by Colet Abedi
There’s a long pause, then my mom throws another bomb. “Are you a lesbian, honey?”
“No, Mom, I’m not a lesbian,” I mutter before popping a strawberry in my mouth. This conversation will definitely go down in the books. I can’t wait to relive it with my brother, Colt. He’ll be sad he missed out on this moment, given the jokes he’d probably be cracking, but I know he’ll appreciate the retelling.
“Then why aren’t you bringing home any young men and having sex like all the other people your age?” My mom looks totally perplexed.
“How do you know I’m not doing that?” I stop chopping the fruit and stare at her with my hand on my hip. I know she can see my indignation. “I don’t live here anymore, remember?”
“Oh, Kerri. I know my daughter. You might talk a big game to your friends, but I can read you like an open book,” she says to my surprise. “You’ll know what I’m talking about when you have children of your own.”
“That’s not happening any time soon.” I shake my head and resume cutting the cantaloupe, completely thrown by how my mother has picked up on my game. I’ll never admit it to her though, or anyone for that matter.
“So tell me what it is. Is there something wrong, dear?” Mom won’t let up. “Or are you asexual? I’ve been watching that new show, Euphoria, and it’s really opened my eyes on your generation.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re actually worried I’m not having sex with multiple random partners?” Seriously? I’m not even going to address the fact that my mom is taking generational lessons from a television drama.
“I’m worried you don’t have healthy desires like other people your age,” she says. “And I want to make sure I didn’t do something to mess you up.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask in disbelief.
“I just don’t understand,” she says, continuing as if it’s her fault I’m not jumping into bed with every guy I encounter. “When are you going to bring someone home for me to meet?”
So that’s her point. It all boils down to her need for a grandchild, a request that’s plagued my brother and me since we each turned twenty-one. I should have known. Given my not-so-maternal instincts, she had let up on me for a while, just bugging my brother about it since he’s older, but I guess she’s back on my case.
“Do I need to leave the room?” My father’s voice is like a sonic boom echoing in the kitchen.
Ugh. How much of this conversation did he overhear? Sex talk with my mom is one thing. Dad listening in is another.
I turn around and give my dad an awkward smile. “Mom is trying to get under my skin. She’s just joking around.”
“No, I’m not,” she says to my chagrin. “But we can tell your father that if it makes you feel better.”
“I think it makes both Kerri and I feel better,” Dad answers, coming to the rescue. He gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You made my morning, honey.”
“I know.” I give him a big smile and pinch his cheek. I’ve missed him, and I can’t help but give him another hug.
The only resemblance I have to my father is my eyes. They’re the same color, translucent blue, and shape, and they change with our moods. My dad is still a handsome man and, like my mom, takes good care of himself. His hair might be salt and pepper, but he’s sharp. He’ll be working forever. It’s really what he lives for, and he’s damn good at it.
There’s a reason he’s known as a shark in business.
“Let’s carry all of this to the table,” my mom orders.
We each grab a few things and settle into the dining room. It’s casual and cozy—totally normal—and I’m glad I decided to come home last night. I guess it’s another thing I can thank Trouble for.
I see those freaking eyes of his flash before me, and I practically groan. God, he was so hot. Like dream-guy hot.
“Something wrong? Do you want something else?” Mom obviously heard my groan and now looks offended.
Why did I have to think of him?
“No!” I take a big bite of eggs and grab a croissant from the bread basket. “The eggs are perfect. Swear. I was just thinking about how much I have coming up this week. I’m going to be non-stop.”
She looks pleased.
“So tell us about that job of yours.” My dad sounds annoyed, and I’m not surprised. “Are you still a slave to those Hollywood people?”
I give him the side-eye.
He hates my job, like loathes, despises, detests. Hates.
He wants me to come work for him, but it’s never going to happen. My dad’s in the business of hostile take-overs, going after companies that are about to go under and buying them for cheap, then rebuilding and selling them for an astronomical amount of money.
And boy is he good at it. Being mean. And cold.
It’s a brutal business, especially when you’re dealing with family-owned companies—CEOs who have real stories, emotional connections with what they do, what they’ve built. It’s tragic to watch and be part of. At least for me it is. But Dad built his life on it, and much to his dismay, I can’t stomach any part of it. He’s tried to convince me many times, but I could never even imagine being part of that world.
Our saving grace is that at least one Harrington has joined the team—Colt, who I like to call the golden child.
My brother is perfect, exactly what you’d want from a kid. He was always good in school. He was the freaking quarterback. And even though he’s my brother—I say this not in a creepy Game of Thrones way—he’s a really good-looking guy. Women love the heck out of him. When I was in junior high and high school, all my girlfriends had crushes on him. It was annoying. And then he got engaged and they all thankfully backed off until he broke with his fiancé.
“I asked you a question, Kerri.” My dad’s voice is stern.
I flash him a big smile and bat my eyes. “Work is great.”
He doesn’t like that answer. “I never took you for someone who’d prefer a mailroom job over a respectable position in a multi-billion-dollar company.”
