by Cassie Reed
“Something like that,” she said. “Are you available tonight?”
“So soon?”
“It’s fairly urgent. I can send you my address and the code for my gate. Are you in Hollywood now?”
He paused. “How do I know this is safe?”
“Mr. Bradford, I heard you play Captain Patriot’s stunt double. That would make you somewhere around six foot three and two-hundred and ten pounds. For reference, I’m five foot three. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
She had a point, but he still wasn’t sold. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll pay you, of course,” she continued.
There was the ticket. A star like Olivia Warner was sure to have plenty of funds on hand, and right now, he could use every last cent he could get. Layton was depending on him.
“I’ve got a couple errands to run,” he told her. “But I can probably be there around eight.”
“Probably or certainly?” she prompted.
“Most likely,” he countered. “You’re the one calling me at the last minute. Ms. Warner.”
He thought he heard her sigh. “Fine. But please do the best you can. Things work best when they’re on schedule. I’ll text you my location, the gate code, and the number I can be reached at. And please, Mr. Bradford, don’t share this information with anyone. Understood?”
“Understood,” he said. “And you can call me Trayce.”
“Then you can call me Olivia,” she responded. “And I’ll see you tonight.”
3
Olivia eyed the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. The closer it got to eight o’clock, the more she felt like a walking jumble of nerves. She needed something to do in the time being, something to keep her busy. Her heels clicked noisily along the hardwood floor as she made her way over to the full-length mirror hanging on one wall of her living room. It drove her crazy that every sound in the cavernous house always seemed to echo. Turning, she surveyed her belted silk dress and matching pumps with a nod of approval. It was important to her that even in the midst of a nosediving career, she still carried herself with the grace and poise that people expected from an Academy Award winning actress.
The Oscar beckoned her eyes to the mantle. She reached for it, turning it just enough until the light glinted off its gold surface. She was momentarily satisfied before a distinct feeling of foolishness washed over her. Reaching for it again, she turned it back to its original direction, until it shone with nothing but a dull, lifeless yellow.
Dull. Lifeless. Just like her career.
Her security system jingled, prompting her from her gloomy thoughts. “Guests arriving,” the smooth, robotic voice announced. Judging from the usual time trajectory of her driveway, she had about ninety seconds before Trayce Bradford was standing at her front door.
She jumped as the doorbell rang about thirty seconds earlier than she was expecting. Letting out one last nervous gasp of trepidation, Olivia smoothed her dress and walked towards the door. She couldn’t believe what she had gotten herself into.
Swinging the door open, her eyes widened at the man standing in front of her. He was ravishingly tall and broad shouldered, and handsome enough to have headlined movies himself. Olivia took a deep breath. What had she got herself into indeed. . .
“I wasn’t expecting brown hair from Captain Patriot’s stunt double,” the words sputtered from her lips, seemingly without seeking the permission of her brain. “Dean Evers has blonde hair. I just assumed. . .”
He eyed her curiously. “Is that going to be a problem?” he asked, his lips curving into a slight smirk. “You do know Captain Patriot wears a mask most of the time, right?”
She smiled, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. “Of course,” she said. “Won’t you come in?”
He stepped through the front door, his head tilting from side to side as he took in the house. “Nice place.”
“Thank you,” she said, a surge of pride swelling in her. It had taken her months to get the décor just right, each pillow and curtain choice a calculated decision. It’s important the home not scream ‘new money’, Celeste had advised her.
Trailing behind him, she surveyed Trayce’s leather jacket, worn denim, and heavy boots with interest. He even dressed like a stuntman. “Can I take your jacket?” she offered.
“I’m comfortable.”
“You certainly look that way.” She bit her tongue before continuing. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“I try not to make business decisions under the influence,” he told her.
“Surely one glass of wine. . .” Her words trailed off, replaced with a cordial smile. “You’re right.”
He gave a nod. “We should probably get to what this is all about, Ms. Warner.”
“Please, like I said on the phone, call me Olivia,” she said, stalling for time.
“Olivia.”
She liked the way her name sounded leaving his lips. “Uh, well,” she began, suddenly hot below the collar. “I sort of, am doing this thing.”
Well that was extremely vague.
She should have practiced her spiel more.
“This thing?” he repeated.
“This project,” she continued. “I’ll be cutting the ribbon at the new line of the LA Commuter Train this Friday, which I’m so thrilled about, by the way. It’s about time this city had a sustainable and fast alternate means of transportation.”
He stared at her, his brown eyes studying her face.
“But there’s recently been a decision,” Olivia said. “That things need to be a little more. . .exciting.”
“Exciting?” Trayce confirmed.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Olivia smiled, trying her best to exude an air of confidence and composure. “Won’t you follow me outside?”
“Sure,” Trayce said with a raise of his eyebrow. “You start all requests with a negative though?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Olivia said as she lead their way toward the back of the house.
“’Won’t you do this, won’t you do that’,” Trayce said. “You ever have anyone tell you they won’t?”
