Dirty Dealer: A Hero Club Novel

by Kacey Shea

  Jude

  I’ve known women who couldn’t leave home without their toiletries—hell, once I dated a girl who insisted on packing a full suitcase every time she spent the night—but this is extreme. In fact, I’m a little scared. It can’t be healthy to haul this much crap around. I eye the pile of cases Rachel’s stacked outside the back of her vehicle.

  “I’ll just grab my purse and lock up the car,” she says, and before I can argue she’s already squeezing her tight, curvy body dangerously close to the cars whipping by.

  “Jesus.” I can’t look. Instead, I take hold of the collapsible dolly she’s stacked all her shit on and wait for a lull in traffic to safely get around my SUV and pack it all in the back. By the time I make my way to the driver’s seat, she’s sliding into the passenger side. “Sure you don’t have anything else we need to grab first? A Russian doll collection? A small family of raccoons?” I signal and at the next break merge back into traffic.

  She chuckles, and smiles maybe for the first time since we’ve met. I’m tempted to stare a little too long. I would if I could get away with it and not wreck the vehicle. If I thought she was gorgeous before, she’s absolutely radiant now.

  “My trunk size is impressive, isn’t it?” she says.

  I glance to her butt, disappointed I can’t admire the full shape what with her sitting and all.

  “God, don’t be a pig.” She rolls her eyes.

  I hike my thumb toward the back of my vehicle. “That can’t all be for you.” I’m hoping she’s not psychotic, and not just for the sake of my well-being, but for the gratification of my dick. She’s gorgeous. Not my usual type. But her sharp tongue and full mouth practically beg for dirty things, and I hope to discover all of them. Tonight. In my bed.

  “Oh, it’s mine. But I use it on set. I’m a traveling makeup artist.”

  “Ah.” I resituate myself in an effort to disguise my arousal. “So after you ditch that hunk of junk, there’s no Prius in your future?”

  “No.” She bites down on her lip and glances out the window.

  I can’t help but pick up on the loss of her good mood. Fuck. Did I do that? Shit. I totally insulted her car. She probably thinks I’m a pretentious asshole. She wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but for some strange reason I care. I dig into the bag at my console and produce a peace offering, hoping to earn another smile. “Candy?”

  “I better not,” she refuses politely. My eyes dart to her lips when she licks them. Fuck. I’m almost thankful for her refusal. Watching her suck on candy would provoke a special kind of torture for my dick. Thinking about my dick is getting it hard again. She’s not only going to peg me for a cocky bastard, but no better than a pubescent teen. I keep my eyes focused on the road, count down from one hundred, and will myself to act normal. Only, this situation is anything but, and when I sneak another glace her way, she looks panicked.

  I should say something.

  Make a joke.

  Talk about the weather.

  God damn it, I need to say something!

  The uncomfortable silence is broken by a soft yip and whine.

  Rachel startles and whips her head to mine. “Did you hear that?”

  “The puppies.” I nod, blowing out a breath, thankful for a topic that won’t turn me on. “They’re probably hungry. Or starving for attention.”

  “You have puppies?” She laughs, turning in her seat to look in the next row. That gorgeous smile’s back in place.

  “I told you I did.”

  She glares. “I thought you were lying.”

  “I never lie.” I cross my heart to punctuate the truthfulness of my admission. “And I’d never joke about puppies.”

  “Oh, my God!” she gushes. “They’re so cute! And tiny! I wish I could hold one.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Are you serious?” Her eyes widen with delight, and then she’s diving under her shoulder strap, twisting and bending in a move that rivals any yoga expert.

  It’s a challenge to keep my eyes on the road and not on her ass as she hangs over the center console. If I weren’t concerned about the safety of the pups, I’d tap the brakes just for an excuse to reach out and grab a handful. But I have restraint. “Careful you don’t let Tweedle Dee out when you play with Dum.”

  “Please tell me those aren’t their names.” She whips her head up and pins me with a serious stare.

  I chuckle at the horror in her voice.

