by Jillian Dodd
“I know I’d love to massage you.”
“Are you good with your hands?”
He leans down and whispers in my ear. “I think you already know the answer to that question. Shall I give you a massage tonight?”
“Well, I was thinking of having Chad, my masseuse, give us both a massage.”
“Oh,” Dawson says flatly. “I should have known. The girl who has everything.” He stops rubbing my neck. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. Do you sleep with him? You were glad I didn’t sleep with anyone in Vegas, but what about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.”
“Were you before I got here?”
“I didn't sit home alone, if that's what you mean,” I reply brusquely, becoming a little offended.
“So where are these guys now?”
“It was casual.”
“So just sex?”
“And the occasional escort to a party. Although, lately, I've been taking Chad. He loves parties and he's been meeting a lot of men that way.”
“Men?”
“Yes, he's gay.”
Dawson sits on the table in front of me and smiles.
“That makes you happy?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, brushing his lips across mine, his jealousy making me feel giddy.
“Let’s skip the massage, go to the restaurant downstairs, and have some dinner.”
“I’m making everyone stay until nine tonight. That’s supposed to include us.”
“Let them go home. Tomorrow is going to be busy when word of the party gets out.”
“I don’t know,” I say, knowing I personally have yet to run through the list and verify that everything was done the way I wanted.
“I’ll bring the list. We’ll go over it while we enjoy a bottle of wine.”
I move my head around, thinking about it, as he sweetens the deal. “Then I’ll take you back to my place and massage every square inch of you.”
“Deal,” I say. How can I refuse? “But you have to promise that if there’s something we missed on the list, we’ll finish it before we leave.”
“I promise,” he says, sealing it with a kiss.
Captive Films — Santa Monica
KEATYN
After everyone but Aiden leaves, I tell him, “We’re going to have to reschedule dinner with our families.”
He hands me the frozen lemonade in his hand and gets a stubborn look on his face.
“No way, Boots. This is more important than any crisis. Besides, Tyler told me everything is under control.”
“Tyler is an optimist.”
Aiden pulls me up out of my chair and wraps his arms around me. I can’t help but melt into him.
“You hired Vanessa to handle all this kind of stuff. Let her do her job.”
“Hugging you takes away all my stress,” I coo, sliding my hands up under his shirt.
“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he teases, giving me a steamy kiss.
I stifle a yawn.
“See, you’re tired. You’ve already been at work for over twelve hours. It’s time for us to go to dinner.”
“The photographer is working overtime to get the photos from today’s shoot back to me. Once I choose them, they have to go to the printer, who is working overnight to get the promotional posters for the party done.”
“When will they be done?”
“He said around nine.”
“Message him now to text you when they are done. We won’t stay at dinner long and when we get home, I’ll help you choose. I’m thinking a nice warm bath is in order too.”
“Do I have to bathe alone?” I ask, moving my hand a little lower.
“Do you ever?” he teases, kissing my nose. “Come on, baby. Let’s go share some good news.”
Aiden and I are sitting in the bathtub. He’s cupping water in his hand and emptying it on my chest to keep me warm while I’m leaned back against his chest, relaxing.
“Everyone was excited about the baby,” he says, referring to the cheers and the, It’s about times from our families.
“Your mom especially,” I say. His mom fought and won a battle with cancer and is so excited to have lived to see this day.
“Your sisters are excited to become aunts, but I think they were even more excited to learn that the fundraiser invitations they got yesterday are really for our wedding.”
“I know. Did you hear Avery asking about interning at Captive? She said her teacher won’t count all the work she does on their Stevens brand.”
“You were smart to tell her yes. Your marketing department can always use help in social media.”
“I know. With Gracie’s acting, Ivery’s modeling, and Emery’s music career, I think Avery sometimes feels like the oddball. She’s yet to really find her calling.”
“Your sisters are the exception. Most people don’t know what they want to do until they experience life. Want to know what I think?”
“Of course.”
“I think she could be a Captive Films executive someday. She’s smart and creative.”
“Aiden, ohmigosh, I never even thought of that, but you’re right. I have a better idea. I should let her spend a few weeks in each department so she can figure out what she loves the most.”
“That’s perfect. Speaking of perfect. So far, Ariela seems to be doing a great job getting this wedding pulled together. I think we were smart to take a page from the Abby Johnston and Tommy Stevens handbook on how to quietly get married.”
“I think so too. Maggie texted me and told me Ariela had meetings with vendors all day today. And she got the invitations out on time. Even I didn’t know if that was possible.”
My phone dings. Aiden wipes his hand off on a towel and looks at it. “Guess the bath party is over. That’s the photographer. The photos are ready. Oh, there’s also a text from Dallas. We must have not heard it when you were attacking me.”
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure it’s you who did the attacking this time. What’s it say?”
