Sin for Me

by Lisa Marie Perry

  His eyes widened and his lips formed simple shapes. “Pardon me?”

  “Waxed. I’ve got fuzz—” She tucked the half-empty bottle under her arm to push up a sleeve. “See? Hip-hop starlets don’t tour the globe with hair on their arms, do they?”

  “You’re delightfully unassuming.”

  “That’s no answer. I should be mad at you—but I’m not.”

  “What did I do to earn your patience?”

  “You don’t wear too much cologne.” She reached for the old suitcase Adelaide had given her. It seemed unfair that he should haul all her junk to the door while her only burdens were her purse and bottled water. “My nose is sensitive to smell. Always has been, but I rely on it more these days. Strong fragrances—even ones I might enjoy—can be overwhelming. Offensive, sometimes.”

  “Pleasure to have pleased you, Ms. Lazarus.”

  “You’re funny, Grayson,” she said, for the first time trying out the name printed on the identification he’d shown her at the airport. If the company employed a host of folks who were witty, didn’t overdo it on the fragrances, and didn’t strut around as if they thought they had the world by the cock, then staying here might not be as traumatizing as she feared.

  The prospect of riches beyond her fanciest dreams was all well and good, but she harbored concerns because Devil’s Music’s reputation preceded it and she was too fucking old to be naive. The label hadn’t called on her out of charity. This was about trade. They’d give her fame and money. She’d give them…everything.

  Focusing on what lay before them, Grayson led her to the front steps. He moved quickly, affording her no time to admire the landscaping or romanticize the architecture or stare too long at the people who passed her on the wide, beautiful staircase.

  She was of little interest to them, anyway. No one would look too closely at the CEO’s lowly personal assistant. As per their agreement, only a select few individuals were aware of Alexis’s actual role in the company. Even fewer would have access to her. To most, she would be a temp working and living on the estate and picking up the slack while Emma Toledo’s executive assistant was on vacation.

  They wouldn’t know that Devil’s Music was hanging its last hope on her. They wouldn’t know her entire purpose here was born from a lie.

  Ready to embark on the job she was being paid to do, Alexis thanked the driver with a smile after he stopped in the foyer to transfer her bags to a member of the house staff. As she relinquished her suitcase to him, the pictures on the wall startled her. Everything was so much larger than her life in Breaux Bridge—even the wall art. Photographs framed in gold. Marble under her feet. Exotic floral aromas seducing her finicky sense of smell.

  The butler stepped in her way, catching her attention. As he spoke, he exaggerated his facial movements. Lord bless him for trying to meet her halfway. “Is there something I can get you before I show you upstairs?”

  So formal. She fought to not narrow her eyes. He might be Benson on the clock, but she’d bet the discount-find shirt on her back that once he punched out he cut up ’bout as good as anyone this city turned out. Alexis was the primmest hostess to show you to a table and the friendliest mechanic you’d ever want to touch your ride. Once she was off duty, however, she threw down. It was what Mel had liked about her—that she was chock-full of surprises.

  “I’m trying not to fall victim to culture shock,” she told the butler. “This is all so spectacular.”

  It wasn’t that she didn’t have a pot to piss in back home, but here she was in the finest misses’ department offerings she could find on the rack in JCPenney, and the guy carrying her bags was outfitted in a trim suit that could easily be Z Zegna or Hickey Freeman.

  “You’ll be all right.”

  Sure, like she’d take his word for it. He thought she was here to fetch Emma Toledo’s coffee, take her designer threads to the dry cleaner, and schedule her spa appointments. Truthfully, she would engage in some of those tasks, because playing the part of a PA was part of her cover.

  Cover. How clandestine it sounded. She was strutting into not just a new life but a double life. PA to the CEO on the surface, hip-hop star in the making underneath.

  The butler answered her smile with one of his own, and she allowed him to think he calmed her nerves. Mounting the stairs, she braced her senses. The assault of fragrances and movement came fast as people strode around her with purpose.

  When the butler set down her luggage and opened a massive door, he swept his hand forward and she took the invitation to precede him into the suite.

