by Sybil Bartel
Not involved. Christ. I had her hair in my fist, she was looking up at me with misplaced trust, and my dick was itching to get in her mouth and have those full lips wrap around it. Not to mention I was contemplating kissing the fuck out of her just to see what she tasted like. This wasn’t a dangerous combination, it was a fucking catastrophe. She was a catastrophe.
A naturally submissive, sexy-as-fuck catastrophe.
She licked her bottom lip again.
Jesus, I needed to remember my fucking job.
I changed the subject. “Tunnel vision, ringing in your ears, light-headed, anything?”
She’d already almost passed out on me once, which hadn’t made me fucking happy. In fact, it’d done the opposite. I was pissed as hell she hadn’t told me about her fear of needles, or blood or whatever the issue was, but she clearly knew it going in and tried to mask it with bravado. Not that I didn’t respect that, but her laid out on the floor wasn’t happening on my watch.
She reached up and grasped my forearm in her small hand. “I’m good.”
I knew the move. I knew every signal she was putting out, and they were all green lights. I also knew who the fuck I was. I didn’t screw around with clingy women. I kept everything simple and clean. That meant no attachments and no bullshit drama. This chick was drama on steroids.
She was also begging for the kind of attention I knew how to give. She’d be exactly what I wanted between the sheets. Hell, she’d fit my needs like a glove, but fuck, I was a damn fool to even consider going there.
Shoving down thoughts about taking her mouth and wondering what her sexy bedroom voice would sound like when I fucked her hard, I dropped my hand to her elbow. “Let’s go.”
She planted her feet. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Shit. “No,” I clipped, digging myself deeper.
“Wife? Current or ex?”
Was she fucking crazy? “Read between the lines.” I dropped her arm and stepped toward the door.
She followed. “Answer my question.”
“No.” Goddamn it, my cock liked sparring with her.
“No, you don’t have a wife or no, you aren’t answering?”
I stared at her because I could.
“I’m your boss,” she said defiantly. “You have to answer my question.”
A dozen ways to wipe that defiance off her face crossed my mind then traveled straight to my dick. “You’re a lot of things, but my anything isn’t one of them.”
“I’m your client.” She pointed out.
I switched tactics. “Do you know how old I am?”
Her face scrunched up in confusion, like I’d thrown her. “Thirty?”
I had no clue when she was or wasn’t acting. Not when I didn’t have my hands on her. Which wasn’t happening again. “Thirty-four.” Too fucking old for her. “Why didn’t you go for Tyler?”
That made her blink. “The other bodyguard?”
“Yeah.” Or any other asshole for that matter. I wasn’t fucking fishing for compliments. I was stupidly trying to gauge how serious she was, because despite every warning sign, I was still thinking about what it would feel like to pound into her.
“The one who smiled all the time and called me ma’am,” she stated, like I was dumb as fuck.
And the one who’d let her naked ass run across South Beach, which I was progressively more pissed about by the minute. But she didn’t ask it as a question, so I didn’t answer.
She exhaled like she was put out, then glanced around the office before her gaze came back to me. “Okay. You want the truth?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Here it is. I don’t do this.” She pointed between us. “I don’t sleep around. I wasn’t looking for a man to satisfy some itch. I wasn’t looking for anything except to keep my head above water until the day I decided I was done. Because you don’t get to decide anything in this industry. Not what you say, what you wear, how you act, where you go, who you go with, what you make, or how you do it. None of it is in your control. I’m not a person, I’m a brand.”
She stopped to take a breath and see if I’d say shit.
I didn’t.
“But I’m not my brand.” She held her hands up and spread them out as if reading a marquee. “Former squeaky-clean child star becomes Hollywood’s darling.” She snorted. “That isn’t me. It never was, but I’m not dumb enough to fuck my gravy train with no end game in sight. So I made my own end game, and that’s been my focus for four years. Not a thirty-second orgasm from some Hollywood prick more concerned about how he looked as he fucked me and what he’d get out of me than if I got off. So no, I didn’t look twice at Tyler, or any other man.” She paused. “Until I woke up handcuffed to your bed.”