“It says, Call me. Here, I’ll dial. Your hands are wet.”
He puts it on speaker.
“Hey, Dallas. It’s me and Aiden. Sorry we just saw your text.”
“How did dinner with the families go?”
“Good. Everyone is excited about both the wedding and the baby.”
“I knew they would be. So, I may have some good news. I’ve been working on these charges with the county prosecutor. I told him in confidence about the publicity stunt.”
“Oh, Dallas! That’s brilliant. It’s another way the press could verify it.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I believe they will be dropping all the charges except for the public intoxications and all that requires is paying a fine.”
“You’re amazing.”
“The casino and hotel also called. Apparently, they have been flooded with calls inquiring about the suite from the party and have booked it out for months in advance. The crew is welcome back anytime.”
“Don’t tell them that,” Aiden laughs.
Captive Films — Santa Monica
DAWSON
After dinner we go back to the office to tie up a few final details.
“Will you be my date for the Purity Party? Apparently, Tyler ordered me an all-white suit. I haven’t worn all white since my wedding,” I accidentally say. Shit, I don’t want to talk about my wedding.
“I told you about my wedding,” Vanessa says. “What was yours like?”
“A bit of a disaster. Her family was embarrassed she was getting married after she had a baby and refused to come. My family didn’t want me to marry her, but they came because we always support each other.”
“She had a beautiful family with you. Why would she kill herself?”
“Because she was in a severe depression.”
“Why?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it, Vanessa. I told you she struggled with depression. I’m sorry I brought up my wedd
ing. I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh,” she says. “It’s okay.” But I can tell it’s not really.
She’s quiet for a minute then says, “So tomorrow night is the party. What do you want to do Friday night? I think if we’re able to pull this all off, we should go out and celebrate.”
“I can’t on Friday night. The girls will be in town.”
“We’ll include them in the celebration.”
“I think that I need to spend the weekend with them, uh, alone.” I stress.
“Oh,” she says again.
Then there’s silence.
“We’ve been making plans all week for what they want to do when they get here. They deserve my full attention,” I say, then trying to make it up to her, I slide my hand onto her thigh. “And you are a beautiful distraction.”
She immediately stands up. “Well, since we’re all finished up here, I’m heading home. Thanks for all your help today, Dawson. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”
“You don’t want to come back to my place for a massage?”
“No, I’m very tired. It’s been a long day. Good night, Dawson,” she says, then quickly walks out the door.
Shit.
Riley’s Penthouse - L.A.
RILEY
I’m sitting alone in my penthouse staring out at the view, trying to avoid the phone in my lap.
After the photo shoot, Keatyn sent me home but asked me to keep my phone on. Thankfully, I was so tired I did nothing but shower and then fall on my bed and pass out.
But, now, the phone is taunting me.
I have twenty-four unread text messages, waiting to be read.
I have no idea who they are from, but I’m sure at least one is from Ariela.
I’m trying not to obsess over whether or not I should read them, but that’s exactly what’s on my mind.
Fuck it.
I know I probably shouldn’t go out after everything that’s happened, but I don’t feel like being alone.
So I’m going to the bar for just one drink.
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 8TH
The Bar - L.A.
RILEY
I’m at the bar for about ten minutes when I notice two young blondes staring at me, then talking about me, then looking at their phones to confirm what they thought; that I am indeed Riley Johnson.
I roll my eyes and look around the room, searching for someone who might not know who I am. Who might not care what I could do for their career.
My mind flits back to Ariela holding her shoes and wrapped in her husband’s arms.
Next thing I know, a high-pitched voice says boldly, “Buy me a drink?”
I turn, wondering if that line actually works for her. The girl has a fresh-faced Midwestern look set on the body of a porn star.
I’m thinking it does.
“Sure, why not?” I raise my finger in the air to summon the bartender. “Get this lady a drink.”
She orders some sort of fruity concoction and quickly downs it.
Then she sets to work on me; touching my arm, giggling, leaning forward to allow me a closer look at her cleavage, which is prominently on display in a low-cut, skintight dress.
“You wanna get out of here?” I ask. I’m not in the mood for flirting. I’m in the mood for fucking.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
When the valet pulls up in tonight’s ride, you can practically see the dollar signs blazing in her eyes.
“Ohmigawd! You have a Poorsh,” she exclaims, slaughtering the Porsche name.
On the short drive to my penthouse, she gives me an excellent blowjob, which is always a sign of good things to come.
Pun intended.
Once she’s naked on my bed, I reach into my nightstand and pull out a couple silk scarves. This chick looks a little like Shelby, and I’m thinking she may have the same taste in sex.
“I’m going to tie you up,” I tell her.
Her eyes get big but then she quickly purrs, “Of course. Whatever you want.”
Once she’s pinned to my bed, I position myself above her.
But the closer I get to her the more scared she looks.
Is she afraid?
