by Caro Carson
“Grace will arrange your clothing,” Martina decreed. “I don’t know how much a personal trainer can do in a week, but try.”
He had a landscape project to finish this week. The only thing he could use a personal trainer for was as an extra set of hands to haul wheelbarrows of gravel.
“A haircut. A facial. Spray tan. I expect him to be able to dance,” Sophia said between coughs that sounded fractionally better than yesterday’s.
Grace spoke to her sister. “You don’t sound like you’ll be dancing a week from today.” Then she looked to him, trusting him to have the answers. “Will she?”
“It’s possible, at least for a song or two, if she doesn’t do anything crazy. Shortness of breath or pain in the ankle are pretty obvious signs it’s time to stop.”
“I’ll be ready. Get him dance lessons. Be sure the photographers are told ahead of time to expect me to dance. It’s the easiest way to make a couple look more romantically involved than they are.”
Grace opened her notebook and started writing.
Something inside him snapped. Grace was Sophia’s personal assistant, and that meant she’d execute this fake boyfriend plan to the best of her ability, whether she agreed with it or not. Whether Sophia appreciated her hard work or not.
Whether he was the fake boyfriend or not.
He’d advised her to find a new job, but she’d explained that her boss was her sister, as if that made it okay for her to put up with being treated badly. Family. Sometimes, a family member could calm a frightened patient, but it was just as likely that the family member made the problem worse, like a father who pushed his son to play soccer the day after an injury. Family made people stay in bad situations, even when it was a family member who hurt them and caused them pain. People like Mrs. Burns.
His mother.
Grace.
He walked around the couch and looked out the sliding glass doors, letting his focus settle on the shapes of the cactus he’d protected throughout a freezing winter. Behind him, Martina took a phone call as Sophia continued to dictate the list of her wants and needs. He stared at his cactus and tuned them out.
He wasn’t being logical about this. He couldn’t equate Grace’s situation with women who’d been physically hurt by the family members who supposedly loved them. There was no assault and battery. Grace was in no physical danger here.
He turned around to watch her writing with her white-knuckled grip on her pen, hunched in her hard chair while the others lounged on upholstery, and he felt a quiet fury all the same. Of all the people in this room, only one was anxious and stressed and unhappy. The one who wanted the best for someone who didn’t care how she felt in return. The one who was expected to do the most work and sit in the least comfortable chair.
That one was Grace. There was no violence, but Alex recognized other similarities. She was kept in line with scraps of attention. She was ignored until any reasonable person would leave, and then thrown an almost-apology. I really took it out on you—we didn’t know I had pneumonia, though, did we? She was condescendingly allowed to have made a good point. Grace had a point—although mature is the absolutely wrong word to use. It was just enough to keep Grace hoping that if she stayed a little longer, her sister would treat her better. It won’t happen again.
How could he make Grace see how warped that pattern was? Her job and her family were making her miserable. She ought to be doing something she found more rewarding, whatever that might be. As it was, she was so busy running and fetching that he doubted she’d had the chance to be alone with her own thoughts. She needed time to evaluate where she was and where she wanted to be.
He could give that to her.
He spoke to the group as a whole. “I haven’t agreed to escort Sophia to the Black and White Ball.”
Sophia stopped whining. Martina stopped texting.
Alex spoke evenly, without emotion, as he’d been doing since childhood. “As you said, my time is valuable.”
“Which is why we’ll pay you,” Martina replied. “You’ll be allowed to keep the clothing, as well. Any jewelry will have to returned, of course.”
“I have commitments during my days off work which I can’t ignore. If I have to spend time preparing for your project, then I’ll need someone to spend time on my projects in return. I want to be paid for my time by being given time.”
“You want me to visit the hospital, whoop-de-doo.” Sophia managed to sound both vain and world-weary at the same time.
“I want Grace’s time in return for my own.”
“Grace’s?” Sophia tipped over, going from sitting to horizontal on the couch. “Okay, fine. I don’t care. It’s a deal.”
“It isn’t your deal to make, Sophia. If Grace agrees, then you and I need to clarify that if Grace is working with me, then she won’t be around to fetch and carry for you. I don’t want her to work any more hours than she already does. Once she puts in eight or nine hours in a day, whether it’s with me or with you, she’s done.”
“Whatever. I’m so effing tired, I just want to sleep.”
He walked around the couch to stand before Grace and held out his hand for a formal shake. “I’m willing to give you my time if you’re willing to give me yours. Do we have an agreement?”
It was a simple deal. Sophia would get what she wanted. Martina would get what she wanted. There was no risk that anything would happen to him other than getting a haircut and a tuxedo. Simple.
Hope returned to Grace’s angelic face, and she placed her hand in his, confident that he’d solved all her problems, unaware that he had ulterior motives. He intended to help Grace change her life.
Alex felt a twinge of guilt. A woman who lived in Hollywood ought to know that life was only this simple in the movies.
* * *
Grace was simply delighted.
Everything was going according to plan. It seemed like it had been ages since she’d looked out a van window and wished her sister would fall in love with a nice, normal guy from Texas Rescue.
