Kiss Talent Agency Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Virna DePaul

  I shudder. I don’t have time for this. For one, Heather Flint is a gigantic pain in my ass. Secondly, I don’t do commitment. I do flings, and that’s it. Heather’s the type of woman who’d want commitment: I can tell from just looking at her.

  I’ve finished off my first beer and I’m about to start my second when someone knocks on my door. I growl. It’s close to ten at night—who the fuck is knocking on my door right now?

  I’m about to ignore the knock when I hear Fiona’s voice calling out, “I know you’re in there, Johnny!”

  I groan. The last thing I need is Fiona sniffing around like some bloodhound. But I also know that she’s spotted my rental car and will probably climb through my window if I don’t answer the door.

  I let her in, not saying anything in greeting, but she doesn’t seem to care. She waltzes in with Bertie the dog under her arm. The fluffy monster barks at me and even snaps at my arm when Fiona brushes past me.

  “Why are you here, Fiona?” I open the beer I just got from the fridge and take a deep drink, hoping the alcohol will save me from whatever she wants.

  As usual, Fiona pouts. “I was just in the neighborhood—”

  “Don’t lie. We both know you wouldn’t live a mile past Santa Monica.”

  “You’re in a mood,” she says with a sniff. “Did someone turn you down?”

  I glare at her over the rim of my beer. I want to tell her it was the exact opposite, but then she’ll start fishing for details and never leave. So I just shrug. “I’m tired. I wanted to watch Netflix and go to bed, but you showed up.”

  “You’ve gotten boring in your old age.”

  “I am boring, so that means you have no reason to stick around.” I walk out of the kitchen to the living room and flip on the TV, hoping Fiona gets the hint.

  She doesn’t.

  “You know,” she says as she sits down beside me, petting Bertie, who whines with each stroke of her hand, “I heard from a little birdie that you and Heather Flint just about tore each other apart at her shoot.” Fiona taps her bottom lip. “And I said, ‘surely not! Not Johnny, the most charming man alive!’”

  I glare at her. “Did you come here just to gossip?”

  “Of course not.” She sets Bertie on the floor. The dog trots over to a pillow that had fallen from the couch and proceeds to growl at it and tear it to pieces. “I’m here because I know you’ve been lonely. And I’ll be honest, so have I.”

  Fiona moves closer, pressing against me. Her perfume wafts up to my nostrils. Where normally I would’ve found her scent and fluttering lashes a clear—and welcome—invitation, right now, I’m just irritated.

  She strokes my arm, her fingernails a bright red, rather like bloodied claws. “Let me make you feel better, darling.” She smiles.

  I stare down at her, and I’ll admit, I consider it. Falling into bed with Fiona would get my mind off of everything, and she’s a fun, lusty bed partner. Never mind the insanity afterward. My original plan had been to get drunk and collapse onto my bed—alone—but maybe I should rethink that.

  But when Fiona’s white teeth flash as she smiles, I know that it would be beyond stupid if I give in to her. For one, she’s crazy. And there’s no spark. My cock is as limp as a dead fish in her presence, even with her breasts practically right under my nose and her mouth as red as her nails.

  Truth be told, the only woman I want to take to bed right now is the one who probably hates me more than anyone else.

  Damn Heather Flint to hell to back again. How could the woman ruin me like this?

  I stand up, mostly because sitting next to Fiona is like being an insect caught in her spider’s web. Bertie continues his assault on the pillow, which I’ll have to replace, I realize with a curse.

  “You should go,” I say curtly. I don’t even try to disguise my annoyance. “I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  She stares at me, surprised, before her expression changes into one of rage. Her eyes flash, and if she looked dangerous before, now she looks positively sinister. She doesn’t get up, though. She pushes back her blond hair from her shoulder as she says in a disgusted voice, “Are you really turning me down?”

  I roll my eyes. “Believe it or not, yes. I know it’s probably a new experience for you, but you’ll survive.”