Bullshit. “Let’s go.” I turned toward the door.
“That’s it?” she practically squeaked, her voice cracking with indignation. “That’s all you have to say?”
I didn’t buy one fucking word. Declarations were the half-assed attempts of the desperate to gain control over a situation they had no control over. She didn’t think shit when she woke up handcuffed, except to wonder where the hell she was and who I was.
“You’ve been here long enough.” I needed to get her the fuck out of here. “Time to move.”
She let me take her arm as the same two security guards met us outside the office and escorted us back to the parking garage. By some stroke of luck, no one had figured out she was here, and we made it to the Escalade without incident—until I opened the door to the back passenger seat of the SUV.
She looked up at me with disdain. “Now I can’t sit in the front?”
“I never should’ve had you in the front to begin with.” Not with a high-profile client. The side and rear windows were limo tint, but in the front passenger seat she was visible through the windshield. “Get in.”
She didn’t move. “So this is how it’s going to be? You lead me on, I pour my feelings out, then you relegate me to the back seat?”
“I’m your security detail, not your shrink.” Unsecure garage, no backup, and vehicles coming and going, it was only a matter of seconds before someone recognized her.
She looked at me like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then she shook her head and her actress face slid into place. “You’re an asshole.”
“Confirmed and certified.” I knew who the fuck I was.
I COULDN’T BELIEVE HIM.
Pissed, at him, at myself, at Colton fucking Payne. Hell, I was even pissed at Jerry despite it being my own damn fault for signing his stupid contract in the first place after my first agent told me she was retiring. But mostly, I was pissed at the mass of muscle in front of me who’d gripped my face and looked into my eyes like he saw me. Saw who I really was. Not Dreena, but me.
I was a fucking idiot.
This was exactly why I’d sworn off men. I had shit taste in them.
Glaring at a man named after a predator, I got in the back seat of the SUV.
He slammed the door and rounded the front of the vehicle like he was the king shit. I hated every single one of his dominant strides and his stupid handsome face. But I hated it more that I was wondering what the hell had happened between the breakfast he’d cooked for me and now.
All muscle and controlled movements, he got behind the wheel, started the engine and threw the car in reverse. “Seat belt,” he clipped.
Immature and petty enough to ignore him, I crossed my arms.
He put the vehicle back in park and turned. “You want to play this game with me?”
I refused to look at him. “I don’t want to do shit with you.” Lie. I wanted to punch him. Maybe kick him.
“You gonna be pissed the rest of the day?”
I was going to be pissed for a lot longer than that. Men didn’t turn me down. I turned them down. “I’m not pissed.” He didn’t get to have that satisfaction from me.
“You’re lying. You’re pissed I didn’t worship at your feet with that little speech of yours.”
I turned in my seat and hated all over again how damn handsome he was. “You’re so fucking egotistical, it’s disgusting.” I sounded exactly as pathetic as I felt, like a jilted lover.
His cell phone rang through the speaker, and he hit a button on the steering wheel to answer. “Tank.”
“Mr. Gunther, this is Peter Stanislas. I need to speak with Ms. MacKenzie, but she isn’t answering her phone.”
“That’s because he took it from me,” I bitched, throwing him under the bus.
A car pulled up next to us and two paparazzi spilled out with their cell phones and cameras.
“Audrina?” Peter asked.
Tank’s massive arm reached over the seats, and in one quick, measured movement, he grabbed the seat belt, stretched it across my chest and threw it home. Jamming the gear shift into reverse, he stepped on it.
I glared at Tank. “Yeah, Peter, I’m here.”
The huge vehicle lumbered back, and Tank spun the wheel. I would’ve been thrown into the side panel if I wasn’t buckled in.
