The Consequence of Seduction

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Right.” I took the cup and sniffed. “Caramel macchiato?”

  He gave a firm nod and sat next to me. “Typical default Starbucks drink, because who doesn’t like them? Also, a test. If you hate them, we can’t be friends anymore.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were friends to begin with.”

  “I’ve always made friends easily.” He leaned back on the couch, his eyes gazing out the window. “It’s Reid I worry about. Like a mother hen.”

  “Mm-kay.” I stood. “Well, your concern is noted. So if there’s nothing else, why don’t you just . . .” I made a scoot motion with my hands.

  “You’re pretty.” Max licked his full lips. “I’ll give you that much. At least when you have a rope tying that hair together, or a metal clamp.”

  “Also known as a rubber band.”

  “Ah, made of steel, is it?” He took a long gulp of coffee. “I know what’s going to happen here. I’ve read the book a billion times, mainly because I wrote it.”

  “You wrote a book?”

  “It’s for sale on my website, MaximusHightower4Prez.com.”

  I burst out laughing.

  He didn’t.

  Taking another drink, I finally sat back down and waited. I figured it was best to let him get whatever he needed off his chest and just go with it.

  “So what’s going to happen, Max?”

  “You’ll slowly fall for each other. Something will rip you apart, maybe a misunderstanding, a possible blast from the past from an ex-lover? Who knows? You’ll argue in the elevator. Share a heated kiss. Slam doors. But wait!” He thrust his hand into the air. “You live together and you could just swear,” he said, shaking his head, “that each time he breathes, nay, each time he moves in his bed, it’s because he misses you beside him. So you pop out from underneath your covers, because of course you’re curious . . .” He set his cup on the coffee table and leaned forward. “He opens his eyes the minute you walk in. The air is thick with tension.”

  I gulped as my erratic pulse picked up.

  “He checks you out like you’re the only woman in the world, and you return the favor, eyeing his sexy six-pack, his built chest, and then your eyes home in on his lips, those perfect, full lips.” Max leaned forward, his cologne floating off him, hitting me square in the face. “You want him. Badly. And you know he wants you too. You don’t know who moves first. You? Him? Does it matter?”

  I shivered.

  “Mouth hot and urgent, desperate to take you to places you’ve never been. He moans, you deepen the kiss as his fingers dig into your hips, the primal need he has for you awakens. And. You. Just. Can’t”—his voice was a hoarse whisper—“stop.”

  My palms flinched with the sudden need to touch Reid.

  Max’s grin was shameless. “Oh, I know the story, Jordan. The sex won’t just be average. It will blow every fantasy you’ve ever had out of the water. And then . . .” He sighed. “Just when things are getting good. It breaks. Good things always break, and it’s always up to the two people in a relationship to fix it, to make it work, but you’ll have nothing to fall back on. No friendship, nothing. So when it breaks for you two, it shatters. You’ll fight. Say things you don’t mean. And then you’ll leave in tears. He’ll be lonely. Famous, but lonely. And you’ll swear to yourself never to trust a man again.” He finished his coffee and clasped his hands together. “Now. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Huh?” I felt dazed. Owned. And somehow manipulated, like I was at a fair and Max was the hypnotist telling me I was a chicken.

  “Aw.” He patted my hand. “Good talk. I just wanted to make sure you understood how this would end. I feel it’s my job to emotionally prepare you for the road ahead. Fall you will.” He shrugged. “How could you not? Swear your hair’s probably already picking wedding colors.”

  I slapped his hand away as he tried to grab a bit of my curly mess. “I’m his publicist. Not his girlfriend. And this isn’t a romance novel, which by the way is pretty much what you just described. This is real life. Things like that don’t happen in real life. Believe me, I know.”

  “What will I get?”

  “Max, would it kill you to ask direct questions?”

  He tapped his chin. “Yes.”

  I growled.

  “When I’m right.” He picked up his empty cup and stood. “When you come over to my apartment sobbing like a Taylor Swift concert attendee. I’ll tell you what—I won’t get anything for being right, but I will let you sleep on the couch. When it all goes south.”

