Ken just laughed. He hardly waited until I was out of his office before continuing to fuck Fiona on top of a stack of my headshots. I could hear her encouraging him to go deeper as I stumbled out of the offices.
22 hours ago…
“Pack it up, sunshine,” Layla said, dropping a small suitcase onto my bed and starting to toss in bathing suits and hoodies.
“Pack what up?” I asked, sitting up for the first time since Layla had arrived to find me weeping into my pillow, snot and salt-tears smeared all over my previously done up face.
“Whatever you need for a Vegas vacation.”
“Who’s going to Vegas?” I asked, rubbing my eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing in my head, feeling the tightness in my throat still.
“We are,” Layla said decisively, throwing a sundress or two into the bag. “The-shit-stain-that-shall-not-be-named is not going to keep us from having an awesome time. We’re gonna hit the strip, lose some money, get hella drunk, and eat all the decadent food we can stuff in our sweet, little mouths.”
“Layla, I can’t just go to Vegas. I have a meeting with….”
“Canceled,” she said, cutting me off with a wave of her hand. “What kind of assistant would I be if I let you go to a meeting the day after your douchebag ex-boyfriend, ex-manager,” she paused dramatically, as if trying to remind me that I had to fire him as well, “got caught with his prick up that hag’s dusty, old cooch?”
“A shitty assistant?” I suggested. Watching Layla, seeing her take my side like that, not resorting to “I told you so”, it made me believe that I really could just put all this behind me, that it would just take one debauched weekend in Vegas, and I’d be back to myself again. Just... searching for a new manager.
“The shittiest,” she agreed. “So get your sorry ass out of bed. I already rented us a car, and it will be here any minute.”
14 hours ago…
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face Layla right now. I’d told her when I left that I just needed a little air, a little walk alone. She was worried, I knew, but she let me go anyway, only insisting that I put on my incognito gear: a deep brunette wig, floppy hat, and wide sunglasses.
There was no way I was going to walk back in there and admit that I couldn’t even take a walk on my own without having a complete breakdown. The rest of America might think I was a screw up, but I didn’t want Layla agreeing with them. I needed to know I could count on someone right now, that there was someone who still thought I wasn’t a complete failure.
Instead, I straightened up, pulled a tissue from my bag to dry my tears and wipe my nose, and then I turned straight back to the elevator. I was still incognito. I’d come to Vegas to have a good time, forget about everything happening back at home. I could still manage that. Even though everyone who knew Ava Cassidy knew she was only 19, the disguise made me look a few years older, so I figured at the very least I’d be able to have some fun.
I’d never gambled before, but I was just tipsy enough not to be self-conscious about asking the concierge how to go about using my room account to get chips. (I don’t remember the last time I actually carried cash on me.) He was happy to provide some, also happy to point me to the high-rollers tables. Armed with a purse full of $1000 chips, I headed out to make my fortune or lose whatever respectability I still had.
I didn’t much care which one came first.
12 hours ago…
As it turned out, Vegas casinos were more than happy to keep feeding a girl daiquiris if she was happy to keep losing money at blackjack. I was just starting to get the hang of things, had started to win back the $10,000 I’d lost so far, when my luck turned again.
Either that or I was now drunk enough to think you should hit on two jacks.
As the dealer swept away my last chips, I had to laugh. I fell into a giggling fit that made the guy next to me--a tall, lanky, older man wearing too many gold rings--ask, “You okay, sweetheart?”
Then, “If you need a place to get yourself together, my room’s right upstairs.” His wink made my skin crawl.
“No, thank you,” I managed through my giggles, relieved that he only shrugged and turned his attention back to the game as I tripped away, weaving through the disconcertingly large crowds of people on the casino floor the way I’d once woven my way through my grandma’s seemingly endless fields of wild herbs, back before I’d dragged my parents out to L.A. to support my desperate desire to be an actress; a real actress. Something I could be proud of. Back before I’d walked away from Mom and Dad because Ken convinced me they were holding me back. Back when I’d just been Ava, shy and coltish and too precocious for her own good. Back when I hadn’t known what it meant to be America’s sweetheart.
I was dangerously close to breaking down again, and drunk enough now that I couldn’t bother being worried about who might see me. So Ken had plastered those pictures all over the gossip sites. So what? I wasn’t going to let him take any more of me away. Even if it only lasted tonight, before most Vegas vacationers were even aware of my fall from grace, I was determined. Tonight, no starlet, no incognito. Just me. Just Ava.
I strode into the hotel bar with a renewed purpose, ignoring the table of frat boys in the corner, not letting myself wonder if the guy in the oversized tank was the same guy who’d seen me in the elevator, sliding onto a stool, and plucking the floppy hat from my head. The sunglasses came next, then the wig. By the time the bartender came over to take my order, I was taking out the last pin from my hair, shaking my head to let it fall around my face.