“Not yet,” she said, sliding open the glass door leading out to her sprawling backyard. “And it’s just a polite form of speech.”
“You should try ditching the extra words,” she heard him say. “Be more direct.”
He was lucky she was leading the way and he couldn’t see her face and the frown spreading across it like a shadow. Olivia didn’t like to be criticized, especially not for her impeccable manners.
Her heels clicked efficiently over the cement towards her large kidney-shaped swimming pool, the night lights now glowing serenely under the surface of the water.
“Planning on taking a dip?” Trayce asked her.
“Only if you get this wrong,” she replied.
He looked at her. “I don’t get things wrong.”
“That’s reassuring,” she said, gazing back at him with her back to the pool. “Come here, please.”
“No ‘won’t you come here’?” he teased.
“I’m a fast learner,” she offered.
“So am I. But I like to size up a stunt before I commit to it.” He remained where he was, and seemed to be sizing her up.
“Fine,” Olivia said, her cheeks blazing. She was lucky it was nearly dark out. “Let’s pretend the pool is the track for the LA Commuter Train.” She took a step backward, feeling the slight upturn of the lip of the pool hit her heel. “On Friday, I’ll cut the ribbon for the new line, like so.” She turned slightly, pantomiming with invisible scissors. “Then, I’ll turn back around and hold up the scissors triumphantly. Everyone will clap, of course. But then, claps will turn to gasps as I just sort of, well, teeter a bit.” She waved her arms behind her, signaling she was losing her balance. “And right before I fall backwards onto the tracks, you’ll swoop in, and catch me.”
Trayce smiled and nodded, watching her wit
h interest before his expression cleared. “Oh, you’re serious?”
“Why would I have called you out here if I wasn’t serious?” she asked, resting her hands on her hips.
He took a step toward her. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this all is?”
“It’s perfectly safe,” Olivia said. “The train wouldn’t be coming for at least another five minutes. I’d never be in danger.”
“Yeah, unless you fell on the tracks.”
“That’s why I’m hiring you,” she argued. She knew it was going to be a hard sell but the doubt showing on Trayce’s face alarmed her. If he didn’t agree, her plan would be ruined. It was time to bring out the big guns. “I’m paying you, remember?”
He was quiet, sucking in his bottom lip pensively. “Price just went up,” he said finally.
“I’ll double my original offer,” Olivia declared. “I’ll give you half now, and half when the job is done.”
“Fine,” he said, shrugging off his jacket and letting it melt down to the concrete at his feet.
Holy mother of arms, Olivia couldn’t help but think as she forced her eyes to look away. Suddenly, he was standing directly in front of her, one arm wrapping around the smallest part of her waist and pulling her toward him. She gasped as her hands instinctively raised to protect herself, but landed complacently on his chest instead. “I just need to see what you feel like in my arms,” he told her, staring into her eyes. “Before we get to the risky stuff.”
A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “The risky stuff?”
“You know what you signed up for, right?” he asked, his body moving against hers as he tilted her toward the water. “You might get wet.”
“Uh,” Olivia’s mouth fell open, her throat all but speechless. “Maybe I should step out of these shoes then. They’re suede.”
He tipped her upright again, his large hands sliding down her forearms to clutch her hands in support. She stepped out of her heels, kicking them away with her toe. She took a deep breath, one she felt like she had been holding. “Okay,” she said determinedly. “I’m ready.”
4
Trayce couldn’t deny it. Olivia Warner felt good in his arms.
Her petite frame, tucked safely within his grasp, seemed to fit just right, making it less of a pain, and more of a pleasure, to rehearse the stunt with her over and over. For the first dozen times or so at least.
Her dark eyes burrowed into his. “We need to make this look real,” she admonished him. “We can’t have this look like an act.”
“Isn’t everything in Hollywood an act?” he said, secretly relishing the feel of her luxurious chocolate-colored locks sweeping against his bare arm as he pulled her upright again.
“Maybe in a movie studio,” she said. “But when it comes to this, the public should be none the wiser.”
Trayce paused. “So we’re deliberately trying to fool people?”
She gazed up at him defiantly. “For the purposes of this event, yes.”
“Right,” he murmured.
Trayce knew there was a reason he didn’t date women in Hollywood, despite being propositioned more times than he could count. They were all certifiably insane. Including Olivia Warner, which was, if he were completely honest with himself, a crying shame. But it was obvious her looks, her career, or her status, had gotten to her. He wasn’t sure, maybe it was all three. All he knew for certain was that she would obviously stop at nothing to stroke her own ego, even if it came down to vapid, slightly dangerous publicity stunts such as this one. Whether this was her own idea or the suggestion of a team of handlers behind the scenes, he didn’t know. He only knew he was getting paid to play along, and in a time when he and Layton desperately needed money to stay afloat, play along he would. It would all be over on Friday anyways, and then he and Olivia would go their separate ways and his run in with the Oscar-winning beauty would become just another parlor story no one would believe.
“Why are you looking at me that way?” she asked.
“Looking at you what way?” he returned the question, and his attention, back to her.