  I snorted. “You’re just trying to convince me to back off so that you can have sex with your fiancée again. I won’t fall for it.”

  “Okay.” Max pulled me in for a jerky hug. “But remember our chat. Oh, and you spilled coffee on your white shirt. That one of your things?”

  “Crap!” I stomped my heel.

  He held up his hands. “Cold water, not hot.”

  “Go home!”

  “Pfft.” Max winked. “I have work this afternoon; this world doesn’t run itself.”

  Just let it run Max-less. Amen.

  “Toodles.” He waved and slammed the door behind him while I was left feeling a bit turned on by the thought of me and Reid kissing in his bedroom. Ugh!

  “Max!” I seethed. He was just trying to get into my head. That’s what people like him did. For crying out loud, he set his own brother up to be a laughingstock!

  This was my job.

  I worked with attractive actors on a daily basis.

  Working with another one?

  Not going to be a problem.

  I used cold water on the stain, threw on a white blazer, and shoved my black sunglasses on my face. Making sure I had the apartment key and my red purse, I confidently pressed the elevator button and waited.

  And I’m happy to announce I didn’t once think about the elevator fight.

  Or the kiss.

  Or the moment in the bedroom.

  Or the way Reid’s hands would feel on my hips.

  Nope. Not once.

  But twice.

  “Damn, Max,” I cursed, walking out into the New York sun.

  I quickly sent a text to Reid.

  Me: Your brother is certifiably insane. Has he been locked up before?

  Reid: Arkham Asylum wouldn’t take him.

  Me: This saddens me.

  Reid: Just don’t ask him anything related to the Joker. You’ll get a hell of a long answer.

  Me: I’m stopping by in a few minutes. Be ready to wow me, lover boy, this shit’s going public.

  Reid: I like it when you say shit and lover boy in the same sentence. Do it again.

  Me: Shitty lover boy.

  Reid: I stepped into that one HA ^^^ See what I did there? Genius.

  I fought a smile and rolled my eyes.

  Me: Just do what you normally do when seducing the poor soulless women of Manhattan and we’ll be just fine. Also, I’m scheduling a date for us tonight. There will be cameras. So make sure the charm is on.

  Reid: It’s never off.

  Me: Arrogance part of your charm?

  Reid: Yes. GTG, break over.

  Me: Later, lover.

  Reid: Later, Sebastian.

  I burst out laughing as I collided with someone else.

  “Watch out!” the man yelled.

  I held up my phone and mouthed sorry before making my way down the street. Reid and Max didn’t just live in one of the most expensive parts of Manhattan—they lived in THE most expensive part, where it wouldn’t be weird to see a Hollywood celebrity walking a small dog.

  I would hate them both if I wasn’t so thankful that I actually had a roof over my head that wasn’t made up of neon lights and smelled like Chinese takeout.

  The day felt like a fresh start. I was stain-free thanks to Max. My white-on-white top with leather leggings was chic and very early fall thanks to my shopping addiction.

  And I was about to make Reid Emory the most sought-after actor
on the planet.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  REID

  “That kiss was so not convincing,” Mona whispered. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

  My apartment.

  With a hot frizzy-haired sexually repressed homeless person. Right, say that out loud and see if it doesn’t land you in the psych ward.

  “Sorry,” I grumbled. “I’m tired.”

  “Well, grab a Red Bull and make that kiss feel real!” Mona was Indian and had the most gorgeous mocha skin and thick brown hair. She’d taken Bollywood by storm and was on her third blockbuster hit in the United States. “Bud will know something’s wrong.”

  Bud, our very anal director, had been on a tirade all morning because it looked like it might rain and he wanted to shoot another kissing scene in the park.

  I yawned behind my hand.

  Mona elbowed me.

  “Take fifteen.” The PA slated the scene again and walked off while I gazed longingly into Mona’s eyes.

  “I love you,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean it. What I said.”

