Mister Stand-In: A Hero Club Novel

by C. M. Albert

  I bristled. I knew she wasn’t being mean, but I also didn’t know if she really understood. “Presley, a lot of my clients are assholes. Let’s be honest. I’m not too picky, and I follow the money. I’m not gonna lie. I charge a decent amount to be someone’s stand-in. It’s not always altruistic.”

  “Then why do you keep doing it?”

  “Because after that day, I also promised myself I wouldn’t take money for jobs like that again. I’d charge big for the times I draped myself on some model’s arm for a charity ball or served as an heiress’s date to piss off daddy or make an ex-boyfriend jealous. It pays the bills. I’ve done things as simple as chaperoning a dance for a private school, to walking the red carpet with A-list celebrities. But I’ve also walked a bride down the aisle because her own family didn’t want to be there when she met her bride at the other end. There are so many reasons why I do what I do. But it’s not all for money. That’s why I hate to focus on that side of it. I do what I do so I can help others who can’t spend daddy’s money to hire me.”

  “You—do pro-bono work? As a stand-in?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. Though it sounds weird when you say it like that. Just as much as I have a network of rich bastards who are willing to throw money at me, I also have a network of clients who are less fortunate. Who are bullied or discriminated against. Who just need an ally on their arm to feel normal. To feel strong. That’s why I do what I do. That’s also why I don’t advertise my business. It’s all word of mouth.”

  Presley sat back, staring at me. “Wow. Carter, I had no idea.”

  “Why would you? You hadn’t seen me again until your mom hired me. I mean, how weird was that?”

  Presley laughed. “Pretty weird. I didn’t know it was you at first when she told me she was doing that. But then she explained it to me, and I have to admit, I jumped to conclusions. Made assumptions. A lot of people must do that with you.”

  “Every day,” I said. “But I don’t really give a shit. I’m confident in who I am and what I do. I don’t owe a single one of them an explanation. They hire me. I show up and look good. Sometimes I help them make a better impression or smooth the way for a client to gain entry in a way they might not have been able to before. I have a lot of wealthy clients, Presley. But not all of them want others to know they’ve hired me.”

  “I see,” she said, though she didn’t look like she really did.

  “Have you ever thought of separating the businesses? Making one a nonprofit?”

  “Yeah, one day. I’d like nothing more than to volunteer to be a stand-in for kids in need. Be the big brother they never had. Walk them down the aisle when a parent’s too shitty to care. That kind of thing.”

  Presley stopped the recorder, her eyes slowly raising to meet mine. “I’m ready for your end of the bargain.”

  She stood up and took my hand, leading me to the back door.

  When we got there, she peeled off her sundress and walked outside, butt naked. I hurried to step out of my pajama pants and chased after her as the hot afternoon sun beat down on us and the tide pulled us out above our heads.

  Interview over.

  “I’M SORRY I can’t get out of this,” I said, my forehead pressed against Presley’s. We’d spent the afternoon swimming naked and crossing another sandy spot off her Down and Dirty list. We weren’t going to have too many more left at this rate, though I had a few more places I wanted to add now that I’d had more time to think about it.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I had a wonderful day, Carter.”

  “Me, too. That interview wasn’t too bad after all.”

  Presley chuckled. “I’m not through with you yet.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” I tipped her head back and kissed her soft lips. “I don’t know what time I’ll be back.”

  She nodded. “I understand. Your wealthy socialite awaits you,” she said, referring to the woman who hired me for the charity auction she was hosting on her yacht. I might’ve forgotten to mention that she was Lauren’s age, and was only bringing me to make her ex-husband jealous.

  “She will dim in comparison to you,” I said truthfully.

  And when I finally met her a few hours later, she did. Vivienne Vanderbilt was a pretty woman with too much makeup and a hard edge. She eyed me critically and licked her lips as she circled me like a piece of meat. “Amber wasn’t wrong. You are a fox.”

  “Uh, thanks?”

  She trailed a finger down the front of my tux. “My ex-husband will be here tonight, even though he was not on the guest list. Let’s just say a petty former employee of mine is trying to make a statement. One I care nothing about. Nonetheless, I appreciate you joining me. I have no interest in dating these days, after what he put me through,” she said, sounding genuinely upset. “But I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me alone at my own event. I want him to choke on what he lost.”

  “May I ask why he lost it? So I know how to help you this evening.”