Of me?
I study her more closely, realizing she looks pretty young. But she had to be twenty-one to be at the bar.
I think back to my college days and the fake IDs we all had.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty,” she says, but she’s not a good actress.
“How old are you really?” I ask sternly.
“Um, nineteen.”
“And how long have you been in L.A.?”
“A year.”
“And why are you here with me?”
“Because you're hot,” she says, trying to convince me, but not succeeding.
I frown and shake my head, suddenly pissed.
“Don't lie to me! Why are you here? Why did you come home with me when you don't even know me?”
She doesn't bother trying to act this time, but she still lies. “Your name doesn’t matter, baby. I think you're sexy.”
I get in her face. “Tell me the fucking truth.”
She sighs, her perky breasts rising and falling. “Fine. Because you're Riley Johnson.”
I sit on top of her, grab a pocketknife from my bedside table, and flip open the blade.
Her eyes get huge and she starts to cry. “What . . . What are you gonna do with the knife?”
I quickly cut the ties, jump off her, and pull on my pants. My boner is long gone.
“Get out of here,” I command.
She sits up.
“Wait! It's fine. I'm kinky. I love that stuff. I was just acting. Pretending to be inexperienced. I'd be perfect for the role of Miranda in the new teen romance you're casting.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Get the fuck out of here. And for the record, serious actresses don't have to sleep with the producer to get a role. They're good actresses. I have never and will never hire a girl who acts like a whore.”
“Word about that gets out and you'll never get a date,” she mutters as she's pulling on her dress.
I take two steps toward her and grab her by the arm. “What the fuck did you say?”
She glares at me. “I’m sure you heard exactly what I said. Are you stupid? Why else would I want to sleep with some old guy? I'm just tired of getting nowhere.”
She grabs her purse and storms out of the bedroom in tears.
I follow her toward my elevator, push the button, and don't give a shit about how she gets home.
Fuck.
I plop down on my hard, modern leather sofa. Then quickly get back up and stare down at what the interior designer called a statement piece.
I look around at my penthouse. Dark woods, sleek furniture, lots of metal and leather.
It's like the inside of a fucking car, not a home.
I grab my phone and call Aiden.
Keatyn answers. “Riley, this better not be your one call from jail."
I glance at the modern clock above my fireplace, realizing how late it is.
"It's not. Sorry, I know it's late. Fuck. Can I come over? I need to talk to Aiden."
"Of course you can, Riley. Are you okay?"
“Not really,” I say and hang up.
I hit an app on my phone to get a black car. I'm not in the mood to drive.
On the way to Malibu, I wonder what in the hell I'm even going to say to Aiden. Truth is, I needed to get out of my cold penthouse.
I have the driver drop me off at the public beach.
I take my shoes off and walk in the sand, then sneak under the chain link fence into the Malibu Colony. I look up at the moon, thankful for the light.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then make my way up their deck and knock on the window.
Aiden comes to the door wearing just shorts.
“Is that what you wear to bed?” I ask as he lets me in.
�
�Did you come out here at two in the morning to ask me that?” he chuckles.
“No. Where's Keatyn?”
“I told her to go back to sleep.”
“She gonna listen to you?”
He laughs. “Probably not. So, what's going on?”
“A girl I brought home tonight called me an old guy. When did we become old guys?”
“Well, I am almost thirty.”
“Fine. You're an old guy. I’m still twenty-eight for a few more days. Do I look old?”
“You look successful, Riley,” Keatyn says, walking into the study wearing a short silk robe and carrying a tray of warm, fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies and three tall glasses of milk.
“I’m gonna defer to her on that,” Aiden says. “No offense, but I don't really pay attention to how you look.”
Keatyn hands me a plate with four cookies and I take a glass of milk off the tray. When I got here, I wanted a scotch, but this is even better.
As I bite into the gooey cookie, I survey their home, wondering why it’s one of my favorite places. The walls are the color of sand. There's a worn leather chair in the corner and photos on the shelves. It smells clean like the ocean. And I realize it reminds me of our place in the Hamptons, where I’m surrounded by family.
And that’s how I feel here; like I’m surrounded by family.
“These are good,” I tell her. “Thanks.”
She's perched on the edge of Aiden's chair. One of his hands is protectively wrapped around her side and the other is bringing a cookie to his mouth.
Me, I'm double fisting it; cookie in one hand, milk in the other.
Bite. Drink. Repeat.
Keatyn gets up and gives Aiden a kiss. “I’ll let you boys talk.” On the way out of the room, she kisses the top of my head. “If you dated girls your own age, Riley, you wouldn't feel old.”
“How does she always know what's wrong before I even say it?” I ask Aiden, who's now double fisting milk and cookies too.
“Is that really why you're here? Because a girl called you old?”
“That's part of it.”
“It's Ariela, isn't it?”
