by Ava Lore
I leaned in the shower to check on Carter and found him asleep again. I turned the water over to cold.
“Holy shit!” he said, jerking awake. “What was that for?”
“Rise and shine, sleepy head,” I told him. “It's time to get up!”
He scowled at me. “I thought you were my new personal assistant?” he said, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“I'm auditioning,” I told him.
“Well, you're failing,” he complained as he hopped out of the shower and snatched the towel I offered. “Dousing me with cold water is not a good way to get a job.” He started to rub down, fighting back the shivers.
“I'm afraid you don't have any say in that, Carter,” Kent said from the doorway. His face, before so full of anger and intensity was now perfectly serene and composed, as though he had finally mastered his emotions. I didn't buy it for a second. He was just another time bomb waiting to go off.
Carter didn't seem to know this, however. “You are such a dick,” he said to his brother.
“Get dressed,” Kent commanded, and threw a small pile of clothes at him, then disappeared again.
“Cocksucker,” Carter muttered under his breath, and I realized that while he was very cute and very sexy, the reason he needed a babysitter was because he was just a teenager on the inside. Immature to the extreme. No wonder he was getting carried away with the fast and loose lifestyle of a rock star, and no wonder Kent seemed so tired. It must be like trying to control a sixteen year old that just got his hands on the car keys for the first time.
With sharp, shivering gestures, Carter pulled the clothes on—they seemed a bit big on him and might not have been his own at all—but he still jerked with cold, and I felt bad. “Here,” I said, picking up the hairdryer and aiming it at him. “Hold still.”
“You're going to dry me off?” he asked, incredulous.
“You'll feel better after I do,” I told him. “Just trust me.”
He sighed and assented. I warmed him up with the dryer, and when he'd stopped shaking I put it away. “All right,” I said in a brisk voice, “let's get to work.”
“Work?” he said. “What do you mean?”
I gave him an innocent look. “I mean let's clean up this penthouse. You made a mess, you have to clean it up.”
He stared at me as though I'd just sprouted two extra heads and started belting out “Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree” in harmony with myself. “You can't be serious,” he said at last. “That's what housekeepers are for.”
I glared at him. “Don't be a jerk. No housekeeper gets paid enough to clean up a mess like this.”
“It can't be that bad.”
I pointed into the bedroom. He tottered over to the door and looked at the carnage.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, and the rest is worse. So come on, let's go find some garbage bags.”
He still didn't move. “I thought you said that that Kent told you to take care of me, not boss me around.”
Kent, hearing his name, appeared in the bedroom door again. “Actually,” he said, “I asked the two candidates to show me what they would do in this situation, were they to be employed by me. What has she asked you to do?”
Carter had the decency to redden. “She wants me to clean up!”
To my shock, Kent laughed. Kent seemed pretty shocked about it, too, to tell the truth. “Well,” he said after a minute, “why not? Carter, clean up this mess and don't do it again.”
“You're not the boss of me!” Carter said.
“Actually I kind of am,” Kent replied, his voice growing cold.
“I'll help.” I jumped in, detecting some rising tension. “Seriously, Carter, it'll go really fast with two people. I'm good at cleaning. Come on, it shouldn't take us too long.”
Carter turned and looked at me.
It was weird, but it seemed like it was the first time he actually saw me, as if before I was just one of a number of interchangeable human beings put in the world to make his life easier. Now that I was asking something of him... I was a little more real.
At last he threw up his hands. “Fine!” he said. “But only because I don't know where my wallet is and I have to find it to get out of here!”
“Great!” I said. “Let's go.”
The cleaning of the suite actually did take quite a bit of time, and the sun was setting by the time we were done. Carter, after he got over his initial resistance to the idea, started making jokes about the job.
(“You need some dildos, Rebecca? I have lots, apparently!”
“No, thanks.”
“There are seven here. That's enough to get arrested in Texas!”)
The whole time Kent watched us putter around, his face hard and drawn. Randy pitched in and helped when he was finally done being sick, and when at last we located Carter's wallet (in the automatic ice maker) the whole room was red with the light of the sunset, and it looked mostly better. Very little of it had been destroyed, as I had feared, except the curtains which were a lost cause. However, the rest of it was tidy and in order, and the ripped curtains were folded neatly on the dining room table. Whatever happened, Carter would probably only have to pay for the curtain re-hanging rather than an exorbitant cleaning bill. He might even be allowed back on hotel property! Anything could happen, right?
“I'm impressed,” Kent said finally, standing up. His blue-green eyes surveyed the rooms, and I could tell he actually was impressed. Hell, I was impressed. My back ached, my hands were dry, but the job was well done. Done. “Come on,” Kent continued. “We'll have to grab standby on the way back. I didn't know it would take this long.” He started walking toward the elevator.
“Wait,” Carter said. “I can't fly. I have to take Zodiac with us.”
Kent stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn around, but I saw him take a very deliberate breath as he attempted to remain calm. “Excuse me?” he said. “But who is Zodiac?”
Carter smiled. “My new dog.”
As one, we all peered past him and into the bedroom. As though by mutual consent, none of us had bothered the beast still sleeping on the down comforter. Light snores emanated from the bedroom suite. The beast slumbered.
