Not a damn thing.
I eyed the script reluctantly. I really didn’t want to do it . . .
Not because James said I shouldn’t, but because it just didn’t speak to me the way the right script does.
And I was going to eat that sandwich, but not because he told me too. Because it would be a travesty to let something that tasty looking go to waste. I was just being anti-wasteful. That practically made me a humanitarian.
But first, I fired off a text to Luis letting him know I wasn’t taking the part. As soon as it was sent, I abandoned the phone and ran inside after that sandwich. It was waiting for me on a plate, and what happened next was borderline obscene. I might have made love to that sandwich with my mouth.
Then it was time to turn the tables on my Mister Miyagi. He may be the kung-fu master, but he had a lot to learn before we made our first public appearance “together” tomorrow.
I found him in the study on a slim black laptop, his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear while he simultaneously typed and talked. He spared a quick glance up at me when I entered the room, but that was the only acknowledgement I got. Still clad in nothing but the string bikini, I walked over to the desk and perched on the edge of it, peering around the computer to see what he was working on. He slammed the laptop closed before I could look at the screen.
“I’m going to have to call you back,” he clipped into the phone and then hung up. Swiveling his chair toward me, he pinned me with an irritated look. “Do you need something, your highness? Maybe a shirt.”
“I’m good.” I smirked and folded my arms across my chest. “But tomorrow we’re supposed to go to brunch downtown,” I reminded him.
“Your point?”
“We have to look cozy. Like we actually like each other, if people are going to assume it’s more than a professional relationship.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he looked mildly amused, “but you are an actress, are you not?”
“It’s not my performance I’m worried about.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll play my part. I’ll be just another foolish sap, struck dumb by your beauty and charm.” I’m surprised he didn’t choke on the sarcasm it was so thick as it poured from his mouth.
“Have you even ever been in a relationship?”
“Are you sure it’s not too soon for the sexual history talk, sweetheart? Okay, let’s see, there was Jennifer Oaks in the tenth grade,” he sighed wistfully. “A guy never forgets his first, especially not a first time like that.” He winked. “And then there was—”
“Stop,” I put my hand up. “I don’t need a list of every poor high school girl you left unsatisfied. I’m talking about a real relationship, you know the thing we have to pretend to be in.”
“I’ve been in real relationships,” he answered snidely.
I raised a doubtful eyebrow. He did not strike me as the relationship type. He seemed more love ‘em and leave ‘em.
He leaned back in his chair and spread his legs confidently. “It’s been a while, but I think I can remember what it’s like.”
“Yeah? Because you’ll need to stare like I’m the most beautiful girl in the room, smile at me like everything I say is the most interesting shit you’ve ever heard. Touch me like it’s impossible not to.”
At his smirk, I huffed. “Hold my hand and play with my hair; the cutesy things they’ll notice.”
He pushed up from the chair right into my personal space. I had to lean back, propping one hand on the desk. His hand landed on my bare thigh and it sent a little shiver through me. He raised the other one to my face. My breath caught, and my eyes darted to his, falling headlong into a stare that heated my insides.
What is he doing?
The backs of his knuckles scraped my cheek as he tenderly swept a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I won’t have to pretend you’re the most beautiful girl in the room, Riley James. You’re the most beautiful girl in every room.” The timbre of his voice was low and gravelly.
His hand fell away and I released the breath I’d been holding. Holy shit. Touch me again and whisper more pretty things to me.
Folding his arms across his chest, he took a step back. “How was that? Did I pass?”
His words were like a bucket of ice water.
I scooted off the desk and cleared my throat. “You’ll do fine.” He’d have no trouble convincing the paps, for a second there he almost had my buying it. Almost.
I paused in the doorway. “The part about me being the most beautiful girl in the room . . .” I blew out a breath. “Never mind.”
“Oh, don’t get humble on me now, Riley James. You know you’re beautiful.”
It’s still nice to hear it sometimes. Especially from the one person it actually means something coming from. Curiosity had me asking another question before he could see the smile I was trying to suppress. “You ever been in love before?”
There was a long pause before he said, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You have!” Wow. “Who was she?”
He cleared his throat and lowered himself back into the chair. “None of this is relevant to you and me.”
So, he’d loved someone. Why did that make my ribs squeeze tighter? And why did I want to know who she was so badly?
Seven
James
Being someone over six-foot, I was confident speaking on behalf of every tall person. We don’t like planes. It’s cramped, there are too many things to smack your head on, and never enough leg room. Don’t even get me started on the bathrooms.
I’d been on a lot of planes. A lot of long international flights. The military had seen to that. I’d flown commercial, first class, hell I’d even flown in a damn cargo plane. Never once had I thought, man this plane is comfortable.
I’d never flown on a private jet before, or should I say a flying hotel suite?
And not like a Best Western suite. One of the fancy Vegas hotel suites.
If one had to fly, this was sure as fuck the way to go. I was stretched out on one side of the plane—leg room for days—with my feet up, headphones in, and eyes closed, able to completely tune out Riley, sipping her champagne, getting some kind of spa treatment at the back.
