Changing Roles

by Melanie Moreland

  Shelby handed Everett his lunch and sat across from me with her own burger.

  “Ta.” I winked at her. “You’re smashing, love.”

  Her eyes were warm and filled with mirth. “There you go with the accent again, Oscar.”

  “Piece of cake.” I grinned. “Gotcha right where I want you.”

  She shook her head. “That you do, Liam. That you do.”

  Shelby

  Liam relaxed on the sofa in the den, his eyes closed. From across the room, Everett and I were going over Liam’s calendar at the desk. His upcoming shooting schedule, interviews, travel arrangements, photo shoots—the never-ending train that was the life of Liam Wright.

  I grinned as I took in Liam’s relaxed posture. The sunlight streamed in the window, highlighting his white-blond hair and the scruff on his chin. He was tall—his legs draped over the small sofa in the den as he slumbered. In repose, he looked younger than his twenty-eight years, his skin smooth, his expression peaceful. One hand rested on the floor, his long fingers curled into a loose fist while the other was draped across his strong chest. His broad shoulders and muscular build looked good on the screen. He wore a suit like a second skin—elegant, graceful, and masculine all at the same time. His smile was blinding, and when you added in his extraordinary green eyes that seemed to glow in his face plus his killer looks, the screen loved him. He was sought after by studios, well known around town as a flirt and a playboy, yet respected and liked. He was never an asshole and had a reputation for bringing his A game to every set and treating those around him, be they a makeup artist or a co-star, with the same attitude. He always had a friendly word for everyone and was never anything but professional.

  At home, he was the same way. Cheerful and friendly. Sweet. He reminded me of a puppy—wanting to please, happy to make someone smile. He thought of himself as a wanker, but the truth was he was simply Liam. Carefree and content to be looked after. There was no malice in him, only a boyish charm that covered his hidden insecurities.

  Everett and I knew the truth behind his good-natured ways. The fear Liam lived and dealt with as best he could. Everett worked hard to make his career, and all it entailed, as easy for Liam as possible. I did the same for him at home. He was catered to on sets, led as to which way to go when out in public, and he relied on his team to look after him.

  Our Peter Pan—the boy who refused to grow up. He’d gotten his nickname early on in his career, when he’d flippantly replied to a reporter’s query about being cast in roles of characters far younger than his years.

  “Are you worried about being typecast and only able to play younger men? Never growing up?”

  Liam had shrugged and laughed. “Worked well for Peter Pan.”

  The name stuck, and he hated it, although at times it suited him. He had no idea how to run a house, handle his finances, take care of himself—or anyone else.

  That was why he had us.

  And somehow, needing to be needed by the slumbering boy-man on the sofa satisfied something within me. Liam and I were best friends, and I adored him. I liked caring for him, and I loved his downtime when it was only us. Those were the best times.

  Despite how I had come to be in his life, I was glad I was part of it.

  I startled as I realized Everett had asked me a question, and I had to ask him to repeat it. I tore my gaze away from Liam and concentrated on the task at hand. He was far too distracting—and I had a lot of work to do.

  LIAM

  Slowly waking, I listened to Shelby and Everett talking and planning. I was grateful I wasn’t the one who had to figure the schedule, although Ev always gave me last say. I rarely disagreed since I knew he had things under control and had my best interests at heart.

  Still, he always kept me in the loop, and Shelby always kept me in line. I did what they told me to do.

  It worked well for all of us.

  I grinned at the sounds of Shelby’s amusement at something Everett said. She always brought a smile to my face, right from the day she became part of my life.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay here alone, Shelby?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be fine, Liam. I’ll be busy here, I think, while you’re gone.”

  I chuckled. I had seen her lists. She would be busy. I wanted the entire house changed—everything that reminded me of Marie to be gone.

  “I don’t expect you to redo the whole house in three weeks.”

  “I can get a lot done.”

  She had been a breath of fresh air the past few days. Always smiling and upbeat despite what she had been through—she was amazing.

  “Everett gave you access to a household account, right?” I waggled my finger at her. “Don’t bleed me dry, woman.”

  “I’ll clear it all with you first, Liam.”

  “I trust you. Do what you think is best.”

  She frowned at me. “Liam, this is your home. You should be picking the furniture and dishes.”

  “Um, not a good idea. I know nothing about that sort of thing. I’d cock it all up.”

  “I’ll help you,” she insisted. “But the final decisions are yours.”

  I grimaced, running a hand through my hair. “Shelby…”

  “I’ll make it easy on you, Oscar. Go be brilliant and leave this to me.”

  Leaning forward, I kissed her cheek softly. She was affectionate with Everett and treated me the same way. I found returning her warmth incredibly easy. “Ta, Beaker. Take care.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  I raised my hand and waved.

  I chuckled all the way to the car. Everett’s pet name for her was perfect. When she became upset or worried, she made the strangest little bleating noise in the back of her throat—reminiscent of Beaker the lab assistant on the Muppets. It suited her.

  She hated the name. The first time I had heard her make that sound, I thought she was choking, and I had tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver on her. She had elbowed me in the chest, sending me sprawling on the floor. Once I figured out what had happened, I laughed so hard she left the room in a huff. I apologized, although I fully understood the reason for Everett’s pet name. She told me never to call her by that name and I agreed.

