Relatively Famous (Famous Series)

by Heather Leigh

  Relatively

  Famous

  Heather Leigh

  Copyright © 2014 Shelbyville for Heather Leigh

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 149913723X

  ISBN-13: 978-1499137323

  Second Edition, License Notes

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

  Cover Art by Deborah Bradseth at Tugboat Design

  Tugboatdesign.net

  Images:

  shutterstock_107934674

  shutterstock_78132472

  shutterstock_95471932

  With fame, you know, you can read about yourself, somebody else's ideas about you, but what's important is how you feel about yourself - for survival and living day to day with what comes up.

  Marilyn Monroe

  It is dangerous to let the public behind the scenes. They are easily disillusioned and then they are angry with you, for it was the illusion they loved.

  W. Somerset Maugham

  We're constantly striving for success, fame and comfort when all we really need to be happy is someone or something to be enthusiastic about.

  H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

  Many thanks to my very understanding and supportive husband, who let me spend hours and hours with Drew and Sydney while I ignored everything else in life.

  Chapter 1

  The sudden screech of tires to my left makes me reflexively turn my head toward the sound, so when my foot hits a patch of ice on the sidewalk, I don’t see it coming.

  “Ooof!”

  I hit the ground, hard, and my right arm takes the brunt of the impact. Jogging isn’t supposed to be an impact sport.

  Holy crap that hurts!

  “Are you alright?”

  I look up and see a kind, well-dressed older man walking around a black sedan to crouch beside me, his breath puffing out in front of him in the bitter cold.

  “Ummm, I don’t know,” I say pathetically. I lift my arm and see that my long sleeved thermal jacket is ripped open and there’s a two inch gash showing through the hole.

  “Oh my. Here, let’s clean you up.” He helps me to my feet and leads me to a metal door that simply says GYM across it in red lettering.

  I don’t know this guy and this Hell’s Kitchen gym looks a little rough. I pull a napkin out of my pocket and show it to him. “I’m okay, I can just use this.”

  He chuckles when he sees my sad attempt to refuse his help and plucks the napkin from my hand. “Miss, you have blood running down your arm and dripping onto the sidewalk. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you leave in this condition? Come on, they have a first aid kit inside and can get you fixed up quick, I promise.”

  My reluctance vanishes at this compassionate man’s words. For some reason, he makes me feel safe, in a fatherly way, which I haven’t felt in a long time. My stomach clenches at the thought of my dad. I shove it back into the recesses of my mind with all of the other problems that I’m too chicken shit to face and focus instead on the searing pain radiating up my arm. It’s easier to face physical pain than mental pain and I’m an expert at pretending anything that causes me mental pain doesn’t exist.

  “Okay, I guess I do need a little help.”

  He opens the door for me and as I pass through he smiles, “I’m Bruce by the way.”

  I can’t help but smile back. “Sydney. Nice to meet you Bruce. Thanks for taking pity on me and my inability to stay upright.”

  “It happens to the best of us,” he chuckles.

  Once inside, I’m shocked at the surroundings. There’s no way a guy like Bruce, in his dress pants and impeccably pressed shirt, uses this gym. For one thing, it stinks, like old sweat socks and used equipment mixed with industrial strength cleaner. Second, this isn’t an ordinary gym.

  Taking in the huge room, I’ve quickly determined that I’m the only female in this place. The remaining ten or so people are half-naked men grappling or punching bags or beating the ever-loving shit out of each other like the two guys in the center ring. Mixed martial arts training, that’s what they do here according to the huge UFC banner on the back wall.

  “Damien!” Bruce calls out, waving someone over.

  The two men in the cage stop fighting and stare at us, well, at me, jump down and trot over. I have no idea which one is Damien, but I can’t take my eyes off of the fighter in the black and red shorts with the green eyes. He is stunning. I feel the heat creeping up my neck and face, embarrassed to be standing here in front of these two hot, sweaty men while my blood drips on the floor.

  “Can you grab the first aid kit?” Bruce asks, “She fell on some ice.”

  The man with the buzz cut and the tattoos wearing black and yellow shorts nods and hurries off to get it. That must be Damien.

  The other guy, Mr. Gorgeous, is eyeing me warily, making me uncomfortable.

  “Sorry to interrupt your workout,” I stammer. God he’s hot! And he’s staring at me like I’m about to jump on him. What the hell? You’re attractive and all dude, but really? I’m injured here, not looking for a date. Although, I wouldn’t say no.

  “Here.” Mr. Gorgeous hands me a small towel. “So you won’t drip everywhere.”

  His voice is like a warm caress and I shiver when his hand brushes against mine as I take the towel. I wrap it around my arm as best as I can. “Thanks.” He’s acting strange, like he thinks I’m going to bite him or something. “I’m Sydney.” I make a sad attempt at polite, but uneasy, conversation while we wait for the damn bandages.

  Mr. Gorgeous looks at me funny before introducing himself reluctantly. “I’m Drew. So you fell?”

  Great, I’m so inept that he’s straining to make conversation with me.

  “Uhhh, yeah. I fell. It’s no big deal, really.” He can be an awkward ass, but I’m going to be respectful if it kills me. “Nice to meet you, Drew.”

