Touch Me

by Christie Ridgway

  Then why did you agree to work as Payne’s personal assistant?

  Ignoring that little voice, at her first opportunity she turned off the Boulevard and pulled over to check her call log. Biting her lip, she contemplated the latest entry. Then, telling herself he’d just keep calling unless she responded, she touched her fingertip to the phone icon.

  “Rose, finally,” a disgruntled voice said after one ring. “I’m looking for the Nielsen file.”

  “Hi!” she responded brightly. “How are you? I’m fine here in sunny Southern California.”

  Her father’s tone deepened. “Rose.” A sigh gusted out. “This is a business call. Don’t disappoint me.”

  She gritted her teeth to prevent a knee-jerk apology and reminded herself that the one who’d been let down was her. “Given that I don’t work for you anymore, I can’t imagine why you’d phone me about a missing file.”

  “Because…it’s missing,” her father said, clearly puzzled.

  “But I didn’t misplace it.”

  A long silence followed. She pictured her silver-haired, chiseled-jawed father frowning, the fact that his younger daughter wasn’t just down the hall to meet his every command and carry out his every wish still failing to register. “You always track down missing files.”

  “Not anymore, Dad. Remember? I moved back to L.A. four months ago.”

  “I still don’t understand it. You’ve lived in Seattle since high school.”

  Since her parents had divorced and she, not wanting to lose the father whom she’d adored, had relocated with him to the Pacific Northwest.

  “You should come back.” He hesitated. “We could talk about increasing your salary.”

  “This isn’t about money.”

  “Blake misses you.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “Blake’s moved on.” Bright color caught her eye and she glanced in the direction of an extremely tall woman—man?—dressed in a red miniskirt, white ostrich feathers, and yellow platform stilettos. The multi-hues worn by the person who also wore a long black wig with purple highlights reminded her of why she’d returned here—to live life her own way, instead of in the manner sanctioned by her father.

  Her eye caught on the clock on the dash. “Gotta go, Dad. Meeting Lily and Marcus for coffee.”

  “Marcus.”

  Could he truly have forgotten? Why had it taken her so long to wake up to his selfishness, his ego? “Your grandson.” Then she signed off, even as she heard him sputter.

  At the agreed-upon coffee place, Rose wasn’t surprised when the agreed-upon hour passed without a sign of Lily and her two-month-old. Getting out of the house with an infant required the planning and supplies of a major ground battle, she’d discovered.

  Settling back with her drink, Rose glanced around at her fellow patrons. A young woman sat at a nearby table, dressed in a prim business suit, her hair caught in a plain silver barrette at her nape. She had a large coffee in front of her as well as a tablet computer and a notepad opened to a page that had bullet points listed in a precise hand.

  As if sensing her regard, the woman glanced over and they exchanged smiles. The stranger hesitated, then spoke. “Would you mind watching my things for just a moment? I’m nervous, and the coffee…”

  “Sure,” Rose answered. “I’ll keep my eye on them.”

  The woman wasn’t gone long at all, but she thanked Rose profusely as she re-took her seat. “I just want this morning to be over,” she said.

  “Job interview?” Rose guessed. The tablet had displayed an employment listing and the bullet points addressed prior work experience. Sure, call her nosy, but it had been right there for her to see.

  “Yes. I just finished my accounting degree.”

  Rose opened her mouth, closed it. She had an accounting undergrad degree as well as a master’s. But she’d left that field behind when she’d left her father’s firm in Seattle.

  “Now I’m second-guessing everything,” the stranger continued. “Including my decision to go into number-crunching.”

  “You can always change your mind,” Rose said. That’s what she had done. Walked away from her position in a prestigious accounting firm because she’d joined it for all the wrong reasons.

  “The truth is,” the woman said, color rising on her face. “I actually like the number-crunching.”

  “That’s good.” Rose had never considered whether she’d liked the work or not. Her father had suggested she follow in his footsteps and she couldn’t agree fast enough, wanting so much to earn his approval.

