She poked his thigh. “Like you’d be embarrassed by that. I can tell you work out.”
He grinned. “I do have to lift heavy cameras and chase people for my job. It’s important to stay in shape.”
“Well, you just ignore any drooling or lusty expressions I sent your way. I’ll just be acting while the camera devours your hot body.”
“I appreciate that, and ditto.”
They smiled at each other, and the friendship was restored, just like that. Kasee breathed a sigh of relief as the knot in her stomach dissolved. This was going to work. It wouldn’t be free, but she’d closed the deal, and had herself a sexy television boyfriend.
~
“Thank you.” Dion hung up the phone and leaned his head back against his second-hand couch. The caregiving agency had run Kasee’s credit card for seven hours of caregiving, the number of hours he’d spent on the previous night’s dinner party. Tomorrow he’d call again with the hours from tonight’s romantic dinner. He’d heard from his mother again, saying she really needed a girls’ night out. A night like that meant she’d be too hung over to function the next day, which meant he needed about twenty-four hours of caregiving. But some money was better than nothing, so he’d told her to go ahead and schedule with the agency, and the scheduler knew she’d have to book hours for the hangover as well.
While he spent as much time with Johan as he could, he tried not to schedule it in advance because he never knew when he’d get a work tip. He could plan for sport practices and events, but not celebrity drop-ins to Baltimore. Today he planned to spend the afternoon hanging around a hotel because a Grammy-winning band was in town and the lead singer had a supermodel girlfriend. He hoped to get some good shots. Then it was off to Kasee’s apartment in Fells Point.
~
At seven p.m., he arrived on Shakespeare Street in Fells Point. Kasee had told him she’d been awarded a townhouse in the divorce settlement that they had owned as a rental property. An assistant producer Dion recognized from the previous night led him into a rear courtyard tiled in brick. He stood under a large tree, leafy fronds creating a canopy over his head, as he admired the red brick exterior and dark green window sills of the eighteenth-century building while he was miked.
“What is this property worth?” he asked the assistant producer, unable to resist his curiosity.
The man shrugged and adjusted Dion’s battery pack. “Maybe half a million.”
So Kasee was sitting pretty in a nice property and acting like she didn’t have any money? Hadn’t she ever heard of a mortgage? He understood that she needed a job, but she didn’t need to steamroll anyone. She wasn’t desperate, didn’t have kids to feed. He had to remember that the rich weren’t like the rest of the world, and that he couldn’t hope to make her understand his point of view or vice versa.
They were just too different. But he sure didn’t feel guilty for getting twenty bucks an hour from her to help out his family.
“You have to have a nice place to be on a show like this,” the assistant producer said. “Everyone wants lifestyles of the rich and famous. But people are fronting, a lot of the time.”
“For sure. Fortunes rise and fall.”
“If you were a real celebrity you wouldn’t want cameras on you all the time anyway.”
Dion straightened his shirt and jacket. “You’re wrong about that. I’m a professional photographer and some celebrities love it. Why, there are folks endlessly filming themselves, just in case they get a documentary deal.”
The producer’s eyelids fluttered. “I just don’t understand that level of narcissism.”
“Then you’re in the wrong business, brother.” Dion winked at him as an assistant opened the front door and leaned out with a bouquet of expensive roses. He recognized the tall, thin sister from last night who’d given him a look of sympathy after the fight at the dinner party.
“For you to give to Kasee,” she said.
Dion took the flowers. “I should have thought of this myself.”
The assistant shrugged and pushed her dreadlocks behind her shoulders. “It’s all for the camera, right? One romantic date, coming right up.”
“Thanks.” He leaned in and spoke in her ear. “Anything I should be warned about?”
“We’ll have to deal with your mic right at the end, before you get undressed for the bathtub. So don’t take your shirt off until we remove the pack. Destroys the illusion.”
Dion almost dropped the bouquet. “Ummm, excuse me?”