  I lied.

  I loved it and used it as often as I could just to piss her off and make her glare at me. She was quite cute when she glared.

  She started calling me Oscar because of the statue I had shown her, lamenting over the damage it caused to my TV after Marie threw it. Shelby assured me she would find a way to have the Oscar repaired and promised to replace the TV.

  “I’m not sure the Academy would be too happy to know you were more upset over the TV than the statue, Liam.” She winked. “I’ll keep that between us—” she paused then grinned “—Oscar.”

  I laughed, enjoying her teasing and liking her nickname.

  But I pretended my nickname was homage to my acting skills and Shelby let me.

  She was serious when she said I had the final say in things. Her emails were endless. And perfect. She narrowed down the choices to two for everything and sent me links or pictures, and I simply chose the one I liked best and replied. I did beg her to have mercy when she sent drapery choices and questions about dishes and cooking pots. I didn’t give a flying fuck about any of that—as long as there was food on the plate, I didn’t care what color the crockery was. Or the color of the new sheets she was purchasing for me as long as they were on my bed and Marie hadn’t touched them. I told her to send me the big stuff, and I would let her choose the accessories to complete the rooms.

  I was quite proud of knowing that word and decorating phrase. Shelby seemed impressed as well.

  I sent the makeup artist and her husband to dinner to thank her for supplying me with them. I was grateful the email had come while Cindy was doing my makeup and she had been amused at my moan of despair when I read it. I had her type the reply to make sure it was correct. I told myself it was like someone prompting my lines off-camera.r />
  I loved Shelby’s emails for other reasons. I got to know her through her words, and I was amazed how quickly she seemed to know exactly what I would like when it came to my home. Deep, comfortable furniture would replace the ugly, hard-leather black sofas Marie had chosen. Dark wood and warm colors on the walls removed the glass-topped tables and white walls Marie had informed me were chic. In retrospect, Marie had scared me so badly, I just let her do what she wanted so she would leave me alone. It probably wasn’t the best scenario, having her in my house.

  When I walked into my house three weeks later, I hardly recognized the place. I loved every single change Shelby had made—especially the larger flat screen, which was now housed in a built-in wall unit, my repaired and shiny Oscar proudly displayed on one of the shelves.

  I also reveled in my freshly replaced underwear and T-shirts. My dressers were full and organized.

  Somehow, knowing Shelby had her hands all over them didn’t bother me the way knowing that Marie had touched them had.

  It was different.

  Marie was scary. Psycho-shower-scene scary.

  Shelby, as Everett had put it, wasn’t even remotely scary. She was amazing, and I already worshiped her.

  And in the six months she’d been with me, that hadn’t changed at all. It had only grown.

  Shelby made that funny noise, and I opened my eyes, looking at her across the room. She was staring at her tablet, her eyes narrowed and her lips moving wordlessly as she read the screen. Immediately, I shut my eyes, knowing exactly what was causing that reaction. I struggled to keep a straight face as I heard her chair push back, and her feet hit the floor in fast angry steps. My eyes flew open when her tiny but strong finger poked me in the chest.

  “What the hell is this, Liam?”

  I acted confused. “What is what, Beaker?”

  I knew she was upset when she ignored the use of her nickname.

  “This,” she hissed, holding up her iPad.

  “I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

  “There is a deposit in my account for $100,000. What the hell?”

  I shrugged nonchalantly. “I paid my debt.”

  “Are you mental? You don’t owe me a hundred grand!”

  I sighed patiently. “Obviously, I no longer owe you. I paid it.”

  “You never owed it, you stupid British moron!”

  Behind her, Everett began to guffaw. He relaxed in his chair, his arm draped casually over the back as he sipped his coffee and watched us.

  I subtly flipped him the bird.

  Shelby slapped my hand. “Behave.”

  Dammit. She caught me every time.

  “I told you I’d give you a hundred grand if you had what I wanted. You did. I paid up. Simple.”

  “You say shit like that all the time. I don’t take you seriously.”

  I pursed my lips, teasingly. “Wait, I owe you more?” I dug into my pocket. “I’ll call the bank.”

  “You don’t owe me anything! Cancel the transfer.”

  “Can’t. It’s already in there.”

  “Reverse it.”

  “Nope. A promise is a promise.”

  She hovered over me, trying hard to be menacing. “I promise I am going to hurt you if you don’t take this back.”

  “She will,” Everett sang. “I’ll help her.”

  “Sod off, you git. Stay out of this. It’s between Shelby and me. And the discussion is over.”

  “Take it back,” she demanded.

  I reclined back on the sofa. “Nope.”

  Shelby turned and marched out of the room. I grinned widely. I’d been looking for a reason to give her a bonus, and this was perfect. I loved how she looked when pissed off—her cheeks bright with color and her eyes lit with fire as she glared at me. She was cracking.

  A few moments later, she strode back in, slapping a piece of paper onto my chest before walking back to the desk. I looked down and picked up the folded slip, chuckling when I saw the check made out to me for the full amount—plus a dollar.

