He touches the corner of my mouth and I realize I’ve done it again. I’m grinning and completely unable to say no to this man. “You are a smart lad,” I manage, before he kisses the rest of my acceptance right out of my smiling mouth.
Kissing leads to shedding clothes. Naked bodies leads to twisted sheets and salty skin.
Not to mention a perpetual smile.
If only it could last.
Chapter Twenty-One
Vaughn
Crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn doesn’t normally bother me, even after a late night, but this morning it flat-out sucks. Instead of turning off the alarm I set just in case my internal clock failed, I want to hit snooze, snuggle against the warm, soft woman by my side, and wake us both up little by little. I want to roll her under me, slide into the place she’s warmest and softest, and watch her eyes flutter open. I want to see the hazy blue turn crystal clear as her pupils tighten to pinpricks while dawn breaks across the sky and her orgasm breaks over me.
Surely I can spare ten or fifteen minutes out of my morning without risking my flight? I’ll see her tonight, but right now my body thinks the idea of spending the better part of a day away from Kendall sounds like the worst kind of torture.
Then again, her body might have its own definition of torture. Like getting prodded out of sleep by a relentless dick that had its way with her more than once last night. I lift my head off the pillow and look at her. Sometime during the night we curved ourselves into mirror images of each other. She sleeps on her stomach with her face turned toward me, hair tumbling over her eyes, lips slightly parted…and slightly red around the edges from my mouth, my teeth. Did I mention my relentless dick? One of her hands rests on my pillow. One knee touches my hip.
Her breathing remains deep and even. Using a fingertip, I move her hair away from her face and trace her cheekbone. No change. Not even a twitch of an eyelid. She’s out.
Her swollen lips reclaim my attention. The ripe look has my dick drilling into the mattress, but I’ll bet this isn’t the only place she’s swollen this morning.
Instead of leaving her cursing your name every time she moves, how about you let her get some sleep? I squeeze my eyes closed, bite my lip, and try not to groan out loud at the sensation of my cock dragging across the sheet as I crawl out of bed. I console myself with thoughts of us riding the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf on Saturday night, buying her a tacky tourist sweatshirt and a clam chowder in a bread bowl because she’s cold, then taking the path through the park to Ghirardelli Square. She’ll choose her favorite varieties of their world famous chocolate, and back at the hotel, I’ll feed them to her in between orgasms.
Kendall stretches into the empty spot and lets out a contented sound from somewhere beyond the veil of sleep.
I should take a picture of her like this and text it to her later so she understands the heroic effort I mustered up to leave her alone. But a certain part of me liked the sound of her sigh too much, so now I’ve got a shower date with my soapy fist, as well as a flight to catch. I’m one step toward the bathroom when I hear the front door open and close. I almost ignore it, except I know Matt leaves the house before the sun rises, and Dylan would use his private entrance at this hour. Who’s here?
I find last night’s jeans in a pile of Kendall’s and my clothes and tug them on before heading downstairs. My bare feet don’t make any noise, but the same can’t be said for the leather soles of the mystery visitor’s shoes. I hear the footsteps echoing on the hardwood in the direction of my office. What the hell?
I push the door open in time to see my father take a seat behind the desk and fish for something in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
His head jerks up. “I wanted to speak to you before you left. In person,” he adds as he withdraws an envelope.
I don’t like the grim look on his face or the Houston-we-have-a-problem tone of his voice. “What’s up?” I sound calm, but my mind is already busy rewinding last night’s party to figure out what’s wrong. Nothing springs to mind. The evening went perfectly. “Did something happen?”
“No, thank God. But I urged you to let me make sure you invited someone appropriate as your date last night.” He tosses the envelope at me. “Kendall Hewitt is not appropriate. I get that you thought she came with some kind of neighbor stamp of approval, but she has a skeleton buried in her closet, and my investigator didn’t have to do much digging to unearth it.”
I’m stunned. Not by the so-called skeleton some investigator included in a report. I’m stunned that my father did a background check on my neighbors’ niece because she attended an event with me. The invasion of her privacy slices like a knife. Words fail me.
Dad, not so much. “Luckily Ms. Hewitt managed to fly under the radar last night. Your publicist got a few texts for details, but we’re responding with ‘a friend.’”
“I know all about Kendall’s past. She told me before I—”
“What the fuck, Vaughn? I gave you the benefit of the doubt and backed off, but Christ almighty. Are you trying to torpedo your career? How could you be so reckless with your reputation after all the time and effort we’ve invested into getting you where you are? Her drunken crash left her boyfriend in a motherfucking coma—”
“He’s not in a coma,” I say lamely. “He’s just…unresponsive.”
“Oh. Well that makes it aaaall better.” He shoves his hands into his hair and scoffs at the ceiling. “Forget everything I said. I’m sure America will fall head-over-heels for a nice Midwestern girl who evaded a felony murder conviction on a medical technicality.” He drops his hands and shakes his head. “Of course you don’t understand. You don’t have kids. I hope you never see one of yours unresponsive, but if you did you’d know you could never forgive some criminally careless party girl for leaving your child worse than dead while she merrily goes on with her life. Out of all the girls in L.A. this is the one you chose to link yourself with?”