My father may sound casual, but I know what lies beneath. Jon Harrington hates to lose, even to his kid. His favorite kid, I might add. Colt knows it and doesn’t seem to mind at all. I’m his precious daughter, the definition of daddy’s little girl.
I shrug and stick a piece of croissant in my mouth. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“Or,” he says, sounding quiet and calculated, “you take after your mother in that way.”
A low blow.
So here it is, the part of my dad I can’t stand. When he makes little digs at my mom like this. Like she’s not enough or is lacking. If it annoys the crap out of me, I can only imagine how it feels to her. I don’t even dare look her way because I don’t want her to think I feel sorry for her. She’d hate that more than his comment.
“That’s right, Dad.” I give him a big smile. “I’m awesome and fearless, just like Mom. The easy way would be to work for you and take a salary I don’t deserve, doing a job I’d hate. The hard way is taking a job where I have to work at least sixty hours a week, making next to nothing, to try to claw my way up to finding the right projects and taking the best jobs to become a successful film producer—which, by the way, is like winning the lotto.”
“I love you, honey.” My mom sounds thankful. “And I’m really so proud of your bravery.”
“I love you too.” I give her a reassuring smile, then look back at my dad who now has some serious grumpy face. He hates it when I prove my point. It makes him feel inferior, and he has a big problem losing even an argument. I sigh and lean forward to squeeze his cheek. “And I love you, Daddy. Despite the fact you think you always need to get your way.”
He shakes his head in dismay but grabs my hand. “I just think you’re worth more than that job.”
“I love the job.” It’s more than a slight exaggeration—because I’m the lowest person in the industry pecking order, I get all the shit jobs—but I
’ve got a point to prove.
“Let’s change the subject and talk about something else,” my mother says.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask.
“Tell me and your father what you did last night.” She’s like a Rottweiler with a bone. Just relentless.
Well, Mom, I went to a secret industry sex club that I’ve frequented since my late teens. Last night I met the hottest guy I’ve ever set eyes on, and he said he wants to fuck me. And not only that, he said he’d pay for sex with me. What do you think? Marriage material or what? Should I have a baby with him?
That’s what I want to say.
Unfortunately, I can’t. I give her a look that says I don’t want to talk about it, but Mom continues anyway. I’m not surprised.
She shakes her head at me. “Why are you being so quiet?”
“It was just another Saturday night,” I lie through my teeth.
My mom gives me a thoughtful look as she scrutinizes my face. “But you’re usually much more forthcoming.”
“And let’s not forget how she always likes to shock us,” my father says dryly before he takes a sip of his coffee.
I shrug and pick up my drink, avoiding their inquisitive looks.
“So what gives?” Mom asks. “Did you get into some sort of trouble?”
I choke on my coffee.
Chapter Four
Kerri
I last for little over a month.
I go from hating to loving my job in a crazy manner.
I love how it keeps me so busy I don’t have time to think about anything but getting some assignment done for one jerk or another. Every time I daydream about Trouble, I’m called off on some errand that will keep me so occupied it won’t let me go down that road.
I love that I get to hang out with Wylder during the day, since I practically never see her at night anymore. Not just because of work, but since she’s now dating the guy she lost her virginity to, who happens to be one of the most famous directors in Hollywood. Jamie freaking Donovan.
I know. No shit.
I knew he looked familiar that night, and Wylder was briefly mad at me because I didn’t spot the celebrity. I think she believes that because I’m from LA, I should know who everyone is, which is crazy, but whatever. There’s my friend for you. But at least Wylder is having a ball.
And apparently lots of sex.
Lots and lots of sex.
I can’t believe I’m so jealous of her, that she’s now unequivocally had way more sex than me.
What’s worse is I can’t believe I’m falling off the wagon and going to see Trouble.
I am. I know it. And the motherfucker knows it too. He predicted it that night, and he wasn’t wrong, but I bet I lasted longer than he thought I would. At least that’s something…
Regardless, I have to see him again because I need to know if my reaction to him was a fluke, some freak accident. Maybe that’s why I was so turned on by him. Maybe he isn’t as hot I thought. I mean, I had consumed two drinks rather quickly before I went in the room, so I could have been inebriated. Or maybe the lighting was off and it was just my adrenaline.
Highly unlikely, but still…I have to be sure.
So here comes the part of my job I hate.
As soon as I made my mind up to see him again, I was given the worst assignment ever. Now I’m stuck running out at ten thirty at night for some lame actor. He needs to read a script, and I have to sit there while he does it. Considering his infamous drug habit, I could well be there all night, and if that happens, I won’t be able to see Trouble for another week.
A vision of Trouble’s gorgeous face flashes before my eyes, and butterflies twirl around in my stomach. Yes, butterflies. How lame am I? God, I think I’m going to throw up. Why would anyone ever enjoy this feeling?
My mind races down the Trouble rabbit hole at an epic speed even for me. What if he’s forgotten about me? The last thing I want is for Trouble to forget me.
What if he found someone else to watch?