“With that smirk on your face,” she said. “Are you taking this serious?”
Her accusatory tone grated on him. He let his body dip forward, wet boots be damned, plunging them both into the chlorinated water underneath. It was colder than he thought it would be, and as both their heads rushed toward the surface, gasping for breath, Olivia let out a shriek. “What—what is wrong with you?”
He swept his hair out of his face and began to tread water. “Just wanted to make sure you were taking this serious.”
She glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“This thing you’re asking us to pull off,” he told her. “For real this Friday, at the train tracks. I’m going to do my best to make sure it goes off without a hitch. But you need to understand, if things go wrong, there’s going to be a lot more of an inconvenience than some wet clothes.”
“I told you, I know that already!” she shouted, her hands splashing wildly at the water around her.
“I’m talking falls, possible electrocution, the loss of limbs,” he continued.
She was quiet for a moment. “I need to get out of this pool,” she said finally.
Trayce swam back towards the edge, taking hold of it and lifting himself out of the water. Kneeling down, he extended a hand to her. “Come on.”
“No,” she replied stubbornly. “I can do it myself.”
He didn’t move. “Olivia. Take my hand.”
With a sigh, she reached up, locking hands with him. He pulled her out of the water despite her seeming to dead-weight herself like long lost treasure being pulled from the ocean. Bringing her to her feet, he averted his eyes. Even in the dark, he could see her dress had become all but completely translucent, her black bra and underwear showing as clearly as though she were wearing nothing but a thin beach coverup. It was even colder outside the pool, and he peeled off his wet shirt, hoping to abate some of the chill against his skin. “Why is that pool so cold?” he murmured.
“I stopped heating it months ago,” she said, attempting to wring out the hem of her dress. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to keep something that size heated year-round?”
“I’m lucky if my shower has hot water,” he replied. “So no.”
It was at that very moment that he began to realize things weren’t going well for Olivia Warner. It wasn’t so much the frigid pool as it was the collection of things. He wasn’t exactly glued to the pulse of Hollywood, but working in the industry kept him up-to-date enough. When was the last time he had heard anything about the illustrious Oscar winner? Anything positive, at least. She had been arrested, he knew, over a year ago. The infamous recording of her attempting to dissuade the police from taking her into custody had been everywhere, but he had all but forgotten about it. In fact, her rambunctious defiance against the authorities had been nearly endearing. Stars were people too, and people had bad days. But he was beginning to think not everyone had been as forgiving.
“Give me your pants,” she demanded. “I’ll put them in the dryer and then you can go.”
He hesitated. “I’ll be fine. I rode my bike here. They’ll be dry by the time I get back.”
She frowned at him. “You rode your bike here?”
“Yeah, you know, a little ten speed,” he quipped, noting her perturbed expression. “Kidding. It’s a motorcycle.”
Olivia was unamused. “Give me. . .your pants.”
Trayce’s hands moved to his belt buckle. “No ‘won’t you give me your pants’?” he tested her, sliding his jeans down his hips.
Her eyes may have wavered but the scowl on her face never did. At this rate, she was bound to fire him from her risky little plot and find someone else. Judging from the way things were going, that might have been the right move, for the both of them. But the thought of bringing home an extra paycheck to ease the burden off Layton kept him firmly in place.
; Stripped down to nothing but his boxers, he handed her the pants. She yanked them away from him and strode off toward the house, sliding the glass door open and then closed again. Had she simply just decided to lock him outside? He decided he didn’t want the answer to that question, so he stayed where he was, watching the waters in the pool gently churn to a still layer of blue once again. He let his gaze sink out over her fence, to the twinkling lights from the other large houses surrounding them in the Hollywood Hills. “Must be nice,” he murmured.
“You’ll freeze if you don’t come inside,” Olivia’s voice behind him stirred him from his thoughts. He turned to see her standing in the doorway, the wet dress she had been wearing replaced with a fluffy white bathrobe, her dark tendrils gathered into a towel atop her head.
She looked considerably more relaxed, maybe less upset was more accurate, and he couldn’t help but grin. “You look like you just got back from the spa,” he observed.
She crossed her arms. “I’ve got one for you too.”
“A bathrobe?” he asked as he made his way across the cement toward her.
“That’s right.”
He gave a nod, stepping inside the house as she accosted him with the plush terrycloth garment. Must be a rich person thing, he thought, taking it from her.
“It’s for guests,” she said as though reading his mind. “It’s just good manners to have one on hand.”
“People fall into your pool a lot?”
She gave him a pointed look. “No.”
He shrugged on the bathrobe as she busied herself in the kitchen behind him. And there’s Mr. Oscar, he observed silently, noting the conspicuous gold statue sitting on her mantle. He wasn’t sure how he had missed it the first time, but as she came back around, setting a mug in his hands, he realized it was because he had been completely distracted by Olivia herself. Devoid of her fancy dress and heels, her perfect hair and makeup, his eyes took in every inch of the beauty she possessed naturally.
“I’m out of coffee,” she murmured, averting his gaze. “So here’s some tea.”