  Before I have an opportunity to answer, or to explain how they aren’t mine, she’s upright in her seat. Clutching one of the tiny terriers to her chest, she coos and admires, “Oh, baby. Aren’t you just the sweetest thing? You just needed some love, didn’t you? You wanted to be held?”

  “Fuck, yeah,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Hmm?” Rachel lifts her gaze distractedly, her attention still fully captured by the expensive little rat.

  He nuzzles his face between her tits. Lucky bastard. Am I really jealous of a puppy? Yes, yes, I am. I sneak another glance before fixing my eyes on the road. “You’re a dog person, then?”

  “I love dogs.” She sighs.

  “You have one?”

  “Oh, no. Complex doesn’t allow them, and I’m not sure my roommates would approve anyway. Besides, I work too much. I’d feel guilty leaving a little nugget this precious alone all day. You are just the cutest, aren’t you?” She stops showering the dog with kisses to throw me an unfiltered grin. “But growing up, we always had dogs.”

  “Was that here in California?”

  “Iowa. We lived on a big lot. One with enough room for us and the dog to run wild. But I haven’t had a pet in years. I moved to Chicago for college and lived most of my adult life in the city.” She shakes her head, stroking the body of the pup who is now snug and asleep in her arms. “I don’t know why I’m telling you my life story.”

  I don’t know either, but I yearn for more. I want to know everything about her. “Must be the puppy. He’s cast you under some kind of truth serum haze.”

  “Must be.” She grins and looks up at me from beneath impossibly long lashes.

  I listen to her chatter about her family dogs. The golden retriever, a crazy mutt who only lasted a week before he went to live with friends. A black lab who still lives with her parents. Her storytelling comes easily, and I’m as entranced as the small pup she holds. Eager to hear more of this All-American upbringing.

  “We used to catch frogs. I always wanted to keep them, but my parents made me put them back.”

  “Don’t tell me, you caught fireflies in summer and put them in jars?”

  “Yes.” She shoots me a skeptical glare. “Are you poking fun?”

  “No. I thought those things only happened in movies or books.”

  “It might’ve been simple, but I had a good childhood.” A good childhood. I don’t even know what that looks like, but it explains the joy she exudes when she lets her guard down. I don’t want her to stop, but as we pull into the lot for Americana she twists to place the puppy back in its crate. “Here.” She digs through her bag and produces a badge.

  I show it to the security guard and then Rachel points out directions until we’re pulling up to the building. A foreboding sense of dread settles over me as I realize this is where we part. The car ride was pleasant enough, but I’m not foolish enough to believe she’ll agree to seeing me again. Not unless I bribe her with puppy time. That idea is as irrational as my need to get to know her.

  “Thanks, Jude. I really appreciate the ride.” She slips off her seat belt and opens the door.

  I shift the SUV into park. “Let me help you with your bags.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to.” She waves me off.

  Right. A scowl forms at the thought of allowing her to struggle with her bags while I sit in the air conditioned vehicle. I might be a prick sometimes, but my mother raised me with manners. I keep the engine running and make it around to the back lift gate before she does. When her mouth opens—most likely
to argue against my help—I pin her with a glare.

  She steps back and allows me to stack her bags.

  “Thank you.” She blows out an exhale, as if the words are difficult. I’d guess Rachel doesn’t accept help easily, or from just anyone.

  That knowledge only fuels my desire to provide her assistance. “Give me your keys.”

  “Why?” Her brows narrow with her frown, and she stands tall with defiance.

  “So I can get your metal deathtrap off the freeway.”

  “I’m not giving you my keys.”

  “Why? Worried I’ll steal her?” I joke, then wonder if that’s true. Do I look that desperate? I’m wearing Armani. I hold out my hand, palm open, and meet her challenging glare with one of my own. “Give me the keys. I’ll get it towed to a reliable mechanic.” I don’t know why I’m so insistent to help, but I want to do this for her. Okay, so my intentions are not completely altruistic. I want much more from her than conversation, but that’ll never happen without an excuse to see her again.

