Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2)

by Brooke Blaine

  Unfortunately, my tight financial situation had me stuck, although if Val landed an Ace in the hole and I got promoted…surely that would mean a giant bump of a raise too…

  And then—freedom.

  But for now, my situation consisted sadly of three little words that were grating on my nerves. I glared at the little red sign hanging in the aisle. The ultimate bane of my existence.

  Meals for One

  That stupid sign was designed to make single people feel bad about themselves. Specifically those shopping in a deserted Target on a Thursday night.

  Ugh. Target was an asshole.

  As I browsed the choices behind the meals-for-one refrigerated doors, a blaring, unfamiliar ringtone went off, and it seemed to be coming from my purse. After the realization earlier in the week that I’d left my phone in my pants, and therefore sure to be crushed on the train tracks, I’d had to get a new one.

  “Hey hey, almost birthday girl,” I said, when I answered Paige’s call.

  “So there’s been a change of plans.”

  Uh oh. Knowing Paige, it meant her low-key birthday shindig planned for tomorrow was about to turn into something massive. “You mean you’ve decided against spending all day at the beach followed by a night of strip club hopping? What could possibly top that?”

  And then she said the word I’d been dreading.

  “Vegas.”

  My eyes closed as my head lolled forward. Fuck me. There was no way I could afford Vegas right no—

  “And before you stroke out about it—because I know you will—the room is covered, the drinks are free all night, and we’re taking my car. Which means be at my place by nine and make sure to get your beauty sleep tonight. Oh, and bring your damn heels this time, and also that dress you wasted on ze faux-French loser.”

  “Paige—”

  “Don’t start with me, Shayne. It’s my fucking birthday, and I’ll do what I want, spank you. I’m not going without you, and I am going, so that means too damn bad if you’d rather spend a night at home with Netflix and The Shining twins.”

  I suppressed a groan. They were why I was trolling the grocery aisle in the first place. There was no way I could fight her on this, since she was always such a stubborn pain in the ass, and honestly, a weekend away with the girls sounded like exactly what I needed.

  “Like I could say no to you,” I said finally, and I could almost see the self-satisfied smirk on her face.

  “Right answer. See you mañana, hooker.”

  The call disconnected, and a small smile crossed my lips. Quick and to the point and refused to take no for an answer—that was my Paige.

  Okay, so I needed to grab and go so I could get home and pack a bag. Let’s see…lasagna for one…southwestern egg rolls…spinach and mushroom pizza…bingo. Yep, that sounds healthy.

  After yanking the door open, I grabbed two of those bad boys. On second thought, I needed enough for another workweek. I’d hate to miss my weekly Target date, but them’s the breaks. I reached back in and loaded up three more.

  “I see you decided to wear pants this time.”

  I froze at the male voice behind me. Wait. I know that voice… Oh please let me not actually know that voice. Slowly, I turned on my heel, my arms full of pizzas.

  My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach then, because, what were the odds, it was fully pantsed Mr. Gorgeous. Nate Ryan. In a white button-up shirt and black pants with matching suspenders, he looked almost as good as he had without pants on. Or maybe he looked better. Just wow…suspenders.

  The effect was beyond hot. Hot and boyishly charming and completely unwanted at this particular moment, especially with him staring at me all amused and holier than thou.

  And yes, it was a holier-than-thou face—I mean, I would know.

  The arched brow, his lips listing up on one side, which only showcased one of his sexy-as-hell dimples. Oh bloody hell. Is this really my life?

  “Hi,” I managed to say.

  He nodded toward my legs. “Your pants are making me hungry.”

  Aaaand that was the point where I stopped breathing. Except to say, “What?”

  His eyes trailed down my body and rested on my thighs. Self-conscious, I looked down, almost sighing with relief when I realized my lower half was indeed covered this time, but that feeling went away pretty fucking fast when I saw the ice cream cones on my pajama pants practically flinging themselves at him.

  Yes, I’d gone out in public in pajamas, so sue me. I hadn’t counted on running into…well, anybody.