As if she’d been granted three wishes, everything was coming true. Overnight, Deezee had been eliminated from their lives. Alex had volunteered to date her sister. And Sophia—
Well, Sophia wasn’t showing much interest in Alex yet. Martina had actually taken more notice of him. And I can’t stop staring at him.
She wouldn’t dwell on that. This was about saving Sophia. Her sister had only cried over Deezee for a short time before fury had set in, but her heart couldn’t have hardened between eating pancakes and having a meeting with Martina. When Deezee realized how much he’d lost, he might come crawling back. Sophia might still want him, and they’d be right back where they’d started.
Grace couldn’t let that happen. Alex was the key. If Sophia fell for Alex, then Deezee couldn’t suck her sister back into his dysfunctional world. Grace had one week to turn Alex into the perfect man for her sister.
At least she didn’t have to try to turn Sophia into the perfect woman for Alex. All morning, Grace had been worried that Alex would be totally turned off by the calculations and machinations that were necessary to keep Sophia’s career and reputation intact, but apparently, Alex had overlooked it. He’d volunteered to be her fake boyfriend, despite it all.
He agreed to help Sophia by spending time with me.
It would be foolish to feel flattered. She was Grace the Assistant. Grace the Sister.
“Grace?”
“Yes?”
“I’m taking another meeting.” Martina headed for the door, moving fast on those stilettos.
“Wait—we need to work out the details.”
But Martina didn’t slow down, so Grace jumped up to follow her, notebook at the ready. “You’ll get the tickets to the ball, right?”
Martina flicked her fingers. “You han
dle this, Grace. I’m the idea man. You’re the one who makes it happen. Ciao.”
Grace clenched her notebook as Martina slammed the door.
“Is it safe?” Alex murmured behind her. “Is she gone?”
Grace turned around, feeling foolish for running after Martina.
Alex didn’t step back. “You know, Martina was exactly what I expected you to be. Before you got to the ER, your sister had been threatening me with her fearsome assistant. She said you were going to straighten everything out.”
Grace couldn’t remember ever being told that Sophia had talked about her when she wasn’t around. What an odd thing for Sophia to have done, threatening a doctor with her.
“I can’t imagine why she thought I’d be able to get her the hospital room she wanted.”
“You help her get everything she wants.”
Grace hesitated. Had that been a compliment, or a criticism?
“That’s my job,” she said, watching him closely for a response.
He studied her in return. “That is your job, isn’t it?”
Grace looked toward the couch. She was pretty sure Sophia was sleeping through this conversation. Well, her sister had pneumonia. She was supposed to be sleeping right now; that was her job. Sophia had to look smart and mature—no, down-to-earth—and unaffected by the antics of an LA disc jockey when she appeared at the Texas Rescue benefit in one week. In order to pull that off, she needed to get healthy. And she needed Alex.
Which meant Grace had a job to do.
It was time to turn Alex into the perfect man for her sister.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace had never felt less motivated to do her job in her entire life.
Her three wishes had been granted, and the rest was up to her. She’d wished they could stay in Texas. She’d wished for Deezee to disappear from their lives. But that third wish...
She’s wished for a good man for Sophia. He was standing right here, and it was up to Grace to bring them together.
“Sophia’s asleep. Let’s get a cup of coffee and go on the porch.” Alex was already halfway in the kitchen as he spoke. “You take it black, right?”
He remembered.
She shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, they’d just had breakfast an hour ago. But he’d paid attention to a little detail about her, and it gave her a thrill to know she’d been noticed.
Being in the tight confines of the galley kitchen with him brought up memories of midnight. She had to squash them down; this was her sister’s new fake boyfriend, and if wishes came true, he’d become a real boyfriend.
She took her coffee and skirted around the couch to the sliding glass door. Alex stayed right behind her, reaching around her, opening the door. As she stepped onto the patio, her long hair caught on his hand, producing the gentlest tug behind her ear.
She might as well be that woman in a historical movie, she felt so very aware. Had her hair brushed him accidentally, or had he touched her on purpose?
If she could have a fourth wish...
Oh, that would be so easy. She’d wish that Alex was hers. She’d stop pretending she didn’t notice him. No more tentative touches. She’d turn and bury her hand in the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck and pull him close.
Why not?
Alex set his coffee on the patio table. “I’ll be right back.”
He went into the living room, took a folded blanket from a shelf and shook it out, blue-and-silver sports team colors looking bright in the sun that poured in the window. As she watched, he lifted it above the couch and let it fall softly, naturally, over her sleeping sister.
Sitting in the warm sunshine, with her hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee, Grace felt her heart freeze.
She hadn’t seen anyone take care of her sister like that, not in ten years. Not since they’d lost their parents in one horrible blow, forcing Sophia to be the oldest, the breadwinner, the decision-maker. Sure, Grace might fetch her coffee, but only when Sophia told her to. Hair and makeup artists might fuss over her, but Sophia paid them. The studios, the agents, the publicist—they all wanted something from the bankable commodity that was Sophia Jackson.