  She studies my expression, then sighs with obvious defeat as she digs through her bag and produces a lanyard with a set of keys. She works the Buick’s off of the silver circle and hands it over. “I don’t have a lot of money.”

  “I’m sure we can work something out.” With her key tucked safely in my pocket, I try not to grin. I won. I love winning.

  Her mouth falls open and she gasps. “Look, I don’t know what you mean by that, but I don’t trade sexual favors for car repair.”

  Shit. My eyes widen. “No!” I hold up my hands, attempting to rein in my laughter. “That’s not at all what I meant.” Interesting. For as put off as she is, she was thinking it. “Though I love where your mind is.”

  Her nostrils flare. “I changed my mind. Give me back my key.”

  “No take backs.” I take a step away, my lips curling with my triumphant smile.

  “What are we, ten?” She rolls her eyes.

  “Tell me, do you have a problem accepting help from everyone, or is it just me?” Clearly my words strike a nerve.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m offering to help. Out of the goodness of my heart.” And the hardness of my dick. “And you’re offended.”

  “I’m not offended. I—”

  “So it’s me, then?”

  “I don’t like being indebted. To anyone.” She grips the handle to her mammoth cart of makeup. “I need to get to work and I really don’t owe you an explanation.” She turns and begins walking.

  I admire the view a long moment before calling after her. “What time do you get done?”

  She twists and meets my gaze. “Pardon?”

  “What time do you finish work?” I enunciate clearly, then hold up my hands at the return of her angry glare. “It’s only a question, sweetheart.”

  “I should be done by six.”

  “I’ll be back then to pick you up, and I’ll call you with any updates from the mechanic.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t try to argue with me, Rachel. I always get what I want. See you at six.”

  “I—”

  But I don’t stick around to give her further chance to debate. Instead, I turn on my heel and head back to my ride with more pep in my step than I’ve had all year.

  “Okay, pups. You ready to go see your new home?” Excitement thrums through my body as I weave my way back onto the main road, and it has nothing to do with the payday coming once I deliver the mongrels. No, it has everything to do with the promise of more face time with my sultry, feisty, reluctant hitchhiker. I’ll win her over. My mechanic will fix up that hunk of metal, and Rachel will be so appreciative she’ll have to agree to a date. If I’m lucky, she’ll beg for it. I wasn’t lying when I told her I always get what I want. Right now, I want her.

  6

  Rachel

  Jared: OMG what’s with the hottie? I’m taken, but he’s yummy.

  Jared: Rae! Text me back.

  Jared: I know you’re working today, but I need you!

  Jared: It’s an emergency

  Jared: Not a 9-1-1 emergency (don’t want you to worry)

  Jared: Call me!

  A slew of messages from my brother lay waiting on my phone when I finally have an extended break on set. I skipped lunch; there wasn’t time. But now I’m out of snacks, and I can’t leave until they finish shooting for the day. I grab a banana from the craft table and peel it as I walk outside to call Jared back.

  “Finally! Jesus! What does a guy have to do to get you to call him back?”

  I cringe a little at his choice in words. My brother can be dramatic. He has a flare for making everything about him. I am, after all, the one who was stranded on the side of the road not ten hours ago. Without a doubt his emergency won’t top mine, yet I can’t find it in me to be annoyed. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m elbow deep in a cashmere catastrophe.”

  “Is that some new sex position?” I say through a bite of banana. “Your husband is a lucky guy.”

  “Shut up, Rae! This is serious. My new sweater is ruined, and it’s all because of Marilyn’s viper lip stain.”

  “It was easier to deconstruct your ramblings when we lived in the same state.”

  “Lip stain, bloody fucking lip stain marred my cashmere sweater. Tell me I’m not trashing a hundred bucks. Give me hope.”

  “Send me a photo of the damage and I’ll ask around. There’re a few people on set who might know.”

  “You’re my hero. You know that? Even two thousand miles away and you still save the day.”