“Nobody’s merrily gone on with anything.” I slam my hand on the desk, surprising us both. “Kendall’s struggled to find a way to move on. It’s been more than four years, and she’s still working her way back.”
My dad shakes his head. “You have some ludicrous idea there’s an expiration date on something like this. There’s not. Do you honestly think America’s going to find nobility in her struggle?”
I don’t know how to respond. If they knew her, if they heard her speak, they would. But presented like my father serves it up? No.
He leaps on my silence. “Right now we need to do damage control before there’s any real harm done. I’ve got a call in to Rebecca’s manager. I’m thinking a rendezvous in San Francisco.” He starts to pace behind my desk. “You two meet up for a romantic dinner at…fuck, I don’t know.” He pivots and paces back. “Whatever the hot place is right now. I’ll give a local reporter there the heads-up, and they’ll get it on camera.”
“Dinner with Becca in San Francisco is damage control?”
“Not dinner,” he snaps as he turns to pace back the way he came. “A bended knee proposal. That will blow everything else off people’s radar, including Kendall Hewitt. Crisis averted and a new wave of positive publicity for you to ride right into your first season with America Rocks.” He stops behind the desk—my desk—absolutely certain of his authority. “There are drawbacks, of course. I don’t know how her movie will do, but we can keep the engagement in place until the hiatus, and then reevaluate.” He’s talking to himself. I might as well not even be in the room. That I’ll go along with whatever he plans is a foregone conclusion. “We don’t want to tie you up indefinitely if it doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” I say softly. I want this hosting gig more than I’ve wanted any other professional goal I’ve set for myself. But not like this.
Apparently he interprets the single word as my agreement to his strategy, because he doesn’t even pause for breath, simply pulls his phone
from his jacket and starts tapping the screen. “I’ll reach out to Becca’s manager and get the ball rolling. Order a parting gift for the girl next door, let her down easy—”
“It’s not necessary,” a soft voice interrupts from behind me. I turn to see Kendall, the color drained from her cheeks, standing in the doorway. She’s wearing her dress from last night and an expression on her face that says she’s heard everything.
My dad curses under his breath. “Look, sweetheart, I’m sorry if this all sounds calculated, but we’re in a calculated business.”
“No.” I turn and face my father, my finger pointed at him. “You don’t talk to her.” I tap my finger to my chest. “You talk to me.”
Turning quickly back to Kendall I add, “And you listen to me. Not him. Me. Everything you just overheard? I’m not doing any of it.”
My father barks my name, but I hold up a hand to silence him without taking my eyes off Kendall. For some reason my statement puts a weary smile on her face. She folds her arms and leans a shoulder against the doorframe. “You’re not going to let me down easy?”
“No. I mean…” I drag in a deep breath because dammit, this is an unfair situation—to both of us. “I’m not going to let you down at all. I don’t need damage control—”
“I do.” The smile turns sad as she pushes off the door so she’s standing on her own two feet. “You’re strong, Vaughn. You’re so close to perfect it hurts just to look at you sometimes, but I’ve got imperfections—big ones—and they’re mine to keep. Defending myself against scores of people I don’t know?” She shakes her head, a little desperate now. “I’m not up to it. I may never be.”
I take a step toward her. “It wouldn’t be like that.”
“It would be exactly like that,” my father insists.
“You’re fired.”
“What?”
“Vaughn…”
“No.” I cut them both off before everything spins further out of my control. “You need to get out,” I say to my dad. “You’ll always be my father, but as of this minute you’re no longer my manager.”
“Don’t, Vaughn. Your dad is trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection from—”
“I can’t do this.” Kendall backs up, like if she exits the office everything will suddenly snap back to normal. Like she’s the destabilizing force, instead of me, or my father, or our fucked-up relationship that I should have found the strength to fix a long time ago.
“This isn’t your fault,” I assure her.
“Maybe not, but I didn’t think things through when I started seeing you. Spending time with you felt so good, I forgot about the outside world enough to ignore the consequences. I mean”—she lets out a hollow laugh—“there weren’t supposed to be any consequences, right? We’re temporary. Something fun for the summer before we went our separate ways. This thing between us was special because it wasn’t complicated. Neither of us signed up for complicated.”
“Fuck sign ups. Kendall, I care about you.”
“I care about you, too. But it’s not enough. Or maybe it is, and this is where we end things, caring about each other enough to let go.”
“Stop. Stop right there because that’s bullshit. Fuck anybody who thinks our personal lives are any of their business.”
“If you care about her, you’ll listen to what she’s saying,” my father mutters as he rounds the desk. “You might think I’m too prone to expect a crisis and too cold-blooded in the way I choose to avert them. Maybe I’m too protective of you. But this time, Vaughn, your reputation and career are not the only things at stake. The young lady has risks, too. Risks best mitigated by getting in front of the story at just the right moment, picking precisely the right outlets and interviewers to tell your side. Doing it correctly is a goddamn tightrope act, and one slip can mean the media chews you up and spits you out. Are you prepared for that?”
