She stiffened abruptly. Her head snapped up. Her eyes, red rimmed and watery, blinked open. She closed one eye and squinted the other, then stared at me for a long, silent moment.
Finally, in a slurred voice sweetened by the lilting accent of Portuguese, she said, “You’re sitting on my foot.”
I leapt in horror from the vanity I’d rested my weight against and looked down.
Damn. She was right. I’d parked my ass on the foot of the most beautiful woman in the world. That was probably a stoning-level offense in some countries. Maybe even this one.
Mortified, I dropped my kit and held my hands in the air as if I were being robbed at gunpoint. “Fuck! Sorry! My bad!”
“Mah.” Avery waved an unconcerned hand and shrugged her shoulders. She yawned, exhaling fumes, then absently scratched her head.
I took that to mean I wasn’t in imminent danger of death by stoning. And, because the sexiest man alive was about to make an appearance and his girlfriend wasn’t exactly looking her best, I took pity on her.
Under my breath I said, “You’re about to get a visitor, Ms. Kane. Nico’s less than twenty feet away. Should I. . . ?”
It wasn’t my business. I should’ve simply made myself scarce for a few minutes and watched discreetly from the sidelines until it was safe to return and perform an Oscar-worthy makeup transformation on the derelict in that chair. But all I could think of at that moment was that if it were me sitting there, slurring, stinking, looking train wrecked, I would’ve really been grateful if someone had my back.
There were dozens of people in the room. Not a single one of them paid her any attention. How long had she been here like this? Where was her assistant? Her entourage? She was one of the stars of the show, but as far as the room was concerned, she was completely invisible.
Then it hit me: To everyone else here, Avery Kane wasn’t a person. She was a prop.
That royally pissed me off.
So of course I went all feminazi on Nico when he stopped next to her chair, stared down at her with fury darkening his eyes as he assessed her condition, and growled, “Goddamn it, Av, not again!”
Bristling, hands on hips, I stepped between them.
I’ve never been known for good decision making under pressure.
“Excuse me! We’re working here. You’re welcome to come back when we’re finished, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.”
His gaze cut to mine, and there it was again: connection. Like a plug into a socket. Only this time it was heightened by the anger rolling off him, palpable as a punch in the stomach.
After a long moment, Nico’s question came deadly soft. “What’s your name?”
I swallowed. Clearly snapping at the pretty, pretty rock star hadn’t been such a brilliant idea. He seemed about to explode. I wondered if he had a history of violence. If I survived the next few minutes, I’d Google him later to find out.
“Uh . . . Kat. Kat Reid.”
“Lemme ask you a question, Kat Reid. You gettin’ between me and my girl?”
His voice was rich and sexy, with more than a hint of Matthew McConaughey southern drawl. I didn’t have time to really appreciate it, because the two of us were locked in a stare down, arguing over his inebriated girlfriend. The space between us sizzled. There were sparks coming off him. Or maybe they were coming off me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw people staring.
But I didn’t care. Another thing I hate in addition to celebrities, rock music, and celebrity rock musicians: bullies. There was no way I was going to let this guy intimidate me, no matter how beautiful and famous he was.
No matter how much I wanted to find out if his full, sensual lips were as soft as they looked.
After a quick mental slap to redirect my wayward thoughts, I squared my shoulders. “My work space is a dick-free zone, so if you’re going to be a dick to her, then yeah. I’m getting between you and your girl.”
His gaze never left mine. We stood there silently for a few seconds that felt like a geological epoch. Then his eyes softened, and he said something that shocked me.
“Good for you.”
His lips curved into a smile that left me stunned, both by the beauty of it and by my sheer surprise of its appearance. Then he pulled a cell phone from his back pocket, punched in a number, and waited for whomever he was calling to answer.
“Barney.” He spoke into the phone, but his eyes were still honed on me, sharp as a wolf’s. “Bring the car ’round back. Got a situation.” He didn’t wait for an answer before disconnecting.
Avery slurred, “Mi amorrr.”