  Homesickness, a pang sudden and unexpected, tightens my throat. “I do what I can.”

  “Hey, baby girl. Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine,” I say brightly.

  “We both know it’s not. Especially when you say it is.” I can practically hear his scowl through the line.

  “Just been a shitty day. Iron Maiden let me down today.”

  He gasps. “Not that hunk of metal!”

  “Shut up.” I roll my eyes. “She’s been good to me, or rather was until this morning.”

  “What do you need?”

  Ten grand to buy a reliable replacement. “Nothing yet.” I try not to sigh, or allow another wave of anxiety to claim the last of my nerves. There weren’t any messages or missed calls from Jude, and though I don’t think he’d leave me stranded and steal my broken car, I don’t really know anything about him other than he’s important enough in Hollywood circles to get invited to red carpet events. Definitely not someone with anything to gain by jacking my car.

  But he did promise he’d get back to me by the end of the day, and it’s almost six. He seemed sincere, but maybe I’m a fool for believing him. The thought of having to figure out an alternative ride home causes my temple to pound. “I won’t know what she needs until I hear back from the mechanic.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need to borrow money. I could talk to Logan. I’m sure we could swing a couple grand. I hate that you’re all alone there.” And that right there is why I can’t accept his help. My big brother will always try to rescue me. But I need to make this work on my own. I have to if I expect him to see me as an adult.

  Asking our parents is out of the question. They get by, but there isn’t much left after necessities. Besides, my dad is set to retire this year. I won’t derail those plans. Not when moving to Los Angeles was my idea.

  “I’m fine. Besides, there’s always public transportation.” It’s how I got around in Chicago, though granted, everything was much closer. I lived in the city, and worked in the same building every day. Here is different. Some of my work has me on set for ten-hour days, like today, and others book me in San Diego for a two-hour photo shoot prep.

  “Your roommates wouldn’t come get you?”

  “I’m sure they would.” But really, I’m not. We don’t have years of history, or a shared college experience. I’m just some girl sharing a room. I help them make rent. I lean b
ack against the building’s exterior and hold back a groan. Closing my eyes, I allow the evening sun to kiss my face and force a lightness into my tone. “It’s fine, Jared. Don’t worry.” The last thing I need is his concern balanced on top of my own fears. “I’m a big girl, and I’ll pull on my big girl panties.” I’m almost thirty, and in some LA circles that’s practically ancient. Besides, this is part of the reason I moved to the West Coast. To find myself. To prove I don’t need a man, or anyone else, to handle life’s messes. I can deal with a broken-down car, even if it breaks my bank account. “I should get back to work.”

  “Wait. You never told me about the hottie. Or why you sent me his number this morning. I am a happily taken man, but damn, sis, that’s some eye candy.”

  I think about Jude Lawrence and his devilishly handsome smile. I should tell Jared how he delivered me to work. Or the puppy snuggles. But for some reason I don’t. Maybe because my brother will blow it out of proportion. Make it more than what it is. Plant a seed of hope for more, when I know damn well I have no business pursuing anything with a man like Jude Lawrence. “I’ll fill you in later, but if I end up missing, that’s where you point the police investigation.”

  “Cryptic much? You sure everything’s okay?”

  “It will be.” I infuse every ounce of positivity into my words. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. Promise.” Hell, I almost believe myself.

  “I love you, Rae babe.”

  “Love you too.” Ending the call, I chuckle as it immediately lights up with a string of texts. The photos showcase my brother’s sweater and sure enough, it looks as if someone decided to use it as a canvas for their mouth. When I have the time to listen to the full story, I have to know what caused this disaster.

  “So you wear big girl panties?” A masculine voice calls from a few feet behind.

  I know before glancing over my shoulder it’s my highway savior, and I brace myself for Jude’s charming good looks before meeting his gaze. Maybe I was suffering from heat stroke this morning. Maybe he’s not as attractive as I remember. Stress does funny things to a person. Maybe when I turn around he’ll have gone from prince to frog.