If the bartender thought about carding me, he didn’t show it, and a few moments later, I had a line of tequila shots in front of me. I’d never done a shot before, but I’d seen it done often enough, and it didn’t seem that hard. I sprinkled a little salt on my hand and licked it off, then knocked back the shot the way I’d seen it done hundreds of times.
It burned and nearly made me choke on a cough, but I held my constitution. I’d be damned if tequila was going to beat me tonight. No. I was done being bested. I was done losing. I knocked back another, and then paused to take a bite of a lime wedge.
By now I knew the frat table was watching me, talking about me. If one of them approached me….
I didn’t have a plan. All I knew is that I already hated them.
I was about to start on my third shot, hoping it would make my brain fuzzy enough to ignore the college guys, when another man, a man I hadn’t noticed before, slid onto the seat next to mine and offered a hand.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at me like he didn’t know what I looked like naked. Like he was just a boy. Like I was just a girl. “I’m Bennett.”
I made it back to the shower to finish washing my hair, and managed to stay upright as I dried off, stopping at the sink to brush my teeth with a wrapped, hotel-issued toothbrush. Lifting my head, I stared a long moment at my reflection. Other than the bloodshot eyes, I still looked like me. I was still Ava Cassidy.
But I was no longer Gabby Rover. No longer America’s sweetheart.
Anytime now, the paparazzi would find out where I was staying, and I’d be swarmed as soon as I left the hotel. Hell, for all I knew, they were already there, just waiting. Lying in wait.
And what would I be leaving to find? I couldn’t go back home. Ken would be there. I couldn’t go to work. I had no job. My only option was to go back to L.A., hole up in a hotel, and begin the impossible task of saving my reputation and my career. I’d need a new manager, a PR overhaul…. It was exhausting just to think about.
I heard the rattle of a room service cart being wheeled out of the room, and the muffled voices of the bellhop and... Mr. Campbell.
“Not my only option,” I said softly, pulling on one of the hotel robes.
He was….
I didn’t know what he was, not yet. We were married, possibly. He was... handsome. Sexy. He seemed sweet. Funny but cocky. Clearly used to getting his way.
And he offered me a retreat. A place to get away
for a while.
A place to just be Ava.
I took a slow, deep breath, tightened the belt of the robe around my waist, and stepped out to greet my new husband.
Chapter 6
Bennett
Just as I finished calling Ava to breakfast, she slipped out of the bathroom, robe cinched around her waist, looking sweet and fresh and young. I almost caved right then. I almost came clean. She just had one of those faces that made you want to tell the truth. I guess that was what made her America’s Sweetheart. Or was it my aching cock that made me want to bare it all?
I fought the urge by turning to the array of food and picking up one of the sandwiches. Holding it out to her, I felt my practiced smirk slinking onto my lips without thought. “Hungry?” I asked, unable to stop myself flirting. No matter how fresh she looked.
She snatched the sandwich from me and began eating with a vigor I hadn’t seen since college, and never in a woman. She must be feeling better.
“I guess so,” I teased, picking up a fresh strawberry and popping it in my mouth. I was much more interested in watching her than in eating just now. Everything about her fascinated me. The way she chewed, the way she sat. The way she devoured the food like she hadn't eaten in days.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, her mouth overfull. One slim hand came up to cover her lips as she continued to chew, then swallowed hard. “Thanks. I guess I really was.”
“Don’t apologize,” I told her. “You had a long night.” I meant the drinking, but the flush that came to her cheeks made it clear she thought I meant something else. She’d had a long night in that sense, too, but then we both had.
“I... guess I did,” she agreed, setting down the sandwich to down a good, long gulp of orange juice. “Sorry, I still don’t remember….” I could tell that she felt badly about it.
I remembered everything. Vividly. A fact that my dick was intent on reminding me of as her robe peeked open a bit, exposing just the slightest hint of the curve of her breast. I turned again, focusing on pouring myself some coffee and thinking about the least sexy thing I could think of. “Don’t apologize for that either. I’ve had time to soothe my ego.”
“Well, thank heaven for that,” she said, and a hint of a smirk slipped onto her lips. It was the first trace of the girl I’d met the night before that I’d seen this morning, and it was... hopeful, I guess. It made me feel weirdly happy in a way that had nothing to do with my memory of her hands on my skin.
Sooner than I would have thought possible, Ava had finished her sandwich and was licking her fingers clean in a way that was both unassuming and sweet.
“That’s not the only surprise I have for you,” I said, sliding the tray of strawberries closer to her. Time to move the joke forward.
“Strawberries?” she asked.
“You don’t like strawberries?”