Nico and I turned to her. Probably because the room was still spinning, she was still doing the one-eye-closed thing.
Sighing, Nico stroked his hand over her mess of long tawny hair. “I’m gonna take you home, baby.”
His voice was so intimate it made me feel gross, like a Peeping Tom. I turned to the vanity and began unpacking my bag, mainly for something to do. I knew I’d be packing it up again in a few minutes anyway. The shoot would have to be rescheduled once again.
Avery started to plead with Nico. “No. I can work. I’m fine, I jus’ need a few minutes. Jus’ need to clean up . . . ” She slid her long legs off the vanity, set her feet on the floor, and attempted to stand. I saw every move reflected in the vanity mirrors, so I was treated to a front-row view of her collapsing as she lost her footing.
Nico caught her before she hit the floor. He swept her up in his arms as if she weighed next to nothing, which she looked like she did. She buried her face in his neck.
Nico caught my eye in the mirror. “Kat,” he said gruffly. “A little help.” His gaze went to Avery’s behind.
I saw with horror that her small white robe had ridden up, exposing her ass. She was naked under the robe! Nico stood in a position that hid that fact from the rest of the room, but he couldn’t walk away without giving everyone an eyeful.
I looked frantically around for anything to cover her with, and saw the PA in the Metallica T-shirt who’d been shouting into his phone earlier. He was bent over a snarl of electrical wiring a few feet away.
I ran over to him. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for that shirt.” I pulled a wad of cash from my skirt pocket. I looked down at it. “Make that forty.”
He stood, glancing without surprise at the cash I was holding out as if complete strangers had offered him money many times in the past for his ratty T-shirt. He eyed me, pursing his lips. “This is my favorite shirt. It has sentimental value.”
Great. A negotiation. “Look, I’ve only got forty bucks on me, but if you give me your number I’ll call you later and get your address and I’ll send you . . . ”
His brows lifted.
“A hundred?”
The pursed lips again. “A lot of sentimental value.”
“Seriously?”
He shrugged, and began to turn away.
“Okay! God! Two hundred bucks!”
He turned back, grinning, then pulled the shirt over his head. Except for a smattering of freckles across his breastbone, his skin was as white as a pearl. “I’ll take the forty, I just wanted to see what you’d do.”
He held out the shirt, I tossed him the cash, then I stomped back over to where Nico waited, muttering to myself about idiotic men and their idiotic games.
Why did so many men act like screwing with a woman’s mind was an Olympic sport they were in training for?
Without a word, I arranged the T-shirt in such a way that Avery’s butt was incognito. I had to touch Nico to do it, slipping the fabric between his arms and her body, making a cradle of it under her behind. Every time I touched him it felt dangerous, like I was doing something wrong but utterly thrilling.
The way he kept looking at me didn’t help.
When I was done, I stepped back to inspect my work. “Okay. She’s all covered.” I glanced up to find them both looking at me.
“Thanks.” Avery spoke in a small little-girl’s vo
ice. She looked guilty, like a child who’d been caught doing something bad.
My heart went out to her. She wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting, the diva everyone tried to make her out to be. The word that came to mind was broken.
Nico was silent. He gave me one last, inscrutable look, then turned and strode through the room, carrying Avery away, ignoring the whispers that rose in his wake. Confused by my interaction with Nico, conflicted by my response to him, wondering what would happen next, I watched until they vanished around the corner.
“No. Oh no no no no!”
Startled, I turned to see a young Asian guy standing a few feet away, staring after Avery and Nico in dismay. With his shaved head, smoky eye makeup, and long, leather trench coat, he looked like a Mini-Me of Morpheus from The Matrix. Beside him was a mobile garment rack bursting with white wedding gowns in various lengths and designs. His zebra-print platform boots added enough lift to his tiny frame that we stood about the same height.
When he looked at me, blinking, his fake eyelashes curling up to nearly his eyebrows, I decided he was so fabulous I wanted to tuck him into my purse and take him home with me.
