Sweet as Sin

by J. T. Geissinger

  Yes, he’s an asshole, countered my pragmatic side. A RICH asshole, who just offered you more money for a few hours’ work than you make in half a year. Don’t be stupid. You can put half of it toward the mortgage, and use the other half to pay down your credit cards, then never see him again. Go INTO the light!

  But what about Avery?

  It’s not your fault she can’t stay sober!

  What if seeing another woman in her man’s video will push her over the edge?

  Bitch, PLEASE!

  The two sides of my conscience were screaming at each other, and I was beginning to feel like a candidate for a mental institution. I had to make a decision, quick.

  I took a breath and made it. “No nudity.”

  Nico lifted one shoulder. I took it as an affirmative.

  “And no other . . . funny business.”

  Nico chuckled. “It’s a music video, babe, not a porno. You don’t even have to talk. Just stand there and look sexy.”

  Just look sexy? Did I look like I knew how to “look sexy”?

  Did he think I looked sexy?

  Kenji chimed in. “Trust me, lovey, you’ll do great. I’ve done a million of these things. They’ll do a few takes of each scene, and make it look perfect in editing. No sweat.” He turned away from the rack of dresses to look at me. “So, I’m thinking you’re a size four?”

  I hadn’t been a size four since about the sixth grade. I figured he was trying not to embarrass me in front of Nico, so I merely nodded, trying to look cool.

  Kenji winked, confirming my suspicions, and turned back to the dresses. “This,” he enthused, pulling out a slinky, side-slit number, “is it!”

  Nico grunted his approval. I stared in disbelief at the gown. The fabric was so thin, and there was so little of it, I could have folded it up like a handkerchief and stuck it in my back pocket.

  “No way, Kenji! And Nico, isn’t there some kind of paperwork I should sign? You know, like a contract?”

  He tipped his head back and examined me from beneath his lashes. “Why, you think I’d stiff you for the cash?”

  God, every word this man said sounded sexual to me. Hearing him say “stiff you” made my ears go hot. “I’m not about to find out, because that’s what contracts are for.”

  I smiled sweetly at him. I was rewarded with his chuckle again, which I liked far too much for my own good. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

  “Barney, bring me thirty Gs from the safe when you come back, man. Yeah. See you then.” He disconnected and sent me a slow, knowing smile.

  I was floored. “You’re paying me in cash?”

  “You’d prefer a payment plan?”

  This whole situation was amusing to him, evidenced by the twinkle in his eyes and the way his lips pressed together, as if he was trying not to laugh. I, on the other hand, was so flustered I was finding it hard to focus.

  “That’s a little . . . unorthodox, don’t you think?”

  He grinned. “That’s rock ’n’ roll, baby. Just go with it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. I didn’t like him calling me “baby.” He’d called Avery “baby.” He’d also, in the span of mere minutes, called me “darlin’” and “babe.” I guessed he called every woman other than his mother one of those three. I decided then and there that this little flirtation had gone far enough.

  “Okay,” I said, all business. “I’ll go with it. One day of filming, thirty thousand bucks. But let’s get something straight. My name’s Kat. If we’re going to work together, you need to call me by my real name, because that’s the only thing I’ll answer to.”

  His grin vanished. A muscle flexed in his jaw. He nodded, then directed Kenji, “Twenty minutes, then bring her up to the master suite on the second floor.” He looked back at me. “We’re shooting the bedroom scene first. Kat.” He turned and walked away without another word.

  The bedroom scene? My pulse went arrhythmic. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

  “Oh, no you didn’t!” Kenji laughed under his breath as he watched Nico stalk away, shoulders stiff.

  “Unfortunately, I think I just did.”

  I grew frantic. Twenty minutes wasn’t nearly enough time to do my makeup and hair, and squeeze myself into a dress two sizes too small. This was a disaster!

  “Don’t panic, honey, it’s bad for your skin. What about this one?” Kenji held up another dress, a froth of tulle and satin with a fat cluster of pink fabric flowers at the waist.

  I snorted in contempt.