  She sniffs. “You have a lot of nerve, Caleb Johnson, acting like you’re above me and so many other people in this town when you were a nobody taking photos that no one other than your own parents even looked at just a few years ago. You think you’re invincible?” She stands. “You’re not.”

  “This has nothing to do with any of that,” I say in an irritated tone. “You’re deliberately twisting my words.”

  “I doubt that very much. So who is she?”

  I still, but I force myself not to react. Fiona doesn’t know, otherwise she would’ve named Heather right from the start. She’s not that subtle.

  “She who? As I told you, I have an early start tomorrow.”

  She licks her lips, like she’s about to inhale me in one big bite. And if given half the chance, she probably would consume me.

  “Oh, Johnny, you aren’t as good at keeping secrets as you think you are.” She slowly walks toward me, until she presses a hand against my chest, her nails digging into my skin through the thin cotton of my shirt. “I know that look on your face. I know when you have a woman on your mind. It was the same look you got when you told me we should just stay friends, and then you started screwing that Ukrainian model.” She’s practically purring at this point, but I know very well it isn’t because she’s happy.

  “And then you went and dated some tech CEO from Silicon Valley. What of it?” I move her hand away from my chest, mostly because I’m afraid she’ll try to rip out my heart if I’m not careful.

  “We’re not talking about me, darling. We’re talking about you.”

  I turn away in disgust. I don’t have time for this—not for Fiona fishing for gossip or for her jealousy.

  “I’m going to turn in. You can show yourself out.” I don’t wait for her response.

  I hear a yip and then footsteps behind me. “Is she one of the models from the shoot? The British girl?” Fiona follows me, her stilettos clicking against the hardwood floor. “Or the new one from New York? I’ve seen her, and let me tell you, she’s not nearly as pretty in real life as she is in photos.”

  I’m at the stairs when I take Fiona by the arm and practically drag her to the door. She and Bertie both make yelping sounds.

  “Good night, Fiona,” I say as I open the door.

  I’m close to hauling her outside, but she wrenches her arm away with a sniff. “I get the hint. You don’t have to manhandle me. Goodness, she must’ve done a number on you.”

  “No one did a number on me. Good night.”

  She smiles, a cat-like smile, and then pats me on the arm. “Good night, Johnny. I’m sure I’ll see you again very soon.”

  After shutting the door—and locking it—a wisp of fear curls in my belly. Fiona looked way too triumphant as she was leaving for me not to wonder if she knows more than she let on.

  But how could she know about Heather and me?

  It’s been three days, and I’ve heard nothing from Heather. This makes me think she wants to do retakes but doesn’t want to tell me. Or, she doesn’t want to do retakes because she doesn’t want to see me again.

  Then I get annoyed with myself for sounding like some love-struck teenage girl that I push all thoughts of Heather from my mind as hard as I can. Heather is not my problem. If she wants to complicate her life unnecessarily, fine. I get paid regardless.

  But by the fourth day, I’ve lost patience. I call her while I drive to my morning meeting, telling myself I need to know what’s happening so I can tell my agent, and he can schedule accordingly. When her phone rings three times, I’m about to toss my phone out the window when I hear her voice, “Caleb?”

  I shouldn’t feel this much happiness at hearing her voice. As
a result, my response is gruffer than I intended, “Good, you’re not dead.”

  Silence. Then, “No, not last I checked. Is that all you wanted?”

  “Ha ha, very funny. I wanted to know if you’ve decided yet about the retakes. My agent is breathing down my neck about scheduling other clients.” That’s not precisely true, but I’m not about to tell Heather that.

  She sighs. “I’ve been thinking about it since we, er, last met.” I can practically see her blushing, and I’m stupidly pleased by this. I take the next exit, maneuvering around a UPS truck that’s stopped almost in the middle of the street. “I’d like to go forward with the retakes.”

  I grimace. Although this gives me a chance to see her again, I also still hate the thought of having to redo my own work. But I force myself to say, “Okay, I can do that.” I can’t help but add, “You see? It’s not hard to compromise, you know.”

