I flush, looking down. I forgot I wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“What the hell is going on?”
The man—the same one from the bar on New Year’s Eve—points at her, “Megan insisted. She was too drunk to call—and I took her phone,” he adds, completely unapologetic. I study him a little closer, and realization hits. I saw his head shot at the call back today.
“Luca James, right?”
He looks a little startled, but nods. “Yeah.”
“I think we’ll be working together.”
Confusion clears. “On Black Tides? I heard they were talking to you.”
I glance quickly at Megan—she looks like she’s passed out.
Luca makes a slight disgruntled noise. “No, English. She doesn’t talk about you or your work. I work in this town too. I hear things.”
There’s a crash from the kitchen, and Luca rolls his eyes. “Excuse me.” He strides away. “Sun, get out of the man’s fridge.”
I turn back to the sofa and the girl snoring on it. What the hell is she doing here?
I crouch next to her and brush the hair from her face. “Drank too much,” she mumbles.
“I see that.” I laugh, softly. She nestles into my caress, and I go still, shocked. What. The. Hell?
“You didn’t call. Was worried.”
“It’s your day off, Meggy. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
She giggles, a noise at odds with the no nonsense woman I’m used to seeing.
Of course, the girl in a slinky halter top, painted on jeans, and strappy heels, wasted on my couch, isn’t what I’m used to seeing either.
“You’re an idiot,” she says clearly and then rolls over.
“Shit!” Luca curses. He shoves past me and grabs her around the waist, jerking her off the couch and into the kitchen. As I hear her throwing up, I decide I’ve fallen asleep and this is all a fucked up dream.
Chapter Four
Asher
She’s still sleeping. I take a cup of hot tea and sit curled in a blanket on the back porch, inhaling the scent of the ocean and Earl Grey, and consider what to do. Megan will be furious when she wakes up and puts together the cluster fuck that was last night. I should feel bad—or, at least, attempt to get her and Luca and Sun off my sofa and into a cab home.
She’s spent almost six months as my assistant, working with me and denying anything more than a working relationship, encouraging me to flirt with other girls and setting it up to have tabloids photograph us so the dates aren’t wasted. She got my face out there—everyone knows who I am, and most don’t even care that I’m a mite difficult to work with.
Megan did that.
But she ignored the attraction between us like her life depended on it. And after the last night, I am done with that shit.
I finish my tea, staring at the ocean and the waves, a small smile on my lips as I think about how far Louisiana is from Los Angeles, and how much I could do, trapped in a little car for days on end.
The door slides open behind me and I smile, twisting to look at her. And freeze.
Sun is gorgeous—all long legs, honey golden skin, and dark hair with that defiant streak of pink. A tattoo peeks out of the collar of her shirt, flirting with the curve of her neck. And she’s wearing a t-shirt I dropped in the bathroom, the hem brushing the top of her thighs.
I swallow hard and look away, shoving my anger down. She's not who really angers me—it's girls like her. But this is Megan's friend, and that counts for something.
"You like the ocean?" she asks, sitting a few chairs over. I nod, staring out at it. "Megs grew up on the edge of a swamp—did she tell you that?"
I glance over at her, and Sun flashes a smile that sets my teeth on edge—knowing and a little devious, too something for me to be truly comfortable. "It's not that hard to miss you drooling over her, English.”
There’s that name again. “Why do you call me that?”
“When she started working for you, and we’d go out, she wanted a way to protect your identity while still talking about her life—and working with you is her life. So we took to calling you English. We knew who we were talking about but no one else did. It made her happy. Does it bother you?”
It doesn’t, which is odd. Because Megan is the only one who has ever called me that, and usually when she’s exhausted or furious or both—it’s a slip, I realize.
“She’s a lot more complex than I realized,” I say. To myself.
Sun laughs softly. “She’s a woman. Of course she is.”
I glance at her, and this time, I don’t see a pretty girl looking for sex—I see an anxious friend. “You’re worried about her.”
