by Piper Lawson
I pulled open the pictures on my phone, finding one shot of us at that restaurant.
Delete.
Next I skipped to the album of me and Colt on a weekend trip to Tahoe. His arms wrapped around me, my hair long around my face as he played with it. He’d loved my hair more than I had.
Delete.
He said one time I looked like an angel. Which was stupid.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
It should’ve felt cleansing, but instead I felt the warning pull of a downward spiral.
I didn’t miss Colt. But after the day I’d had, I didn’t want to spend the night at home, in my own head.
I hit a contact on my phone, then crossed to the window with a gorgeous view of the hills. My fingers traced the buildings and coastline through the glass as I waited for one ring. Two.
“Ethan here.”
His voice, smooth and confident, had me swallowing. “Hi. It’s Jordan. You still going to that weird party tonight?”
“That ‘weird party’ is one of the hottest tickets in town. Producers, artists, models, VC’s.”
“Right. Do you still want company?”
Ethan’s low chuckle came down the line. “Once more with feeling.”
“What?” I frowned.
“I need you to make me believe you want to go.”
My head fell back and I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t even want to go to the damned party. But I needed to get out of the apartment before I went insane thinking about work, or Colt.
“Ethan,” I said in my sweetest voice, which kind of sounded like Ava’s cat coughing up hairballs, “will you please take me to your fancy LA party?”
“My pleasure. I’ll pick you up at nine. And Jersey? Wear a dress.”
I frowned, thinking of the suitcase of clothes I’d packed. “I don’t think I have—”
He clicked off before I could reply.
I stalked into my room and flipped through the contents of my closet.
Nothing.
I should show up in jeans. It would serve him right, with his giant ego and fancy clothes.
But even I knew that was immature and stupid. And it would only prove his point that I couldn’t fit in here.
Hrmm.
There was the mystery bag Ava had shoved in my suitcase.
I pulled it out, opened the top. I didn’t know whether to be delighted or despondent with what I found inside.
Shit.
Desperate times.
7
Ethan
The sun had almost set, leaving streaks across the sky when I pulled up in front of Jordan’s address and put the BMW in park.
I’d been rethinking my offer to let her experience the epic awesome that was one of Axe’s parties. I could’ve invited any number of sophisticated female friends, making it clear that tonight was about business and nothing more. They knew how this worked and would’ve been more than happy to spend a night by my side. To smile and laugh and rub shoulders with celebrities.
Jordan was not that girl.
So why did you invite her?
I’d told myself it was to help her, but that wasn’t it.
For some reason, Jordan got under my skin. The way she harped on my lifestyle. Thought she knew how to do my job better than I did.
I wanted to prove a point. But bringing her into my world with my friends and my clients was the wrong way to go about it.
Too late now.
A shadow fell over the front of my car.
My headlights lit up long, curvy legs. I squinted to make out their owner but could only see a short dress the color of emeralds. Poker-straight blond hair.
I rolled down my window, feeling my pulse thud dully in my side. “Can I help you?”
“Cameron. Can you take your head out of your ass and unlock the door?”
I hit the power locks and Jordan slid inside. The neon interior lights of the BMW highlighted the sharp planes of her face. Her lashes looked darker than usual, framing her bright eyes. Her lips were bare—no color, no gloss. Her arms were long and slender, and the gold cuff on her wrist looked a little badass and classy as hell.
“I thought I ripped a seam putting this on.” Her fingers went to the side of her hip. Green fabric rode high on her surprisingly toned thigh. “Is it OK?”
“Ah.” I focused on the seam she was pointing to, just under the back of her leg. I ignored the expanse of skin and cleared my throat. “I think you’re safe.”
“Thank fuck.” She flopped back into the seat. “Lex would’ve killed me. It’s Alexander Wang,” she explained.
“You own a designer dress?”
“No. Ava stashed this in a plastic bag in my suitcase. Along with other things I will never wear.”
“Yeah, but…you wore a designer dress to go out with me?”
“I didn’t have any other options.”
I grinned as I put the car in gear. Jordan shot me a sidelong look. “Why. You impressed?”
“You trying?”
This girl kept surprising me—which, after thirty years, was hard to do.
But as much as Jordan could put my back up, I’d gotten a rush from the way she snapped on me yesterday. When too many people kissed your ass, it was refreshing to see that kind of honest passion.
I was curious what else she had up her sleeve.
I glanced down at the radio, which was on an EDM channel. “You can change it if you want,” I offered.
Jordan started flipping stations, landing on a bluesy indie mix. “You probably don’t like these guys, but I saw them at Madison Square Gardens.”
“I saw them at Venice Beach.” I slanted her a look.
“I’ve met them.”
“I’ve partied with them.” I couldn’t resist, and in the neon half-lights from the dash, I saw her mouth curve.
“Their lead singer gave me a guitar for my twenty-first birthday,” she murmured a moment later.
“Fuck, who are you?” I laughed, the one-upmanship making me grin. She glanced away, but her eyes were bright. “You always this competitive?”
