One Night with the Sexiest Man Alive (The One Book 1)

by Ainslie Paton

  She would wreck him good, leave some lasting damage if he didn’t get a handle on this. “Listen, Teela. Good luck with your business, the new office and your strategic plan. Hassan is waiting. I’m not going to write you a note because I suck at writing notes, or send flowers or stay in touch, but if you should ever, I don’t know, need a hammy actor, I’m your guy.”

  “Oddly, I can’t see that happening.”

  And that was that. He watched while she tucked the box in her little suitcase. “Me either, but the offer is out there in case.”

  The sound of that zip closing and Teela pulling the handle of the bag up was the full stop on their weekend. “I’m ready,” she said, eyes down.

  “Right.”

  “Thank you for the underwear.”

  “Was only fair.”

  She looked up, her lips compressed, brows a concerned squiggle. “This is—I’ll. You’re.”

  His hands twitched at his sides. “If I kiss you again I won’t be gracious about letting you go.”

  That made her smile. “We had a good time.”

  “The best.”

  “Kiss me anyway, Sexiest Man Alive.”

  He winced. “Playing with fire, doll.”

  Neither of them moved. He’d called her doll because they were done. There’d been hundreds of kisses. He shouldn’t have needed one more, but it burned on his lips and then it flared in his chest when he caught her body to his and bent her over his arm, kissing her with enough heat to singe paint off the walls. The best. The best. The best.

  A gentleman should know when to say goodnight to a woman he admired. He set Teela on her feet, straightened her dress, and took her case to the elevator and called it.

  Cue an awkward pause he wished he could cut from the scene while they waited for it to arrive, no more words left to say, avoiding eye contact. This at least was familiar. That part where they’d had trouble getting goodbye to stick, that was a whole new experience.

  When the elevator arrived, he pushed her case inside, catching her hand as she stepped past and squeezing it. Their eyes met. Held. She crossed hers, making him laugh and miss his opportunity to kiss the back of her hand as he stepped back to avoid the closing doors.

  And she was gone.

  He went back to the bedroom. He needed sleep. Truth told, he felt a little queasy. Must’ve been the beer. And to top it off, for the first time since he’d strained it, his goddamn wrist pained.

  THIRTEEN

  Evie was sitting on the new couch when Teela wrestled her suitcase and bag of groceries inside her apartment.

  “Was there a bat signal?” she said. That came out sounding irritated, but she couldn’t remember ever being so happy to see Evie.

  Until the very last moment, Haydn hadn’t seemed like the love ’em and leave ’em stud he’d made himself out to be. But he’d called her doll and given her a dramatic Hallmark movie-of-the-week-style kiss that wrenched her neck and then neither of them had known what to say.

  Over the weekend he’d called her impatient girl and once my darling. The former was funny and the later was coated in the extraordinary sex they’d had and gorgeously appropriate at the time. Doll was the equivalent of lovely to meet you. All the best.

  And that, as they say in showbiz, is that.

  She kicked off her shoes and slumped on the couch as Evie took the groceries to the kitchen counter and unpacked them.

  “Two tubs,” Evie said holding up the Maggie Beer burnt fig, honeycomb and caramel in one hand and chocolate, coffee and biscuit in the other.

  “This is a two-tub breakup,” Teela said.

  “There’d be something wrong with him if it wasn’t.”

  “There is nothing wrong with him.” Despite the doll and the awkward goodbye and maybe owning too many dogs.

  Evie gestured with the tubs, raising one high and taking one low like a human scale of calorific compromise. Teela said, “Fig,” and Evie served two generous helpings into glass dessert dishes and brought them to the couch.

  Neither of them said anything for a while. It was all about the ice cream.

  Evie broke the peace. “I can’t believe you wore those shorts.” Of course, she’d seen the Facebook post. Wait. She’d been in a jumpsuit on the bridge. “What shorts?”