  “You’re right. Too Trailer Trash Barbie. You need something a little more . . . ” He pursed his lips, surveying the remaining dresses, then his eyes lit up. “Ethereal!”

  From the rack he pulled the most gorgeous gown I’d ever seen.

  It was in two pieces. The underlay was a long, simple cream silk sheath with a plunging neckline and a scoop back that dipped below the waist. Atop the sheath floated a delicate, sheer lace overlay in palest blush, shimmering with seed pearls and tiny crystals. Together the two pieces had the look of extremely expensive lingerie.

  Awed, I reached out and slid my fingers over the lace, gossamer fine. “It’s amazing, Kenji. But my ass will look the size of Texas in this dress.”

  “Tch! What is it with you girls and the size of your asses? Your rear end is beautiful, Kat, and totally proportionate to your body. Don’t you know men love a nice juicy booty on a woman?”

  There was something vaguely unappetizing about the term “juicy booty,” but I decided to be gracious and say thanks when he left me speechless.

  “And judging by the way Nico went all jacked-up junkyard hound dog when he saw you, I’d say he’s definitely one of those men. Can’t say you’re his usual type, but I’ve never seen him so wound up.” He whistled. “The man was en fuego!”

  On fire? Wound up? I recovered after a moment only to launch into a stuttering denial, face flaming with heat. “I . . . he . . . that’s silly . . . he didn’t . . . he wouldn’t—”

  Kenji sighed extravagantly, rolling his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who eats self-loathing for every meal, and has so little confidence she can’t even admit when a man finds her attractive.” He waited, brows raised in disapproval.

  I felt defensive because I probably was one of those girls. But there was no way I was going to admit it. I wasn’t that lame. I went with humor instead. “I’ll have you know I only eat self-loathing for breakfast! Lunch and dinner I usually have margaritas.”

  He giggled. “Oh, honey. Is it too soon in our relationship to tell you that I think I love you?”

  I regarded him seriously. “You actually said aloud that you thought I was a size four, so it should be me saying I love you.”

  “Well, don’t thank me yet, lovey. I’ve still got to get you into this thing, which is going to take a miracle. Even Avery would’ve had to suck it in, and she’s a size zero long.”

  “Zero long?” I was astonished. “That’s not a size, that’s an oxymoron! Please tell me she has to puke three times a day to keep herself that thin.”

  With a tsk, Kenji sent me a pointed look. “Green isn’t your color, honey. And you didn’t hear it from me but . . . well, let’s just say girlfriend has to do a lot of things to keep her figure.”

  I felt a twinge of regret at being petty. Avery obviously had a substance abuse problem. Who knew what other horrors of self-abuse she underwent to keep looking perfect. Today excepted, of course.

  “Well, I wish I knew her trick for getting booze to dampen the appetite. After two margaritas, I eat everything in sight.”

  Kenji looked startled. “Booze? What makes you think she was drunk?”

  It was my turn to be startled. I’d had enough hangovers in my life to know what a really bad one looked—and smelled—like. “It was kind of obvious, Kenji.”

  He shook his head sadly. “No, honey. What Avery’s into isn’t obvious.” He turned away, muttering under his breath. “Unless you
know where to look.”

  It wasn’t my business. Only it sort of was, because I was going to stand in for her, possibly making a colossal ass of myself in public in the process. I just had to ask. “What do you mean?”

  He turned back to me, reluctant to answer. After a moment of lip-chewing, he sighed. “She’s a good girl, but she’s fucked up, and she’s got good reason to be. So I don’t judge. I just keep my fingers crossed that Nico can figure out how to help her before it’s too late. It’s not for lack of trying, that’s for sure. That man has put his heart and soul into . . . ”

  His expression clouded. He seemed lost in a memory. Then he shook his head and waved an imperious hand, a gesture I was beginning to recognize as his trademark. “Anyway! Loose lips sink ships, lovey, so please don’t repeat a word I’ve said.”

  He hadn’t said much of anything, not exactly. But one thing stood out in screaming neon like a Vegas marquee: “His heart and soul.”

  Avery was Nico’s heart and soul.

