media, search engine pages, news, all on my phone, I can only imagine the actual television coverage on this and the endless debates it’ll spark. This is the shit the press eats up, and he handed it to them on a silver platter. I know, for some celebs, that attention can be addictive, it’s why they do it. So, this is where my dilemma lies, Seth might want better, but will he be able to fight the urge? It takes years sometimes to change the public’s perception and only moments to create fake news, I’m not sure he can give that up so easily.
I arrive at the mansion around quarter to five in the morning, mainly because any paparazzi or press camped out there won’t be expecting me, and hopefully I can just pull up and get in. I told Ronald my plan so he’s expecting me and he can buzz me in quickly. I also brought a bag with some changes of clothes with me, I’ve been in similar situations where management and even the client orders a lockdown on the property and they don’t want anyone coming or going.
Sure enough, there are vans and random cars lining the street as I approach the mansion and I send Ronald a text that I’m here. As I pull into the driveway the gates open and as they close behind me is when I begin seeing flashes from cameras. Smiling to myself at out smarting the jerks. The property is dark, with no lights on in the house that I can see, while only two cars are parked outside the garage. As I grab my things from my car, the porch light comes on and Ronald steps out onto the porch. He looks tired and well, tired.
“Morning,” I say as I walk up the porch. “Thanks for meeting me so early.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you, I understand you’re all busy at ESM-”
“Ronald,” I stop with a hand on his bicep. “Stop worrying, that’s what I’m here for, and no need to thank me, we’re in this one together…why don’t you go get some sleep, I just wanted to get here to beat the press is all.”
He gives me a smile in thanks since he seriously looks like he could use a break and I feel bad that he keeps feeling the need to apologize to me. This is my job and I’ve prepared for Seth as a client, even if Ronald told me right now I wasn’t needed and then called me three years from now, I’d be here. Even if I’m not actively working with someone, they know they can always call me for help, and that’s the relationship I love to maintain with clients.
Once we enter the mansion, Ronald heads for one of the massive staircases before turning back toward me. “He’s in the basement if you need to talk to him, he could really use the company right now I think.”
The look on his face, the words, ‘he could use the company’ has an emotion sparking inside me. Sadness. I know Ronald truly cares for Seth, but I never, until now, wondered what it would be like to be in Seth’s shoes. He’s alone, physically at the moment, but probably also emotionally, and I know that must be a very scary feeling. His face is the one in the press and only his.
I’d assumed Seth would be sleeping or continuing to party. I stand there and watch as Ronald heads upstairs and I look around as to where I should set up my stuff. A sound I can’t pinpoint keeps repeating in long increments and it’s then I notice a door ajar below one of the staircases and a light coming from behind it. I set my purse and bags down beside the door and open it. An Incubus song comes filtering up as I descend the steps. Basement? I think not, more like a massive indoor skate park. Obviously, the builders dug deeper and wider than the actual foundation of the house to build this. Cement hills, ramps, and tunnels take up the space, along with railings and bars, florescent lights hanging at least thirty feet in the air above and there he is. Seth’s on a skateboard, popping wheelies or whatever skateboard terms are on one of the ramps. He’s wearing clothes this time around, a ratty t-shirt and long green cargo shorts, along with black converse. I just stand there, watching him. I’ve always loved watching skateboarders, snowboarders, surfers, anyone really who is good at something like this. Manipulating a tool to do something you want, it’s fascinating. I’m a decent surfer but definitely not a skateboarder, however I’m still drawn to it or maybe it’s him in this moment. I sit down on the cement since I don’t see benches or anything, oblivious to feeling the need to announce my presence.
He’s good, like, really good, and I wonder if this is a stress reliever. It feels like a long time he just skates and I just watch. It’s relaxing me, but I also take the time to study him. His concentration is visible, and I don’t think he’s even noticed me here.
Eventually he stumbles off the board and he says something to himself as he walks over to his board that’s hit the wall and flipped over. He then sings to himself along to the music overhead and something about seeing him like this has me actually seeing him in a sense. He’s not acting, not puffing his chest and fucking around like some immature douchebag, he’s in his element, he’s himself. In that moment of my deep inspection, he looks over at me. Not startling or taken aback, just looks at me, then grabs his board and begins to skate over. It’s then I feel that I might be intruding on personal alone time, but in that case surely he’d just ignore me until I left. When he gets close, he steps off the board and kicks the front up with the toes of his shoe and grasps it with his hand. We don’t say anything, and I feel like it’s not even necessary. Sitting down beside me, he takes down a cigarette from behind his ear that I hadn’t noticed, and puts it in his mouth. I wait for him to light it, but he doesn’t.