  Wanting so much for him to never leave her like he’d left her mother.

  The young woman checked the watch on her wrist and blew out a breath. “Time to go.” She gathered her things, sent another smile to Rose. “Thanks again.”

  “Best of luck!” she told the woman and watched her make her way to the exit. As she opened the door, she stepped back to allow in a mother bearing a snoozing baby in car seat.

  Rose waved at the newcomer. “Over here, Lily!”

  Her sister bustled over, settled the carrier on the table, and then dropped into a chair with a sigh. “Marcus doesn’t make it easy to get out the door.”

  Rising to peek at the two-month-old, Rose adjusted the blanket beneath his tiny chin. “I told you I’d bring coffees back with me.”

  Her sister grabbed up Rose’s cup and took a swallow. “I have to get the process down. I don’t want to be chained to the house.”

  Rose caressed her nephew’s cheek and then went to order her sister’s drink. Back at the table, she delivered her sister’s decaf cappuccino and returned to admiring baby Marcus. “He looks more like Gavin every day,” she said, Gavin being Lily’s firefighter husband. “Do you think his hair is turning curly like his?”

  “Don’t think to distract me by appealing to my mother-side, the one that can moon about her baby all day long.” Lily pinned her with a big-sister stare. “How did things go with Payne?”

  “Well…” She thought of the young woman on her way to an interview. “Maybe I should rethink my employment possibilities. Dig my businesswear out of my suitcases.”

  She yet to empty a single one of them. Instead, she’d stowed them in the guest closet at her sister’s place and raided Lily’s pre-pregnancy wardrobe. The clothes of a freelance graphic artist seemed more suited to the Rose who’d returned to L.A. looking for a new kind of life. “It wouldn’t take half an hour for me to whip up a resume that would get me an interview with an accounting firm or two in town.”

  “Things went that badly with Payne,” Lily said, making it a declaration. “I told you he wouldn’t want a keeper.”

  He didn’t even want a fifth for the orgy he seemed about to engage in, she thought, frowning. “There were women there.”

  “Of course there were women there,” Lily said.

  “Triplets,” Rose added darkly.

  Her sister laughed. “I’ve heard mutterings about them.”

  “Bombshells.”

  Lily lifted a shoulder. “You want a boss, not a boyfriend. What do you care?”

  Yeah, what did she care? But her sister didn’t know everything that had gone on between Payne and Rose. As far as Lily knew, he was the old high school flame who had been nothing but kind to her innocent little sister during the year they’d gone together.

  Rose might feel guilty about what she’d done, except she’d been a foolish fifteen when she’d flouted a rule for the first and only time. Not to mention Lily was a happily married woman now as well as a blissful mother to her little boy. It wasn’t as if Rose had caused her sister’s heart to break over the blondest, baddest Rock Royalty prince.

  “I think technically Ren would be my boss,” she said, avoiding her sister’s last question. “He wrote the check.”

  “Which you didn’t need to take,” Lily said. “I’ve told you over and over you can stay with Gavin, Marcus, and me as long as you want, rent-free.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that. But I
need to start doing something, even while I figure out the next steps in my life.” And she did need cash. Walking away from the condo she shared with Blake hadn’t been her smartest move. They’d eventually have to come to some terms about that, but for the moment she was cash-poor, unless she wanted to raid her 401(k). She was still enough of an accountant that even the thought of the tax penalties made her shiver.

  “What am I doing, Lil?” she asked, resting her forehead in her hand. “Dad called. He offered me a raise if I go back.”

  Her sister reached out and grabbed her free hand. “Don’t do it. You showed up here four months ago, stressed and upset. You were sure then you wanted to take charge of your own life.”

  “Explore possibilities,” Rose said, straightening. “Find my passion.”

  Lily squeezed her fingers. “And how about having a little fun along the way?”

  “Okay.” Rose nodded. “You’re right.” When was the last time she’d had fun? Maybe not orgy-level fun, but she could use a few more good times under her belt. She was twenty-seven, not seventy-two!

