by M. S. Parker
I was still wallowing in self-pity and lethargy when someone knocked on my door.
For a moment, I thought Paige had come back, that my attempt at being flirtatious and charming had actually worked and she would let me lose myself in her body for a few blissful hours.
But then I remembered how disgusted she’d looked by the time she left. Disgusted…and relieved.
“Reb, open up! I have a key, but if you make me walk in on you naked again, I swear I’ll take a picture and sell it to the highest bidder.”
Erik.
Great.
I forced myself up and to the door. When I opened it, I saw it wasn’t just Erik, but Jace and Alix too.
Even better.
“Come in,” I said, not even bothering to try to curb my annoyance. “Shouldn’t you all be living out your happily-ever-afters or whatever it is you do now?”
“Don’t be an ass, Reb,” Erik said mildly.
Sanders had been my college roommate at Columbia during the two years I’d gone there. I’d met his cousin one of the times Alix had come up to visit. The three of us had met Jace Randell at Gilded Cage, a club where people like us went to explore our desires without judgment.
These three were my closest friends, and in a lot of ways, they were closer to me than my own sisters. Each one was an artist of some kind. Jace was a painter slash sculptor. Alix, a photographer. Erik was the writer of the group. The four of us understood what it meant to think and create differently than most. If I told them that I was struggling with my music, they’d immediately know that it meant more than simply an issue with work. Because they’d all been there too.
Not now though, I remembered as I caught a glimpse of the ring on Alix’s left hand. All three of them hadn’t just found the loves of their lives recently, but also their muses. All of them were creating bigger and better things than they had before they’d met their soulmates.
Erik’s newest book was flying off the shelves, and everyone wanted to know the real identity of Erika Summers. Being around him and his girlfriend, Tanya, was like having a front-row seat to the sappiest romantic comedy in the world.
Jace and his ‘true love,’ Savannah Birch, had another of those sickeningly sweet relationships, complete with overcoming odds. She’d woken up something in him, in his art, that I’d never seen before. His most recent show had been fantastic.
Then there was Alix. He’d just married his muse, Sine McNiven, even though she’d left him for more than a month without a word about where she’d gone or why she’d left. He hadn’t been able to work the entire time she’d been gone, and the two of us had commiserated over our artistic block and the women responsible for them. Then she’d come back from Ireland, announced she was pregnant, and now the two of them were planning their nursery.
I was happy for them. Granted, the odds weren’t exactly in their favor when it came to long-term happiness. If they didn’t crash and burn like most couples, then chances were they’d end up like my parents, with one outliving the other, always aware of that aching, bleeding emptiness where their other half had been. I hoped that my friends would make it work, that they’d build something lasting that wouldn’t get their hearts broken in the end.
But I wasn’t going to hold my breath.
“You look like shit,” Jace said as the guys followed me back into my living room. “And so does your place. Don’t you have a cleaning service?”
I shrugged and sat back down. “I canceled it for a while. Didn’t want anyone bugging me.”
“I figured that staying at a hotel would manage that,” Alix said as he disappeared into the kitchen.
“You guys have been listening to the news.” I made it a statement rather than a question.
“Is it wrong?” Erik asked, his expression serious. “Are they exaggerating?”
I reached for one of the beers Alix brought out, but he handed it to Erik instead. I glared at him, but answered Erik’s question, “Depends on who’s telling the story.”
“You really punched Senator Mitchell’s son in the middle of a fundraiser?” Alix chuckled.
Less than a month ago, Alix had been devastated, barely sleeping, drinking too much, and now he was laughing. He’d been as pathetic as I was, and I hadn’t even loved Mitzi.
The revelation made me frown. I’d never actually stopped to think about it, but it was the truth. She’d been my first serious girlfriend, the only serious one, and we’d been together for ten months before the shit hit the fan.
But I didn’t love her. I hadn’t ever loved her.
Which meant I couldn’t blame a broken heart for what I’d been doing.
Shit.
Before I could become too introspective, Alix spoke, “Look, I’m not going to bust your balls. I’ve been there. But if you miss my show this weekend, or you come in wasted, I’m going to kick your ass.”
I didn’t need to look at him to know he was serious. I nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”
Erik leaned forward. “All right, Reb, let’s cut the shit. This has been going on long enough. You need to get your act together.”
I stared at him for a moment before laughing. “Come on. I watched all three of you do your own downward spirals after you had women problems. I was there for you and didn’t tell you what to do.”
“That’s true,” Jace said.
“But we didn’t carry on for three months, cause random destruction of property, and commit an assault,” Alix pointed out.
“Also true,” Jace added.
Rather than snapping at them like I wanted to, telling them that they didn’t get it because they’d all found what they’d been looking for, I flipped them off. “I think, after a lifetime of being the guy who always does the right thing I’ve earned the right to a couple mistakes.”
I didn’t see them look at each other, but I felt it. I knew they were trying to figure out how far to push because I’d been on their side of things, needing to decide what to say and how to say it.