  Oh, MawMaw, look what I got myself into.

  Luxury was an inadequate word for the expensive beauty that surrounded her. She set her purse on a fancy, intricately carved chair that probably carried a higher value than her house and car combined. How many royal asses had sat on this thing?

  After showing her a list of contacts, he excused himself quickly, and she imagined he was relieved to lose himself among the hearing.

  Alexis took a deep, silent breath, then pulled out her cell phone, activated the camera app, and began to record a leisurely video tour of her new stomping grounds. She wouldn’t share it publicly but thought that after this was all over, her grandmother might appreciate the art and history in the details of these rooms.

  Disappearing into a vulgarly large closet—okay, for real, who kept fresh flower arrangements in a closet?—she sighed at the decor and felt a little sheepish about tarnishing it with the stuff she’d packed.

  Admiring the custom shelving and displays, she was so distracted that several moments passed before she realized a new scent had been introduced to the closet. It was feminine. It wasn’t strictly perfume, also holding the subtle natural fragrance of someone’s body chemistry.

  She turned, phone poised sideways, and startled.

  Emma Toledo—dramatic all over, from the gold of her hair to the pure black of her short dress to the shiny red painted on her lips—wore a blank expression. She held a platter crowded with a polished teapot and a dome-covered plate.

  Nudging the flower arrangement a few inches to free up some space on the closet island and unburden herself of the platter, Emma put her slim manicured hands in front of her and began to make fluid motions.

  She was signing.

  “The Devil’s Music CEO is speaking my language?” Alexis figured her words came out haughty, but she wasn’t expecting this. Google, the best companion a suspicious-as-fuck woman could ask for, had informed her that one of Emma’s many talents—being richer than the Lord being the most important, of course—was a command of several languages. She was born richer than Alexis’s hometown and made a career producing rap music. But what surprised Alexis was that Emma chose to sign instead of rattling off a conversation and demanding that the deaf lip-reader keep up.

  I need you to delete that video. Any pictures, too.

  Alexis frowned at her boss. She didn’t think she’d ever shown blatant defiance toward Adelaide or her supervisors at the inn back home, but damn it, she was hot and kind of nervous, and Emma, who was no question the richest of them all, didn’t have the rich-person smell Alexis was so skilled at detecting. She didn’t like folks who sneaked up on her.

  They’re for me, she signed back in protest. I’m not going to post them on the Internet.

  Emma’s face didn’t change. Nor did her mind, evidently. I don’t care.

  I want to show my grandmother.

  The woman’s hands and fingers practically shot fire as she signed with emphasis. I. Don’t. Care. Give me the phone.

  Alexis threw it onto the tray. Money was great and all, but she detested being treated like an inmate or a child who didn’t know what was best for her own friggin’ life. Not trusting her hands, which itched to flip off Rich Bitch CEO, she used her voice. “Where’s my crew? Dante Bishop, the producers, yada, yada. I’m ready to get rolling on this.”

  Emma tapped and swiped her thumb, manipulating the screen. Did she intend to eras
e the photos Alexis had snapped in the Atlanta Airport, too? She lifted her face. “The fun shit happens later. First, meetings.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Actually, yes, you’re lucky.” Emma frowned slightly at something on the phone, then tapped a few times and handed it back. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Fuck with me and you’ll lose it.”

  “But your label isn’t saving me. I’m saving y’all.”

  Emma glared now. “What makes you say that?”

  Alexis shrugged. “We’ve got Wi-Fi and tabloid magazines and cable TV in Breaux Bridge. I heard all about this company’s troubles. Moniqua Prenz is bending y’all over and you need me to set things right.”

  “We need you to cooperate, Lex.”

  “Alexis.”

  “My colleagues and I decided your name will be Lex once you debut. Lex Lazarus.”

  “Well, I don’t like it. Alexis is a Louisiana home girl. Lex is…I don’t know. I mean, it rhymes with sex.”