“No. I think it’s your fault.”
“Sorry, not sorry.” It was oddly satisfying to know that I got under her skin too. “So your alternative plans for tonight must’ve really sucked for you to be here tonight, huh? I know I’m not your favorite person in LA.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know anyone in LA.”
As I turned down Axe’s street, it occurred to me she might be lonely here. Most women her age coming to LA had dreams of making it big in Hollywood, not making business decisions for their expanding clothing lines. But here she was.
I’d looked up Travesty last night well after midnight. Their website was slick and their clothes were as on point as anything in LA. They had a brand and they knew how to work it—probably Lex’s influence. Still, I’d spent most of my time not checking out the clothes and the models but on the “about” page. The paragraph bio on Jordan Briggs was too short to get anything real from but I’d tried. It said nothing about her family, except that she came from entrepreneurs.
Understatement of the century.
It made me wonder why she’d signed on to this new venture when she could do anything she wanted.
Axe’s place was two stories and overlooked the ocean. The valet took my keys when we arrived. I rounded the car to find Jordan frozen in her seat. The horrified expression made her look like a cartoon.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t think I can get out without flashing something.”
I grinned. “Don’t tell me you went commando for me too.”
“What? No!”
I extended a hand and she reluctantly took it. Her skin was softer than I expected, and the little buzz of electricity that ran up my arm as I pulled her out of the car had me studying her.
“Thanks,” she said under her breath, her gaze shifting over the scene in front of us.
I dropped her hand. Shook off the reaction.
“Like toxic fumes. Right.”
“Come on.” I draped an arm around her waist before jerking my hand back. “What—turn.”
I took her arm, pivoting her away from me.
The dress had spaghetti straps and a back that dipped all the way to right above her ass.
Great.
I wasn’t tempted, but with the way the dress skimmed over her body? Other guys might be. Now I’d have to add fighting off douches to my list of activities for tonight.
If the evening so far was any indication, tonight was going to be…
Interesting.
Axe didn’t do anything halfway, and that included the guest list. Beautiful people were everywhere, drinking and dancing. The house was at capacity. A few familiar faces were visible in the crowd—some because I knew them personally, some from ads or TV or films.
“What do you want to drink?”
“Scotch.”
“You old enough for that?” She glared at me. “Aye-aye, sailor.” I ordered her one, plus a vodka for me.
Drinks in hand, we went to the back yard. Sure enough, an iceberg floated—or maybe “melted” was the better word—in one pool. A big tank on one side housed dolphins doing flips.
Her gaze ran over the scene like she was trying to solve a math problem. The people swimming. Doing body shots. I’m pretty sure a couple was having sex in the corner.
A dance floor and DJ took up one side. Her attention landed on that, the bodies moving to the latest EDM tracks.
“You like to dance?” I took her hand so she didn’t get lost and pulled her through the crowd.
“That’s not dancing, that’s where personal space goes to die,” she called back.
I glanced past her into the crowd, scanning for Axe. Instead, I caught sight of Martina. “Uh-oh…”
Jordan’s gaze followed mine. “Is that Edward Scissorhands?”
“No. That’s Full Monty.”
“Huh?”
“The girl I meant to send that delightful photo to the other day.”
Martina’s gaze landed on us. Me first, then Jordan, and it chilled.
She started toward us on legs that ended in dagger-like stilettos. Ones she looked like she wanted to skewer me and Jordan with.
I tugged Jordan toward the DJ, my body wedging between the others on the dance floor.
It felt like the valley—ten degrees hotter than anywhere else—and my nostrils filled with sex and cologne.
I managed to turn around only to have someone shove me from behind, into Jordan.
I grabbed her arms to regain my balance. “This too intense?” I called over the music.
She lifted her chin, the only move she could make given our close quarters. Those eyes glinted up at me, defiant in the dark. “I’ll survive.”
I watched her for a minute, the uncertainty in her gaze. She wasn’t a partying kind of girl.
“Be right back.” I pushed my way through the people to the DJ, whisper-shouting over the music.
“So, is everyone here a wannabe actor?” Jordan ventured when I returned.
“They resent the term ‘wannabes.’ But yeah, pretty much.”
“You never did any acting?”
“One commercial when I first came to LA and had to make rent.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait, what?”
“I’ll never tell,” I vowed.
She was about to protest when I noticed her attention fix at a point over my shoulder. I followed her look.
“I think that guy’s trying to catch the dolphin and kiss it.” Jordan’s voice was lower than before, and she nodded her chin toward the pool. “And those girls in bikinis are trying to slide down the iceberg. I’m surprised they haven’t lost their suits yet.”
“So you have no desire to slide down that iceberg in that dress and see what sticks?”
Jordan snorted. “No.”
“Me either. Good thing we’re the grown-ups here,” I teased, taking a drink. I wasn’t buzzed, but the alcohol burned through me.
The corner of her mouth twitched, and her eyes brightened under the lights. “Good thing.”