  Mona’s thick eyelashes fluttered before she leaned up on her tiptoes. “Prove it.”

  Our mouths met.

  It was nice.

  That’s it. I was kissing an A-list star and all I could think of was “nice.” You know, like when you get dressed up in nice clothes for dinner. Nice. Nice as in, oh, that purple tulip sure is nice!

  Shit!

  “Cut!”

  I rubbed my face with my hands.

  “Reid!” Bud yelled. “Where the hell is your head?”

  If I said, “In my ass,” would that get me fired?

  “Sorry, Bud.” I faked a yawn so he’d think I was tired. “I’ll do better.”

  “Hey, Bud.” The AD ran over. “The lighting’s really good by the bridge. We should move if we want to get that shot.”

  “Thirty minutes!” Bud yelled. “Reid, get your shit together and be ready for the kissing scene in thirty minutes.”

  I nodded, hanging my head. I’d never had issues getting into character. Nor had I ever had a problem kissing an attractive woman. I was a guy. They had a name for male actors who had issues kissing women with passion. The word is fired.

  But I seriously was not feeling that scene, or Mona.

  “Practice?” she offered with a helpful shrug.

  “Nah.” I exhaled. “I’m going to go take a power nap, do a few push-ups, bang my chest, take a shot of whiskey, hell, I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, though.”

  Mona cracked a smile. “Maybe just the nap, Reid. We all know you’re a man. No need to get drunk or bang your chest to prove yourself.”

  “Good advice. Quite sound,” I teased.

  “I’m mom to three boys,” she whispered in a low voice. “I know things.”

  “Mona!” John yelled. “Your nanny called. Something about one of the young terrorists flushing the goldfish down the toilet? Alive?”

  “Aw, hell.” Mona moved away. “Speak of the devil.”

  I laughed and watched her get on the cell the PA held out to her and start talking in a mom tone about flushing things down the toilet. I had to admit that tone had inflicted terror in my heart as a child.

  Smiling, I turned on my heel and went back to my trailer.

  The door was slightly ajar.

  When I pulled it all the way open, I found Jordan. Typing furiously on a laptop, black-rimmed glasses askew, and hair pulled back into a high ponytail that made her look so damn cute I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Taking over the world, I see?” I stepped into the trailer and shut the door.

  Jordan glanced up and grinned over the computer screen. “Yeah, well, I thought it would piss Max off, so . . . here I am. Give me his social and I’ll do some real damage.”

  “Ha. Sell my brother out? Where do I sign up?” My eyes zeroed in on the still steaming Starbucks cup next to her. “Please tell me that’s mine.”

  Jordan smirked. “You gotta play harder to get, champ.”

  “I’m easy. Shh, don’t say it out loud, Grandma may hear.” I shuddered outwardly. Saying her name always left me traumatized.

  “Speaking of Grandma. I found her a home!”

  I nearly spit out my coffee. “What? Why? Not that I mind, just tell me it’s in Siberia and we’re getting married right here, right now and naming our firstborn Maxine to spite my evil brother.”

  “Er . . .” Jordan winced, her cute lips forming a little pout. “Close. Jersey, okay?”

  “Are we talking ten-minutes-away Jersey or—”

  “We’re talking a few hours’ drive Jersey in a nice little town where people still get stuck behind cows on their way to work and honk their horns to say hello.”

  I took a long sip of coffee; it burned down my throat. “Hmm, can she escape? They have fences? GPS trackers? Guards? Alcatraz.” I sniffed. “That’s a damn pipe dream and you know it.”

  “I said a home, not prison, Reid. She’ll have to commit a crime to go to Alcatraz and even then it’s sadly no longer an option for us. Sorry, I can’t work miracles. I have to admit, after meeting her I figured it would be smart to send her away for a few months while you film so close to her hometown, and she was more than thrilled to go when I showed her the picture of the activities director, who’s in his late twenties, sandy brown hair. She sighed and asked if he did private lessons.”