“Don’t tell me girlfriend fell off the wagon again.”
I wasn’t sure how much to divulge, especially since I’d already decided to take Avery’s side. So I went with a nonchalant expression and purposeful vagueness. “Let’s just say . . . I don’t think girlfriend will be back anytime soon.”
Asian Matrix Guy’s sigh was weary. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sweet baby Jesus, what did I do to deserve this shit?”
I stood there awkwardly. Clearly I was not sweet baby Jesus, so his question didn’t require a response.
He sighed again, then lifted his gaze to the ceiling far above. He waved an imperious hand. “Fine, then, universe! Bring it! Kenji will not be defeated!” He turned to me with a dazzling smile, all anxiety forgotten. “Hello, lovey. I’m Kenji, stylist for the band. Who’re you?”
“I’m Kat, the makeup artist,” I said, charmed by this zany character.
We shook hands, then he squealed. “Cat! Of course—because of the eyes, right?”
That wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. The shape and color of my eyes were distinctly feline. “Actually, no. It’s Kat with a k. Short for Katherine.”
Eyes narrowed, Kenji looked me up and down. “What are you, Japanese and Irish?”
My mouth must have fallen open, because Kenji grinned.
“You’re the first person to ever guess that right! How could you tell?”
He scoffed, “Honey, I can spot a fellow egg roll a mile away. But you’ve also got freckles, clover green eyes, a European name, and a Murphy’s Irish Draught sticker on your bag that reads, ‘Light beer is for pussies.’ Doesn’t exactly take a genius.”
Silence ensued. Then I countered with some genius logic of my own. “Egg rolls are Chinese.”
The imperial hand wave reappeared. “You know what I mean. So, what’d you get called?”
“Called?”
“Yeah, you know, in school. What’d the other kids call you?”
An ancient flush of shame swept through me. How easily he cut to the heart of the matter, the differences we get teased and tortured for as children, that can, years later, make friends from strangers in seconds flat. I remembered with perfect clarity the sneers that accompanied the taunt that followed me as a kid. In the small elementary school I’d attended in Kentucky before my family moved to LA, I was as obvious as a leper. And about as popular.
“Rucky Charms.”
Kenji’s laugh was like the tinkling of a bell. “Good one! Bonus points for creativity. They called me Gookemon.”
I groaned. Gookemon was a mashup of the slur “gook,” plus Pokemon, a word which literally translated from Japanese means “pocket monsters.” In spite of the cruelty of the sentiment, I had to admit he did bear more than a passing resemblance to a tiny animated character.
“Well, now that we’ve got the introductions out of the way, Kitty Kat, we’re going to be best friends, yes?” Kenji batted his fake lashes at me.
“Yes,” I replied firmly, “and you have to tell me where you got those lashes because they’re amazing.”
Kenji preened. “Right? They’re my signature lashes. I never leave the house without them. These and my Laura Mercier lip plumper make me the goddess I am.”
“Have you tried the Smashbox O-Plump? It’s just as good as the Mercier, and cheaper.”
I turned to dig in my kit, found the tube, and held it out to Kenji. The two of us started an impromptu discussion of the merits of different lip plumpers and fake lashes, which led to a discussion about the best foundation to conceal five o’clock shadow, which then led to a raunchy, in-depth debate about whether Spanx was meant to be worn with or without panties.
In the middle of what I considered a brilliant line of reasoning about how fabrics that don’t breathe can cause yeast infections—or, in Kenji’s case, an unsightly rash of the nether regions—Nico showed up.
“Moist environments? Sounds fascinatin’.”
I spun around, saw him leaning with a smirk against the rack of wedding dresses, and wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole. My mouth closed with an audible snap.
“A subject close to your heart, no doubt, you rogue.” Kenji eyed Nico with a combination of disapproval and affection that seemed almost maternal. “And get your dirty paws off that Donna Karan! It’s on loan!”
“Only thing dirty about me is my mind.”
Nico was talking to Kenji. But he was looking at me.