&
nbsp; “You see Rash?” he asks.
“Who?”
“Ron.”
“Oh…yeah, he let me in.”
He nods, taking the cigarette from between his lips and just holds it.
“You didn’t need to come so early, I’m about ready to crash.”
He talks to me while looking down at his board, but I look at him. Study him with furrowed brow because the way he’s being is a complete contrast to yesterday when he was mouthy and brash, now he’s sullen. Maybe he’s just tired. It can’t be that he actually feels bad or embarrassed about his behavior from last night.
“Decided now would be better than later when your house is swarmed.”
Putting the cigarette back behind his ear, I ask, “You need a light?”
“Nah, I don’t smoke anymore-”
“You just need to smell it?” I finish with a tease.
“Yeah,” he says, looking over at me. His eyes look at me with some sort of expression I can only read as surprise for knowing that.
I smile and look down.
“What?”
“My dad does the same thing,” I tell him, looking up and toward the cigarette.
“It surprises me your dad smoked. I picture a farmer from like Idaho or something. You came to L.A. with stars in your eyes, wanting to be a model,” he eyes me up, “or actress. But some casting agent said you were fat or some shit, so you took your little broken heart to work the other side of the camera. Right? Tell me I’m right,” he says, a smile spreading over his lips and there’s the return of the douchebag.
“I grew up down the street from here, my parents still live there. My parents, you may know…Gavin Prescott the drummer from Alabama Smoke, and Elise Prescott the face of Fresh Cosmetics. I never wanted to be a model or an actress or anything in the public-eye actually, I’ve always wanted to do this job…sorry to disappoint.”
During the course of my story, his face morphs to an ‘oh shit’ sort of look before his eyes scan my body, maybe thinking I couldn’t possibly be the spawn of two awesome and unbelievably gorgeous people.
“No way, I used to jerk off to your mum’s add for that bra company all the time, she still hot as fuck?” he asks, his face even more bright and enjoying attempting to get a rise from me.
Without thought, like any thought, I instantly clap back with, “I’d ask you about your parents but you manage to keep something in your life private…don’t have a relationship with them? Or you’re just too selfish to share the spotlight with someone else?”
Seth’s eyes harden as they leave mine and he takes the cigarette from his ear, inhaling the length of it. Instantly I close my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that.
“I’m sorry,” I state. “That was unprofessional, I apologize.”
For a long moment, we just look at one another, and I wonder if he’s going to either tell me to leave or just get up and leave me down here alone. But a second later he waves a hand in dismissal and I wait a minute before speaking.
“I relate to you, I have friends like you,” I say softly. “The limelight can be addictive. Especially if you have no one around to ground you, only followers who feed off you and the attention.”
He nods and stands, not looking at me still.
“I’m knackered, there’s plenty of rooms upstairs, make yourself at home,” he says, before disappearing up the steps.
Leaving me feeling like I’ve done something wrong. I don’t let clients get to me, but there’s something about Seth’s smug behavior that just has me wanting to put him in his place. I’m one of those people who live by the motto, only dish out what you can handle in return. Maybe parents are a sensitive subject, but I also don’t like him disrespecting my mom, so there. Maybe it’s all things personal he doesn’t like to talk about, but again, he better not come at me like that if he doesn’t like to be teased about it himself.
I find an empty room upstairs and put my bags down, the sky is now a pale grey as the sun is about to rise and I sit on the bed with my laptop. I check my emails and the current news about Seth on all platforms, even click on the television to get a scope of the coverage. It’s everywhere, not only this video, but also others from the past. Seth staggering out of a nightclub, pushing patrons out of his way. Racing his Lamborghini on the 405, weaving in and out of traffic. Clip after clip of him just being…a douche. His public image is all he has, no credible work or anything that people can focus on other than this shit. I type up a press release and email it to Ronald, Seth and Sawyer, knowing the first two probably won’t reply anytime soon, but Sawyer does just as I assumed she would. She tells me to make the appropriate calls and line everything up before release, and so I do.
When my stomach begins to grumble and I’m sick of sitting on the bed, I head downstairs. The house is relatively quiet although late in the morning, but I smell food cooking and so I navigate toward the kitchen. The same woman who brought us water yesterday is standing at the stove while looking over toward a small television on the counter, some sort of soap opera playing.
“Morning,” I greet, hoping not to scare her with my presence, but she startles anyway.
“Oh, sorry, I get so wrapped up in these,” she replies, shaking her head and returning her attention back to the cooking.