“You don’t have your cell phone?” Peter asked, confused.
Braking as abruptly as he’d stepped on the gas, Tank threw the gearshift into drive and gunned it.
We were out of the garage before the paparazzi could get back in their car.
“I took her phone,” Tank answered Peter. “She was a nervous wreck waiting for the blood draw when she pulled it out. She didn’t need to see the video in that moment.”
Peter cleared his throat. “I appreciate your concern for her well-being. I’m assuming you’re finished at Memorial now?”
“Affirmative.” Tank took a corner too fast.
Thrown against my seat belt again, I cursed.
“Audrina?” Peter asked, his voice laced with concern.
“What?” I snapped.
“Are you okay?”
Just fucking peachy. “Fine.”
Tank smirked.
Asshole.
Peter cleared his throat. “Mr. Gunther, please return her phone and take me off speaker so I can confer with my client.”
Tank pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, hit something on the steering wheel then handed me his phone.
Glaring at him, I took it. “Hi.”
“Am I off speaker?” Peter asked.
I hated how Tank’s cell phone smelled like him. “Yes.”
“Are you all right? Do you need different security? Because I can—”
“It’s fine.” Apparently I was glutton for punishment, because the thought of getting rid of the asshole driving like he was auditioning for NASCAR made me want to cry.
“Okay.” Peter exhaled. “You ready to go over this?”
No, yes, I didn’t know. But it didn’t matter, because I’d already pulled the trigger. I piled on the lies. “More than ready.”
“All right, let’s start with Janette. She took the news well, and she wished you well once I explained what you were doing. She’s signing the termination contract as it stands. She won’t be an issue.”
A small breath that wasn’t enough air barely inflated my lungs. “Okay.” I gripped the phone tighter. “And Jerry?”
Peter paused, then spoke in a rush. “It’s worst-case scenario. He alerted the studio before I could. He’s digging his heels in. Breach of contract, lost wages, claiming verbal consent on three more movie deals.”
“That fucking liar,” I spit out. “I never consented.”
Tank looked at me in the rearview mirror.
I ignored him. “I’m not going to take this sitting down, Peter.” I wasn’t going to get sued by the studio because of an asshole agent I’d made.
“I know, I know,” Peter appeased. “I reminded him he only has the contract for the current movie through its premiere and release. I told him everything we discussed, then I gave him the terms of our offer. He has forty-eight hours to sign the termination contract if he wants to get paid.”
“He isn’t going to sign it.” I knew Jerry. He was too greedy.
“That’s fine. We’re prepared for that. This will just take longer.”
And cost me more in legal fees. Which Jerry knew. “He’s playing a game.”
“Then you have a choice.”
I knew what that choice was. Up the termination severance. I didn’t even want to give him a severance in the first place, but Peter had said it would be the quickest and easiest way to get rid of him. I’d warned Peter that Jerry was a bully though. He wouldn’t fight fair. Or ethically. “You know how I feel about that.” I’d rather pay Peter’s legal fees than pay Jerry another cent.
“Then we have our plan. We’ll wait the forty-eight hours. In the meantime, we need to deal with the Colton Payne issue.”
I didn’t know what the hell to do about that. I hadn’t seen any of the coverage or videos or what my fans were saying. Which, technically, I shouldn’t care about. I was walking away from acting, but I didn’t want to be sued by the studio if the movie tanked because of this. Colton could fucking take that responsibility.
“What did Janette say?” I hadn’t anticipated needing her past this week. All the interviews she’d scheduled were set up. All I had to do was show up and smile. After that, I was supposed to be free.
“She didn’t, except to say if you needed her again, she would be willing to work on an hourly basis if need be.”
“She had a plan for how to handle this.” But I’d been too fucking angry to listen to the details.
“Would you like me to contact her?”
A vicious headache started right behind my eyes. “No.” I needed to learn how to handle my own affairs.
“You sure?” Peter asked.