And this was her life. Comfort and extravagance all the time. Twenty-four-seven, people catering to her every whim. The only thing missing on this flight to New York was her little minion Jayne, who had the week off to visit family and attend a wedding in Sacramento. Even in her absence, she was at Riley’s beck and call.
I guess that was the good life, never having to do anything for yourself.
God Bless America.
There was a tap on my shoulder. I pried my eyes open and tugged the headphones to the side.
A flight attendant stood in front of me with a glass of what smelled like scotch. “Miss James thought you might like a drink for the flight. This is Macallan single malt—”
I held up a hand and stopped her. “I’m good, thank you.”
“Would you prefer something else?”
“No thanks.”
She nodded and shuffled to the back of the plane, only for Riley, glass of champagne in hand, to take her place. “We’re thirty-thousand feet in the air for the next few hours. I’m pretty sure it’s safe for you to have a drink.”
“I don’t drink on the job,” I clipped.
She rolled her eyes and dropped into the seat beside mine. “Don’t you think you’re taking it a tad too seriously?”
“Would you prefer I not take my job seriously?” I asked with a raised brow.
“No, but nothing’s going to happen if you have one drink.”
“Why does it matter to you if I have a drink or not?”
“Because, maybe you’d be more fun if you got a drink in you.” She toyed with the locket around her neck, something I’d noticed was a nervous habit.
“Sorry, you’ll have to find other in-flight amusement.”
“No worries,” she dr
opped the necklace and kicked up her feet. “You can still entertain me.”
“Wouldn’t you rather return to your little mani-pedi?” I gritted.
“It was a facial and foot massage to help me relax. I don’t like flying.”
“Go drink your tea.”
“Already did.”
“Go to sleep.”
“I’m working on it.” She waved the glass of champagne in my face and took a long sip. “Until then, tell me something interesting about yourself to keep my mind occupied.”
I stared blankly.
“Come on. You can even talk about work since I’m pretty sure your whole life revolves around it and you have no other hobbies. Tell me about a fun job you worked.”
“I have other hobbies and interests,” I said through a clenched jaw.
“Like what?”
“Martial arts.”
“Work related, doesn’t count.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I like sports.”
“Boring. I’d rather listen to you talk about work. Tell me what you love so much about it. Why you’re so dedicated that you give up everything else in your life for it.”
“What makes you think I give up everything else in my life for work?”
She snorted like it was obvious. “I don’t know anyone else who would hop on a plane to take a job working around the clock for an indefinite amount of time. You’re basically working twenty-four-seven. You haven’t taken a single day off even though I know you could have one of the L.A. guys relieve you. It’s in the contract. You’re overly committed to your work.”
I shrugged. “When I do a job, I take full responsibility for it. And I’m not exactly a take the day off and go to the beach kind of guy.”
“No, you’re really not. I bet on your days off at home, you work out, do your martial arts, maybe go to a shooting range. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I grunted. “I enjoy that stuff.”
“Of course you do,” she grinned.
“But that’s not all I do. I play rec league hockey, and baseball.”
“Okay, hockey’s kind of hot, all that violence and aggression, and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in those tight baseball pants, but let’s get back to why you’re so obsessed with your work.”
“Not obsessed.”
“Yes, you are, and I have a theory about it.”
“Lovely,” I sighed.
“Want to hear it?” She sat forward on the edge of her seat and angled her body toward mine.
“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“You were in the Army for what, ten years?”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
“So, you’ve been a soldier for pretty much your entire adult life. It’s all you know how to do.”
I shot her a scowl.
“I just mean that it’s what you’re used to, and I can imagine it would be difficult to just leave all that behind and become a civilian with some regular Joe job.”
I shrugged, irritated with her little assessment, because she wasn’t entirely wrong. “That could be part of it.”
“But not all of it?” She waited, like she expected me to share more.
I rubbed at my temple and the headache forming there. She wanted to know? Fine. “You’re right that it can be difficult for guys like me to transition to civilian life. When being a soldier is all you’ve known, as you put it, sometimes it’s impossible to be anything else. I’ve known a lot of guys who tried, but they just couldn’t put it behind them. Some guys need it, they don’t know how to do anything else. Those ones usually re-enlist, or end up working as cops, or in the private sector like I did. That’s kind of the best-case scenario for guys like me. Keep doing the job. That’s not always the case. I’ve seen too many guys get out and they don’t know where to go from there. The war might be over for them, but it never really stops. It’s still in their heads, their nightmares, and they can’t cope. Their families and friends can’t understand why they can’t put it behind them or let go because they made it home. But sometimes, pieces of us, big pieces of us, don’t make it home. And then it’s usually the bottle, pills or harder drugs, or a bullet in the mouth. Sometimes all of the above.”
Riley’s eyes were wide and devastated and her mouth hung open. It might’ve been a little blunt and harsh, but it was the truth. “You know guys that’s happened to?”
I nodded solemnly. “Too many.”