  And something told her that being around Payne Colson might cause a little carpe diem to rub off on her. A bit of his hedonism would infuse her soul. Once that was accomplished, perhaps he’d even introduce her to a hot friend who wasn’t so supernova-sexy as Payne but who would be Rose’s willing partner in…fun.

  I’ve always wanted a French maid.

  “It means I’ll have to stand up for myself,” Rose said. “Not get scared off.”

  “You can never go wrong with that,” Lily replied, then frowned. “Where are you going now?”

  Rose was on her feet and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I have to make a stop at one of those costume shops on Hollywood Boulevard.”

  Chapter Two

  When the doorbell rang the next morning, Payne gave a little jolt. Of surprise, damn it, not anticipation. The day before he’d run off Rose Dailey for good, right? Certainly she wasn’t coming back.

  Still, he walked slowly toward the front entry. The truth was, after the laparotomy—which had left a long, mid-torso scar—that had been used to repair his lacerated liver and his other injuries, he wasn’t yet completely back to his normal ease of movement.

  At the door, he checked the reed glass sidelights, but could see nothing. So he took a quick breath and checked the peephole.

  It was relief that coursed through him when he took in Walsh Hopkins, another progeny of a Velvet Lemons band member, looking slick, elegant even, in a dark suit. He’d grown up in the same Laurel Canyon compound as Payne.

  “Come in,” he said, swinging the door wide.

  Walsh stepped over, looking unflappable and in control. As a kid he’d been a mad scientist type, always engrossed in his chemistry or electricity set, and he’d turned that interest into inventing high-tech weaponry so hush-hush that you needed a security clearance to know the name of his company. It caused him to travel far and wide, nearly always accompanied by his trusty admin who Payne wasn’t surprised to find at his heels today.

  “Hello, Honey,” he said, greeting the young woman.

  She ducked her head, which only gave him a second to appreciate her quick smile. Honey Brooks wore sensible pumps and an ugly gray skirt with a matching boxy jacket. Her thick straight hair, the same color as her name, hung around her face, an effective veil. To camouflage her even further, as long as he’d known her she’d worn glasses with oversized, tortoise-shell frames that magnified her blue eyes in a vaguely fish-ish fashion.

  Honey went out of her way to avoid anyone taking a second look at her. Her boss, Walsh, treated her more as a second brain than an actual person, let alone a woman.

  Payne wondered if either one of them realized Honey was head-over-heels in love with the man who signed her paychecks.

  He directed them into the family room with its glass panels that opened onto a terrace overlooking the pool. Walsh sprawled on a couch while Honey took a chair slightly behind him and to his right. They both seemed to assess Payne as he took his own seat.

  “You’re moving better,” Walsh said, then glanced around. “Honey—”

  “Already texting the others,” she said, her thumbs moving briskly over her cell phone.

  Payne groaned. “So this isn’t a social call?”

  “What’s not social about checking on your physical condition?” Walsh asked, smiling with his usual good humor. If Payne had to say, he’d list the other man as the second most well-adjusted of the Velvet Lemons kids, right after him.

  Which, come to think of it, wasn’t saying that much. Walsh likely had his own demons. The two of them were just better at hiding them away than the rest.

  “Who put you up to it? Ren? Reed?” The nine collective children of the Velvet Lemons consisted of the children of guitarist “Mad Dog” Maddox—Bing, Brody, and Cilla—those sired by bassist “String Bean” Colson—Renford, Payne, and Campbell—and drummer Hop Hopkins’s kids, who were Beck, Walsh, and Reed. As soon as each came of age, the kids had escaped the bizarre world of the compound and went on to mostly separate lives. But then, a year before, Ren had made a visit from his home base in London and found love in the youngest princess of the Rock Royalty clan, Cilla.

  That soft-hearted woman had decided her mission was to make a tribe out of them, and between her steely determination and Ren’s insistence on fulfilling her every wish, they were actually becoming that very thing.

  Family.

  Payne shook his head. “Why am I asking? This has Cilla’s fingerprints all over it.”