  Evie pulled a face and then grabbed her phone. And there they were on the front page of the Tele’s website. Well, Haydn was on the front page. Teela was essentially a backside for his arm to drape around. There was a cut-out of that photo zoomed in on his arm, his wrist brace, and her arse. Oh God. Those shorts weren’t the greatest, but it wasn’t likely anyone was going to know her by the shot.

  “I had to wear what you packed for me, remember.”

  Evie tapped her long-handled spoon on the edge of her dish. “Oh, that’s right. I was distracted by Hassan and they looked better in the drawer.”

  “How were you distracted by Hassan? You only do musicians and roadies.”

  “I rock the world of musicians, and music-adjacent hotties.”

  “What’s music adjacent mean?”

  “Roadies, photographers, stylists, agents, managers, publicists,” Evie ticked them off on her fingers, “and a late addition, chauffeurs.”

  “Did you bonk Hassan in my apartment?”

  “I wanted to bonk Hassan in your apartment, but I also wanted to eat Vietnamese food. So we ate and he told me he thinks Haydn really likes you and then he ran away because he found me scary.”

  “Most men find you scary.” In direct proportion to how little Evie pandered to their egos.

  “Most men are idiots.”

  It was annoying how often you could agree with that. “It’s not primary school and Hassan has known Haydn one day longer than I have. He knows nothing, Jon Snow.”

  “Did you see that arm around you? Did you clock the way that man was looking at you on the bridge?”

  Of course she’d seen that picture as well. “Sure, he likes me. And he’s a gentleman. I had an incredible time.”

  Evie eye-rolled. “That’s why you’re cranky as buggery.”

  “I’m tired. It’s not like I got a lot of sleep. And I have post-conference blues. Which is totally normal.” Post-show blues. Post-Haydn Delany blues. Two tubs weren’t going to be enough.

  “The boning was good, huh?”

  Teela closed her eyes and dropped her head to the back of the couch. “You have no idea. Every time we did it,” she made an explosion gesture, spirit fingers, twinkling, “it was more amazing.”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “You’re in serious trouble.”

  “I’m not.” Teela held her empty bowl out to Evie for a refill. “I knew what it was. One night with the Sexiest Man Alive that accidently turned into three nights and a couple of days. It’s not like I have time for anything more right now anyway.”

  “Accident is right.” Evie went to the kitchen and refilled their bowls. “That’s the thing about a one-night stand. One night. Maybe breakfast if you’re still getting on. Especially when you’re punching above your weight. I wouldn’t normally say that, but in this case, you know what I mean.”

  “He’s the Sexiest Man Alive and I’m a conference organizer who wears too-tight shorts from five seasons ago.”

  “Exactly. And you can count. You knew you were asking for trouble.”

  Playing with fire, doll.

  “I would do it again in a heartbeat.” Though her heart felt too sluggish to keep a decent beat right now. “That photo of my arse. He thought I might want to cash in on my notoriety.”

  Evie got up to get more ice cream. They were into the second tub now. “There could be a lot of money in that.” Given her job, she knew those kinds of things. “My weekend as Haydn Delany’s sex slave. Did you at least consider it?”

  “No. I was offended he’d think I’d do that.” She snorted. “I’m offended you think I should.”

  “There’ll be ten other wannabees trying
to make a deal by claiming your bum is theirs by now. It’s not like you can do anything to hurt his reputation. Even if you tried to have his alien space baby, people would still love him for making you pregnant with an extraterrestrial.”

  “He’s had a vasectomy.”

  “Miracle alien space baby.” Evie put the remains of the tub in the freezer. “So that’s true?”

  “Haydn Delany is not a man who wants to be trapped in a relationship that goes anywhere. Ever.”

  “They’re reversible.”

  “Men who don’t want to be trapped in a relationship?” Teela made a scoffing sound. “Not in my experience.” In her experience, men in a relationship they chose took the express route out if they didn’t get enough attention.

  “Vasectomies,” Evie said, handing her a serving of the chocolate, coffee and biscuit.

  “Right now, I do not give a rat’s arse about men and their endlessly simple, reversible and otherwise simple reproductive options. One day it’ll all be done in a lab and we won’t need the penis at all.”