  If I was going to get through today, I’d better remember that.

  When I stepped into the chaos of the master bedroom exactly twenty minutes later, it took mere seconds for the hubbub of voices and activity to die down, and for everyone to turn and stare.

  Standing inside the doorway with Kenji beside me, I fought the urge to turn and run.

  The sense of critical inspection was suffocating. Dozens of pairs of judging eyes raked over me, no doubt finding me a pathetic substitute for the woman who was supposed to be standing in this spot. I’d done my best with my hair and makeup, curling my long dark hair so it hung around my shoulders in loose waves, and using a pale palette on my skin and lips, with a contrasting dramatic, smoky eye. A pair of cream Louboutins with Swarovski crystal appliqué on the heel completed the look, adding six inches to my height.

  I thought I looked pretty good. For me anyway. But I was no supermodel. Or any kind of model.

  Which, judging by the looks on their faces, everyone in the room knew.

  I swallowed hard and took a step back. A firm hand settled on my shoulder.

  “Chin up and smile, sister,” murmured Kenji. “It’ll be worse if they think you’re afraid. Sharks can smell fear, you know.”

  Since fear was leaking through my pores like giant, sweaty gumdrops, I assumed I was about to become chum.

  Kenji gently shoved me forward, and I took another step into the room. A mincing step, because the dress was so tight I couldn’t walk normally. I squared my shoulders, careful not to breathe too deeply so I didn’t split any seams. On my lips I plastered a big, fake, shit-eating grin.

  But when I saw Nico, sans shirt and shoes, lying atop a huge four-poster bed across the room with his hands behind his head, the shit-eating grin died a quick death.

  Tattoos.

  Muscles.

  Burning eyes.

  Bronzed skin.

  The impressions came quick and fast. Blinking, I had to look away so I didn’t just stand there and gape like an idiot.

  “I know. Sears the retinas, doesn’t he?” Chuckling, Kenji linked his arm through mine.

  The master bedroom was as cavernous as the rest of the mansion, elaborate with antiques and oil paintings. The cameras were set up opposite the bed. A field of white-hot halogens on telescoping stands lurked behind. Rock music blared through speakers wired to the walls, and the air reeked of stale coffee and sweat.

  I was ninety percent sure I was going to faint.

  “Replacement girl! Yo!”

  A young man swaggered up. Pasty and skinny, tatted from wrists to shoulders on both arms, he wore a red baseball cap reversed on his head, a sleeveless T-shirt, cargo shorts that looked as if he’d slept in them, and an enormous gold cross on a chunky chain around his neck. He looked all of fifteen years old, like a white kid from the burbs playing dress up in gangsta rap clothes.

  In other words, he looked like Justin Bieber.

  He jerked his chin at me. “’Sup?”

  I took this as an inquiry into my general state of being. My response was to recall the shit-eating grin. He grinned back, revealing a gold front tooth.

  “So here’s what needs to happen, yo? We only got half an hour for this scene, so we gotta work quick. You and Nico are on the bed, and it’s right before the part where you run out on the wedding—”

  “Run out on the wedding?” What woman in her right mind would run away from Nico on her wedding day? This sounded like a stupid video already.

  Kiddie gangsta looked at me as if I were mentally challenged. “Yeah. You know. Like in the song.”

  “The song?”

  This was the wrong thing to say. Kiddie gangsta’s pale face turned an interesting shade of red. He looked at Kenji.

  “Yo.”

  There was so much emotion packed into that one syllable. Disappointment, disbelief, anxiety, anger. It was as if he’d just given an entire speech about his artistic dreams being crushed and the impossibility of working with such an idiot, using only two letters.

  Kenji dug his elbow into my side. “Of course she knows the song, Obi! Everyone knows the song! She’s only playing.” He turned to me with a brittle smile. “Right?”

  I realized I’d made a gaffe of epic proportion and would have to quickly backtrack. Whoever kiddie gangsta was, he was apparently important. “Of course,” I lied smoothly. “Who doesn’t know the song!” Then I laughed.

  It sounded, even to me, more than a little insane. I was beginning to crack from nerves.

