by Ellie Hall
I snap in his face. “Hello?” He’s still basking in the afterglow and I’m invisible. Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building.
“I guess I’ll change my own tire, then.”
I’m practically inside his truck when he runs up to me. “Dude, how did you get this gig?”
“Never mind that. What are you doing way out here?”
He flashes his Motor Club badge. “I got a sweet set up in Idlewild. Two days a week, a grand per.”
I whistle because that’s a pretty good payday. And he doesn’t have to put up with bratty socialites to earn it.
“And it’s worth the drive from LA?”
“Heck yeah. Easy money. Mostly schmucks who break down on the side of the road. No offense.”
“None taken. It was her fault.” I toss my chin in January’s direction. She’s filming video with her phone. Great. Now my flat tire’s going viral.
“Her fault?” Elvis snorts. “Look, I’m not judging if you’re into a little rocky road surprise...”
“What? No. No way.”
He laughs. “Dude, I was just joking, but your face is bright red. You’re into her.”
“Her? Me? No. That’s ridiculous. That’s... that’s...”
“Okay, okay. Don’t have an aneurism. Let’s get you back on the rocky road.”
“Shut up.” I follow Elvis to get my spare and January looks up at me just then. My face flares and her lip twitches at the corner knowingly.
I’m going to murder Elvis.
6
JANUARY
By the time we get to the hotel I feel like we’ve traveled across the wild west in a covered wagon—Grapes of Wrath style. There’s dust caked inside my shoes, a film of roadside grime on my clothes, and I’ve picked several briars out of my hair. We pull up to the porte-cochere and I’m just glad security is tight because looking like this is not how I’d want to go viral. Kinky’s whistling as he opens my door and you’d think he was on some kind of vacation. I’m greeted with a welcoming party (my dad’s doing) and I nod at every “Good afternoon, Miss Madison,” as Kinky opens the trunk. I’m ready to get inside and shower all this gunk off heading for the grand entryway but Enrique’s not behind me. I’ve grown so used to this horrid man’s presence, I’m acutely aware of a disturbing lightness without him disrupting my space. I turn and he’s just standing by the limo.
I toss him a glare. “You coming?”
“What for?”
I storm back over to him and hiss, “To bring my bags up.”
“Listen sister. That ain’t in my job description.”
Is it just me or is he giving off a serious Hans Solo vibe?
“Charming,” I say for lack of something more clever.
He leans against his limo like it’s the freaking Millennium Falcon and buffs his nails. “That’s what the ladies usually say.”
“You are the worst driver ever.”
“I got us here in one piece, didn’t I?”
But can you make the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs? I don’t think so.
I don’t say what I’m thinking. Instead I settle for, “Barely.” Lame.
He pushes off the car and invades my air. He’s totally in my face now.
“Look. I’m sure Daddy’s got a whole staff of boys who’ll be at your constant beck and call. They’ll fall all over themselves to make you happy and will marvel at the privilege to kiss your feet. But my work is done until you’re ready for me to drive you somewhere, so if anyone asks, I’ll be by the pool.”
With that, he turns on his heel, heaves my bags from the trunk with one swift stride, and plops them on a luggage cart.
“That one was free Princess,” he says, taking his leave with a soldier salute.
The first thing I do when I get to my room is toss my clothes in a corner and jump in the shower. There’s so much dust and grime all over me, I soap off twice. I just might burn the clothes I wore today, actually. After 20 minutes of standing under the hot running water, I’m finally relaxed. I have to be on my game tonight for the investors dinner. I’m expanding my new fragrance line into organic self-care products. This could be huge and reduce someone’s carbon footprint by 35% if used to capacity. I still have a few hours before the meeting but I want to respond to emails and do some busy work I’ve been putting off. My mind’s been distracted lately with thoughts of my new driver. He’s ruining my life. I have to focus.