  Someone knocked loudly on my trailer. “Fifteen minutes, Mr. Emory.”

  I let out a long sigh and set my coffee down.

  “What?” Jordan shut her laptop and crossed her arms. “You have actor eyes.”

  “What?” I jerked my gaze to hers. “Is that a thing?”

  “It’s a thing.”

  “You sure?”

  “Look, I’m a publicist, I’m saying it’s a thing. Now, why the Oh, no, they’re going to fire me and I’m going to have to give back the doughnuts I stole this morning on set look?”

  “I don’t steal doughnuts. I eat them. All of them,” I pointed out. “And what is your fixation with food?” I stretched out on the couch and put my hands behind my head. “And I lost the sizzle.”

  “Ah, the sizzle blues.” She leaned back against the couch and set her leather-clad legs up on the coffee table. “I know them well.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Last year.” Jordan held up a manicured hand—it was pretty, and distracting, and did I mention pretty? How were hands so fascinating? Her long slender fingers waved in the air before she thrust one in my direction. “He had the sizzle blues, couldn’t heat things up with his latest costar, and was terrified it would show on camera—which it always does, I don’t care how good of an actor you are.”

  “Wow, not helping. Not at all. You suck at this.”

  Jordan slapped my chest with that perfect hand. “Not finished.”

  I rubbed my chest where she hit.

  “So this actor, let’s call him . . . Max.”

  “Really, his name is interchangeable in so many situations,” I grumbled. “Son of a Max!”

  Jordan nodded. “I like it.” She wiggled her heeled feet. “Anyway, the problem was that he wasn’t in a relationship, hadn’t been on a date in weeks, and had lost his . . . touch.” Her eyebrows rose in that knowing way that had me ready to kiss her just to prove her wrong.

  I squirmed uncomfortably as Max’s prophetic words hit me square in the chest. Holy shit, was the universe really working against me? Was that a thing?

  “So.” I tugged at my shirt. “What did he do to fix this problem?”

  “He went to the Victoria’s Secret fashion show, hit on one of the models, kissed her, and married her two days later.”

  “Huh, scrappy little thing.” I checked my watch. “But since I’m on a time crunch?”

  Her eyes narrowed behind her thick glasses. “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?”

  “That look? And that smile,
stop smiling!”

  I smiled wider.

  “Reid!”

  “Hey, you’re my shrew, you do what I say.”

  “That’s not how this works!” Jordan wailed. “And here I was feeling sorry for you!”

  “I’ll make it fast.”

  “Oh, good.” Jordan threw her hands into the air. “You’ll make it fast? What girl wants to hear that? Especially when a sexy guy—” She covered her mouth with her hands.

  My chest puffed up. “You think I’m sexy?”

  “No.” She shook her head twice, three, four times. “I meant—” Her eyebrows furrowed.

  “Wow, well, while you give yourself a stroke from thinking too hard, I’m going to use you as practice. I need help and you’re going to help me.”

  Jordan glanced at the door.

  “Seriously? Now you’re worried about cameras? Aren’t I supposed to seduce you tonight at dinner anyway? Give pointers out on my Twitter feed?”

  “That you don’t have,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Please?” I held my hands out in front of me. “I’ll beg. I’m not above begging. I’m not one of those guys with pride for days. I will honest-to-God get on my hands and knees in desperation. I love my job. I need this job. And I need to sell that damn kiss.”

  Jordan made a choking sound, then jerked her glasses off her face, nearly taking a few stray pieces of frizzy dark hair with her. “Fine. But if this is going to work, I’m going to correct you on where you’re going wrong and what you need to do more, all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  I stared.

  She stared back.

  “Uh.” Jordan’s face flushed red. “Are you going to do it, or do I need to suddenly grow a pair since yours are MIA?”

  I glowered and leaned in, bracing my hands on either side of her body, my chest nearly touching hers as my lips brushed her mouth.

  Jordan pulled back. “Weak.”

  “Not done,” I said through clenched teeth, then gripped her shoulders. “Just getting started.”