“Someone close to you?” she guessed, and I felt the familiar sting of anger and grief.
“Scott Wentworth. Went through basic training and our first two deployments together. He was like my brother. And then three years ago his unit was hit. Roadside bomb and ambush. He and one other guy were the only ones to make it out. His buddy died a week later in the hospital. Scott was discharged after he recovered. They gave him a medal, but said he wasn’t psychologically fit to return to duty. I saw him once right after, and they were right. He was messed up. The next time I saw him, about six months later when I was on leave, I didn’t even recognize my friend. He was into heroine in a bad way. There was nothing I could do. I tried, but that drug stole any trace of him that was left. He was so far gone, and I had to ship back out. I got word a few months later that he ate his gun.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
Me too. “Scott deserved better. I don’t know if anyone could have saved him, but I know we didn’t try hard enough. We failed him, and I just can’t help thinking how easily it could have been me. But it wasn’t, because I have something he didn’t. Every day I wake up and still know what my purpose is. There’s still a job to do.”
“You need it,” she whispered.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” I leaned back, righting the headphones, and closed my eyes. I heard her seat creak when she took the hint that I was done with this conversation and got up. The next time I opened my eyes, we were making our descent.
There was snow on the ground and the cold air stabbed at my lungs on the walk from the plane to the car waiting to whisk us off to our hotel.
The ritziest one in New York City it looked like. The car door was pulled open for us by an older doorman who may as well have stepped right out of the TV. Even had the little hat. I started toward the trunk, but Riley caught my hand. “They’ll get the bags.”
Right.
I followed her, noting each camera and cell phone that was raised in our direction just on the short walk to the revolving doors. Riley hardly noticed them anymore. I found it impossible not to. I hadn’t bothered looking online, but according to my sister, pictures of the two of us had been popping up since our first outing on Friday. Nothing salacious, but we got the gossip mills running. In the four days since, I must’ve asked myself a million times what the hell I was thinking going along with this. Circus monkey was never one of my career aspirations.
“Stop scowling,” Riley whispered out of the side of her mouth. I guess she did notice the cameras.
Inside we were greeted by an overly bubbly concierge, who was so excited to share the extensive list of amenities available to us on the entire ride up to our floor. I’m not sure the woman took a single breath during the entire spiel.
It was the same when the tour of the suite began. I wanted to reach over, cover her mouth with my hand, and demand that she breathe. I’d never heard someone talk so fast. I doubted even my gabby sister Emily could keep up with this Samantha.
“The master suite is right through here, and you have to go get a look at the master bath. The water pressure in the shower is incredible, and you’re going to want to sleep in the Jacuzzi.”
Riley poked her head in and then stepped fully into the room. “Are those pillows down?”
I leaned against the doorframe and eyed the large bed.
“Uh,” Samantha paused her ode to the Jacuzzi. “They’re wonderful pillows. We get so many compliments on how comfortable they are. Try them out.”
In other words, no. Not down.
“Did my as
sistant not let you guys know I can only sleep on down pillows?”
The Princess only sleeps on down. Ha, I let out a little snort. Riley’s eyes flashed to me very briefly.
“Oh—uh,” Samantha stammered.
“Could you see if a down pillow could be sent up for me? I’d really appreciate it, and I noticed the coconut water you stocked in the mini fridge is the kind with pulp. I’d really prefer no pulp. Also, I see that the robe still has a tag on it. I requested a new robe that be put through the wash once. Most new garments have been treated with starches and chemicals to give them that crisp new look, but they’re bad for your skin.”
Samantha scurried over to the robe and grabbed it off the hook. “Of course. I’m so sorry we missed those notes. We’ll run it through the wash and have it sent right back up, and I’ll see about the pillow and water.” Gone was the chirpy exuberance. Now she just sounded defeated.
“Thank you. That’d be wonderful.”
I moved aside so Samantha and Riley could shuffle out of the room. I shook my head at Riley and she gave me a, what? look.
If she couldn’t figure it out, I wasn’t going to say it. Wouldn’t do any good, anyway.
“So, just the pillows, the water, and the robe? Everything else looks okay?” Samantha asked, stepping back into the main living area.
Riley did a slow turn about the room, stopping when her gaze hit the kitchen area. “Actually, that fruit basket looks wonderful, but if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d love some pineapple to be sent up as well.”
For crying out loud. Now she wanted pineapple in January.
“Uh, I’ll check with the kitchen. Sometimes they have a hard time getting fruit out of season, but I’ll see what they can do.”
“Thank you so much.”
Samantha hurried from the room before Riley could add to her list of demands that she’d so sweetly voiced as if they were mere requests. I had zero doubt the hotel was going to cater to every single one of them.
The door clicked behind Samantha and Riley spun around on me. “What is your problem? Don’t think I didn’t notice your snide looks.”
“Nothing your highness, but are you sure you don’t want to sit on the sofa first, make sure it provides the proper cushioning for your ass? It’s not too late to call her back here and demand they bring you a brand-new sofa.”
A Taste of Pink (Shades Book 4) Page 8