I step out of the steamy shower and wrap a towel around my hair and another around my body. Maybe I’ll wait to get dressed. I feel light and airy. I go to find my phone with thoughts of sinking under the soft covers on the bed when I’m assaulted by the vision of Enrique unbuttoning his dress shirt. I scream (mostly because he startled me) out of instinct.
He screams back. Mostly mockingly, I imagine.
“How did you get in here?’ I cry.
“This is my room. The bellboy let me in.” He’s frantically re-buttoning his shirt. I get a glimpse of tan skin against white cotton and my voice cracks.
“This is my room, you idiot. Yours is next door.”
His eyes dart to my luggage. “I can see that now.”
It’s now that I remember I’m wearing nothing but a woefully inadequate towel. “Don’t look at me.”
“I don’t want to look at you, woman. Put some clothes on.”
“You’re in my room. Leave, LEAVE!”
I grab the closest things I can reach and throw them at him. He’s dodging complimentary shampoo and soaps like he’s in the Matrix. I throw a bottle of conditioner. Narrowly misses his ear. I’m running out of things to chuck at him, hoping he’ll get a hint before I have to resort to the coffee pot or hair dryer but he’s laughing. I’m about to have a wardrobe malfunction and this is all hilarious to him. Bright, straight teeth sparkle and behind his scruff, the jumbo-sized dimples twinkle on either side of his smile. I’m blind now. I shouldn’t have stared at the light. Must. Throw. Something. Else. Ah! Lotion. Slam. Right in his chest. My towel is slipping with each angry movement and his eyes flash.
“Out!” I point furiously to the door adjoining our suites together. Who’s terrible idea was that anyhow?
He surrenders his hands in the air. “Okay, okay. I’m leaving. But I’m taking this.” He swipes the chocolate mint off my pillow, unwraps it, and pops it in his mouth.
“Mmmmm,” he hums, licking his lips. “So good.”
“I will seriously kill you, Kinky.”
He winks. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
He makes a dramatic exit, slamming the door, but comes back two seconds later, scowling. He grabs his duffle bag and leaves for a second time which greatly decreases the impact of his exodus.
I want to be extremely angry but something bubbles from deep in my chest and a deluge of giggles escapes me. This whole situation is so ridiculous, it’s the stuff of classic black and white comedy movies. I can’t stop which is amazing in itself because I don’t remember the last time I laughed, let alone uncontrollably. Is this what years of repressed emotions feels like? Like I’ve been holding every ounce of mirth in a mason jar and Enrique comes along with a hammer, breaking the glass? I still can’t stand him but I have to admit he shakes things up inside me like no one ever has. He’s a 9.0 earthquake and I’m walking on stilts. There’s no hope for me.
7
ENRIQUE
I didn’t sleep last night so I’m making up for it on the poolside chaise lounge. Just knowing she was on the other side of the hotel room wall made me restless. Was she awake too? Was she planning to bludgeon me in my sleep? Did she have one of those silky rich girl pajama sets? My mind was in perpetual motion. It didn’t help that I’d spotted her with three stuffy business guys when I passed by the formal dining room. I just had to go wandering around, didn’t I? Why didn’t I just stay put and order room service? It’s not as though I could have taken the limo out by myself to the casinos. I settled for the overpriced buffet and instantly regretted the
questionable selection. I guess I’m spoiled with a chef for a brother.
Now I’m groggy from an afternoon nap, the heat of the sun, and the effects of the cheap rum in my cocktail. I’m sure the figure above me is a vision in white—a desert mirage with a striking resemblance to January. Golden wisps of hair float in the breeze haloed by the sun and the face is shadowed in blue silhouette. My vision is a blur, retinas burning from the UV light and I’m vaguely aware of the slender form towering over me.
“Get up, you lazy good for nothing.”
“Welcome home, dear,” I grumble with the most luxurious yawn. My eyes are slowly peeling open, taking a narrowed glimpse of loose-fitting jumper pants flapping in the wind. My gaze travels up to find palms planted firmly on cocked hips and a tantalizingly low collar dipping toward the waistline. Am I still dreaming? A tug of the towel under me flips me over and because I’m still in a sleep state, I’m on the ground face down with very little difficulty. Definitely not dreaming.