  Emma blinked, clearly failing to see the problem with that. “Which works for your brand. Which we’ll discuss in greater detail in our meetings.” She glanced at her watch and her red lips pursed. “Go ahead and get settled. Help yourself to the tray. I’ll be back to show you around.”

  “Don’t sneak up on me next time.”

  “Lock your door and no one will. Signalers have been installed in this suite. Contrary to whatever you think about me and my colleagues, we want you to live comfortably here.”

  “That won’t be possible. This is a glorified Alcatraz. Installing a few flashing lights won’t change that.”

  Emma visibly sighed. “Lex, if you don’t want to be here—”

  “It’s Alexis.”

  “Artists like you aren’t so rare,” the woman threatened.

  “Yet y’all chose me.”

  Emma appeared to regroup, and gave Alexis a forced smile. “Okay, we got off on the wrong foot. Can we go back to the beginning?”

  Whose beginning? Theirs—when Alexis was taken off guard by Emma Toledo’s gentle fragrance? Or perhaps the moment when Dante Bishop and Chelsea Coin showed up in Breaux Bridge early, carrying out some sneak attack to catch her living her life?

  “I spent years wishing I could go back, Emma. Back to when I could hear and be normal. It can’t happen. That’s life, and even someone as privileged as you can’t change it. So go. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can piss and unpack in peace.”

  Alexis followed several paces behind as Emma walked through the suite, and after she vanished, Alexis locked the door. “What the fuck am I doing here? What the fuck am I doing to myself?”

  No one answered. She was alone, and it was too late to turn back.

  An hour later, she was freshened up and both her skin and mood had become acclimated to the temperature of the place. But the transmitters hadn’t flashed, signaling anyone’s arrival at her suite. After another thirty minutes, concern began to pebble on her arms.

  Maybe she’d overstepped with the CEO and Emma was already making arrangements to toss her ass back to Louisiana.

  Alexis wouldn’t let it happen. There were signed papers in play. She’d left her grandmother and quit her hostessing job back home to live the Devil’s Music lie—and fuck anyone who thought they could cut her out now.

  Suddenly there was a burst of light, stealing her attention, and she made her way to the suite’s double doors.

  Flinging open the door, she schooled her expression into a neutral one, because what she sure as hell didn’t want right now was another lecture.

  Especially not from this man.

  For one thing, she severely doubted Joshua Drake was the type to lecture. He looked like a man who reacted with passion and force, who punished, who nursed an addiction to retribution. Crossing him might not be the smartest idea.

  But it could be fun.

  Testing the waters, testing him, she smiled. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Your ass in the boardroom.”

  She was being summoned? “Can it wait? Your wife is coming back to give me a tour of this place. And I think I want to do some sightseeing.”

  “That shit can wait. This can’t.” And because he was married to the woman on top and owned a slice of the company and was standing in her doorway, she complied.

  Joshua cut a path for her through the busy hall traffic. His clothes couldn’t hide that he possessed one gorgeous, muscular body. Too bad. He was such an asshole that she couldn’t amuse herself thinking dirty thoughts about him. Whatever he might be saying as he walked was lost to her, but she could sense from the tight tension in his back that he was riled up.

  Well, Jesus. All she’d done was shown up. She hadn’t any time to really piss anyone off.

  Unless…

  No. If the background check she knew had been run on her had come back clean, then Chelsea, Emma, and Joshua couldn’t possibly know—

  Was this what she’d look forward to? Every moment looking over her shoulder worried that she’d be found out?

  The boardroom was empty save for Emma Toledo folded into a chair at the head of a massive table. But seconds after Joshua and Alexis entered, Chelsea came striding in with Dante Bishop shadowing her.

  If she could choose one ally in this room, it’d be Dante. He got her, even if he didn’t realize it. Yeah, he’d been born into this business, but he knew how to tune it out…how to be an average person who used his hands to work. And there was something safe about him.

  Emma began to speak, signing for Alexis’s benefit. “My afternoon’s overbooked, so I’m going to get to the point. Chelsea and Dante, are you aware that the woman you checked out in Louisiana is a lesbian?”