  Bruce and Drew exchange a shocked look. “Have we met before?” Drew asks hesitantly.

  I wrinkle my brows, trying to place him. I don’t know him, do I? Shit, what if he recognizes me because I look like my mother?

  I need to get out of here.

  “No. I don’t think so.” Holy crap this is uncomfortable.

  Now Drew looks dumfounded. His perfect lips fall open in disbelief.

  Let it drop, please let it drop, I think to myself. The last thing I need is for this guy to figure out who my parents are, who I am and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t forget his unbelievable face and body if he was one of my drunken one-nighters.

  Damien jogs up to us with a large white box. “Got it.”

  “I’ll do it,” Drew says, his green eyes penetrating mine. “Bruce, thanks for bringing her in. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Bruce must be his driver, now it makes sense. He’s waiting for Drew to finish his workout.

  “You sure?” Damien asks as he gives Drew an odd look. Drew scowls at him and Damien just shrugs his shoulders, “Okay man, I’ll see you later?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here.” Drew doesn’t take his eyes off of me as he speaks.

  Unsure how it happened, I’m suddenly alone with this beautiful man.

  “Here, sit down.” He points to a nearby bench.

  I do as he says and watch as he kneels in front of me on the ground, his lean, sinewy muscles stretching in front of me in a tantalizing dance. This guy is beyond hot. I want to lick every ridge of his hard abs.

  What is wrong with me?

  Drew places the kit on the bench and op
ens it up.

  “Let’s see what you did.” The kindness in his voice relaxes me, but only somewhat. I’m still nervous as hell to have this intimidating man so close to me. I watch his gaze flick up to mine before focusing back on my injury. He puts a large, tape wrapped hand around my wrist and I gasp as electricity shoots through every nerve in my body.

  Holy shit!

  Drew pauses for a moment before carefully removing the towel to assess my wound.

  “It isn’t that bad. It’s big, but not deep, so it shouldn’t leave a scar or anything.” Drew looks at me and smiles, “Wouldn’t want to ruin that perfect skin.”

  My heart stops when he smiles at me. He’s not hot or even gorgeous. He’s quite possibly the most perfect looking human being I’ve ever seen. He has brilliant white teeth and full lips, light stubble covers his angular jaw. His eyes aren’t green like I thought, but green with a dark ring of brown in the center. But what kills me is the single dimple that appears on his right cheek when he smiles.

  The flutter I feel between my legs is growing uncomfortable. I have to shift in an attempt to calm down the throbbing.

  “Take off that jacket while I get what I need.” Hmph, bossy. I stop gaping at him and do as he asks.

  When Drew looks away to rummage through the first aid kit, I let out the breath that I’d been holding to keep myself from jumping on his drool-worthy body.

  Since he’s not paying attention to me, I use the opportunity to study the rest of him. His thick dark hair is messy and sweaty, a piece is hanging down his forehead in a careless way as he searches the box. His body is composed of perfect, rippling muscles that flex gracefully as he moves. He’s powerful. Anyone can see that, almost dangerously so, but there’s a protective nature to him that comes through as well. I imagine he would use his strength to help not hurt when the situation required it.

  “Here.” His deep voice snaps me out of my ogling. “This may sting, I’m sorry Sydney.” Drew’s eyes look pained as he presses a cold, wet gauze pad to my arm.

  I flinch, hissing at the pain from the antiseptic.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again.

  “It’s okay.” He feels genuine remorse for hurting me. Strange.

  Drew reaches back into the kit and pulls out a large bandage and some gauze wrap. Laying it on my arm, he wraps it up quickly and efficiently.

  “Looks like you’ve done this before,” I joke, giving him a small smile.

  “Yeah, a few times….” Drew looks up at me and stops. I see his eyes dilate and his lips part just a fraction. We’re locked together for what feels like hours. Then he shakes his head and looks away, finishing up with my arm and the moment is gone.

  I’m about to pull away from his grasp when he sucks in a breath and clutches my wrist a little tighter. He trails a long finger up to my elbow, following the jagged pink path of a very old scar.

  “What happened?” he whispers.

  Reflexively, I yank my arm away from him and my heart leaps into my throat. “Nothing, I’m fine.” I jump up and wrap my arms around my stomach to keep from falling apart. “Thank you for fixing me up, I really appreciate it.”

  I bolt for the door, keeping my head down so Drew won’t see the unshed tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. God, I’m such an embarrassing idiot!

  “Wait!” he calls out.

  I stop right before I get to the door, but can’t bring myself to turn around. I don’t want to fall apart in front of this beautiful stranger.

  “Your jacket.” He holds out the torn and bloody fabric. “It’s pretty much ruined though.”

  “Thanks. Yeah, it is.” I pull myself together and glance up at him to take my coat. I’m sure he thinks I’m crazy.

  “Is that all you have to wear? It’s freezing outside.” Drew’s handsome face is furrowed with concern.

  I just shrug. He saw what I came in here with. What does it matter to him anyway?