Now that is a world-class asshole. Avery wasn’t even ten minutes gone, and already he was putting the moves on the makeup girl, who he probably assumed would wilt and swoon like every other female in his orbit.
Okay, inside I was wilting and swooning, but there was no way in hell I was letting Mr. Egomaniac Rock God Jerkoff know that.
I sniffed like I smelled something bad, turned to my makeup bag, and started shoving things in.
“Goin’ somewhere, Kat?”
Nico’s voice had changed from a playful drawl to something a little more tense. Weird.
“The production company knows how to get in touch with me, so when the shoot’s rescheduled—”
“Rescheduled?” Nico’s tone was sharp. “What makes you think it’s gonna be rescheduled?”
I turned to look at him. He wasn’t smirking anymore. In fact, he now looked downright scary: glowering, arms folded over his broad chest, cobalt eyes piercing me through. I glanced at Kenji. He was examining Nico with his head cocked, frowning.
“Um, yeah. You know, because Avery . . . oh—are you just going to shoot around her?”
Nico’s gaze roved over my face, my chest, my bare legs beneath my denim mini. Under his intent inspection, heat spread across my cheeks, a combination of anger on Avery’s behalf and undeniable attraction on my own. His eyes found mine again, and my heart skipped a few beats at what I saw there. He stepped toward me, stopping an arm’s length away. It took every ounce of my willpower not to step back.
“No,” he said with calm authority. “We’re not shootin’ around Avery. We’re replacin’ her.”
I went hot, then cold, and began silently to pray. Please don’t say it. Please God do not let him say what I think he’s about to—
“With you.”
Kenji’s head snapped around. He sent me the same “what the fuck?” look I knew showed on my own face. I drew a breath, determined to stay in control though adrenaline was lashing through my veins. There seemed to be an invisible fist squeezing my windpipe.
“You’re joking.”
Nico shook his head.
“No,” I said. “That’s not an option.”
He waited, silent, unblinking, while I flailed around for a rational explanation as to why it wasn’t an option. Judging by his expression, that was required.
“I—I’m not a model. I’m no
t an actress. I have zero desire to be in front of the camera. Thank you, that’s very flattering, but the answer is no. Absolutely, positively, no.”
Nico smiled. It was devastating.
“Darlin’, I wasn’t askin’.”
Kenji leapt up and down, squealing and clapping.
Shocked out of my wits by the turn of events, and my new best friend’s traitorous embracement of said events—and simultaneously horrified that the entire room had turned to stare at us—I made an unattractive noise, akin to a cat trying to cough up a stubborn hairball.
Kenji was beaming. “Fun! Kitty Kat, I get to dress you!”
Oh dear Lord. This wasn’t happening.
Examining my face, Nico’s expression went from a sexy glower to an even sexier smirk, this one ridiculously self-satisfied.
“I do not accept.” I enunciated each word carefully, holding Nico’s gaze. My heart pounded as if it were trying to break out of my chest. “As I said, I’m not interested. The answer is no.”
Completely ignoring me, Kenji danced around the rack of wedding dresses and began rifling through them, first whistling in happiness, then muttering something to himself about sample sizes and girls who ate too many carbs.
I made a mental note to remind myself to stab him later. Ten times for ignoring every word I’d said as if only Nico’s opinion mattered, and another twenty for that crack about the carbs.
I made another mental note to myself to lay off the chips and salsa.
Then Nico Nyx uttered a sentence that made me reconsider my position. “Avery’s day rate is thirty thousand bucks; you’ll get the same.”
All the breath left my lungs as if I’d been punched in the solar plexus.
Thirty.
THOUSAND.
Dollars.
I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but for me that was a fuckload of money. For basically doing . . . what? Prancing around in a wedding dress for an afternoon?
He’s still a world-class asshole, chastised my feminist side. His sweet, beautiful, helpless girlfriend shows up wasted on set, and he has his driver take her home? Epic boyfriend fail. Do NOT go into the light!
Sweet as Sin Page 2