  “Ha! You got me, yo!” Obi grinned, easily appeased. He contorted his hands into some kind of gang sign. “She just buggin’!”

  I wondered how much worse this day was going to get.

  Obi rattled off a list of instructions about how I was to act, stand, and stare off pensively into the middle distance while Nico lip-synched the lyrics as the song played over the speakers. I was tempted to give Obi another heart attack by asking about my character’s motivation, but decided in the end to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want anything coming between me and that thirty grand.

  “We good? You got it?” Without waiting for an answer, Obi turned and swaggered back to the bank of cameras, and started barking orders.

  “He’s the director?”

  “Yes, honey, he’s the director. He’s the director in music video at the moment.”

  “He looks like a teenager!”

  Kenji chortled. “Among other things. But he’s the real deal, lovey.”

  “What’s with his name?”

  “Random, right? It’s a thing now. All these young directors are giving themselves nicknames, think it makes them sound badass. Obi is short for Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi Master.” He snickered. “Because, you know, our boy over there is so in touch with the Force.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Kenji added, “And by the way, please don’t make any more jokes about not knowing the song. It’s probably one of the best rock ballads ever written. It’s a shoo-in for the Grammy this year.”

  I was going to tell him it was no joke. Really, I was. But then my gaze found Nico once again, and my thoughts flew right out of my head.

  Still reclining on the bed, a wicked little smile on his lips, he crooked his finger at me, then patted the mattress beside him.

  I’m sure my gulp was audible.

  “Showtime,” Kenji murmured, watching this exchange. He sighed. “Lucky bitch.”

  “Lucky” wasn’t the word I’d use. “Screwed” would be more fitting. Because if my shaking hands, pounding heart, and sweaty pits were any indication, I was going to have a hell of a time remembering even a single instruction Obi had given me.

  I was about to go lie on a bed with the most beautiful man I’d ever seen . . . and pretend I was his bride-to-be. While three dozen people watched. And filmed it.

  Thirty thousand. Thirty thousand. Thirty thousand.

  That was my mantra as I walked slowly across the room toward Nico, my pulse like thunder in my e
ars.

  “You look incredible.”

  Nico’s voice was low and gruff. His eyes were unblinking, the look in them intense. I glanced away, picking at the delicate lace on my sleeve.

  “You need powder.”

  Dear God, please tell me I didn’t just say that out loud.

  “’Scuse me?” Nico sounded confused.

  Yep. I did say it out loud. Now if only I accidentally farted, my humiliation would be complete. “You, um . . . your nose. The lights . . . you should have powder.”

  “You tellin’ me I need makeup, Kat?” His tone was gently mocking.

  Did he know how much he affected me? Yes, of course he did. He’d been turning females stupid for years. I blew out a hard breath, and cleared my throat. “Everyone needs makeup for the camera.”

  He studied me. “Not everyone.” A furrow appeared between his brows. “You covered your freckles.”

  He sounded disappointed. For some bizarre reason, he didn’t like that I’d covered my freckles under a heavy layer of foundation. The freckles I’d hated my entire life. The freckles I would’ve sold my soul to permanently remove.

  Obi shouted, “Replacement girl, on the bed! Quiet on the set!”

  With horror, I realized there was no way I could lower myself to the mattress. That would require bending, which would no doubt cause multiple seams to split. Kenji had stuffed me into the designer gown so well it was molded to my body like a sausage casing.

  “Replacement girl! Now!”

  “Her name’s Kat, Obi.” Nico watched me from hooded eyes as he said this, one corner of his mouth curved up. “Apparently she doesn’t answer to anything else.”

  Obi released a pained sigh. “Kat! Please! On. The. Bed!”

  Well, fuck it. If the entire room was about to watch me bust out of a ten-thousand-dollar dress, at least I’d be getting paid triple that to do it.

  I took a breath, closed my eyes, and, without bending at the waist, pitched forward.

  I landed right on top of Nico.

  His surprised grunt was almost drowned out by the laughter of the crew. I wondered how much humiliation a person could suffer before dying of it.