“Why don’t you answer your phone, Kinky? It could have been an emergency.”
“Somehow I doubt I’d be your first contact in an emergency.” I peel myself off the ground and try my best to emerge from this dizzy feeling.
“It could be a transportation emergency,” she says smugly.
I retrieve my phone from under the chaise and shade the screen from the sun. Three missed calls from an unknown number. It occurs to me I never bothered to save January’s number in my contacts. I only have Mr. Madison’s assistant on there. I save her number and name the contact Maleficent.
“I told you yesterday I’d be at the pool. You don’t have to be so needy.”
She clicks her tongue but instead of lashing back with a witty comeback, she steps on my foot. It doesn’t hurt because she’s in flats today but it’s the principal of the thing. So I react for her benefit only.
“Ouch.”
She snubs her nose up. “Serves you right.”
I’m actually starting to get weary of this whole enemy act so I resign myself to just ask nicely, “What was it you needed, Miss Madison.” I say the last part through clenched teeth. It’s the best I can do. It catches her off guard.
“If that’s your way of getting me to call you Hot Bod—“
“No, I don’t need to fish for compliments. I really would like to know what you needed.”
She gulps on a reply and it’s freaking adorable how one nicety clams her up. It’s like she doesn’t know how to function without sparring with me.
“I don’t need anything right now,” she says all pouty. “But there’s been an update for tomorrow.”
Couldn’t that have waited? Why go out of her way to tell me something she could have told me later by knocking on my door?
She crosses her arms defensively. I’ve come to realize this is a self-preservation technique and I wonder what she’s hiding from.
“Check your email,” she says, and makes to leave but then stops to look at my empty hurricane glass with the umbrella still perched on the rim.
“That’s quite the manly drink you have there, Kinky.”
It’s fruitless to try and hide it. She’s seen the evidence—along with a few other discarded umbrellas.
“That? Oh, my new lady friend left that behind. I had a beer.” I force a burp for good measure. “See? I’m a guy.” Her eyes dart to the nearby lounge chairs but it’s obvious there’s no sign of recent occupancy. She gives me a lazy grin.
“Liar.”
Pants on fire? Possibly.
Her eyebrows rise up in a challenge. “What’s her name?”
“Hmm?”
“Her name. Foo foo drink girl. What is it?” Her arms cross casually across her chest causing the top part of that white jumper to pillow apart at the collar. There’s a thin gold chain clinging to her skin, so long it disappears down to her navel. I heave like a cat dislodging a furball.
“H-h-h-h-emil… ia.”
“Hemilia? Really?”
I clamp my lips together and nod. Can’t say stupid stuff with my mouth closed.
“U-huh.” She’s not buying it even a tiny bit. “Where did she go? Did you scare her off with that Erik Estrada thing you’ve got going on there?”
She twirls her finger at me in a figure eight. Hardy har har. So what if I have motorcycle cop glasses? I’ll bet she’s secretly into it.
“No.” I shrug one shoulder. “She’s coming up to my room later.”
She snorts. “Does she charge by the hour or did you get a package deal?”
I feel the corners of my mouth curl of their own volition. This sparring. It’s more than meets the eye. Why would one of the world’s most influential socialites care what I was drinking, who I was with, or what I did with my spare time? She could have sent someone to fetch me. She could have sent me a message. But she didn’t. She went out of her way to find me, wake me up, and now it’s like she can’t help herself.
“Why? Jealous?”
“Ha!” Her laugh is incredibly fake. “Hardly. I’ll just lock the door to our adjoining suites so she doesn’t steal anything.”
“Mmmhmm,” I hum.
She mumbles something incoherent under her breath and struts away. Her white jumpsuit hugs her curves and the fabric swishes around her ankles as she retreats. I realize (while appreciating the view because I’m a straight guy with eyeballs) that I’d been tempering my breaths—like a scuba diver conserving oxygen. I need to get a grip before I find myself with brain damage.