  “Oh. Oh yeah, um…I like ice cream,” I mumbled. “Especially from Licked, my friend Ryleigh’s store, although I have to say, her boozy shakes are unreal, especially the Make Me Quake Shake, which has these amazing pieces of those Ferrero Rocher balls in them, and they just give it the perfect amount of crunch so that you—” I stopped and took a breath when I noticed his grin getting wider. I swallowed and then said, “Not that I go there all the time or anything. Because I don’t. I mean, I’ve only been once or twice. You know…to taste test. Actually, I never eat sweets.”

  He laughed then, and those penetrating eyes, tinged with more green than brown today, made their way up my body once more, pausing with what looked like amusement at my full hands. Then his gaze was on me and those dimples were out in full force.

  “That’s too bad,” he said. “I’ve got a helluva sweet tooth.”

  Wait…was he flirting with me? Was that a come-on? Or just stating a fact?

  “Yeah, well, in that case your dentist probably hates you,” I said, readjusting the cold-ass meals in my arms. I’d be damned if I let those suckers go now. I’d tied my jacket around my waist, and my thin tank top would reveal a tit-bit more than I needed him to see.

  He chuckled at that. Hmm. He had a nice chuckle. And a husky laugh. Both of which made my eyes zoom in on his throat. I wondered if it was as warm as it looked. He must’ve caught me staring, because he coughed, bringing my attention back to his face. His eyes were twinkling something wicked.

  “You might be right about that,” he said. “Maybe I don’t like people telling me what to do. Or dictating what I can and can’t put in my mouth.”

  My mouth dropped open, but I quickly snapped it shut. This guy was obviously a charmer, and after dealing with guys like him all day, the last thing I would do was fall prey to another arrogant playboy. Nope. Not me. Not gonna happen.

  “So do you come here often?” I asked, throwing out the first thing that came to mind that wasn’t sexual in nature.

  He pinched his eyebrows together at me a bit and looked around. Guess my badass conversation style caught him off guard. Oh, who the hell was I kidding? I was so off my game with this guy I shouldn’t be allowed on the court.

  “Sorry, I was just checking to make sure I didn’t stumble into a bar. Yeah, I find the store pretty essential for keeping my fridge stocked. And occasionally I do laundry too, so detergent comes in handy. You?”

  “Yeah, I do laundry.”

  “Any more sexy pajama pants where those came from?” he asked with a wink. At least I thought it was a wink. He could have an eye twitch. But I was so annoyed at myself for looking like a slob that—once again—I snapped at him.

  “That’s a personal question. I don’t think I invited you to snoop into my underwear drawer.”

  “I wasn’t asking about your underwear. I barely know your name, Shayne Callahan.”

  “I’m sure that wouldn’t be the first time you didn’t know the name of someone whose underwear you inquired about.”

  Immediately I wanted to slap myself, but seeing as my hands were full, I had to settle for an inner kick in the pants. What the hell is wrong with me? Shut up, Shayne. But something about the guy made me want to fight with him, and as any of my friends could tell you, I’m a lover, not a fighter.

  I couldn’t pinpoint what it was…his self-assured smile? The way he’d caught me at my worst on both occasions I’d met him? The fact that he looke
d so damn good in those suspenders that my mind could only visualize him using those to tie me up? Wait…what?

  Dammit, why did I have to come to Target in my freaking pajamas?

  His head cocked to the side. “Are you always this combative?”

  “Are you always this arrogant?”

  “I just came over to say hi.”

  “And inquire about my panties.”

  “Which I’ve already seen, remember?”

  Oh. Oh yeah. I didn’t have anything to say to that, did I?

  His head fell back, and I was pretty sure I heard a growl of frustration escape.

  Yeah. If this wasn’t proof I suffered from foot-in-mouth disease, I didn’t know what was. I just can’t control it. The word vomit just comes spewing out without a care. Or a bucket. Cleanup on aisle four.

  Nate straightened and shook his head at me before moving in my direction. I backed up at his approach, until my back hit the frosted door. His hand pressed against the glass by my cheek, and as he leaned in, his breath tickled my ear. I shivered and squeezed the boxes in my arms tighter, though I was sure my trembling was from the cold, not from the proximity of his body.