I wasn’t sure of anything except out was out. If I was walking away from Hollywood, I didn’t need a Hollywood handler. If I was finally going to be myself, then this was it. This was the time to start.
Dreena MacKenzie was dead.
I was Audrina MacKenzie, a Midwest farm girl.
CONSENT.
What the fuck hadn’t she given consent to?
My jaw ticking, I watched her in the rearview mirror as I drove to Golden Beach.
Gripping my phone, her voice defeated, she spoke to her agent. “Yes. I’ll be at the interviews and the premiere.”
She listened while her lawyer said something.
“I know,” she enunciated. “I’ll handle it.” She paused. “I get it, Peter.” She hung up and held my phone out without looking at me. “Here.”
I took it. “What’s going on?”
She looked out the window. “Nothing.”
She was lying again. “What didn’t you consent to?”
“What do you care?”
I shouldn’t. But for some fucking reason, I did. Except before I could give her some bullshit answer, my cell rang. Glancing to see it was Luna, I bypassed the Bluetooth and answered. “What’s up?”
“I went through the footage from Club Frenzy. She was right. Payne put something in her drink.”
My knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. “No question?”
“No,” Luna clipped. “The footage is grainy, but you can clearly see the fucking pendejo taking a shot glass of something from his security detail, turning to dose it, then handing the glass to MacKenzie. She tosses the shot back and the fucker pumps his fist. No question he did it. You get the tox screen done?”
“Yeah.” Fucking Payne was mine. Next time I saw him, he was answering to me.
“She should get the results in a few hours. In the meantime, I’m sending the footage to her lawyer.”
“Copy me on that. I’ll give it to her.” She had a right to see that shit.
“Done. Anything else you need?”
“No. Almost to Golden Beach.”
“Good. Her lawyer said she needed to lie low for a bit, but let me know if you need backup for any engagements.”
“Copy that.” I hung up.
“What are you going to give to me?” she a
sked from the back seat, her arms crossed.
“What didn’t you consent to?” Besides the fucking shit Payne had dosed her with.
“Nice try.” She snorted. “You work for me, remember?”
“Careful,” I warned, unprofessional as fuck.
“Of what?” Hollywood attitude seeped out of her. “Asking a question you actually have to answer?”
I didn’t say shit. I stopped at a light and glared right back at her in the rearview mirror.
“What are you going to do?” she taunted. “Quit?”
“Keep pushing, and you’ll find out,” I promised. I’d wipe that smug-as-fuck look off her face, and she wouldn’t like one damn second of it.
“Fine, don’t tell me about your cryptic conversation.” She turned toward the window.
My cell vibrated with an incoming text. Glancing at it, I saw Luna sent the video clip. I pulled it up and held the phone over my shoulder. “Watch this.”
“I don’t need to see my naked ass.” She pouted.
I took note of her defensive tone. “This you need to see.”
With a look of irritation, she snatched the phone. Ten seconds later she looked furious. Her fingers swiped across the screen a few times, and without a word, she handed the phone back.
I pulled up to the security gate at the development for Christensen’s house and entered the code. Following the GPS, I drove to his place and entered a second code for his gate. Scanning the grounds as I pulled around the driveway, I wasn’t impressed. Unless he had perimeter security, anyone could scale the six-foot wall surrounding the property, not to mention the place was completely accessible from the beach.
I threw the Escalade in park and cut the engine.
She reached for her door.
“Wait,” I commanded, before getting out of the SUV. Scanning the hedges, the grounds, the driveway we’d just come up, I didn’t leave shit to chance. Rich as hell gated communities weren’t immune to paparazzi or meddling neighbors.
Once I was satisfied no one was around, I opened her door.
Not making eye contact, she held her purse and slid out of the SUV.
I took her elbow and led her to the house, mentally reminding myself to find the fucking garage door opener so I didn’t have to park in the driveway. It wasn’t until I had us in the house, door locked, that she spoke.