I take a deep breath and shove my hand out his way. “Can we call a truce?”
He looks at me skeptically. “You mean you’re done calling me an asshole?”
“If you can be done referring to me as a hooker.”
“Fine, truce.” He shakes my hand, his grip tight, and I’m disappointed at the loss of his touch when he releases it. “I will keep all hooker comments to myself.”
“And stop thinking about me as a hooker while you’re at it. I’m not sleeping with Eli.”
He taps his chin. “Do you know the definition of hooker?”
“Can’t say it’s something I’ve looked up before.” I raise a brow. “Have you?” I’m waiting for him to spit out some Webster’s clarification, explaining that you don’t necessarily have to be sleeping with someone to be defined as one.
He chuckles. His laugh is deep, manly, so damn hot. “No, I’m only fucking with you. Consider all hooker-talk done. I promise.”
I tip my head down. “Thank you.”
“My hooker-ending talking pleasure.” I give him a hard look, and he laughs, holding his hands up. “Last one, I swear.”
I stand up, staggering a little bit but gain my balance. “I think I need another drink.” The slight inebriation of the alcohol from the after-party is still with me. Maybe that’s why I’m so emotional tonight. Alcohol is like a therapist – it makes you all in your feelings until you eventually blurt everything that’s bothering you.
He scoots to the edge of the couch like he’s waiting to save me when I eventually end up busting my ass. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Positive.” I snag a pint of vodka from the mini-bar and start to mix it with coke before turning around and looking at him while taking the first drink. I hold out my tongue and cough after swallowing it down. Damn, this stuff is not for the weak. I hold the bottle out in front of me. “What’s your drink of choice?” Alcohol helps me let down my inhibitions. Maybe it’ll do the same for him.
He shakes his head. “You go ahead. I’d rather not drink while on the job.”
“If that’s the case, you’ll never be drinking, considering you’re pretty much always on the job.”
“Good point.” I move the bottle back and forth in front of me, in an attempt to tempt him to loosen up. He’s not impressed, nor is my plan working. I’m making a complete drunken fool of myself.
His brows squeeze together. “I’m still good.”
“What if I said you’re off the job?”
“Maybe another time. It’s three in the morning, and I’m exhausted.”
I pout out my lower lip. “You’re going to make me drink alone?”
My heart races when he lifts himself up and advances my way. “I’ll tell you what, Princess Peer Pressure, I’ll have one beer, one, if that makes you feel better. That’s it.”
He seems like a beer drinker. “It does. Thank you.”
I catch my breath when he bends down in front of me to open the fridge and take the opportunity to run my eyes down his backside and appreciate the view. I get a whiff of his hair that smells like fake ocean breeze scented shampoo. Oddly, I find that attractive. I’ve been around so many men that pour on expensive cologne and shampoo products that are so strong they give you headaches. It’s nice to smell something different. A man shouldn’t smell like I do.
I jump and look up in embarrassment when he stands while popping off the cap to the bottle. He glances down at me with a smirk, fully aware that I’d been checking him out, and takes long strides back to the couch, like he knows he needs to get as far away from me as possible.
“So what do we do now?” he asks. “Drink and stare at each other?”
I join him back in the living room, collapsing in the same chair as before, careful to distance myself but still stay close. “I didn’t think that far ahead,” I answer. “My problem is I can’t sleep right now, and I need something to take my mind off my life.”
His hand wraps around the neck of the beer before he gently tips it against his lips. “Your life that bad, huh?”
“Don’t patronize me,” I snap. “I’m not saying I’m impoverished.”
“Then what will help take your mind off your very serious problems?”
He’s still being a pain in the ass, but I decide to let it go. I hold my glass up. “More alcohol. Mindless chatter.” I angle my body towards him. “An orgasm.” I shrug. “Or maybe two.” I can’t tell who’s more shocked at my response – him or me. I’m trying to look calm, but my heart is beating like crazy.
He points his beer my way. “I’ll take mindless chatter for four-hundred.”
I blow out a breath. That sucks. I was hoping for option three. At least he let me down easy. I throw my arms out, faking excitement. “Then let’s chat away.”
He kicks his boots up on the table. “Why don’t we get to know each other? We’ll be spending a lot of time together. It’d be nice knowing you’re not a serial killer.”
“Not yet, at least.” I perk up in my seat. “How exactly do you suggest we get to know each other?”
He smirks. “Not like that, you little perv.”
I put my hand on my heart, feigning offense. “Me, a perv?”
He chuckles. “Alcohol makes you more open. I like it.”
“Hopefully it’s the same with you. You’re like a sealed up box.”
“I’m not an emotional guy who expresses his feelings. Maybe that’s why Cameron decided to cheat on me. She wanted some sappy dude who sang love ballads and shit. I’m not that guy.”
I snort. “Just because they sing love ballads doesn’t mean they’re sappy or good men. My ex is the master in writing and belting out love songs, and that didn’t make our relationship any better. It only made the fan girls want to suck his cock more and intensified my crazy insecurities. The thing they don’t tell you is that love songs aren’t made for love, they’re made for money. They hit you with all the feels, and you pay up.”