  I was almost sure.

  “Listen, Shayne,” he said, in a voice low and throaty, belying his age. “If I wanted to know about what else is hiding under your clothes, trust me, I’d find out.” He pulled away slightly, bringing his face in front of mine. “And maybe next time, you’ll want me to.”

  Next time? I thought as he backed away, the red shopping basket in his hand swinging back and forth like a pendulum clock counting down to our inevitable third meeting. My knees felt a bit wobbly as I watched him retreat, and I didn’t trust myself to push off the glass just yet.

  No, I’d stay here, mute and staring, while he got the last word. And do you want to know the saddest thing? All I could think when he left and I was tossing the frozen food boxes into the cart was, Thank you baby Jesus that I chose the healthy spinach ones.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Viva Las Vegas

  LAS VEGAS.

  EVEN after visiting more times than I could count, the city always called to me. I wouldn’t consider myself a materialistic person, nor am I usually comfortable around grandiose displays of wealth—hah, because I don’t have any!—but I love seeing those enormous structures all lit up and sparkling. The blast of perfumed air hitting my face upon walking into each one gave me goosebumps—a sign of exciting, unpredictable times ahead.

  Bright and early the next morning, I was throwing my bags into the boot of Paige’s Tahoe when my phone rang.

  “Good morning, Val,” I said.

  She didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. “What’s this I hear about Vegas?”

  Shouldering my phone, I pushed the bags farther into the boot to make room for Paige’s stuff, not that there was much space left after Quinn and Ryleigh’s piles. To say we never traveled light would be an understatement.

  “Happy Friday to you, too. Want me to pick up a souvenir flask for you?”

  “Cut the small talk. You goin’ cock-calling, Callahan?”

  Such a way with words. “If you’re asking do I plan to visit the animals at Circus Circus, I hate to disappoint you, but the answer’s no.”

  “Well, in case you were planning on a few rounds, don’t. You’ve got a meeting with Ace at The Chandelier at eight tonight.”

  Her words pinned me to my spot. “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Val…”

  Her voice, like melted butter, tried to smooth me over. “Such a happy coincidence that he’ll be there at the same time, don’t you think?”

  No, no. No way did I want to meet yet another up himself celebrity, and definitely not during Paige’s birthday weekend. Why would she give him up to me anyway? Miss Cherry-Poppin’ red dress and all.

  “But…I thought this was something you wanted to handle,” I said, even though it was pointless to waste my breath. I’d be going whether I wanted to or not, but I wasn’t going to be a pushover.

  “And I was under the assumption you wanted a promotion.”

  “What am I supposed to be meeting with him about exactly?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty to talk about.”

  With a sigh, I said, “So you’re telling me you want me to meet with Ace, as in Ace Locke…at a bar…alone.”

  “A bar isn’t exactly private, Shayne.”

  Realization hit me in the face with the force of a Mack truck. Oh bugger. “Is this a date? This is a date, isn’t it? Please tell me you’re not setting me up with him at a bar in Vegas while I should be celebrating my best friend’s birthday.”

  “I don’t know why you have to put a label on everything—”

  “And not just a date,” I said. “A date with a celebrity, which I told you after the Pepé Le Pew disaster I’d never do again.”

  “Okay, now you’re just being picky. I’m positive Ace doesn’t do voices. For Christ’s sake, he’s not method.”

  With a frustrated growl, I slammed the boot shut. As I came around the car, Ryleigh and Quinn were giving me curious looks, but I shook my head and pointed to my phone.

  “I’m off this weekend, Val. I put in my request months ago.”

  “Most people would jump at the chance to be in your shoes.”

  I rubbed my forehead to alleviate the throbbing that had suddenly come up. Part of my job description was knowing how to pick my battles with my boss, and this was one I knew better than to cross her on.

  “Fine,” I mumbled.

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “A ‘thank you so much for this incredible opportunity’ would’ve sufficed as well, but that would be too much for you, I suppose. Make sure to wear something skimpy to show off those toothpicks, would you.”

  “Right on top of that, Val.”