  “I think it has to do with you resisting the offer of personal assistance sent over yesterday.”

  The offer of personal assistance. Rose. He tried to banish the image of her that popped into his head. Her sweet body, far-seeing gray eyes, the lush mouth. “I don’t want Rose.”

  Which was kind of a lie. For sure he’d wanted Rose when he was eighteen years old.

  Walsh grinned at him now. “You keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

  Honey pushed her heavy glasses up her small nose. “We have another purpose for the visit as well.”

  Payne shot her a warm look, glad to switch subjects. “Have I told you I love you, Honey?”

  Her face colored. “Um, no.”

  “Well, I do,” he said, smiling at her.

  As Honey squirmed a little in her chair, Walsh glanced back at his admin, then narrowed his eyes at Payne. “Leave the lady alone.”

  “You noticed she’s a lady, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest, enjoying Walsh’s spit of temper. “And an adorable morsel as well.”

  “Hey.” Walsh scowled. “Don’t objectify my employee.”

  “I don’t mind,” Honey said, her cheeks going pinker.

  Laughing, Payne winked at her. Walsh, still scowling, seemed to have lost his sense of humor. Taking pity on the man, Payne stretched out his legs and redirected the conversation. “So about the other purpose of this visit…”

  Honey spoke again. “First, I want to thank you so much for giving the twins the job. If there’s ever anything I can do for you—”

  “You’ve thanked him enough,” Walsh ground out.

  “It’s no problem,” Payne added. “I need all the help I can get. That yard is a disaster.” He’d owned two successful auto and motorcycle salvage yards for several years, but the one he’d bought right before his racing accident was a disorganized mess. The new manager he’d installed was doing his best, but Honey’s twin, high school-age brother and sister spent a few hours there three afternoons a week, trying to do some general clean-up as well as match actual parts with what was listed in the database that had been maintained—poorly—by the previous owner.

  “I took a look at the computer records myself,” Walsh said.

  “He spent the entire morning there two days ago.” Honey checked something on her smart phone, probably a text coming in.

  Walsh wiggled a thumb in her direction. “Ms. Efficient rearranged
my schedule and freed a few hours.”

  Payne felt both guilty and grateful. While he’d been lying about, the other man had taken time out of his work day to do Payne a favor. “Thanks. I’m frustrated as hell by the situation—”

  “It’s going to need more than your manager and a couple of teenagers to straighten out.”

  “Don’t I know it. I’m going to get Cami over there, too. And hell, it’s stupid for me to be dicking around here in the house when I’m needed at the yard. If fucking Ren would just liberate my keys, I can take care of it myself.”

  Walsh was shaking his head. “You’re not cleared to drive or do eight-hour stints, boyo.”

  Payne shoved his hand through his hair, barely noticing that Honey had stood up, crossed to his front door, and was now opening it. “Yeah, but—”

  “That’s where your personal assistant comes in,” Walsh said.

  And then she did. Rose Dailey, sweeping across the threshold. “I’m back,” she said.

  For the second time in two days, Payne stared at her, shocked by her sudden presence. No, this time he was shocked by what she was wearing too.

  I’ve always wanted a French maid.

  That’s what she was costumed as, from the toes of her black, ankle-strapped pumps to the froth of white frill pinned to the top of her dark head. In the middle was a short, black…something, with a waist cinched by a white apron. Her breasts plumped over the top of the neckline. Sheer white stockings ended at her thighs and were embellished by blush pink satin bows.

  Walsh wolf-whistled.

  Payne felt his face heat. “Talk about objectifying,” he said, shooting a look at the other man.

  But before he could really get going, Rose made a little curtsey. “Where would you like me to begin, sir?”

  “I can’t…I won’t…” He couldn’t seem to form a clear thought as she sashayed closer. Walsh tilted his head as she passed him, his gaze fixed on Rose’s pert ass.

  Payne glared at the man, then refocused on the French maid. “You, uh…” His hand waved in a vague gesture.