by Lucy Score
“It’s a security risk,” Xavier snapped.
“How? I can’t hide a handgun, much less a bomb under this,” Waverly smirked, hands on hips. He wet his lips, and she felt a thrill run up her spine.
Xavier Saint was attracted to her.
“I’m going to end up shooting someone tonight if you wear that dress.”
Kate snickered from her sprawled out position on the bed. “Saint, you gotta get out more. There’s going to be women wearing a lot less than Waverly here.”
The vein in Xavier’s forehead throbbed. “Kate, would you mind giving us a minute?” he asked pleasantly, rubbing two fingers to the line between his eyes.
“I’d be happy to,” Kate said. “I need a snack anyway.”
Waverly watched her friend saunter through the bedroom door and, tossing a knowing smile over her shoulder, shut the door behind her.
“You didn’t have to throw her out,” Waverly snapped.
Xavier rose and loomed behind her, glaring at her in the mirror. Waverly spun around to face him. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked ready to throttle her. “If you wear this dress, I’m not leaving your side this afternoon.”
She slapped a hand to his chest. “How is that any different from any other day?”
“I mean it Waverly. You’re asking for a lot of attention that you don’t need.”
“I’m not asking for anything. I look good in this dress.”
“You look fucking beautiful in the dress, but you’d look that way in a dress that I can’t see through. I am begging you, Angel, for the love of God, do not wear this dress tonight. I need to be on alert for threats, not watching to make sure your spectacular tits don’t fall out of your dress.”
Waverly opened her mouth. Shut it. Then opened it again.
“Shit. Sorry.” Xavier backed away and rubbed a hand over his face.
The break in his perfectly professional façade shocked her, fascinated her. She was glad she wasn’t the only one cracking from the pressure of constant togetherness.
“Hand me the red one?” she asked, taking pity on him and pointing at the next dress on the rack.
Without looking at her, Xavier grabbed it and handed it over. He looked like he wanted to apologize again. But Waverly didn’t give him the chance. She ducked behind the screen and shimmied out of the gossamer thin gown and into the red.
It too was a stunner. The slim, strapless column flowed down her curves highlighting all the right places with its film siren red. A long slit hit high on the thigh and allowed for a bit of room to move. The hem pooled in the slightest fishtail train. The length would be perfect for those to-die-for crystal Gladiator sandals she had tucked in the back of her closet. Hair half up and curled, gold cuff bracelets, she’d look Greek goddess-like and not have to worry about her “spectacular tits” falling out of anything, Waverly decided.
“Better?” she asked, arching an eyebrow in the mirror.
He stared at her reflection, raking her with a look from head to toe, and nodded his assent, the tic in his jaw told her there was a lot he wasn’t saying.
“Problem solved,” she said.
“Thank you,” he muttered the words through gritted teeth like it pained him to say them.
She brought her hands to her breasts and hefted them under the dress. “Still spectacular though, right?” she joked.
“Christ,” was the only part of his retort that she caught as he stalked out of her bedroom.
She laughed, loud and long, and then went to find her accessories.
--------
Xavier did another scan of the room, noting again the exits, the blind spots, the faces. Waverly had been a hit on stage presenting tonight and was reaping the benefits by being dragged around the after party, weaving in and out of the columns in the museum’s rotunda.
He stood with his back to a wall where he could survey the room yet still get to her if he needed to. Xavier didn’t like letting Waverly wander far without him, but situations like this required give and take. Security threats were rather low at an event like this. Just getting into the ceremony had been a circus of reporters, photographers, museum staff, and event and venue security. He’d worked with the security team in advance to make sure they were briefed on Ganim just in case the man actually showed his face. The possibility of him showing up here to get a look at Waverly was low, but Xavier always covered his bases.
The awards ceremony and late lunch had taken place downstairs in the museum’s theater and the celebration continued two floors up under twenty-foot ceilings and the glass atrium that lit the entire building via the four-story rotunda. Low techno music pulsed from speakers tucked behind exotic plantings and statues. It was a very Garden of Eden vibe the party organizers had gone for.
Everything glittered from the diamonds on necks and wrists to the high-tech lighting displays around the bars and photo stations.
Waverly didn’t glitter. She glowed.
She looks incredible, he thought, watching her with a woman who spoke animatedly with both hands glittering under jewels. They shared a laugh and Waverly brought a hand to her chest.
Thank God she hadn’t worn the other dress. His eyes would have been glued to her. It was hard enough to stop looking at her in this one.
He circled around the edge of the crowd and came up by the column at Waverly’s back. It was time to check in before drifting away again and watching from the sidelines.
“I’ve got a project in mind for you, Waverly,” the woman was saying. She was tall and slim, her hair was a natural mass of ebony curls. She wore thick purple-rimmed glasses and her smile was more genuine than ninety percent of the other attendees.
“I’m not really in the market for any projects right now, Malia,” Waverly confessed.
Malia cocked her head to the side. “I’m intrigued. Spill it, kid.”