She spoke in a bored voice. “I’m supposed to run a bubble bath for you in two hours. Rose petals and everything. You’re supposed to undress to the waist so we can get a look at your impressive body.”
“Do I have to?”
She spoke into his ear. He could smell the shea butter in her hair. “It’s to provide contrast to the sight of Keith’s saggy man boobs from a similar scene with Tammy in season one.”
He rubbed his chin. “Man, you really did film his affair.”
“I don’t think he thought Kasee would care. He was just proud of being such a man whore,” the assistant said.
“What do you think about Kasee, between the two of us?”
“You into her?” The assistant’s tone was bored, but her eyes had a certain sparkle.
“This is business.”
The assistant bit her lip, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “I’m Lizzie. Call me later and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Her fingers reached into his jacket, brushing his nipple as she found the interior pocket and slid the card in.
He knew Lizzie was hitting on him, and under other circumstances, he’d have flirted back, but business or not, he didn’t think Kasee would react well. She might even get Lizzie fired. So he didn’t wink, didn’t pat his pocket, didn’t touch the assistant back.
He nodded politely. “Thank you for the flowers.” He checked his tie one last time, hoisted the bouquet, and watched Lizzie disappear into the hallway and shut the door in his face.
“Ring the doorbell,” the assistant producer said. “Kasee will open it and the scene will begin.” He gestured to a camera operator and the burly guy, his lower lip distended with chewing tobacco, came forward, hoisting his camera to his shoulder. A lighting specialist moved a spotlight into place at the doorway.
“Am I supposed to be nervous? Confident?” Dion asked.
“Just be yourself. This is reality television,” the producer said.
Could anything be less real? Dion took in the scene. The real point of interest was all the work it took to stage something like this. He wished he had his own camera to take it all in. Maybe someday he could write an exposé of all this. When chasing celebrities became too much, he hoped to use his industry contacts to become a writer.
Cradling the roses in his arm as if they were a baby, he rapped on the door. Thirty seconds later, Kasee Kean opened the door. He made sure to plaster an expression of delight across his face before he even saw her, since he knew cameras were filming over her shoulder. But the sight of a beautiful woman in such a tight strapless column of a dress would make even a dead man smile. The breasts might be fake but they were absolutely perfect, and the deep vee between them drew the eye. Her necklace was simple, just a diamond circle on a chain, but her face was flawlessly made up, and for the first time he noticed the dimples punctuating her smile. Whatever she’d done with her blond hair, some kind of messy topknot that revealed a quarter inch of darker roots, made her look half a decade younger.
He looked down and found that her feet were bare.
“Just dinner at home,” she said with that adorably dimpled grin.
The words fell out of his mouth as he caught sight of her soft, plump toes. “I’ve never seen your feet.”
They blinked at each other, then he forced a laugh.
“What a thing to say, Dion! I just love that we’re finally going to have a quiet night together. Dating is fun but we’ve been out in public eno
ugh.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed, handing her the bouquet. “For you, my sweet.”
“Aww, thanks.” She buried her nose in the blooms and sighed happily. “I love the scent of roses.”
Personally, he didn’t think they had much of a scent. Store-bought and bred to last rather than smell pretty, but this was television. “I’m glad I got your favorite flower right.”
She lifted her head and stared at him. Rats. Had he dropped a sarcasm bomb? “Uh, your friend Lizzie said you liked roses.”
“It’s nice to have a bouquet again. Keith used to buy me roses every Friday night.”
Damn, they’d thrown him under the bus to get her reaction. “We’ll have to start a new tradition,” he said firmly. “Maybe a doorway dance?”
She forced a smile, and he had the feeling she was genuinely hurt by her memory. Had Lizzie personally set them up with the roses? Of course the producers wanted to push all of their buttons. “How about you just come in instead? I’m not much of a dancer.”
“That’s because you’re afraid of falling out of your dress,” he said.
She gasped, her free hand going to her generous chest, as she stepped back. “Dion!”