To play cat and mouse with?
Now I think I really am going to be sick.
I lean against one of the tables in the interns’ conference room and try to talk myself off the ledge because Lord knows I might be about to jump. Sarah Jane, one of the new and always-wanting-to-please-everyone interns, takes that moment to bring me a package.
“This just arrived for you,” she says with that over-the-top smile. If she wasn’t so nice, the perma-grin would be super annoying. But she’s from the mid-west and still has stars in her eyes when it comes to the business.
All I want to do is burst that bubble she’s living in and let her in on the secret that she’ll eventually learn one day—Hollywood is just as hard and tough as any other business. The only perk is you get to play dress up and go to some amazing parties with beautiful people. But it’s just like any other industry—hard, sometimes cruel, and for the most part thankless. So you’d better love it with all of your heart or you’ll never last.
But I don’t want to be labeled a dream killer.
I take the sleek black, lacquer box, and in less than a second, I know it’s from him. It’s elegant. Mysterious. And intriguing.
Kind of like Pandora’s box…
Everything about it screams Trouble.
“I’m lucky I found you so quickly,” she talks a mile a minute. “It’s really such cool packaging and so many people commented on it.”
I get the feeling she wants to stick around to see what’s inside. But sadly for Sarah Jane, Pandora’s box is just for me.
“Thanks for bringing it for me.” I give her a polite smile, hoping she leaves sooner rather than later.
We share an awkward moment before she finally takes the hint and leaves me alone. I stare at the box. A black card with my name written with perfect penmanship in gold across the top is attached.
Kerri…
I open the envelope and my heart slams against my chest.
I want you wearing this the next time I see you.
-Trouble
I suck in a breath. Shit.
I open the box and sift through the black tissue paper to find a delicate black lace bra with matching underwear. The material is so fine I can’t wait to feel it against my skin. Kind of like him. A heat like I’ve never known moves through me and I revel in my reaction. It makes me feel alive.
Present. And fuck…desired.
The lingerie is beautiful. Exquisite actually. Trouble has impeccable taste.
And a discerning eye—he even knows my cup size.
Man-whore.
God, he’s hot.
More than anything, I wish the items in Pandora’s box didn’t intrigue me. I wish I could throw the lingerie in the case and send it back to him at the club, tell him to eff off, that there’s no way he’ll ever see me in it.
My fingers caress the material.
I can’t send it back.
Because I’m going to wear this for him.
Tonight.
“Whattcha got in there?” My roommate Tony walks toward me unexpectedly and nods at the box.
I snap it shut. “Nothing.”
“It looks like something to me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, hoping I don’t sound nervous.
“Are you sick or something?” His gaze flickers over my face. “You look and sound weird.”
Since we’re around the same height, he’s all up in my business, and I don’t appreciate it one bit. Tony is way too clever and rarely misses a thing. I’ve known him since we were kids and I love him like a brother, even though sometimes he can be the most annoying person on the planet. But ever since he started hooking up with the cougar, an older agent he’s had some crazy encounters with, he’s taken on a certain edge. He has more…swagger? There’s definitely something different about him. Intriguing, for sure.
He’s looking…dare I say, kind of hot?
He’s a good-looking guy, the traditional, safe type, but not m
y speed at all, and even though I’ve caught him checking me out on multiple occasions, I know I’m not his type. I think we both know we’d end up killing each other. Like Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas in War of the Roses.
Seriously. It would be ugly.
“You’re weird,” I reply, annoyed and avoiding his gaze.
He looks at me as if I’ve asked him to eat glass. “You’re definitely off. That comeback wasn’t clever enough.”
Annoying. I guess I’m going to have to prove my point.
“What would you like me to say?” I cross my arms and get in his face, making sure to breathe heavily. “That I think I might have caught hand-foot-and-mouth disease from John Hartley’s kids when I dropped off the package for him yesterday? I heard they’re all infected, and I think I saw some red blisters in my mouth. It’s a sign and I’m freaking out…wait, where are you going?”
Tony jumps away from me as if his pants are on fire.
He looks horrified. It’s really hard to keep a straight face.
“How could you get close to me like that?” He dusts off his arms as if he could brush an illness away. “And the way you just breathed on me. Like a goddamn dragon from Game of Thrones!”
I wish I could hold in my laughter, but he looks too funny. I fall onto the table and laugh my ass off.
“You’re evil.” Tony shakes his head at me. “Like Single White Female evil.”
“Where is your sense of humor?” I shake my head. “Did Patricia suck it all out when she went down on you?”
Tony’s face turns bright red, and I think he might strangle me. He looks around and motions for me to shut up.
“What?” I ask in an innocent voice.
Patricia Weinberg is a powerful executive in the studio and happens to be married to Hollywood’s super agent. She made the moves on Tony one night, and he went for it. Since then, I feel like it’s been game on, but I can’t be sure. He’s too embarrassed to tell. But he’s got all the signs…
“Jezebel,” he hisses at me.
“Stop.” I bat my eyelashes. “I think I might cry.”