Waverly glanced around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard, and Xavier resisted the urge to move closer.
“I’m thinking about getting out of the industry.”
Malia’s brown eyes widened. “Waverly, you have a talent. Normally I would applaud anyone who wanted to leave this vapid hellhole, but you’re the reason people like me make movies.”
“I want to go to college.”
“You didn’t even go to high school,” Malia reminded her.
“That’s exactly my point. I want to go somewhere that my parents can’t control or can’t grease the way, and I want to decide what’s right for my life. I want the choice,” Waverly said in a rush. Xavier could feel the passion in her tone.
Malia contemplated. “What would you study?”
Waverly shrugged. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think psychology would be at the top.”
“Hmm. Would you be giving up acting completely?”
“I honestly don’t know. Acting is the only thing I know in my life, but I don’t see studios being eager to work around a full-time student schedule,” Waverly answered.
“I think if it’s something you feel strongly about, you should absolutely do it. But this project I’ve got, it starts filming in June. We’d be done by the first or second week of August, tops. And the lead, honestly, I signed on for it with you in mind.”
“Really?”
“There’s no pressure, but if you can have both, why not?”
“Send me the script, and I’ll take a look.”
The women wandered off toward the bar, and Xavier slipped back into the crowd.
College? That was interesting. He imagined Sylvia wouldn’t be excited to hear about that prospect. Not that she’d hear it from him. He didn’t get involved with family squabbles unless one of them threatened a client’s physical well-being. He’d stay out of this one and file the information away.
Waverly and Malia had parted ways, and a new woman sidled up next to his charge. The brunette stood just a little too close and was waving her martini around like
she was an enthusiastic drum major.
Her body language told him drunk. Her facial expression told him bitch.
Xavier worked his way through the crowd, keeping his eyes on Waverly. The woman she was talking to had her back to him, but he had a clean line of site on Waverly’s face. She had her blinding, fake smile firmly in place.
“I know the only reason you got that role is because you were fucking Sidney,” the woman announced in a loud hiss. She leaned in, but rather than looking threatened, Waverly looked bored.
“Is that so?” Waverly asked.
“That part and that award should have been mine.”
“Geneva,” Waverly sighed. “Don’t you think this industry is tough enough without trying to pit against each other as enemies?”
“Don’t pretend to go all ‘girl power’ on me. You are the enemy. You stole that part from me!” Geneva gestured with her glass and sloshed vodka onto the museum’s marble floor.
Xavier circled around and came up behind Waverly. He put his hand on the small of her back, but said nothing. She was tense and vibrating under his palm, but her voice was as smooth as honey. “Let’s get this straight, Geneva. I didn’t steal that part from you. I auditioned and landed it. I beat you fair and square. You’re a decent actress. You could be better if you’d lay off the booze and the coke, which by the way is still visible under your nose.”
Xavier felt an odd burst of pride as Waverly defended herself. Classy and indomitable.
“You’re a fucking whore!” Geneva snarled and reached out with her talon-like claws. Her pretty face rearranged into an ugly mask of hatred. Xavier didn’t wait to see whether she was planning to slap, shove, or rake her nails over Waverly. He simply grabbed her by the bony wrist and squeezed.
“Let’s get one more thing straight,” he said in a friendly tone. “If you touch her, I will take you down and restrain you in front of all these nice people. Then, I’m going to press charges and, you can spend the next six months of your life pretending to be sorry for what a miserable asshole you are and trying to clean up your image with endless hours of community service. And in the end, no one is going to buy it because, as previously stated, you’re a miserable asshole.”
Geneva’s glossed up purple lips gaped open on a gasp. She bared her teeth and sneered, “You can’t talk to me that way!”
Her voice was a screech and curious people in gowns and suits were starting to look.
“Geneva! There you are,” a woman in a navy pantsuit with a short brown bob bustled over. She grabbed Geneva’s other arm. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said, flashing a desperate smile at Waverly. “Geneva’s car is ready to take her home.”
“I don’t need to go home. She needs to go home,” Geneva said, jutting her chin in Waverly’s direction.
Xavier waited until the suit had a firm grip on Geneva’s arm before letting go of her wrist. “Lovely meeting you,” he called after them as Geneva was hauled off.
“Did you just swoop in here and White Knight me?” Waverly said, raising her glass to her lips.
“No, I intervened when I detected a potential security threat,” he corrected her. They watched Geneva get dragged into the elevator by her handler.
“Who was that?”
“The screaming maniac throwing accusations or the overworked woman who corralled her?”
“Both.”
“Geneva St. Regis, totally not her real name. She’s an actress who is still very upset about a part that I beat her out for when I was fifteen.”
“You were fifteen, and she accused you of sleeping with someone to get a part?”
“Par for the course, trust me. The woman who swooped in and saved us all some embarrassment is Geneva’s long-suffering agent. Probably hoping to get one last movie out of her before dumping her in rehab.”
“Speaking of rehab. What’s in the glass?” He frowned at her drink.
“Relax, Saint,” she rolled her eyes. It’s club soda. I don’t drink.”