“No,” Kent said.
“Yes,” Carter argued. “He'll fit just fine in the car.”
“Yes, after he's eaten all of us.”
A snort escaped me. A joke from Kent Hudson? This day had officially gone from in the realm of possibility to surreal to hallucinogenic.
Or maybe that was the sleep deprivation again.
The argument carried on for several moments, but even I could tell that Kent was worn down, and he finally agreed, just to get Carter to shut up about it. Carter went and retrieved the dog, and we all went downstairs and climbed back into the limo, where the argument continued the whole way to the airport.
“You don't need a dog.”
“Don't you remember when all those starlets had those itsy bitsy pooches that fit in purses? It's like that. I'll totally start a new trend.
“A bad trend. How bad are you going to feel when someone gets their head bitten off because they needed a dog like... like that?”
Zodiac drooled complacently.
“Zodiac wouldn't hurt a fly...”
I sighed and tuned out the conversation and stared out the window at the desert passing me by. Zodiac wandered over to me, but I was too exhausted to push him away, so when he wormed his enormous skull underneath my hand for a pet, I scratched his ears and watched the scenery.
I started awake what seemed like only seconds later, but as I blinked to get my bearings I realized I was alone in the back of the limo with Kent. The light had changed to darkness and streetlights. Bolting upright, I glanced out the window and saw we had arrived at the airport. I must have actually fallen asleep. Embarrassed, I put my hands to my face and found I was pathetically grateful that I hadn't drooled all over myself. “Where's everyone else?” I demanded before I could stop myself. “And have you been s
itting there watching me sleep?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I've been catching up on my emails.” He flashed his phone at me. “You looked so tired I decided to let you sleep after the others disembarked.
I peered around the limo. “What happened to the dog?”
Kent sighed. “Carter is getting in a far cheaper car than this one and driving him home. As for Mr. Seller, I thanked him for showing up, but let him know his services would not be needed.”
Mr. Seller? I thought groggily. Who the fuck is that? Then I realized it must be Randy. Poor Randy. He really was so desperate.
“So, uh...Does this mean I got the job?” I asked.
Silence fell as Kent leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. He still wore his crumpled suit, but the top buttons of his shirt were now undone, and I could see the delicious little triangle of skin flashing at me from beneath the cotton. I tried not to think about what it might taste like.
I dragged my eyes back to his, and I saw that his gaze was lingering on me in much the same fashion. My coat had fallen open, and my breasts—always a tad too big for my frame—thrust against the drooping material of my tube top. It would take nothing for him to lean over and slip it down, take my breast in his hand and swirl that rough, demanding tongue over my hard little nipple—
It was suddenly very hot and stuffy inside the limo, and I shifted uncomfortably as I felt my nipples harden in response to my ill-considered fantasies. I prayed the light was low enough that Kent wouldn't see.
He lifted one leg and crossed his ankle over his knee. I took this as a sign that he needed to hide his own response to me.
I licked my lips.
“I'm afraid the job position is no longer available,” Kent said suddenly.
To my disappointment and disgust, I felt my heart drop. No, I hadn't wanted to babysit a grown man... but I also needed that money. And having Kent as my boss would suck in some ways... and hopefully suck in far better ways, too. “Oh,” I said, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice. “I see. Thank you for considering me, then. I'll just, uh... go home, then...” I put my hand on the door handle.
Kent held up a hand. “I didn't say that you would not be offered a job,” he said. “But it is a bit different. More rigorous. And you would be thrown into the spotlight if you took it.”
Ominous. But intriguing. “What do you mean?” I asked. “You're not going to offer me a position in the band, are you? Because I only play the triangle and the recorder, and I do both really badly...
“No,” he said. “I would like to contract your services still as Carter's handler.”
I blinked. “Then what's different about it?”
A thin smile sliced across his pouty lips. Humorless. Somehow painful.
“Not just babysitter,” he said. “I would like to contract you as a girlfriend. For Carter.”
Chapter Four
“So here's what I don't get,” Rose was saying on Tuesday morning as I prepared my breakfast. “If Carter Hudson is a rock star, couldn't he get a girlfriend on his own? One that would look after him without having to be paid?”
The ancient can opener in my hand slipped yet again from the elderly can of Spaghetti-Os I'd found at the back of the pantry. I swore. I would conquer this can. I would destroy it. Or else I'd give up or something.
Taking a deep breath, I put it down on the counter and tried to compose myself. I was feeling shitty for many reasons, and explaining to Rose what seemed perfectly reasonable last night in a darkened limo with an insanely hot man with whom I'd had the most indecent relations mere hours before was giving me a fresh headache. I chewed on a fingernail for a second, organizing my thoughts. “From what I can tell,” I finally said, “you can't trust people who are already in the industry to do that kind of job because they're all drunkards or hooked on blow. It has to be someone responsible.”
Rose burst out laughing. “Oh! You, responsible? Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I know, I'm sorry.” She waved a hand as I glared at her and she struggled to get herself under control. “You are definitely more responsible than most actresses. I'm sorry.” She managed to sober, though she couldn't meet my eye. She stared fixedly at the refrigerator instead and took a sip of her coffee. “I know. I suppose. But why girlfriend?”