“I’m Piper,” I tell her, moving to stand on the other side of her.
“Jackie,” she nods in introduction, and gives me a smile.
Jackie’s maybe fifty or so, with blonde hair tinged with a little silver, her makeup and nails are perfect and it’s clear she takes care of herself since her body looks perfect beneath the black yoga pants and black t-shirt she’s wearing.
“I’m the housekeeper and cook,” she adds, plating the omelet she’s making and turns to me. “Want one?” she asks.
“Yes, please, but I can make it myself.”
“Oh no you won’t,” she shakes a finger. “Pick what you like.”
Fresh cut vegetables are sitting on the counter on the opposite side and as I tell her what I’d like, we chat. I find out she’s been working for Seth for over ten years. She’s unmarried, no kids, dating but nothing serious. She lives in a bungalow on the property and enjoys swimming and mahjong to which she’s a member of a club that meets weekly to play.
When I tell her who I am and why I’m here, her eyes take on a worried expression, as she must be thinking about how he was arrested last night. It surprises me when Ronald and now Jackie seem so concerned with Seth when he seems self-centered and couldn’t give a shit about anyone other than himself.
“I pray you can do something for him, he’s a good boy, just…lost-”
“What the bloody fuck is this?”
Seth’s voice echoes through the foyer and both Jackie and I look toward the kitchen entry. He comes into view, his brown wavy hair messy, his chin length fringe tucked behind his ears. Again, shirtless, his lean, toned torso long and fully exposed. His fingers grip a piece of paper in his hand, and I can tell by the header that it’s the email I sent for the press release. Seth’s eyes pin me, looking me up and down again before locking with mine again.
His voice seethes through his clenched jaw as he bites out, “Anger management?”
CHAPTER 4
Seth
Skating has always been an outlet, a go to that fed something in me. A grommet since getting my first deck on my seventh birthday, I loved everything about it. As a hyper kid, skating had allowed me to burn energy in a positive way, and as an only child, it was something I could do by myself. I got the gist Dad had been quietly gutted I wasn’t into football like he’d hoped. While I’d liked learning the foot tricks of the game he loved, I’d enjoyed applying them to a board more than a ball. Limping home looking like road pizza on more than one occasion gave my mum palpitations about my chosen sport, but by then Dad had let go of his dream of me playing for his beloved Arsenal and had my back. Any spare moment I had, I’d ollied my arse off. When the weather had been too bad outside, I’d
fed my obsession by watching footage of Tony Hawk, Danny Way and Bob Burnquist. Undoubtedly more due to the amount I’d practiced than any God-given skill, I got good. It was also a part of me that since moving to LA, I’d kept to myself. It was mine, something just for me.
I’d purchased the bloody atrocity of a house I live in now for no other reason than part of it had been damaged by a burst pipe after a minor earthquake. Knowing it needed extensive repair and reconstruction, the real estate agent I’d employed had no plan to show it to me. He had only done so as a frustrated last resort. I’d loathed every other place he’d shown me up until then. Yet another motherfucker who’d assumed who Seth Mitchell was and therefore had been showing me the kinds of places he saw me living. Too flashy, too poncy, too gaudy, I’d prepared myself to loathe this one too. Until we’d driven through the gate and he’d told me to keep in mind that the lower level and basement would need major excavation repairs. Oh, I’d be excavating all right, but repairing to replace what was there before though, not so much. Stupid bastard didn’t realise he’d just mentioned the one thing that would convince me to buy.
Last night I’d almost silenced the negative noises in my head when Piper had showed up. Piper bloody Quinn. I’d known the second she’d entered the basement because the hair on the back of my neck had stood up. Just like it had when I’d watched her in my driveway the day before. Not knowing what to say, and not ready to hear her know-all-arse lecture me for my behaviour, I’d continued running my course. Feeling her eyes on me, knowing she was watching something only those closest to me had seen me do had eventually messed with my head and I’d fucked up.
I don’t know what it is about Piper, but both times we’ve spoken, we can’t seem to hold a civil conversation. Ok, I may have unintentionally drawn first blood the last time, but when I’d found out who her mum was, I’d totally fan-boy’d before I could stop myself.
I get why telling Piper her mum has been starring in my spank-bank for almost as long as I’ve known how to make a fist, might piss her off, but it’s also kind of a compliment, right? I mean, her mum is beyond hot. Should’ve known Miss Prissy Knickers would be too uptight to see it that way. I was about to offer an apology when I’d seen the look on her face at my confession, but she’d rallied and came swinging right back at me.
Overexposed Page 3