  Evie lifted her dessert dish in a toast. “To vibrators everywhere. You are our champions.”

  Teela lifted her bowl to that and then scraped at the remains with her spoon. It was good, the ice cream. A posh everyday alternative to a weekend with the Sexiest Man Alive. A reminder that her life was every bit what she wanted it to be, and she loved everything about it. If only her vibrator could kiss like Haydn did. Need, adventure and delight all in a divine lip flex.

  “It’s not like I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew before now,” she said.

  Evie took the empty dish from her hand and put it beside hers on the coffee table. “Good digestion is underrated.”

  “I feel a little sick,” Teela said, bringing her feet up and curling on her side, her head on Evie’s thigh.

  “You ate two million liters of ice cream.”

  “It’s totally that.”

  Evie traced a finger around her ear. “Is it over over? As in forever never ever.”

  “Yep. And by tomorrow I’ll be glad about that.”

  “Tonight, we wallow,” Evie said, addressing the living room as if it was a Viking hall, instead of one bookcase from Ikea.

  Teela waved a limp hand. “Wallow, yay.”

  “Why will you be glad? Is it the whole better to have loved and lost crap?”

  “I don’t love him.”

  Fingers measuring out the approximate width of a one-inch dick appeared in front of Teela’s face. “Not even a little bit?”

  “Yeah, okay a little bit. He’s easy to love.” Freaking easy to love. “It was the ultimate holiday romance. Not meant to fit in real life. The whole thing was a Cinderella story and I am not in need of a prince, but I did need a pick-me-up and you don’t get much better than a dirty weekend with the Sexiest Man Alive.”

  “He’d be more interesting if he had something weird going on, like his last two toes were stuck permanently together or he farted continuously, or, or, he had some embarrassing habit like collecting belly-button lint or naming his dick The Hulk.”

  “He did not have a name for his dick.”

  Evie sighed. “Was it nice?”

  “Very nice. There is nothing weird about him except how charming he is, how funny and gracious and—” Evie put her hand over Teela’s mouth making her mumble, “genuine and empathetic.”

  “Now you’re making me sick,” Evie said.

  Tomorrow, tomorrow, Teela would be glad she’d had an affair with the Sexiest Man Alive. Triumphant even. A story to tell the grandkids to goggle their eyes. Tonight, she’d hang out with her best friend and try not to think about her arse becoming famous and what kind of world she was living in where she could make money from that.

  FOURTEEN

  “Whose dog is that?” Rum said when he flung himself on a pool lounge, sending Cyd skittering to the other side of the deck of Haydn’s Hollywood Hills home.

  Despite being wary of Rum, the English Sheepdog cross Shar Pei had lost that haunted, apologetic look she’d had when she arrived a week ago. She didn’t wake Haydn crying at night anymore and she was more confident with the Fred, Ginger and the pack, who’d accepted her with a minimum of snapping, and growling.

  “I’m not in the business of minding other people’s dogs.” Haydn called her, and Cyd came, which was a first, head lowered but tailing wagging cautiously. “Good girl.” He fed her a chew from the pocket of his pants.

  “You got a new dog?” Rum said, kicking back on the lounge.

  Maybe this is when the other shoe would drop. Rylan Rumble—practical jokes are my reason for living after acting, sex and beer—would casually mention he’d promised Haydn’s Aston Martin in a charity auction or his house in Bora Bora for a rave, because being beaten for the Sexiest Man Alive title wasn’t forgotten. But he’d seen the guy a dozen times in the month since he’d been back from Sydney, and it’d never come up.

  Just made him more suspicious that whatever prank was brewing was big.

  “When I found out she was named for Cyd Charisse I had to have her,” he said.

  “You needed a new dog?”

  Haydn scratched behind Cyd’s ear, making her tail move faster. She was a sweetheart, especially given her background. She’d been left alone to starve, tied to a fence in a vacant lot. No one was quite sure how long she’d been there, but she was down to ulcerated skin and bones when she was rescued. Weeks later, she was still underweight, growing fur back in patches and wary about attention. “Cyd needed me.”