“No, they’re fine,” she said, tilting her head and regarding the mound. “Just... not very creative. I’m disappointed.” Her expression was deadpan except for the twinkle in her eye, and for the first time I saw it—whatever it was that had obviously landed her the part of Gabby Rover in the first place. Whatever it was that transformed her from just another child star into America’s Sweetheart.
She had a spark of mischief in her that I recognized in myself. It made her irresistible. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, fully aware of the broad smile I was wearing but completely incapable of stopping it. “I’ll have to try harder in the future.”
“You’d better,” she said, plucking a strawberry from the top and only just exposing the corner of the ring box. I watched as she ate, trying to contain my excitement at seeing her reaction. That was the best part, watching people reacting. That was really the only reason I ever pulled pranks in the first place.
It wasn’t until she’d finished her first strawberry and reached for a second that she noticed it. Her head shot up, and she gave me a curious, confused look. “What’s this?” she asked, nodding to the box.
I shrugged. “I didn’t get the chance to do this properly last night,” I said, reaching in to pick the little case out from amongst the fruit and opening it for her.
“Sapphires,” she cooed, her hand coming over to brush fingertips over the ring, as though she wasn’t sure it was actually real. “They’re my—”
“Birthstone,” I finished. “I know.” I only knew because I’d looked it up when I was doing surreptitious research on her, but it was the thought that counted. “And it matches your eyes.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, plucking the box from my hand for a closer look. Her brow furrowed as she looked it over, and I had to wonder what she was thinking of that made her look at a simple ring so intently. When she looked up at me, her eyes were bright, like she might cry, and she turned away quickly, clearing her throat.
“There’s this too,” I said, pulling out the certificate I’d printed, just to give us both something else to focus on. “You were laughing so hard when you signed it that you smeared the ink.”
She turned back without meeting my eyes and glanced down at the paper, the box still held in her hand. “Is that even binding?” she asked, squinting at the mess I’d made for her signature.
“Oh you did much better on the official copy. That one is still being filed with the state before they’ll send it back to us. This is the touristy, ‘I was married by Elvis’ copy.”
The laugh that slipped out of her was unexpected to both of us. She covered her mouth with her free hand, as the sound bubbled out. “Well,” she said, when she came back to herself, “I guess it’s a good souvenir?” She finally held up the box and said, “Do you mind if I... don’t wear this yet?”
I held up my hands and shook my head. “Not at all. Take all the time you need.” I’d tell her the truth before we left Vegas, at least. I found myself hoping she’d still want to come with me, though, and I worried that telling her would make her change her mind—especially if she couldn’t even remember how much fun we’d had together last night. She held the black, velvet box in her hand, carefully balancing it between her fingers for a moment before dropping it into the pocket of her robe and glancing around the room.
“I should probably get dressed,” she said, and I felt the awkwardness in her voice. She sounded almost apologetic.
“Only if you really want to,” I teased, trying to break the tension. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
She tensed, visibly, her shoulders tightening and her head straightening. “I... could I have some privacy?”
Right. The photos. That was something else I’d found in my quick Google search. It made sense she’d be touchy about nudity right now. “Of course, Yeah,” I said, moving toward the bedroom. “I’ll finish up my packing. Let me know when you’re finished, and we can go get your suitcase.”
“Thanks.” Her answer was quiet, and I wondered where the sparkle had gone. She’d been so full of life last night, so ready to explore something new, so ready to... be real. I could practically feel the walls she was putting up now. Someone had hurt her, and badly. It was more than the pictures; I was sure of it. Maybe I’d be able to figure it out this weekend. If she still wanted to come with me, that is, once she knew we weren’t really married.
I had just finished getting my bags together when I heard a quiet knock on the bedroom door. “You can come out now,” Ava said, peeking her head in from the other room. “If you want.”
Dressed in the same clothes she’d been wearing last night—though she was holding the wig and hat, rather than wearing them—she still managed to look as fresh as when she’d stepped out of the shower. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d let me fuck her six ways from Sunday last night. The memory of the desperation in her voice before she came made my dick twitch a little, and I had to do something quick to distract myself.
“Ready for the honeymoon, Mrs. Campbell?” I asked, a subtle reminder of my subterfuge.
“As ready as I can mana
ge,” she said. “Mr. Campbell.” She said my name tentatively, like she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Cowboy’s fine,” I teased, and she laughed softly, shaking her head and sending her freshly-washed hair twirling about her face. God, she was pretty. Sexy even now, as innocent as her smile made her look.
“All right, Cowboy,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to another. It wasn’t until she cleared her throat softly that I realized I’d been staring.
“I’ll call for a car,” I said. “To take us to the airstrip.” I let myself stare for a moment more, mesmerized. This was definitely not what I expected when I’d booked myself in for a tech conference this week.
Royal Stripper Page 47