“And the child star has quite the potty mouth.”
“Profanity is my dominant language when I’m drunk. Don’t judge me.”
“No judging here. I like a girl who talks dirty.” My eyes widen, and he shakes his head when he realizes what he’d said. Looks like we’re both saying the wrong things to each other. It’s been too long of a day. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve never had a job like this, but I know to keep it as professional as I can.”
“Professionalism is dull.” Yep, I’m officially getting drunker and braver with every sip.
“Well then consider our relationship dull.”
“You suck,” I slur, moving back and forth in my chair, suddenly feeling dizzy.
He kicks his legs down and gets up from the couch. “I think it might be time for you to go to bed now, drunkie”
“Oh come, on,” I whine. “Your job is not to be a party pooper.”
“My job is to take care of you.”
“Oh, I know plenty of ways you can take care of me.” I can’t help but stare at his crotch when he stops in front of me. I lick my lips. “Plenty of fun ways.”
I’m single. He’s single.
It’s the perfect situation for my abandoned vagina. Maybe Willow was right. I know I said all men are off limits for me, but the appeal of Hudson getting me off tonight is making me change my mind.
My heart storms against my chest when he gets me to my feet and helps me stand on my own. Okay, stumble on my own. He grunts when I crash into his hard chest and moves in to save me, circling his arms around my waist. For some idiotic reason, I take that as an invite to kiss him. I stand on my tiptoes and smack my lips into his briefly before he snags my wrists and nudges me away.
Big mistake.
Big freaking mistake.
He sets his hands on my shoulders, making sure I’m balanced but keeping distance between us, and stares down at me in what looks like pity. I curl my arms around my stomach and dip my chin down to the floor pathetically.
A few seconds pass before he clears his throat. “I think it’s time we call it a night now.” He forces a laugh in an attempt to make me feel less stupid, but it doesn’t work.
I run my hands down my dress, the fact that I’m still wearing it now dawning on me. My humiliation is erasing my intoxication.
“Can we act like this never happened?” I whisper, my voice cracking. I’m ready to go to my room and suffocate myself out of shame.
“We definitely can.” He looks like he’d rather be anywhere than here – just like the first time we met.
I want to stop the words before they come barreling out but can’t. “I know it’d be so embarrassing for you to hook up with someone like me.” I smack my hands over the mouth I seem to have no control of lately.
His jaw ticks, his face shifts from apologetic to agitation. “The fuck you mean someone like you?”
“Someone like me,” I repeat. “I see the way you look at me. You don’t see me, Hudson.” I tap my hand against my chest while fighting back the tears forming in my eyes. “You only see the headlines, the stories, what you think you know, and you feel as if it’s beneath you to be attracted to someone so shallow.”
“What?” His voice drops. “There’s no way you can think I feel like I’m too good for you. That’s not why I stopped whatever that was. We can’t cross that line. You’re drunk as a skunk. I work for you and have to keep my head in this job. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. This is all my fault.”
“It’s fine,” I whimper. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” It takes me a few seconds to gain the nerve to look at him. “Can I ask you a question?”
He shoots me a guarded smile. “Go for it.”
I blow out a breath. “Do you think what I’m doing is wrong?” I shrug as a few tears slip down my cheek. I already know his answer. He explained his disgust for it earlier, but I’m hoping I changed his mind … even just a little. “And please be honest.” My heart is pounding. I can feel myself internally start to shake.
“I think fake dating someone sounds absurd, but we live in two different worlds. I know nothing about this Hollywood thing. If you felt like that’s what you had to do for your career, that’s all that matters. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t seem desperate. That’s me being honest with you.” I wipe at my cheeks. “Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”
I nod, and he takes my hand to help me down the hallway. We stay silent as he lifts back the blankets and waits for me to get in before turning off the light. The tears of humiliation are still falling when he shuts the door behind him.
I don’t know what started this storm inside of me, but I have a feeling Hudson is the force behind it.
Chapter Ten
Hudson
I shut the door to my room and lean back against it as I go over what just happened.
I run my hands against my face while walking to the side of the bed and then hold them out in front of me, studying them and remembering how soft her skin felt against my calloused palms. It almost feels wrong for something so rough to touch something so delicate.
I close my eyes, remembering her reaction to my touch. I haven’t been laid in so long. Two hundred and seventy days to be exact, but hey, who’s counting? It killed me to turn away something so damn tempting standing in front of me and begging me to have my way with her.
Most guys would call me a fucking idiot.
Hell, I’m calling myself a fucking idiot.
I drag my shirt over my head, throw it across the room, and peek down at the tent in my pants. I wanted nothing more than to push her onto the couch and give us what we both ached for. The attraction is there. There’s no denying that, but I can’t cross that line. I have a job to do, and I won’t be able to concentrate on protecting her if all I can think about is how sweet her pussy tastes.
No more drinking with Stella.
No more hanging out with a drunk Stella.
No more personal stories and opening up to each other.