“Megan is a good girl—and she’s a cutthroat bitch when she needs to be. But in a lot of ways, she’s a sweetheart with a mile-wide streak of innocence. Don’t fuck that up.”
I blink. She stares at me for a few more minutes, her gaze hard and searching. Then she nods, almost to herself, and stands. “I’m gonna make a breakfast run. Want anything?”
The world to stop spinning in such confusing ways.
I shake my head, and she flashes a smile. I wonder, as she pads back inside, where she will find pants—and then I hear Megan’s sleep-scratchy voice, and I don’t fucking care.
Megan
Shit. Shit, fuck fuckity. What the hell had I been thinking, making Luca drive me here while I was drunk. Here of all fucking places. And now the bastard is playing least in sight, and my head hurts too damn much to do anything but make coffee and hope to hell he’ll drive me home soon.
“You’re up early.” Sun murmurs, sliding the glass door shut behind her. “How you feeling, sweetheart?”
“Why on earth did we start doing shots? I’m too old for shots,” I whine, leaning my head against the low hanging cabinet.
Sun chuckles, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “You say that every time we go out. I quit listening a long time ago.”
I want to glare at her, but it would mean moving, and I’m not doing that until my coffee is finished.
“Hey. No kissing unless I get to watch,” Luca says. I feel him enter the room, and the look he gives Sun. I grab my mug of coffee as the Kuerig finishes and scoot to one side to doctor it.
Asher keeps my creamer—all three—on hand. He learned quickly I’m not pleasant when deprived of coffee.
“I’ll be back. Going to forage,” Sun chirps. I hear the clink of keys and then she’s gone.
And the tension in the room climbs. I shift farther away, and Luca sighs. “Why are you running, Megs?”
“I’m not.”
A lie. A big, fat one that we’re both going to ignore because I’m a coward and he’s a good friend. And he had me riding the edge of orgasm on the dance floor last night.
I glance out to the back porch. Knox is sitting there, hair hanging in his face, looking lost.
All the worry I felt last night, the thing that drove me here, comes bubbling back, and I take a step toward the door before I realize I’ve moved.
“You can’t run from both of us,” Luca murmurs softly. Low enough I can pretend I didn’t hear it as he brushes a kiss over the top of my head and steps away. “I’m going to shower.”
I nod absently and watch Asher, his fingers drumming on the wooden chair.
I sip my coffee and gather the scraps of my dignity like a shield. Taking a deep breath, I head outside.
Knox looks up as I sit down next to him, staring at me with unabashed frankness. I blow on my coffee and murmur, “Stop, creeper.”
“Says the girl who showed up on my doorstep drunk at two am.”
I hear the smile in his voice and finally look up.
“You aren’t mad?”
Surprise flickers across his face. “Why would I be?”
“I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night. Most of our clients would be pissed—especially since I came with two friends.”
A smile plays across his lips. “Is that what you’re worried abo
ut? Meggy, I don’t care how or when you come to me—as long as you do.”
I feel heat creep up my cheeks, and I look away from him, at the ocean beginning to brighten with the day and the joggers pounding down the sand. "Why do you say things like that?" I ask then bite my tongue. Stupid question. I must still be hungover.
I hear his intake of breath. It takes everything to not look at him, because I've seen him like this—the naked hunger in his eyes, the emotions so open it hurts. I love that look on him.
People think they see him—the real him with his half smiles and bashful boy grins. With his eyes blazing with lust and anger.
But they don't. If they saw him, right now. They'd know.
Except, it's a lie. This is just another act for him—he plays a part because that's what Knox does. What he's so damn good at.
"Never mind," I say crisply. "What happened at the call back?"
"They gave me the lead," he says, tuneless.
I want to cheer. Maybe that will make Kevin happy for a few days. "And you took it?"
He nods. "Megan?"
I glance at him, questioning.
"You promised."