  She turned on her crystal heel, making her way to the closest bar. The yacht was bustling with servants and volunteers, but the guests wouldn’t arrive for a bit. She had the bartender fix her a dry martini with extra olives and ushered me over. “Your poison?”

  “Whiskey, neat.”

  We headed up top, the views of The Grove stunning from the deck of the yacht. It twinkled majestically, surrounded by the green of palm trees, thick, lush grass, and a variety of colorful flowers and shrubs. The waves lapped at the shoreline in front of it, and guests mingled poolside with drinks in their hands. From here they looked like ants, but soon, they would board a smaller boat and be brought to the yacht, where we would gamble offshore for charity.

  Vivienne sat on a bench and crossed her long, tan legs. She was wearing a black, satin evening gown that dusted the floor. The slit up the front revealed a lot of bare leg, and if I looked hard enough, I might just get more than I bargained for. But I wasn’t interested. Vivienne adjusted the scalloped arches of her strapless gown, as if purposefully drawing my attention to her breasts. My eyes never left hers.

  “My ex-husband was a bastard, if I can be blunt,” she said, sipping her martini. “Let’s just say his indiscretions weren’t kept quiet around his office. Everyone seemed to know he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, including me. It was just a matter of time before I couldn’t take any more. We have kids together, you see. And I came home one afternoon early from a tennis match. Mr. Vanderbilt should have been at work, so I crept quietly upstairs to our bedroom, so I didn’t wake the twins from their nap. Their nanny, Anfisa, kept them during the days. Turns out she took care of a lot more than just my kids.”

  “Oh, man,” I said. “What a douche bag. How old was she?”

  “Eighteen,” Vivienne said, pursing her lips together. “He was fucking an eighteen-year-old Russian girl we’d hired from an international nanny service. They train their whole lives to come to America and nanny for wealthy families,” she spit out. No wonder there was a bitter edge to her. She’d been hurt and betrayed. “Turns out they encouraged their nannies to get in good with the husbands, who they believed controlled the money and could offer them a better life here.”

  “Vivienne, I’m so sorry.”

  “No need. I was better off. There were sexual assault allegations filed against him at work, too. He managed to buy his way out of those before the paper finally let him go. But he just took a higher, more prestigious job with its sister media company and never got a scratch on him. He makes me sick, and if we didn’t have the girls, I would never talk to that man again for the rest of my life.”

  “Can’t say I blame you, Vivienne. So, do you want just arm candy tonight, or do you want to make his skin crawl with jealousy?”

  A feral grin broke out across her painted red lips. “Is that an option?”

  “It is now,” I said, determined. What a
piece of shit. “I don’t kiss clients or cross any lines like that. But it doesn’t mean I can’t make him jealous as fuck.”

  She nodded. “Thanks, Carter.”

  Guests poured onto the boat and the evening was in full swing by the time Vivienne’s ex made an appearance. The smug bastard had his black hair slicked back and wore a white tuxedo coat over his black pants. He had a cigar lit and air kissed several women before zeroing in on my date.

  She held my arm tight, her back stiffening like a rod. I acted like I didn’t see him, turning into Vivienne and stroking her bare arm as I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Pretend I just told you how I wanted to get on my knees and pull up that dress beneath one of the poker tables, while you wiped your ex clean of all his money.”

  Her face flushed bright red as she looked up at me, her mouth forming a perfect O. I lifted my brows suggestively. Then I dipped her back, away from him, in what looked like a kiss. I pressed my face into her hair, just inches from her mouth and said, “Grip my bicep, and dig your nails in.”

  She did, and when I brought her back up, she had the good grace to run her fingers over her hair, smoothing it back into place. Just as her ex reached us, she was adjusting the top of her gown, making sure the fabric was still covering her voluptuous breasts.

  “Vivienne,” he said low, looking at me, “always making a scene, I see.”

  The dick had ice blue eyes that held no light.

  “You would know, wouldn’t you? How’s Anfisa doing these days?”

  “Who’s the kid you brought tonight?” he asked, ignoring her dig as he flicked his cigar ashes in my general direction.

  “Mr. Vanderbilt! It’s so good to see you again,” said a man standing nearby, taking his attention away before I could say anything. The two men clasped hands and Vivienne’s ex stepped away and got lost in the crowd.

  “He’s a piece of work, isn’t he?” She sighed. “Come on, let’s make the most of the evening. We’re raising money to help fight child sex-trafficking. I want to encourage lots of drinking and lots of gambling,” she said, laughing.