I want to answer, “Hell yes. Make the calls now,” but he’s not asking me. It’s Kendall he directs the question to, and she’s pale as a ghost at the very idea of discussing her most devastating experience with strangers.
“I have to go.” She’s already in motion. “I’m sorry.”
I start to go after her, but she turns tearful eyes to me and freezes me to the spot with four little words.
“I don’t want this.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kendall
Actions speak louder than words.
All morning, I can’t get the thought out of my head. The trite phrase is like an incessant knock on a door that can’t be opened. One monumental teenage mistake and it doesn’t matter what I might say or how sorry I am. Not that I would ever excuse my actions. I take full responsibility for driving under the influence. But to be judged so harshly without the slightest possibility of understanding cuts to the bone.
This has always been a private matter. I mean, not private, private, obviously. I grew up in a small town. Everyone there knew what happened. Everyone formed opinions, a few of them compassionate, but most of them hurtful, and they knew me. They knew Mason. The thought of random strangers knowing my business makes it difficult to breathe.
But knowing this about myself—knowing my limits—doesn’t help lessen the hollow ache in my chest. This isn’t only about me. It’s about Mason and his parents. My family. And it’s about Vaughn. The single worthwhile thing I can do right now is make sure his reputation stays intact. If it’s not America Rocks, it will be another show, I’ve no doubt of that. Which means I have to let him go, because as much as walking away from him hurts, harming him in any way—even by association—would hurt worse. I’ve been there. Done that. With Mason.
I’m crushed, despite all the lip service I paid to this thing with Vaughn being strictly temporary. This morning’s shower consisted of one giant cryfest. I thought I’d cried him right out of my system by the time I’d dressed and dragged myself to work, but nope. I dry the corners of my puffy red eyes with a tissue then stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It’s not me I see, but Vaughn’s father’s outraged face. I hear him tell his son, You have some crazy idea there’s an expiration date on something like this. There’s not. Do you honestly think America’s going to find nobility in her struggle?
The last thing I want is to damage Vaughn’s reputation and career because of his relationship with me so, ironically, this puts me on the same side as his father. How he found out about the accident, I don’t know. I was a minor. My record sealed. It feels so incredibly awful to have someone pry into my personal life because…what? He wants only the best for his son. Someone who offers advantages, and enhances his image, and I’m not that girl. My actions have doomed me in his eyes and will no doubt ruin me in others, too.
I toss the tissue into the trash and wipe at my cheeks with the pads of my fingers. I should have called in sick today. It isn’t a stretch. I feel battered from the inside out, infected by something I can’t shake, and vaguely contagious. Touch me at your own risk.
“Kendall?” Candace says from the other side of the door. “Are you okay in there?”
I close my eyes. “Yes. I’ll be right out.” Swallowing the emotions thickening the back of my throat, I pull myself together.
Candace is waiting for me when I step into the hallway.
“Sorry about that. So where were we?” I walk around her, embarrassed by my moment of weakness when she asked if I’d had fun at the album release party last night, and I’d made a run for the bathroom rather than discuss Vaughn.
I sit at the side desk in the reception area while Candace resumes her spot behind the welcome workstation.
“I’m guessing from your reaction that something happened with your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I’m quick to correct. “Just a friend, and can we talk about something else?” Anything else.
“All right. How about making your job permanent?”
My jaw drops. “What?”
; “I know your plan is to attend law school, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t let you know how much I value having you here and wish you would stay. I think we make a great team, and I sense you do, too. You’re fabulous with the kids, and they feel comfortable with you. I’d love to design a class for you, love to get you more personally involved in art therapy, and of course continue to have your administrative assistance. You’re far more organized than I am.” She smiles. “Sold yet?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it?”
I’m at a loss for words. I break eye contact to look around the room, at this special place that in a very short time has come to mean something to me. This is exactly what I wanted. A viable alternative to law school.
“You’ve mentioned your aunt and uncle are here, but know I am, too. The job is yours when summer ends, if you want it.”
I’m going to cry again. Damn it. That she sees such potential in me lifts me from the low I’ve struggled with for the past few hours. I’m not a liability here. I have value. Not in spite of my past, but because of it.
All of a sudden, I know what I have to do. “Thank you for having so much faith in me. I think a trip home will help me sort things out. Your belief in me means a lot, but I need to have a couple of face-to-face conversations to figure out if I can pursue this opportunity without feeling guilty or letting anyone down. Is it okay to take the rest of the day off if I can get a flight?”
“Absolutely.”
I stand, walk over, and give her a hug. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Whatever decision you make, you’ve connected with the students here and for that, I’m grateful.”
She couldn’t have said anything that would have meant more to me. A human connection—that’s what we all crave, isn’t it?
I reserve an early afternoon flight so have zero time to go home first, which is fine, since the last thing I want is to risk a run-in with Vaughn. He’s texted me, asking to talk, but I haven’t responded yet. I need time to get my thoughts organized.
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