It can’t happen again.
I can’t sleep with her because we want different things. It can’t happen because I’d have to quit. There’s no way I could stand back and watch Eli touch her after I did. I couldn’t sit to the side and watch them act like they’re screwing.
What kills me the most, though, is that I’m crushing on a woman who’s a liar – one who’s fake dating someone to further her career.
I fucking hate liars.
I like genuine and honest people.
And Stella is not that.
I grab my laptop and put the sound on mute when I open it. I want to listen, to hear the excitement, but she can’t know what I’m doing. Headphones aren’t an option either, in case someone tries to break in. If something were to happen to her, it wouldn’t be cool for people to find out I was jerking myself to porn instead of doing my job.
I pull my cock from my shorts and slowly stroke myself.
Fuck. This feels so good.
Thank god for Porn Hub.
Chapter Eleven
Stella
I wake up with a dose of regret pounding through my skull. Humiliation is running at its side, pointing and laughing at me. I embarrassingly offered myself to Hudson, and he rejected me. I was insane thinking that us sharing a drink meant he wanted to bump uglies.
It’s been so long since I’ve put myself out there like that to someone, and I know it’ll never happen again after that rejection. Not only was it a smack to my ego, but it was also a slap to my senses for thinking it was okay for me to become involved with my bodyguard.
I close my eyes. I want to be angry with him but can’t. He did the right thing. At least one of our brains was working last night. I notice the mascara streaks on my pillow. I’d been crying last night … and forgot to take off my make-up. Here come the wrinkles to go along with my mortification.
I head into the bathroom, wipe the smeared makeup off my face, and get in the shower. The steam helps clear my pores of the extra alcohol and the hangover symptoms. I dry off when I get out and run the towel over my hair.
I hate my hair. It’s thick and gets frizzy the second wind or water hits it. I run my fingers through the thick strands, wrap it into a tight bun, and start my walk of shame into the kitchen where Hudson is sitting at the table drinking coffee with his laptop open in front of him.
I keep my eyes forward, shuffling my feet towards the coffee maker. I jump when he speaks.
“Morning,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been living it up at Universal Studios riding rollercoasters all night,” I grumble. Maybe I can act like I don’t remember anything about last night. I gear up for the perfect, ‘I did what?’ look.
I’m an actress. I got this.
He slides his chair out and starts to get up. “Coffee before talkie?”
I stop him from coming any closer. “I got it.” I pull out a mug from the cabinet with the hotel’s logo on it and make myself a cup, my hands trembling. I take small sips while looking around the room, not sure exactly what to do.
“Look, about last night,” he starts, getting straight to the point. One thing I’ve already learned about Hudson is that he doesn’t do bullshit. He’s a straight shooter.
“What about last night?” I’m keeping a brave face. Those acting classes my mom forced me to go to can finally pay off.
“I can tell by your face that you know exactly what I’m talking about.” I frown. Okay, maybe they didn’t.
I rub the side of my head. “God, even bringing it up makes my brain pound harder. Can we not do this right now … or say, maybe never?”
“Not talking about it will only make it more awkward. Let’s lay it all down on the table so we can move on.”
“Fine, but you’re going first.”
He tips his finger towards the seat across from him. “Sit down.”
“Seriously?” I groan, stomping my foot. “You’re going to make this all weird and personal?”
&
nbsp; “You standing there looking uncomfortable as fuck is making it weird. We’re going to be living together, so get used to sharing space with me.”
“Who decided you were the boss man all of a sudden,” I complain, but do as I’m told. I’m his boss, yet he’s the one making the rules around here apparently.
He sits back in his chair and clears his throat. “First things first, I never intended to make you feel rejected last night.”
I scoff. “Too late for that.”
“You know you’re beautiful, and I think we both know I’m attracted to you.” I raise a brow. News to me. If he’s trying to convince me to keep this relationship professional, he’s sure not starting out well. His admission only makes me want him more. “You were drunk. We were both lonely. I should’ve never allowed it to go as far as it did.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m not lonely,” I argue, and he gives me a look that causes me to slam my mouth shut. The guy can read me like a damn script. I perk up in my chair and settle my hands into my lap, looking all proper and mature. “I don’t like where this conversation is going. It was a drunken mishap. Let’s forget about it and move on.”
“Fine with me. I only wanted to clear the air.”
I swipe my hands together. “Consider it cleared.” I pick up my phone. “Do you want anything from room service?” I forgot to order my breakfast last night. Willow usually does that for me, but I sent her a text last night telling her I’d have everything taken care of.
“Whatever you order is fine with me.”
I order our food and then start to answer emails and texts while he stays occupied with his computer. I open a message from Willow that gives me an update on Brett’s condition. His recovery still isn’t looking good, and she’s not sure how long she’ll be gone. My stomach drops when I notice she’s attached a resignation letter that suggests I hire someone else because she won’t be able to fulfill her job duties. I email her back, letting her know she can take as much time off that she needs and her job will be waiting for her whenever she’s ready. I’m a big girl. I can handle taking care of myself.
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