I’d always been into short girls. Maybe it’s some macho thing, but I like to be able to pick them up. I like how their bodies fit with mine. In heels Jordan was as tall as me, bringing her unusual eyes and full mouth level with mine.
It was strange, but it wasn’t bad.
The music changed. Jordan’s expression shifted from nervous to confused to delighted as she heard a remix of the song we’d been listening to in the car.
“Did you do this?” she asked.
I grinned, the way her face softened made the rest of the party fall away. “You gonna show me that guitar he got you?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled her phone out of her tiny bag and pressed some buttons. She held it up and I moved closer.
“You were in a band?” I demanded, grabbing the phone from her and tilting it to see better.
Her hands clutched a guitar, and the picture looked like it’d been taken from offstage. It wasn’t a posed shot, just a candid that caught her with her head bent over the guitar like she was in her own world.
“Thank God that was before Snapchat.”
I cocked my head. “You know something? You’re cooler than I thought you were.”
“Just what I always wanted in life,” she teased. “Ethan Cameron’s approval.”
It wasn’t the kind of catty sarcasm some girls used. It was self-deprecating, and when she said it in that low voice that slid over my skin…I wanted her to keep talking.
Jordan might be weird, but she wasn’t afraid to say what she thought. She was smart. And she was OK being herself—and not the version of herself she thought other people wanted to see. Those things were too few and far between, even in women with way more years on them.
Riding the adrenaline surge, I held up my half-full cup in front of my face. “To random nights. Clever strangers. And,” I raised an eyebrow, “no regrets.”
She touched her cup to mine, those hypnotic eyes watching me with amusement. “To an education.”
A few minutes later the music had soaked into my body. I’d downed my vodka, and Jordan’s scotch was gone too. I grabbed two drinks off a passing tray, handing her one.
Shrieks sounded, and Jordan and I turned to look toward the pool. Sure enough, there was what looked like a bikini top stuck to the top of the iceberg. The topless owner was likely somewhere in the mass of bodies in the pool.
My gaze landed on a familiar figure by the bar. “Jordan, I have to say hi to a friend. Come with me.”
“Sure.”
I started to pull her toward the bar, but we were intercepted partway there.
“Ethan.” The purring voice made me wince.
“Martina.”
Her dark hair fell in waves around her face. A curvy body was encased in a short red dress, but the fake pout of her face did away with any of the appeal. She clutched the arm of the man next to her like a lifeline. “This is Adrian. He’s an actor.”
In this town that was like announcing “I’m a person.”
But I nodded and shook the young man’s hand, trying to look friendly. “Been in anything I know?”
“A couple commercials. You?”
“Nah, I’m a realtor. Being in front of the camera’s not my thing.”
“Who’s your date?” Martina interrupted.
“Martina. This is Jordan. My sister Ava’s friend.”
“Hi,” Jordan offered a hand. Martina ignored it, taking a slow sip of whatever was in her glass.
“Well aren’t you adorable.” She looked she was ready to eat Jordan for dinner.
Adrian seemed oblivious. “Do you know this is Axe Irving’s place?” he asked, leaning in.
“It is.”
His eyes widened. “Wait, have you met him? I heard
they’re auditioning for a new character next season. He could get me an audition…Could you introduce me?”
“Sure,” I offered noncommittally. “Listen, it was nice seeing you both. We should go.”
I tugged Jordan after me, and she followed a few steps before pulling on my hand. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“OK. Text me if you get lost.”
I continued to the bar as Jordan wound her way back toward the house.
“Ethan!” Axe exclaimed when he saw me. “Bout fucking time.”
“Got here as quick as I could.” Axe was a big guy, like bodyguard big. But he had a good reason to be—he spent his days shooting for his primetime cop series. Still, though lots of people had some kind of assumption that actors weren’t brains, Axe blew that one up.
We spent a few minutes catching up before he switched into business mode.
“So listen…” He made a series of hand signals to the bartender, who immediately nodded and started pouring. “A friend of a friend’s the builder on this new eco development. They’re tearing down a bunch of old bungalows to make condos. It’s LEED platinum. The latest in environmental design or something.”
“I’ve heard of that. In Pacific Palisades, right? That’s the biggest new build on the Westside in twenty years.”
“Right. They’re looking for someone to handle it. You’ve got the record. I could put a word in for you.”
The second he said it, I wanted it. It hit my skin like a contact high. This was exactly the boost I needed to get back to the top of my game, to show that I had what it took. “That’d be great, Axe.”
Axe’s attention shifted to my side. “Well, hello there.”
I glanced over to see Jordan standing next to me. She looked stiffer than before, but nothing else seemed wrong. With the sleek hair and the dress, she almost could’ve passed for the cool socialite she had every right to be.
“Axe, this is Jordan,” I said.
“Jordan. How are you enjoying yourself?”
“The house is incredible.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
Jordan sucked in a breath, her gaze flicking to me momentarily. “Oh. I didn’t realize it was yours.”
“It is, and this man sold it to me. Got a last name, Jordan?”