  “I’m not sure how doing your job is compromising, but if that lets you sleep at night...”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I sleep just fine at night, dreaming about your beautiful breasts and how you moan my name when I’m inside you.” I hear her inhale, which makes me smile. I park my car at my destination, but I don’t get out, as my next meeting isn’t for another fifteen minutes. Besides, any chance to needle Heather is one I want to take. “How have you been sleeping? Do you dream of me, sweetheart?”

  She snorts. “You wish. The only thing I dream about is never seeing you again.”

  “I doubt that. You practically begged me to fuck you again, right in your store. That’s not a woman who didn’t enjoy herself.”

  “Do you know what an arrogant pain in the ass you are?”

  “So some people tell me. But considering how many orgasms I’ve given you—how many has it been? three? four?—I wouldn’t recommend complaining.”

  “Did you call me just to sexually harass me?”

  She sounds so annoyed that I laugh. “Only partially. I wanted to tell you that if we’re going to do retakes—which it sounds like we are—that I would recommend merging our ideas this time. Although I’m not a huge fan of your original vision, I can also allow that perhaps I went overboard with my ideas at the first shoot.”

  I hear a tapping sound; most likely Heather is tapping her pen against her desk. “So you think we should—what did you say earlier?—compromise?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And what happens when you decide you don’t like it again? Do you bulldoze over me and do what you want?”

  I tsk. “Oh ye of little faith! The last thing I want to do is to redo this a third time. And at the end of the day, they’re your designs, not mine. I’m just the photographer.”

  She snorts again. “I highly doubt you’ve ever considered yourself as ‘just the photographer.’ If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were lying and planning some way to get back at me instead.”

  I must admit, it’s kind of a low blow. I’ve been stubborn and I’ve wanted to shake Heather until her teeth rattled, but I have my honor, dammit.

  “Do you really think I’d be that big of an asshole? Give me some credit, sweetheart.”

  “Who was the one who didn’t tell me his identity? I don’t think I’m completely out of line here.”

  I grit my teeth. “That was a misunderstanding. Not a lie. How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

  “As long as I want to.” She pauses, and I can hear the wheels turning in that brain of hers. “Okay, fine. I think I can work with this.”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific, sweetheart.”

  “Let me talk to Rebecca, and we’ll get another shoot set up. I know it’s not what you want, but I think that at the end of the day, we’ll all be happier. Better to make sure everything’s just right, even if people get mad, right?”

  I’m not so sure about that, and I’m still convinced Heather is just scared of thinking outside the box, but I don’t feel like arguing the point right now. I know she’s going to do what she wants to do, and that is that. And if I were being honest with myself, I’d admit that getting one last chance to see her again is worth the aggravation of retaking these photos.

  “Good, I’m glad you’ve agreed,” I say as I finally get out of the car. “I’ll send you an email detailing what I meant by merging our ideas, and you can let me know when the next shoot is scheduled. Does that work for you?”

  “You’re so cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

  I can’t help it: I laugh. “And if you were standing here, I’d take you over my knee and spank that beautiful ass of yours for being such a giant pain in my ass.”

  “Go to hell, Caleb,” she says, but without any real rancor.

  I laugh again. “Already there, sweetheart,” I say before she hangs up.

  15

  Heather

  The bell at the front door of my store jingles, and when I look up, a gorgeous blond woman waltzes in. This isn’t new for me—this is LA, of course—and I greet her like I would anyone else.

  “Welcome to Talina,” I say. The woman has a large bag that seems to have something moving inside it. What is it with these women and their tiny dogs? “May I help you find something?”

  The woman gives me a onceover, disdain apparent in her perfect features. Then again, her face could just be like that permanently, given all of the obvious plastic surgery she’s had done. I shrug when she turns away. I’m not about to let some blond snob ruin my day because she thinks she’s too good to talk to someone like me.