He walked into the townhouse. Someone shut the door behind him. He stood in front of a staircase that mostly separated a dining room space from a living room space. The walls were wallpapered with a loud fan print that was probably historically accurate, but hurt his eyes. The wood floors were a pleasing shade of yellow brown, however, and the fireplace, with its double mantel, was lovely.
“I should put these in some water,” Kasee said. “Why don’t we have dinner right away? I have a treat planned for after we eat.”
“Sounds good,” Dion said, resisting the urge to look into the cameras. Stationary units were set up around the table to catch them from every angle, though there were a few camera men there as well. So much for romance. He glanced over the table, set for two with an artful candle-focused display in the middle. Two salad plates were placed atop larger plates, and he counted three forks in the place setting. Was this Kasee’s style or just a setup for the show? Takeout on the couch was more his kind of thing.
She came back with a bottle of wine. “Looks yummy, doesn’t it? Can you open it for me?”
He took it from her and made a show of taking off his suit jacket and turning up his shirt cuffs, then went to work with the bottle opener. He didn’t like wine and couldn’t think of anything to say, so at least he ought to look sexy dealing with the bottle. When he was done, he poured a little into a glass and handed it to her.
She took a sip and nodded. “Yes, this was a good suggestion.”
He lifted the bottle again and filled her glass, holding her gaze with his as he poured to the very brim.
She giggled. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
Chapter Four
“No,” Dion purred. “I’m trying to dilute the taste of you, so you don’t knock me sideways when we kiss.”
“Oh?” Kasee took another sip of her wine. “Are we going to kiss?”
He took the glass from her, setting it down with a steady hand so that it didn’t spill, then snaked his arms around her waist. “I’ve been thinking about this kiss all day long. I may have been chasing a rapper through the airport, but my imagination was focused on those juicy lips of yours.”
She traced his mouth with chilly fingers. “You’re the one with the juicy lips. I just want to bite them.”
With that bit of dialogue, not to mention the overly enthusiastic cadence of her voice, he knew she was faking this as much as he was. Still, he leaned in and took her mouth with his. His possession was gentle at first. He didn’t want to do some kind of open-mouthed porn thing in front of the cameras, but then she sighed, seeming to melt against him, and he was lost in a haze of soft lips, peppermint breath, and musky perfume.
When she pulled away he was dazed. They grinned at each other like a pair of fools.
“I guess you like the wine?” she said, with an ironic lift of one eyebrow.
And bam, they were back in front of the cameras. “You tasted like peppermint.”
“Oh.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Those Altoids are curiously strong.”
He smiled at her, feeling strangely possessive. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
She nodded and he pulled her seat away from the table and helped her with it, then took his own chair. He only poured an inch of the wine into his own glass. Thankfully someone had also poured water. She was too intoxicating as it was.
They ate their way through the salad course, which was composed like a high-end restaurant starter, then Lizzie took their plates away and placed prime rib in front of them with miniature Yorkshire puddings. And broccoli.
“Broccoli, huh,” Dion deadpanned. “I have to eat my trees?”
“I’m not a big fan either,” Kasee confided. “I prefer broccolini.”
Dion had no idea what that was, but he didn’t want to look too ignorant so he didn’t respond directly. “Honey roasted carrots, that’s my favorite vegetable.”
“I’ll make you some next time,” she promised. “How about parsnips? Do you like them?”
“If it doesn’t come in a can, I’ve never tried it,” he admitted. Damn. He wished he hadn’t said that on camera. Who knew what they’d use?
“So you aren’t a foodie,” Kasee declared. “I can turn you into one. Keith adored fine dining and I know every good restaurant in the area.”
He leaned forward and took her hand. “Baby, if I never hear Keith’s name again, it will be too soon, okay? I know you were young when you met him, and I’m sure he helped form your tastes, but just claim it. I don’t care what he liked, just what you do.”
She smiled tremulously. “Of course. I’m so used to everything being about him.”
Now he couldn’t tell if she was being real. “Even a year later?”