I closed my eyes and tried to remember Kent's exact words. “Mr. Hudson said it was... it was because if I was his girlfriend, no one would question me spending all my time with him, and that Carter is trying to get several roles in some teen flicks. Kent seems to think he has real crossover potential, and he wants Carter to clean up his image. He needs to settle down and be less of a drunk drug addict and more of a boy-next-door.”
“That's all very well and good, except if you care to recall, the boy-next-door back at home was cooking up meth in his kitchen,” Rose reminded me.
I didn't need her to remind me. It's not every day the house next door gets raided by a SWAT team, and you tend to remember it pretty well when it does. “You know what I mean,” I told her. “Fresh faced. Wholesome. He can't do that if he's dry-humping Perez Hilton's leg at the Grammy's.
“I would think that sort of thing would get him good press from Hilton.”
“Yeah, but not from the other twelve reporters standing around.”
“They're probably just jealous. But fair enough.” She sighed. “Very well. I'll look over the terms of the contract. I don't want you getting screwed. You know this is going to put you front and center, right? You'll be photographed and interviewed and people are going to know exactly who you are.” She sniffed. “I wouldn't be surprised if you got lynched by fans angry that you've stolen away their imaginary man.”
I winced. I didn't want to be exposed. I definitely didn't want anyone back in San Diego finding me and coming to make trouble. On the other hand, I wasn't any safer with Rose than I would be with Carter. And if I took the job, I'd get to hang around with Kent.
The thought appealed to me far more than it should have. Kent Hudson was clearly a womanizer and a manwhore. What kind of guy frots a woman he's interviewing for a position in an airplane bathroom? It was almost as if he wasn't entirely professional!
And what kind of person enthusiastically participates? my brain asked me. I didn't want to know what it thought the answer was. I was feeling bad enough about it already. Honestly. I have enough self-esteem problems. I don't need my brain slut-shaming me, too.
Besides, it had been exceptionally hot. I'd never done anything like that, and the danger of getting caught, the thrill of the illicit, had definitely helped me get my rocks off faster than ever before. Kent's skilful hands had not hurt at all, either.
It was probably a really bad idea to take this job. Unfortunately I had caught a case of temporary insanity and could not seem to pull myself out of it. Also money. Great big gobs of money. Enough money to start over and get a new life somewhere. A quiet life. I wouldn't even need the attention of any hot rock stars to cheer me up...
With a sigh, I picked up the can opener and applied it to my Spaghetti-Os again. This time I managed to get purchase and sprayed tomato sauce all over the counter and myself. Immediately I seized up and grabbed a paper towel. I'd spent ages cleaning this stupid counter, going around the seams with a q-tip and scrubbing away the coated stickiness left by the last tenant. I was not going to let some lousy semi-expired can of Spaghetti-Os destroy all my hard work.
“Holy crap, Rebecca, it's just a little tomato sauce, not hydrofluoric acid.” My sister leaned over the counter and frowned at me. “Are you all right? Do you think you're feeling well enough to take this job?”
I ignored her as I wadded up the paper towels and dumped them into the trash can.
“Only you just used ten paper towels for three drops of tomato sauce.”
I huffed at her. “I'm fine.” I dumped the contents of the can into a bowl and popped it into the microwave. “I'm just thinking.”
“Uh huh,” she said.
/> I shot her a glare. “You really do sound like Mom sometimes.”
She shrugged. “What's wrong with that? She raised three beautiful daughters and two sons. Not a bad person to emulate. And if either of us is like mom, it's you. I can never get into the cleaning and making a house a home and all that weird stuff you get off on.” She sighed. “But someone has to look after you out here, Rebecca. Mom isn't here, so it's my job.”
“But I don't need two moms.” I also severely doubted her assessment. I was nothing like Mom. Mom had her life together. She did tough jobs. She threw herself into them and Got Shit Done. By my age, Mom had graduated from college, married my dad, begun her home business and had two kids already. Mom was smart, sweet, and a fountain of unconditional love. You had to be awesome in order to raise five great kids.
...Okay, four great kids and me. I had thus far failed to be convicted for ax murder. That's still a pretty good track record, though.
I had to admit it would be great if I was like Mom. God, I missed her. I wasn't going to tell my sister that, of course. I tried to act nonchalant.
Rose raised an eyebrow. “Everyone could do with an extra mom away from home,” she said. She sipped her coffee again and stared at me as though she were inspecting me for manufacturing flaws. I turned away from her and watched my Spaghetti-Os do their little mechanical pirouette in the microwave. “So,” she said finally, “you're going to move out and move in with Carter, too, huh?”
I nodded. “The better to keep an eye on him, I guess.” Kent hadn't mentioned if they lived together, and I hadn't asked. I was somewhat terrified to find out the answer.
Rose chewed her lip prettily. “All right. The contract should be in my office when I get there. I'll look it over and we have an appointment with Kent and Carter at exactly four o'clock this afternoon. You won't be late.” It was not a question, but I answered anyway, feeling exhausted.