I swallow hard, and he leans into me, taking the coffee from my limp fingers and pressing a kiss to my cheek. I tremble at the sudden invasion of my space, the flouting of the rules I've carefully established. His breath is warm against my ear, and I want to bask in it for days. "It's because you blush—the prettiest pink I've ever seen. I'd do just about anything to see that."
His lips press, chaste and somehow erotic, against my skin, and then he pulls away, a smile dancing in his eyes as he stands and leaves the porch. I lean slowly back in my chair and close my eyes, trying not to feel that kiss.
I should be terrified about spending a week with him in a car.
And, distantly, I am.
But I'm also just turned on enough to wonder what the hell could happen between here and Branton.
Chapter Five
Asher
I slouch in the chair in Kevin's ornate office, a pair of aviators low on my nose. The contract's have been signed—I've given Lion House three months of my life, if filming stays on schedule—and Kevin is all but rubbing his hands together in glee.
Good. Because he's going to hate this.
"Megan and I will need my limo for the next week and a half."
Kevin pauses in the middle of pouring a glass of champagne. The good shit, too—Dom. He can afford it.
"I don't think heading cross country with your assistant is the best idea you've ever had, Ash."
"She promised," I say, and it sounds petulant.
"She had no authority to promise that. She's not even a junior agent—she's a coffee girl."
I bristle. It's one thing to talk to me like I'm an idiot. I don't like it, but what the fuck ever. It's another thing entirely to talk about Megan. "She's the best PA I've ever had and does above and beyond her job—I've gotten more press since she started than in the year before that."
Anger colors Kevin's cheeks. He doesn't like when I sing the praises of his niece. "Disappearing for a month isn't a good way to keep that going."
He doesn't get it. I frown, annoyed, as I sit up. "Kevin, I'm not asking. I'm telling you—you work for me, remember. And I'm leaving for a few weeks. I'll be in New Orleans for the start of filming. That's all that matters."
"Fine," he grits out, setting the champagne down in front of me. I take it warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He isn't giving up—Kevin Hart doesn't know how. But he doesn't say anything else, and I don't think he intends to. After a long minute, I flash a smile and pick up my champagne. He clinks our glasses lightly, and I lift it to my lips, inhaling fizz and the bitter beverage.
"Megan isn't going with you. I'm transferring her off your account," Kevin says casually, and I go still. I swallow the champagne that tastes like ashes and force myself to shrug. To not react—he doesn't get to see my panic and rage.
"Fine. Send my new PA to New Orleans in a few weeks." I put the glass down and stretch to my full height, buttoning my suit coat as I flash him a final cool smile, and stalk from the office.
I'm almost out the front doors when I hear my name being called. I take two more steps, and a hand grabs my arm. I glance over my shoulder, expecting to find Kevin standing there with a disgruntled expression.
Luca James.
What the fuck. Why does he keep turning up, and can I get rid of him?
“What’s wrong?” Luca says immediately, pushing the door open and waiting as I step outside.
“What makes you think anything is?” I snap.
“It took me calling your name four times to get your attention, and you look pissed.” Luca arches an eyebrow. “And you came from Kevin’s office. Something has to be wrong.”
“He’s taking Meggy away,” I say, and saying it out loud makes it real in a way it hadn’t been. My stomach dips and, for a second, I think I’ll throw up, the nausea is so strong.
I can’t do this without her—I don’t even want to. The shine of the bright lights wore off a long time ago. Now they just hurt my eyes.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Luca hisses.
Briefly, I fill him in on the conversation with Kevin and the promise Megan made. I shake my head, not quite believing the words I’m saying. I can’t tell her this.
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud until Luca shrugs and smirks. “So don’t tell her.”
I glance back at him. He has an odd expression—his smile somewhere between savage and insane. "What are you talking about?"
“She won't go, if you tell her. And this trip is as good for her as it is for you. Would you really take that from her?"
"So you want me to lie?"