“Ever?” he asked.
“Ever. You seem surprised. It’s not even legal for me to drink yet.”
“I’ve been at bar mitzvahs in this town that served booze to kids,” Xavier told her.
“Money can buy your way around a lot of laws,” Waverly reminded him. “But in my case, my mother drinks, so I don’t drink.”
“Simple as that?”
“Some things are that simple, X.” She smiled up at him, and he felt a funny twist in his gut. She was using her real smile on him, and it worked better than any weapon of destruction.
“There’s my favorite Sinner.”
Xavier didn’t like the flirty British tone or the look of the man who’d bent Waverly back in a dip deep enough she was in danger of falling out of her dress.
He wore the light gray suit sans tie and with the carelessness of someone who’d been born with his own tailor. His shirt, a pale blue check, was unbuttoned, giving him a rakish look. His frame was lean, and his grin was toothy. Subtly highlighted hair glinted gold under the lights. His Rolex was real, his tan was fake, and his resume was full of more than a dozen blockbuster films.
Waverly laughed as Dante Wrede, Hollywood’s most eligible leading man, righted her.
“My mother would be crushed if she heard you say that.”
“Then it will be our little secret,” he said, with a devilish wink before turning his attention to Xavier. Xavier returned the man’s once-over.
“Dante Wrede,” he said, extending a hand.
Xavier took it, gripped. “Xavier Saint.”
“Ah, Mr. Saint. I’ve heard good things about Invictus Security,” Dante said, returning the crushing grip.
A well-informed most eligible leading man.
“Glad to hear it,” Xavier said stoically.
“I believe you did some work for Roy Krasinski over at Metro Studios,” Dante said, finally relinquishing the handshake.
He had. It was a short-term assignment involving extortion and a kidnapping threat. It took Xavier little more than a week to identify the extortionist, Krasinski’s entitled stepson who wanted a bigger allowance. The matter had been solved privately and without police.
“Yes, we worked together briefly. How do you and Waverly know each other?”
Another toothy grin. “Everyone knows everyone in this town. But I had the good fortune to shoot a film with the lovely Ms. Sinner and fall madly in love with her while on location in Africa.”
Waverly laughed again. A real laugh. “You’re ridiculous, Dante.”
“It would have been a torrid love affair if she’d only given me the time of day,” he sighed dramatically. “Oh, well, I’ll just keep wearing you down until you agree to marry me.”
“And become the third Mrs. Wrede? Be still my heart,” Waverly said, fanning herself.
“Your casual handling of my feelings guts me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go lick my wounds at the bar and see if that lovely little redhead can heal my broken heart.”
He dropped a loud kiss on Waverly’s cheek and zeroed in on the woman in the short gold dress like a shark scenting fresh blood.
“Why the face?” Waverly teased Xavier as he watched Dante leave.
Xavier frowned. “I don’t like him.”
“He’s harmless,” Waverly laughed.
“Even golden retrievers have teeth.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Waverly said innocently. “I’d say you sounded jealous.”
“Jealous?” Xavier scoffed.
He wasn’t jealous. He just didn’t like that a man could put his hands all over her, and she’d smile up at him like he casually announced a cure for childhood cancer. That wasn’t jealous. That was… concern.
“I’d rather spend time with Geneva. She’s more straightforward about being an asshole,” Xavier muttered.
Waverly elbowed him in the gut. “You are jealous!” She was gleeful now.
&nb
sp; “I’m your security. Security doesn’t like it when people manhandle the women their guarding.”
“It was a hug.”
“And a kiss,” he reminded her.
She grinned, the full on wattage again. “I like seeing this human side of you.”
“I’m not jealous, and I’m not human,” he argued.
When she said nothing, he felt compelled to solidify his argument. “You’re not my type. You’re too young. You’re…” he trailed off. He couldn’t think of another valid argument why he wouldn’t be jealous.
“A spoiled Hollywood princess?” Waverly supplied.
He winced when she threw his own words back at him. “Maybe that was a little harsh.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “Xavier ‘Calls Them As He Sees Them’ Saint. A. Of course, I’m not your type. You go for the girls who laugh at girls like me. B. I’m twenty. You make it sound like you’re seventy-eight.”
“I’m seven years older than you.”
“And you think that’ll stop you from admiring all this?” she teased, gesturing down at her dress.
“Shut up, Waverly.”
“Whatever you say, X,” she patted his arm. “You’re not my type either. Of course that doesn’t mean I don’t think you look incredible in that suit.”
He grunted.
“I’m going to go get another non-alcoholic beverage. Can I get you one?”
“No,” he grumbled. But he did watch her walk away.
What the hell was he doing? He was a professional. He didn’t get personally involved with his clients. Yet here he was pissed off because he wasn’t her type. He bet money that Dante Wrede was her type. The shiny golden boy oozing with charm and money.
“Mr. Saint?”
Embarrassed that he’d been caught staring at Waverly’s retreating ass, Xavier turned. It was one of the guards from downstairs.