  Without a word, I stood and went over to her, smiling innocently as I bent low and kissed her cheek.

  “Ta, Shelby. But no.”

  And I fed the check into the shredder.

  I snickered all the way to the door.

  “This isn’t over, Oscar.”

  I grinned at her. “I’ve already won, Beaker. Give up.”

  “Never.”

  A certified check appeared the next day. I deposited it and retransferred the money.

  One hundred thousand dollars in neat, bundled twenties showed up on my bed a few days later. Ev and I dropped it off back at the bank on the way to an interview, with instructions it was to go back into Shelby’s account.

  Daily, a check would be sitting on my desk. I always waited until Shelby was going by to drop it in the shredder, chuckling the entire time, enjoying her muffled shrieks of annoyance. I offered to order her some new checks since it appeared she’d run out soon.

  She flipped me off and kept walking.

  And then she stopped. I was sitting at my desk in the late afternoon reading over the script for my upcoming movie and realized no check had appeared. No bundles of cash and no gnashing of teeth.

  Had I won?

  Suspiciously, I went into the kitchen. She was busy making pasta sauce, and my mouth started to water. I loved her pasta. I pulled myself up on the counter and watched her in silence. In the background, she had rock music playing. That usually meant she was thinking. Which was never a good thing for me—she was way smarter than I was. I cleared my throat. “All right, Shelby?”

  She glanced at me. “Pasta for dinner, okay?”

  “Sounds good. Is there garlic bread?”

  She laughed. “Of course.”

  I glanced around surreptitiously. “Dessert?”

  “Oh. I forgot that out in the car. Could you get it?”

  I frowned. Shelby bought dessert? I grumbled to myself as I went to fetch it for her. Shelby didn’t buy baked goods. Shelby made me baked goods. I liked Shelby’s baking. Why would she buy anything?

  I stopped short in the doorway of the garage and started to howl in amusement. The passenger side of my convertible was filled with coins, which overflowed onto the driver’s side. The garage light glinted off the shiny silver of the quarters, nickels, and dimes I could see filling the small seating area of my Jaguar. A pile of coin rollers was on the floor beside the car. I had no idea how long it had taken her to fill it or how much money there was in coins, but it was brilliant.

  She was brilliant.

  Shelby reached around and slapped a certified draft against my chest. “I’m not helping you empty it either. Take it back, Liam. Or next time, it’s all pennies.” She walked away, looking over her shoulder. “And I won’t only use some of the money—I’ll fill your pool and hot tub with them.”

  I kept laughing as I looked at the $90,000 draft. She’d filled my car with $10,000 worth of coins. I wondered briefly if she could get her hands on a hundred grand worth of pennies and what they would look like filling the pool. And while I really didn’t want to find out…I was enjoying this too much to stop.

  I looked down at the paper in my hand. I could deposit it and let her win.

  Or…I could hold on to the draft and drive her crazy. Having it in limbo would drive her nuts.

  This was so on.

  I arrived home the next day, a package tucked under my arm. I smiled at Shelby as I walked through the kitchen, stopping at her “odds and ends drawer,” as she called it. I dug around and got the hammer and a picture hook, then walked down the hall.

  “What are you doing?” she called after me.

  Grinning, I ignored her and walked into the den. I gazed around the walls and decided I liked the one across from my desk the best. Awkwardly, I tapped the hook into the wall, cursing when I hit my thumb while trying to avoid doing exactly that.

  “Bugger.”

  “Not good wielding a hammer, Oscar
?” Shelby’s voice behind me was amused and curious at the same time.

  “Piss off, Beaker. I’m busy.”

  “I see. Redecorating?”

  I huffed. “Adding to the ambiance.”

  She snorted.

  I glared at her. “Have something on your mind?”

  “How’s your car?”

  I flashed my megawatt smile at her. As usual, it had no effect, and she continued to gaze at me impassively.

  “It’s great. I drove it to a high school that was doing car washes. They emptied it out and washed it. Their school is getting a new set of bleachers, thanks to you. Well done.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Turning, I unwrapped my package, holding it up to admire it before I turned around and hung it on the wall.

  “Perfect.”

  The $90,000 draft was enclosed in glass and framed.

  Behind me, Shelby’s mouth opened, and her Beaker noise escaped.

  “You can’t leave that there.”

  “I can.”

  “It’s a waste.”

  I shrugged and sat at my desk. “Then take it back.”

  “No. It’s extravagant, Liam! It’s not needed!”

  “I disagree.” I pointed to the frame. “And it’s staying there until I convince you otherwise.”

  She glared at me and then turned on her heel and walked out of the room. “Enjoy your expensive art, Liam!” She stopped at the doorway. “You haven’t won.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Oh, you’ll be begging, all right.”

  I snorted in amusement as she walked away. The flash in her eye and the heightened color on her cheeks were all I needed.

  This wasn’t over.

  I looked forward to what she had up her sleeve next. Whatever it was, I would enjoy it. She made my life brighter and brought joy to my days.

  And I adored her.

  5

  Liam

  A few days later, I poked at my dinner in front of me. When Shelby had fired up the grill, I was sure she was cooking steak. I loved steak.