  “I can see she needed someone to care for her, but you got a new dog.”

  He offered Cyd another chew. “Your point being?” She took it from his fingers with her eyes on Rum, as if she half suspected he’d snatch it from her. Smart girl, she wasn’t about to be pranked.

  “What happened in Australia?”

  “Crashed and burned on the anti-piracy project.”

  “And you ditched Thor to have a filthy weekend with some girl, whose name you managed to keep out of things.”

  He grinned at Rum. “You got a problem with that?”

  “And then you got a new dog.”

  Shit. “It’s not like I ran around looking for a new dog. The shelter called.”

  Rum took his cap off and slapped it on the lounge. “You’re a fucking liar, Delany. If I look at your internet history I’m going to find porn and dog shelter searches.”

  He wouldn’t find porn.

  “I repeat,” Rum said. “What happened in Australia, and I don’t want a trip advisory. I’ve been, it’s great. We should go surf there. Better, we should go make a movie there. My point is you spent a weekend with a woman and then you got post-show blues and you made yourself feel better by getting another dog.”

  “Bullshit.” He said that too vehemently, making Cyd take off. “The shelter called. All I did was say yes.” He gestured at Cyd hiding behind another lounge. “How could I resist?”

  “All right, all right. Have it your way.”

  He got up and poured them both drinks from the cocktail bar while Rum talked about a party he’d been to and some scandal about a director he was thinking of working with. Who cared how many dogs he owned? The shelter where he’d gotten Fred and Ginger did call his office, but they’d done that before and if he’d gotten a new dog every time they named a stray after a dancer and tried to guilt him into it, he’d have had to abandon the house to its canine residents and their staff by now.

  Oh fuck. It was bullshit.

  He’d started looking at shelter websites on the flight from Sydney.

  “You’re not listening to me, are you?” Rum said when Haydn handed him a scotch and dry.

  “I’m listening. Your agent wants you do to Shakespeare.”

  “And you didn’t think that was the wildest most insanely bad fit for me you’d ever heard of?”

  “Right.” He went back behind the bar. That was an appalling idea. “I wasn’t listening.”

  “
What’s going on with you?”

  “I got a new dog, which means I am a little distracted.” He launched into the plans he had for raising greater awareness of aid piracy and reaching out to governments as well as high-net worth individuals.

  “That’s not what you’re distracted about.”

  No, it wasn’t. He’d poured every spare second into working on the aid-rescue project, trying to make up ground before he had to disappear on location. It was the thing that corralled his distraction and pushed it out of sight for a while. He was like Cyd, but instead of hiding behind a chair he was hiding in work.

  Apart from Dad and people he paid to listen to him, he didn’t have anyone other than Rum to talk to who he trusted with something so personal. He’d have trusted Teela, but that was unproductive thinking.

  “I might be re-evaluating my life choices.” Dad had never understood why he was convinced remaining single was his best option. He’d just accepted it because he understood how money and fame could corrupt and he loved his son.

  “Very new age. Very not you. What does that mean?”

  “I thought I had it all squared away, you know. I like my life the way it is. I like my work and now I’m starting to figure out how to use my influence to do some good.”

  Rum made a bowing motion. “We both know you’re king of the world. I can only aspire to follow in your footsteps.”

  “But you haven’t rejected the idea of having a partner.”

  “I have them frequently. So do you.”

  “I mean a forever kind of partner.”

  Rum sat forward suddenly spilling his drink down his leg. “Holy shit. I was guessing you were going to say you were going to start directing or open your own production company. This is about the cute shorts in Sydney.”

  “It’s about staying open to opportunity.” Haydn covered his face with his hands. “Oh fuck, it’s about the woman in Sydney. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “I don’t see why that’s a big deal. Bring her over. Do what you do when you like someone.”

  He tossed Rum a bar towel. “She’s got a business. She wouldn’t want that.”

  “Sun had a business. Katy did too.” Rum used the towel on his pants. “What’s the difference?”