"Not lie so much as, don't mention it. Kevin won't, not until you're on the road—it'd mean dealing with Megs and hiring someone new, and he's not that invested in replacing her. He's bluffing and trying to get you to back down, while reminding both of you that he has you by the balls. Might be good to remind him the same is equally true."
I stare at Luca, open mouthed. He smirks and slides a business card into my front pocket. "Take her to this resort. She’ll love it. And then bring her to Vegas—I’ll calm her down, and you can go on your merry way."
I almost ask him why he's bothering to help me—what's in it for him? But I don't. I don't want to know.
Luca
“What do you mean, you’re leaving?”
I glance at Sun. “I mean Ash and Megan are about to head cross country for a month. I’m going with them.”
Sun frowns. “Meg didn’t mention anything like that.”
I stop in the middle of packing and stare at her. “I haven’t told her. But she promised Ash this trip, and Kevin is threatening to pull her from his account and—”
“And you saw an opportunity to make your move.”
I hesitate.
“Are you going to tell her the truth?” she asks, applying another layer of polish to her toe.
I don’t respond. I’ve spent a lot time—eighteen months, to be precise—avoiding telling Megan the truth. I’ve let her think I’m in love with Sun, that I’m a player and content with the friend zone I’ve been relegated to.
“Sun, are you going to tell her?”
“That you’re manipulating her?” she asks, looking up. I swallow hard, because whatever my reasons, that’s what it comes down to.
“No.”
My breath rushes from me, and I feel dizzy, suddenly. “Why not?”
She flashes me a tiny smile. “Because she makes you happy—happy in a way you haven’t been since Dylan.”
I flinch, and she rises, walking on her heels to stand at my side. “I want you to be happy, Luca. Even if it’s not with me.” She kisses my cheek and walks away, throwing over her shoulder, “But if you hurt her, I’ll break your legs.”
I grin—she would.
Megan
I park in the driveway a
nd stalk to the front door, pounding on it briefly before peeking inside. The foyer is, predictably, empty. I tap my nails then climb the stairs. "Knox, what's the emergency?" I ask.
"I'm in my closet."
That stirs my interest, and I make my way to his huge walk-in closet. He's standing in the middle of it, wearing a gray suit and pale green linen shirt. He's knotting a slim gray tie, brows drawn in concentration.
"What are you doing?" I ask, grinning at him.
“You up for a short trip?” he asks. I arch an eyebrow, silently questioning, and he laughs. “I have a photo shoot in San Diego. You should come with me.”
I frown. “I don’t remember Kevin telling me about that.”
“It just sprang up.”
“Ok. When are we leaving?”
He smoothes down his tie and smiles at me. “Right now.”
I blink, startled, and then shrug. Part of being the bottom of the totem pole is having to deal with shit as it comes up—and it's not like I had a crazy busy weekend planned. "Can we go by my house to get some stuff?"
He hesitates, and I go still, watching him. Finally, Knox nods and smiles. "Of course."
I take a step toward the door, and he crowds into me, his breath warm on my neck. "Do you still want to get out of town?" he asks.
I lick suddenly dry lips and nod. "Yes. I know you still need to, which is the most important thing."
Something flickers in his eyes briefly, and he nods, stepping back and grabbing his overnight bag. "Let's go."
He follows me across town to my little bungalow. For a brief moment, I have a flash of insecurity over my tiny two bedroom rental, on a rundown street without a spectacular view. If Ash has any thoughts about it, he doesn't comment. He stands quiet next to me, head low as I unlock the door and usher him into the cool, dark interior.
It's messy, dishes in the sink from when Sun cooked a few nights ago. "Sorry," I mutter.
Asher cuts a look in my direction, then pursues the place. His gaze takes it all in—the table covered in newspapers and magazines, the blanket on the couch, and my heels kicked off by the door. The lazily spinning fan and candles with wicks that badly need trimming.
Sweet Ruin Page 3