“You guys don’t have to worry,” I said, swiping Alix’s drink. “Chester got me a PR rep.”
“Seriously?” Erik said, his expression incredulous. “That’s his solution for all of this?”
I glanced at him. “He trusts me to deal with my shit on my own. Paige’s job is to fix my image.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Jace asked, “Your PR rep’s name is Paige?”
The tension in the air eased. “That it is,” I said. “And she’s hot. A pain in the ass, but what a fine ass.”
As my friends laughed and started talking about their significant others, I let my thoughts turn to my hot PR rep and that fine ass of hers.
Seven
Paige
“He needs to be accessible,” I said, dictating to my phone as I twisted my chair back and forth. My fingers worked a stress ball as I passed it back and forth between my hands. The repetitive movement was soothing, helping me stay focused on the task at hand.
Or as focused as I could be when my attention kept wanting to wander in inappropriate directions.
Like to the way his jeans had shown off strong, lean legs and a firm ass that made me want to sink my teeth–
“If we want people to forgive him for being human, he has to show them that he’s human. No suits or tuxes. He needs to avoid the black-tie charity events where the attendees are all wealthy.”
He definitely looked good in a tux. Something about the contrast between his tattoos and slightly scruffy rock star image, and the polished, debonair look just did it for me.
No. I needed to stop. Not just because he was a client, but because even if he wasn’t, nothing would happen between us. I wasn’t interested in being another notch on his bedpost. I had too much self-respect to act like I needed someone like him if I wanted to get off.
“During initial discussions, Mr. Union was unable to offer any suggestions about what could be done to improve his image. Recommendations to abstain from alcohol were met with silen
ce and barely concealed hostility, so there’s a possibility – probability – that Mr. Union’s antics aren’t yet over. We need to have a plan in place to deal with future instances.”
I really hoped that wasn’t going to be the case. I knew that, technically, it would be financially advantageous to have a client who repeatedly got into trouble and needed us to fix things. The bigger the project, the more billable hours. But I didn’t want this thing with Reb to turn out that way. Which meant I needed to go beyond a surface fix and find out the reasons behind his behavior.
I continued my dictation, “Cursory investigation into Mr. Union’s past revealed no known issues with alcohol or disorderly conduct, which begs the question…why now? What prompted a formerly almost-too-clean-for-a-rock-artist to suddenly go off the deep end?”
Just because he hadn’t made a public spectacle of himself until recently didn’t necessarily mean that something had happened in the past couple weeks. I’d seen several news stories from June that had talked about him breaking up with his girlfriend. His behavior hadn’t been called into question back then since it had appeared to be a relatively harmless bit of brooding. Maybe the reports were mistaken. Brooding could have been a cover for drinking, even drugs. I’d heard rumors that some coke had even been found in his hotel room. His manager had been the one to hire us, and he’d said alcohol was Reb’s drug of choice, but it wouldn’t be the first time a manager hadn’t known all of his client’s dirty little secrets. And it definitely wouldn’t have been the first time a manager had covered for one of his clients either.
I frowned as I squeezed the stress ball. Was Reb really the sort of man who’d be so broken up over a woman that he’d be drinking enough three months later to do what he’d done? Everything I’d observed about people in the entertainment industry, in general, told me that only a small percentage of them managed to have long-term relationships. Most of them went through romantic partners like they did clothes. The articles I’d read had said that Reb had been with his girlfriend for ten months. A lifetime for someone in his profession, but I still thought it seemed overly dramatic to still be so upset.
Unless he’d seen a future with her.
Was that even a possibility? I hadn’t seen anything in the news about him ring shopping, gossip about wedding venues. I didn’t remember any interviews where he or the girlfriend – Misty? Mitzi? – said anything about marriage, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. They could be one of those couples who didn’t believe in institutionalized marriage.
I needed more insight before I could do anything, I reluctantly admitted to myself.
“Mr. Union has been relatively private about his personal life,” I said into my phone. “Most media reports are based on speculations or interviews with people close to Mr. Union rather than direct conversations with him. To get real insight into his life, I’ll have to talk directly to the sources of the articles. Or…” I paused, torn between anticipation and annoyance, “I’ll have to speak to Mr. Union himself.”
I glanced at the time. Nearly noon.
I stopped recording and set my stress ball down on the desk. I could track down people who knew Reb, ask them what they knew. They’d probably be able to fill in the blanks I needed.
But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to talk to him. Even though I tried to tell myself that it was because it was a simpler solution than going to several different sources, I knew a part of me wanted to see him again.
I stood and smoothed down my skirt. Physical attraction wasn’t going to stop me from doing my job the best way possible. He was good-looking. So were a lot of men. I’d resisted the charms of better men than Reb Union.
I’d go to see him after lunch, ask him about the things I needed to know, and then I’d go straight back to the office and put together a strategy to improve his image quickly. Once he was back on top, I could move on to other clients and forget all about him.