The next day January has some dog charity thing. It’s just outside the main strip at a children’s hospital. I have new instructions to not only drive the woman but act as a temporary bodyguard. The email came yesterday. Apparently the Madison Palm Springs security staff is spread too thin today and a skeleton crew went ahead of us to the event. The email from V. Taylor (Vivian? Valerie?) said January’s regular bodyguard is “no longer with us.” What’s that supposed to mean? Did she drive him to an early grave? Sounds completely plausible.
January’s quiet today. She avoided me the rest of the afternoon and came back to her room pretty late last night. I wasn’t waiting up to listen for her or anything. She just brushes her hair loudly.
We’re pulling into the parking lot of the hospital and I’m already salty about my new responsibilities as a bodyguard when January says three dreaded words.
“Use the valet.”
I laugh sarcastically. “Over my dead body.”
“You do realize that can be arranged,” she says. Yesterday I would have taken her seriously but right now her voice is soft and there’s humor in her tone. What is this strange universe?
“Remember when I told you I don’t like people touching my car?”
I steal a glance at her from the rear-view mirror and her eyes flicker with awareness. Yes. I’ll not soon forget that either, woman. I take that as a yes.
“There’s no way some teenager is going to park my Caddy.”
“You have to stay near me at all times and you can’t do that if you’re off parking your car.” She waves her hand around, “Wherever it is you park cars.”
“In parking lots, generally. Sometimes on the street or in a driveway.”
She rolls her eyes and I’m aware for the first time how incredibly blue they are. Keep your eyes on the road, dude. I go towards the main entrance where there’s a balloon arch waiting for us and a host of nurses flanking the entryway like the servants in Downton Abbey. I’m slowing down but January pounces to the seat nearest the divider and flails her hand through the window, practically smacking me in the face.
“No, no. Keep going.”
“What the...”
“Just take me with you to park and we’ll walk in together.”
I grab hold of her hand just to annoy her. She’s stuck now. I’m going to hold her arm captive just to watch her squirm. Her skin is soft. Really really soft. I don’t realize I’m stroking her wrist with my thumb until she yanks free.
I cle
ar my throat. “What about taking you door to door, Princess? It’s what you wanted, remember?” I’m taking her back to that first day we met and all the vitriol between us because it’s familiar. It’s comfortable. This attraction I’m beginning to feel has to die a swift and bloody death.
“Just do as I say.” She crawls back to her seat facing front. That’s better.
I continue on past the balloon arch and the line of nurses. Their faces as I wheel right by them cracks me up. All heads turn in unison. Classic. I circle the parking lot for what seems a small eternity but this place is packed in anticipation of January’s visit. Not one open space, not to mention the two spaces I need to park this limo.
“I’ll have to find a spot on the street. Are you sure—“
“Yes, for heaven’s sake, just do it.”
I pull down my sunglasses and wink at her in the mirror. “That’s what she said.”
Princess is not amused. I find an open spot about a block and a half away in a nearby strip mall. We exit the limo and head on down the sidewalk. January’s wearing a flowy floral dress which is equal parts conservative and flirty. Or maybe it’s just me that finds it flirty. She’s wearing tan heels but at least they’re not sky-high so the walk won’t be completely unbearable for her. Still, I can’t help but wonder if her pampered, privileged feet will make it.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m capable of walking a block, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Okaaay.
We arrive to find some of the nurses have dispersed. Our drive-by must have discouraged them. As soon as we’re spotted a couple of them scatter to call the others back outside. January is greeted like royalty. You’d think she was Princess Diana come back to life by the way they’re fawning over her, faces beaming with admiration. There’s press, but I recognize some of the hotel security have come over to keep them at bay. They won’t let them get within 500 feet of the hospital entrance. January doesn’t pose for the cameras like I thought she would. Not even a wave. Maybe a big network has an exclusive inside. The administrative director ushers us in with a huge grin.