  “Wait here.” Drew holds up a hand so I won’t leave. Confused, I watch him jog over to the ring as he grabs a shirt and tugs it over his fine physique. I think about what a shame it is to cover it up and manage a smile. He stuffs his feet into a pair of shoes, throws on a ratty old hat and hurries back over to the door.

  “Come on,” he says, taking my hand in his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  We go outside and the biting cold January air pierces my thin shirt. I feel an unbelievable urge to curl up against his large, warm body.

  Who is this girl and what has she done with Sydney? I don’t trust anyone, I don’t share feelings, and I don’t do relationships.

  Drew opens the back door of the same black sedan that Bruce came out of when I fell. “Get in.” I stare at him in disbelief. I don’t know him at all. Why would I get into a stranger’s car?

  He gives me an exasperated look. “Sydney, I’m going to have Bruce bring you home. It’s too cold for you to walk like that.” He sticks his head in the car, “Bruce, take her home and then come back here. I’ll be ready to go then.”

  I fidget with my hands on the sidewalk. I don’t know if I should accept the ride, he seems like a genuine guy, but this is New York and people rarely do things out of kindness.

  “Please.” Drew puts his large, warm hands on my shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep knowing I sent you out on the street to freeze.”

  I take a second to study his face. There’s something about his eyes, an honesty I see there, that makes me give in. That, and the fact that I’m shivering violently already and I’m not all that close to my loft.

  “Okay,” I reply as I get into the back seat of the car. “Thank you, for everything.”

  Drew leans down toward me, his masculine scent overpowering my senses. God, he smells good. I press my thighs together at the thought of licking the sweat off of his hard body. “Take care Sydney.” His voice sends my heart thumping into overdrive.

  He shuts the door and as I give Bruce my address, I catch a glimpse of Drew’s heartbreakingly beautiful face. He looks like he’s deep in thought, rubbing a finger over his lips as he stands alone on the empty sidewalk. Knowing he can’t see me through the blacked-out windows, I watch him as we drive away until he’s out of sight.

  Chapter 2

  Holy crap it’s freezing out!

  “You need me to get you a cab this morning?” Richard, the doorman at my building, asks as he follows me out onto the frigid portico.

  “I must be a glutton for punishment since I’m walking this morning Richard, but thanks.” My idea that the icy air will wake me up some is probably a mistake, but I decide to walk anyway.

  I wave, turn right, and effortlessly merge into the crowded city sidewalk. I make it to the Village Coffee Bar on Bleecker Street in less than ten minutes, hustling through the congested sidewalk as fast as I can without twisting an ankle or crashing into someone.

  Or slipping on ice and meeting a gorgeous stranger like I did yesterday.

  Arriving just before my nose gets frostbite, I fling open the door to the café, and am assaulted with two of my favorite smells: coffee and cinnamon. Ecstatic to be out of the bitter cold, I make a beeline for the long serving counter where my best friend Leah is waiting on an older woman who seems to be having difficulty deciding on her order.

  After what seems like an eternity, the woman pays for her box of pastries and her drink, thanks Leah, and leaves the café.

  Stepping up to the register, I give my best friend a sweet smile. “How’s it going Leah?”

  Narrowing her eyes but breaking into a huge grin at the same time, Leah responds, “Going great until you got here, Syd!” as she turns to get me my usual.

  At the young age of twenty-five, Leah owns and operates the very successful Village Coffee Bar. Her out of this world vanilla bean coffee cake and brilliant flavored croissants have made her dream of running a little neighborhood bakery into a profitable reality.

  “Up late last night working on the Warren Hotel project or thinking about
your handsome, MMA-loving, white knight?” Leah asks as she hands me my steaming mug and plate of coffee cake.

  I roll my eyes. I shouldn’t have told her about my encounter with Drew yesterday. She’ll push me to date him. She pushes me to date anyone with a pulse.

  The interior design firm I work for has been hired to redesign the nightclub for the Warren Hotel chain’s flagship location right here in New York City. It’s a beast of a project, taking up a lot of my time to get the design just right.

  “The presentation, Leah,” I lie. I was up all night thinking about Drew and his hot body and honest eyes. “How did you know I was up late?” I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion at her accurate assumption.

  “Syd, I’ve known you for a long time. I know you have a deadline coming up, but also, the bags under your eyes have bags.”

  I relax my face and laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. I do look like shit.”

  Leah cackles loudly, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her. “You’re still more gorgeous with your overtired, baggy-eyed, shitface than most girls are on their best day, Syd. No wonder Mr. Gorgeous helped you out.”

  Smiling, I turn and sling my bag onto my favorite table in the back corner. Leah is always complementing me, but she’s quite the looker herself. I’ve known her since middle school and she always has admirers. Petite and stacked, customers ask her out all the time. Sometimes I wonder how many of New York’s finest young businessmen come in for the great pastries, and how many come in to hit on Leah.

  Probably fifty-fifty.

  Settling into a chair, I pull my huge stack of files and my laptop from the messenger bag and spread them out on the table to get started. This presentation has to be perfect; it’s the highest profile project I’ve been given and the executives at the hotel are going to decide if the concept I came up with is suitable for the image they wish to convey. After letting my mind fill with visions of Drew’s hot body all night and the electricity I felt when he touched me, I have a lot to get done.