The nagging voice in the back of my head piped up that it might be easier said than done.
It wasn’t as hard to knock on his door the second time because I knew what to expect. More or less anyway.
“Back again?” Reb asked as he opened the door. “Come on in.”
I followed him into the apartment, noting the empty bottles on the table in front of the couch. Unless he’d had friends over and hadn’t cleaned up yet, he hadn’t taken my ‘advice’ about not drinking.
“Sorry,” he said, turning to face me. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
I gestured toward the table. “So these are all yours?”
He shrugged and shuffled his feet, thrusting a hand through his bronze hair. “Some friends stopped by last night.”
I raised an eyebrow. Friends or not, he’d been drinking already this morning. “I came by to talk to you about a few things, but if I’m interrupting…”
“S’okay.” The words weren’t slurred, but they definitely weren’t precise either. “You can stay. Want something to drink?”
I took a couple steps toward him, fixing my sternest expression on my face. “You need to take this seriously, Mr. Union.”
“Mr. Union?” He snorted a laugh, the sound almost enough to startle a smile out of me.
That was definitely not the sort of laugh I expected from someone like him. With a mother who was a visible member of New York high society, I’d seen numerous pictures of him schmoozing with the cream of the crop. People who weren’t just rich, but old money. Politicians and philanthropists. The kind of people who practiced their smiles and laughs in front of a mirror so they’d be absolutely perfect. Not too big or loud, not too small or soft.
Definitely not the kind of people who snorted.
Still, I couldn’t let his response go unanswered. “Do you find this amusing?”
He closed the distance between us, and under the smell of whiskey, I caught a whiff of soap. At least he’d taken a shower since I’d seen him last.
“Nothing about this is amusing, Miss Ryce.” He frowned, his gaze dropping to my mouth before coming back up to meet my eyes. “Is it Mrs. or Miss? I don’t see a ring, but that doesn’t always mean single.”
I fought the urge to cross my arms, knowing that with him looming over me, it would come across as defensive rather than annoyed. “Let’s stick to the matter at hand, Mr. Union.”
“Reb,” he corrected. “I get enough ‘Mr. Union’ from brown-nosers and ass-kissers.”
“We need to maintain professional boundaries,” I argued. “I’m not here to be your friend.”
“That’s good,” he said, his voice deepened, roughened. “Because I have enough friends.”
I could feel a flush creeping up my neck, and I clenched my hands into fists. “Mr–”
“You’re an employee, right?” he asked, taking a step in my direction. “I mean, technically, I hired you, right?”
Reluctantly, I nodded. I wasn’t sure I liked where this was heading.
“Then I’m your boss.” He grinned, his eyes lighting up. “And I’m telling you to call me Reb.”
In the back of my mind, I could hear my mother telling me to pick my battles. She told me more than once that was how she’d kept a balance when it came to discipline. Treating him like a child seemed like the best way to go.
“All right…Reb.” I spoke through gritted teeth, but it was enough to satisfy him.
“Thank you. Now, tell me, Paige,” his voice slid across my name like a caress, “is there a Mr. Ryce?”
I shook my head. This was a bad idea. I was supposed to be getting background information on him, not the other way around. How had I lost control of the situation so quickly?
“Is there someone gunning for the position?”
“No,” I said, hating the breathless way the word came out. “I’m single. Now that we got that out of the way, can we–”
My sentence was cut off as Reb wrapped a hand around the back of my neck and pulled me to him, our mouths crashing together in an explosive kiss.
Eight
Paige
For the first time in my life, my mind failed me. I couldn’t think about anything other than the heat of his mouth on mine, the taste of expensive whiskey when he slid his tongue across mine, the feel of his strong fingers on my neck.
I only had a few kisses to compare this one to, but I had a feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d had a thousand kisses before. Nothing else would feel like this. Like every cell in my body was suddenly awake in a way it’d never been before. Awake, and aware of this new humming electricity that flowed between the two of us.
Almost involuntarily, my arms went up and around his neck, his hair soft against my fingers. He made a sound in the back of his throat, a hungry, desperate sound, and then his free hand gripped my hip. When his teeth grazed my bottom lip, the shock of it jarred me back to my senses, and I took a step back.
My breath was ragged, and as I looked at Reb, I could see that he was just as affected as I was. That didn’t make me feel any better though. If anything, I felt worse. My first client and I’d kissed him…no, he’d kissed me.
“I’m flattered, Mr. Union.”
His entire body went stiff, his expression hardening.
“But I’m here as your PR rep, nothing else. I shouldn’t have let…I mean, that shouldn’t have happened.”
He nodded and turned away. “Of course not. Sorry about that. Misread the situation.”
“It’s all right,” I conceded, but something about the slump of his shoulders told me that something was off. This wasn’t just some rejected kiss to him, though I wasn’t arrogant enough to think that this was because of me specifically.