  Alexis didn’t wait for Chelsea and Dante’s expressions to register any emotion. Her eyes snapped to Emma. “Why did you say that like an accusation?” Slapping a southern princess in her own kingdom would get her thrown off the premises quick, but she’d take the risk. Then she signed, How did you find out?

  I saw the pictures on your phone.

  She’d seen the pictures of Alexis with Mel. Those moments were private, not to be shared with anyone else, and Emma Toledo had ravaged it all and then outed her in a boardroom.

  “You brought me here to be ambushed,” Alexis said to Joshua.

  “Is what Emma said true?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Is what she said true, damn it?”

  “No.” They wanted the truth, did they? “I’m not a lesbian. I’m not straight, either. I’m bisexual.”

  “When we visited you in Louisiana, you mentioned someone named Mel,” Chelsea pointed out.

  “Melanie. She was my girlfriend. She’s dead.” Alexis shook her head at Emma. “I keep her pictures on my phone because I miss her and need to have her close. Not that you stopped to consider me when you rounded up your friends to come down on me.”

  “You should’ve told us,” Emma said, her eyes free of regret.

  “So it matters that I’m bi?”

  “It matters that you lied.”

  “No one asked me. Technically I didn’t lie.”

  “You hid the truth. I knew you were hiding something.”

  “Why does this detail matter? I sing, rap, play instruments…Wait a fucking minute. Lex Lazarus, the character you want me to play, is supposed to be straight, isn’t she? Since I’m playing the part, who I fuck and who I love affects my downloads and your subscribers. That’s what’s got y’all drawers in a twist. This is insane.”

  “It’s business,” Emma said. “Sometimes that means personal sacrifice. Your brand’s our priority.”

  “Fuck the brand.”

  “We want to maximize your audience,” Chelsea added.

  “Fuck the audience, too, if you mean to parade me around as a sex object for millions of men who care more about screwing me than listening to my music. I’m not here for that.”

  “Then you’re being stubborn and naive.”

&
nbsp; “I’m leaving. I want out.” Alexis was about to bolt when Dante got in her way. He’d been quiet, and she dreaded whatever he’d say next, because she was certain it would kill his chances of ever being chosen as her ally.

  But he surprised her by saying, “I’m gonna make that happen for you.”

  She paused, taken aback. “Is that so?”

  “You and I are getting the hell out of here. But we’re coming back. And by the time we do, they’ll have their shit together.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked warily.

  “The World of Coca-Cola.” He offered his arm. “Fuck everything else. It’s just you, me, and Coke.”

  —

  Christ, it was hot. Taking a few laps in the indoor pool offered little relief, since Dante’s body was still heated from his downtown run. The folks who ran shit around here didn’t like his tendency to take off when the mood struck, but he’d been cooped up in the recording studio every day since Alexis Lazarus’s arrival last week, and if he didn’t fight for time and space away from this place, he’d lose his grip. Tonight he’d returned invigorated yet exhausted and had invaded the pool house, stripping off sunglasses and sweaty clothes, diving into a deep blue abyss.

  The coolness of the water was faint, nothing more than a tease, and it wasn’t enough to tame his heat. Final lap complete, he burst to the surface. Wet rivulets painted his skin as he squinted around the glass-walled room. Beyond his reflection was a world of stars and shadows.

  In his periphery, something shifted near the open entrance to the pool house living room. He had an audience.

  “How long have you been lurking there?” he asked Chelsea, beckoning her out of hiding.

  She emerged from behind a pillar. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there watching me?”

  Offering empty hands, she said, “No stopwatch. But I counted two laps. I forgot what a strong swimmer you are.” She watched him climb out of the pool. “So, you’re naked.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded in the direction of the clothes strewn on the stone floor. “And you’re not. There’s something I don’t like about that.”

  Chelsea wiggled her hips. They were wrapped in a tight skirt. A pale-colored shirt with a line of tiny buttons covered her round tits. He’d take his time undoing each of those buttons. Unveil her slowly.