  Returning to my folding, I try not to think about how good it was to hear Caleb’s voice earlier today. I should hate him. I should never want to see him again. But I feel the exact opposite—I want to see him, and touch him, and be with him. I shiver, thinking about our encounter in this very store.

  I shouldn’t dream of impossible things. I know that. I dreamed that Bo and I would become the perfect couple, and we’d both have jobs and the best marriage and, eventually, kids of our own. That dream was dashed, and expecting that Caleb—a celebrity photographer with a jet-setting career who works with beautiful models day in and day out—would be any different is complete madness. I would definitely be expected to take a back seat to his career. He’d be the star, and I’d be expected to keep my own glow down to a minimum so we wouldn’t compete. It only makes sense.

  But thinking about our conversation about the retakes, how he met me halfway? I’m sure he doesn’t realize it, but that meant a lot to me. And it also makes me wonder if I really could have it all.

  “Hey Heather, do you know where I put my keys?” Tanya begins flipping over the stack of shirts I just folded. “I can’t find them anywhere.”

  “Okay, for one, do not mess up my display,” I say with my hands on my hips. “I know they’re not under these T-shirts. Where did you last remember having them?”

  Tanya grimaces. “In my car, driving here?”

  “We’re going to have to get you a lanyard or something. Or maybe one of those ones you can attach to your belt. That’ll be super sexy.”

  My assistant rolls her eyes. “Aren’t you hilarious? Just let me know if you find them. I can’t call Jim again this week because I lost my keys.”

  I smile, knowing full well that Jim would come by any day, any hour, to help out his girlfriend. Returning to the table of shirts, I begin folding again, but my gaze catches on the blond woman. She’s now staring at me, like I’m a bug who dared to stick itself to the bottom of her Jimmy Choo stilettos.

  “May I help you?” I raise an eyebrow. Either I have something on my face, or this woman is mental. Maybe both.

  The woman doesn’t seem surprised at me catching her staring. She doesn’t look away, but instead narrows her eyes at me. “You aren’t what I expected,” she murmurs.

  Okay, now this is just getting weird. “Excuse me?”

  “Never mind. Actually, you can help me.”

  Now I’m just confused. “Yes…?”

&nb
sp; The woman murmurs something to the dog in her bag, which makes the dog yip loudly. I have half a mind to tell her that dogs aren’t allowed in the store, but she’d probably go ballistic.

  “Actually, I was looking at this blouse, but I don’t see it in my size. Do you have it in a size extra-small in the back, by chance?”

  Looking at this woman’s breasts, I highly doubt she could fit into an extra small, but I refrain from saying as much. I know we don’t have any more of that blouse in the back, but one look at this woman’s expectant expression, and I know I have to at least act like I care.

  “Let me go check. I’ll be right back.”

  “No rush. Thank you.” She pulls out her phone and turns her back to me as I head off.

  I glance at the stock in the backroom, double-checking that I don’t have the blouse in her size. I only have the ones left on the floor. Seeing that some of the stock has gotten messed up, I tidy up a bit, mostly to make the blond ice queen wait.

  “I’m so sorry, we don’t have any more in stock,” I say when I return to the floor.

  The woman turns toward me; she had been leaning over the counter at the register, which is extremely odd. I look at Tanya, who just shrugs.

  “That’s a shame,” the woman says, quickly stuffing her phone back into her—what is that thing, a dog purse? She pushes her lower lip forward. “I so liked it and would’ve loved to have worn it. Stores are always running out of my size. Isn’t that right, Bertie?” The dog doesn’t make a sound. It’s probably died of boredom being stuck in that bag.

  “Well, let me know if you need any more help.”

  “Oh, we have to get going. There’s nothing else I wanted to look at here. Ta-ta.” She waves, her fingernails a glaring red, and flits out of the store.

  “That was weird.” Tanya glances up at me. “And we get a lot of weird people.”

  “Yeah, it was. Did you see why she was leaning on the counter like that?”

  “No, I had just come from my car. I dropped my keys outside and they fell underneath my car. Go figure, right?”