“We’ve only been divorced for three months. I didn’t know the entire story at first. I probably thought we’d reconcile.” She picked up her glass, still mostly full, and took a sip.
Either she didn’t like the wine as much as she claimed, or she wasn’t much of a drinker. “Have you had counseling?”
She shook her head. “That’s a really good idea, though.” She was too much of a pro to glance at Lizzie, but Dion saw the assistant making a note. No doubt they’d want to film the counseling session.
What she said next surprised him. “Maybe we should go to counseling, too.”
“Why? This is only our what, fourth date?”
She set her glass down. “I know the racial tensions got to you last night. Maybe we can get some counseling to help us with being a bi-racial couple. I mean, I know aspects of it are going to be tough, even these days.” She trailed off.
He wanted to show his anger, but he knew this was what she wanted for the show, what the producers wanted. She was the hot patrician blonde with the poor black guy. “I’m a man, baby, and I don’t need some counselor to tell me how to live. I’m proud of my heritage.”
“Do you know where your people came from? I mean, in Africa?”
“Really?” Irritated, his gaze bored into hers.
She licked her lips. “I suppose it’s hard to find, that kind of information.”
“Particularly when you were raised by your white mother,” he said sarcastically. “Why do I care what African tribe I came from? I’m American. You like my looks? Hey, I got that exotic mixed thing going on, but that’s just the outer package.”
“Are there many black paparazzi photographers?” she asked.
“Everyone is doing it,” he said. “Anyone with a camera. Color behind the camera doesn’t matter.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Really? This is what we have to talk about? I’d rather talk about us and this surprise you have for us later.”
She let her chin drop down and looked at him through her fake lashes. “Well, you know I like roses.”
“Sure.” Except that wasn’t true.
“And you know I love that gorgeous body of yours.”
Possibly true. “Ditto.” He flashed his best sexy gaze at her, hoping something decent showed up in the cameras.
“I just redid my bathroom,” she cooed. “I thought you could help me baptize the new Jacuzzi tub.”
The throb in his pants told him he’d like to baptize her in all sorts of ways, but not when the cameras were on. “Sounds sexy.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be with you, Dion. You’ve given me a new lease on life. Being with an older man really became tiresome after a while.”
Ah, this is where she got her dig in at Keith. She must have scripted her part in this dinner ahead of time. “And you in your prime.”
“Exactly.” The way she drew out the word made him think about what kind of magic those lips could work on his cock.
Alas, they were only getting sexy for the cameras.
~
Kasee stepped down from the production van the next evening, down the street from Pat’s Irish Pub. The assistant producer had stopped their date the night before while they were setting up the cameras around the bathroom, to ask Dion when he could take Kasee on a paparazzi stakeout. He’d said he would take them to hunt for music celebrities, since he couldn’t risk his sports relationships.
So here she was, after much discussion with Louise about her wardrobe, dressed in black yoga pants and a hoodie, with three camera men to watch her fake boyfriend take pictures of celebrities. At least Dion had texted her at five to say he’d heard actual celebs were around the waterfront.
Those rumored celebs were members of Thunder Road, in fact, the popular boy band with a recent number one single. Bax, Finch, Aaron, Seth, and Tyler were all around twenty years old, but they were the ultimate fantasies of every tween and teenage girl in the country right now. Each one of them fit a different segment of girl lust so that a group of friends could each pick a favorite member of the band and share their fandom.
Kasee had looked at a fan site on the Internet, hoping to help identify the boys if any of them did come to the pub. Bax had the barbed wire tattoo, the tousled brown hair and unusual, brownish green eyes, that screamed almost boy next door appeal but with a decided edge. Seth was the half-Japanese, half-Jamaican one, appealing to a broad spectrum of fans. The oldest at just twenty-one, Finch oozed sex appeal, with his perfect body and carefully crafted bad boy sneer. Aaron, an avowed Christian, wore a purity ring, and Tyler was the crazy one who’d already been busted for cocaine.
Wild Irish: Wild Image (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Charisma series novel, The Connollys Book 1) Page 5