Only Alex, wonderful Alex, was tall and strong and confident enough to treat Sophia like a person, not like a money-making celebrity. He was nice to her, despite having seen her at her worst. Because he wasn’t in awe of Sophia, because he didn’t depend on Sophia, he was just what Sophia needed.
That’s why not.
Grace sat at the table and took a deep breath, forcing the air past the stone in her chest, expanding her ribs despite that sharp pain of jealousy. She’d wished for this. She’d wished that her sister could meet a man like Alex, and she had.
She would pull off this transformation, and Sophia would notice Alex. More than that, she’d make sure Alex knew how great Sophia was, too.
Alex sat down on her side of the patio table. Their chairs were side by side, so close that she could feel his body heat. Her heart began to thaw.
I wish I didn’t want you so much.
Pen poised over the blank paper, she waited until she was sure her breathing was steady. Then she looked up at Alex. “What traits do you look for in a woman?”
He raised a brow. “That’s your first question? I thought you might ask me what jacket size I need for the tuxedo. I’ve already rented one, by the way.”
She forced a smile and turned the page, titling it Clothes. “If you tell me where you rented it, I’ll cancel it. The maker of Sophia’s gown will probably have an agreement with a menswear designer. They’ll send a tailor to fit you.”
“You’re not my secretary. I’ll cancel it myself if I have to. Let’s wait and see if it’s really necessary.”
“It will be. If Sophia wears Lauren, for example, then you’ll be expected to wear a Lauren tux, as well. It’s all contractual.” She felt steadier on this familiar ground, speaking about the workings of her Hollywood life. Her heart could remain cold, indifferent.
Alex took off his glasses and set them on the table, then kicked back in his chair and contemplated the porch ceiling for a moment. “How about your gown? Will you coordinate with Sophia, or do you get to choose your own color and style?” He turned blue eyes on her.
Oh, so blue—vivid and naked, with no glasses adding a layer of safety. Grace swallowed hard. “I’m not on the red carpet, so I don’t need a gown. Um—do you have to wear your glasses? Do you have contacts?”
One eyebrow rose again. “Do my glasses have to be a particular designer when I stand next to your sister?”
“We’ll get you new frames. But if you can get by without the glasses at all... Sometimes the cameras catch a reflection, and then people wouldn’t get to see your—” She was blushing, darn it. Warm cheeks, cold heart. “You and Sophia would look striking together. You both have such blue eyes.”
She couldn’t quite look into his. She dropped her gaze. Under that loose, faded shirt, his biceps were tight and tan. Her heart didn’t feel so frozen.
Alex was quiet, so she peeked up at him.
“You’re not afraid Sophia and I will look too much like brother and sister with our matching eye color? That’s not a turnoff?”
“Blue eyes are never a turnoff.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Had he meant that he was glad she wasn’t turned off?
As if.
She felt antsy, edgy. If he and Sophia actually got married, he’d be her brother. She didn’t want such a hot brother. The Thor paramedic guy would’ve been fine, but Alex? No way.
She needed to stay focused on the task at hand. That was what her lists were for. She jotted cancel tux and eyeglass frames, then turned back to the previous blank page. “Let’s get back to the first question. What do you look fo
r in the ideal woman?”
“I’m taking Sophia to this event whether she’s my ideal woman or not.”
Grace needed to know, anyway. If there was some trait that Alex liked and Sophia already had, then Grace intended to emphasize it. If there was anything she could do to make Sophia more appealing to Alex, she’d do it. Her cold heart would let her be ruthless. Someone like him wasn’t going to cross their paths again.
“You can just smile and pose for photos as you enter the venue, but there will be press asking you questions all night. You have to remember that when you are part of a celebrity’s life, you are on the record every single second, with every single person, not just reporters. You have to be very careful about talking to people.”
“I’m not going to talk about Sophia with strangers. We’ll be sitting with people I know from Texas Rescue.”
“You still have to guard what you say. My dry cleaner has been asked by a blogger if I told him anything new about Sophia. The clerk at the deli counter has been asked which sandwich I ordered for myself, so he could figure out that the other one was for Sophia. She likes turkey, dry, on whole wheat with sprouts, by the way.”
He’d started frowning. When it was just the two of them, she realized, he didn’t keep that poker face in place. “I think the guys in Texas Rescue are going to be a little more loyal to me than a deli counter clerk is to you.”
“They can be your loyal friends, but they’ll still be grilled. You can’t slip when you talk to them, so they won’t slip if they talk to a reporter. We have to prepare. It’s like that movie Green Card. Do you know it?”
“I can’t imagine how my life is like a movie.”
“It’s one of the standards in the industry, a marriage-of-convenience story that came out twenty-five years ago. Gérard Depardieu, Andie MacDowell. It was a rom-com—that means romantic comedy—but it still got an Academy Award nomination, which is unusual.”
“And this has to do with my ideal woman?”
“It has to do with telling me your preferences. In the movie, the marriage began as a sham to get him a green card, but then the man and woman had to get to know one another in order to pass government interviews, sort of like how you’ll have to pass reporters’ interviews. They memorized each other’s wants and likes to make their fake relationship seem real. And, of course, once they got to know each other, they ended up really falling in love.”