  “Don’t drop the ball. Or balls,” she said before the line went dead.

  “Oh come on,” I muttered, shoving my phone in my back pocket and stamping my foot for good measure.

  “Please tell me that wench isn’t making you stay here this weekend. I’ll kill her,” Ryleigh said.

  “No…but—” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Paige attempting to roll her bag down the long outside staircase, and I jogged over to help her.

  “Oh, for the love of fuck,” Paige said as she struggled to keep her oversized suitcase from falling down the stairs and dragging her behind it. I grabbed the handle from her and heaved it down the remaining steps.

  “Thank you,” she managed, leaning against the rail and catching her breath.

  “I’d ask you why you need this much stuff for a two-night trip, but I don’t dare antagonize the birthday girl,” I said, rolling her bag toward the trunk.

  “I appreciate that, Shayne. Lemme go grab the other one.”

  I whirled around. “The other—”

  Before I could get out the rest of my sentence, she was back inside the house. The boot was already full to bursting, so it would take a bit of maneuvering to pack it all in. When we were younger, my mum had somehow squeezed in a family of five’s clothing and Christmas presents in one little tiny space. She’d said it was like fitting puzzle pieces together, trial and error. That sounded simple enough.

  Too bad I hated puzzles.

  Paige’s door opened again and she placed a slightly smaller bag on the landing. “All right, I think that’s everything. Damn. Liquor bottles are heavy.”

  “That bag is full of alcohol?”

  “We’ve gotta pre-party.”

  “Of course we do. What was I thinking?”

  I helped her heave the suitcase to the car, and when she noticed the contents inside, she stopped in her tracks and let out a loud laugh.

  “There is no way in hell Ryleigh’s stuff will fit,” she said. “She brings two bags of just shoes.”

  “Actually, most of that is my stuff,” Ryleigh said, smirk
ing as she joined us. “I came over early to get a head start.”

  Paige raised an eyebrow. “Smart fucker.”

  “And I brought the coffee,” Quinn said, carrying a tray of coffee cups from her car.

  “Ohhhh, you’re the best,” I said, running over to take one off her hands. Caffeine was a must if I was going to deal with what the night had in store for me. Scratch that—I needed something stronger.

  “Hey Paige, you got any Baileys in that bag?”

  She gave me a wary glance. “It’s nine a.m.”

  “And I’m on vacation.”

  “Good point. Quinn, you’re driving,” she said, tossing her the keys and unzipping the bag we’d just hauled down to reveal a bottle of Kahlua. “Will this work?”

  I nodded my agreement and we peeled off our coffee lids to spike the drinks.

  And then we were off.

  “Hey,” Quinn said after we’d pulled out of Paige’s luxurious Hollywood Hills neighborhood. “You know what this means, right?”

  Paige stopped mid-sip and shook her head. “Oh no. No, no, no, no.”

  “Liquor up, buttercup. You’re gonna need it.” Quinn smiled in the rearview mirror in Paige’s direction.

  “Absolutely not. I changed my mind. Stop the car.”

  “Too late. It’s my honor to chauffeur our beloved birthday girl, and to celebrate, I’ll be playing all my favorites. A little seventies rock. Some hair-band eighties. Maybe a little nineties grunge.”

  Paige gave a loud groan. “Oh God, please no. Not the slit-your-wrists Nirvana shit.”

  Quinn gave an evil laugh. “You just keep pouring that liquor, and leave me in charge of the radio. Now cheers,” she said, holding her arm out to clink her non-spiked with ours.

  We were past Barstow before I had the courage to bring up Val’s call.

  “She what!” Ryleigh exclaimed, wheeling around from the passenger seat to face me.

  “I know, I know. I’m so sorry, you guys, but I don’t know how to get out of it,” I said, leaning my head back against the seat. A light buzz was taking the edge off my nerves, but I was more concerned with letting the girls down.

  “Don’t you dare!” Paige cried out. “Quinn, turn that down. Did you hear what she said? First Pepé Le Pew, and now Ace Locke? Jesus, Shayne. Do you have a golden pussy we don’t know about?”