  The rest of the evening went by as expected. I played a couple hands myself and donated all the winnings to Vivienne’s charity. We were laughing together over roulette when I glanced up and caught a set of icy blue eyes staring our way. I lifted my chin, then made a show of dropping my hand below the table. I leaned into Vivienne and told her to make a face like I was pleasing her under the table.

  On cue, she blushed, bit her lip and closed her eyes, as if keeping them open was painful. Her chest rose and fell gently, and she reached over and grabbed my arm. I stared at nothing else in the room but Vivienne. The dealer spun, and I didn’t give a shit about winning or losing—I just wanted nothing more than to stick it to that prick of an ex.

  Vivienne made a little whimper, playing the role perfectly. She clutched my sleeve discreetly, as if she were doing everything in her power not to lose control. I pulled my hand from under the table and smelled it, glancing up at her ex. His eyes were murderous. I winked at him, then grabbed Vivienne’s hand and pulled her away.

  “But, sir, you won!” I heard as we darted through the crowd.

  “Donate it!” I hollered back.

  By the time we made it down to the lower deck, we were laughing, Vivienne’s face alive with excitement. “Oh, Carter, I can’t thank you enough!” she said, throwing herself in my arms. I swung her around.

  “He looked like he could kill me,” I said, laughing.

  “Can I get you a drink? You’ve earned it.”

  “Sure,” I said gratefully. “I could use another one.”

  I watched Vivienne make her way to the bar, stopping to mingle with friends along the way. She was a beautiful, older woman, like Lauren. It made me wonder if they knew one another. Probably. But she wasn’t Presley, and I found myself missing her.

  I pulled out my phone to text her when I sensed someone standing in front of me, blocking my view of the party. I glanced up, as if bored. Of course he’d come to find me. Insecure prick.

  “May I help you?” I asked.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he asked, pressing closer.

  Was he really doing this, here?

  I stood my ground. “You’re gonna want to take a step back.”

  “Or what, you little shit?”

  I put up two hands. “Whoa. Someone’s emotionally volatile.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like punks like you who glom on to my wife.”

  “You mean, your ex-wife, right?” I said, taking a step toward him now. “Don’t you have an eighteen year old to go fuck or something?”

  He snapped, grabbing the lapels of my tux in his hands and shoving me back toward the wall I was standing near. “Why you little—”

  “Victor!” I heard Vivienne cry out. “Stop it!”

  The man’s nostrils flared as he stared at me.

  “Victor is it?” I asked calmly, even though red was flashing before my eyes as my brain made the connection. Married man. Paper. Assault allegations.

  “Leave my date alone!” Vivienne shrieked, tugging at her ex’s sleeve. “For god’s sake, Victor, you’re making a scene.”

  He shoved me again, then smoothed his lapels down. “You talk to me about making a scene? Really? When you let your little boy toy finger you under the table in plain sight? I wasn’t the only one to see that little display, you fucking slut,” he spat.

  Vivienne gasped, taking a step back.

  I grabbed Victor’s shoulder and spun him around, slamming his back against the wall. Somewhere behind me a guest gasped, but I didn’t give a shit. All I could see was Presley, pressed up against an office wall, with her boss standing over her, taking advantage of her innocence and inexperience.

  I pressed my hand into his chest hard, keeping him at arm’s length. “You want to talk about inappropriate behavior? At least she’s not married anymore,” I said. “And at least she’s a consenting adult. You wouldn’t know about that, would you, Victor?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” He made to brush by me, and I shoved him back.

  Vivienne touched my arm. “It’s okay, Carter. He’s not worth it.”

  I turned to look at her. “No, he’s not. But someone he hurt is,” I growled. I turned back to the asshole who was taking up too much air. “Does the name Presley Kincaid ring a bell?”

  I saw the recognition flash across his eyes and he grinned, thrusting his chin out. I grabbed his jacket and slammed him against the wall again. “I wouldn’t look so smug, you piece of shit.”

  “My, my, my. Seems like Miss Kincaid strikes a chord for you,” Victor said. He glanced over my shoulder at his ex. “Guess you like them young, too, and don’t just go for the cougars.”

  “Fuck you,” I spat. “Presley’s my age, you dick. Unlike you. What are you? Fifty? Sixty? You fucking piece of filth. You’re lucky you aren’t arrested right now.”

  He leaned forward, so Vivienne couldn’t hear. “She wanted it, kid.”

  Rage blurred my vision, and before I knew what was happening, I was punching Victor in the face. His head snapped back when my fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled, having caught him completely by surprise. It wasn’t until the second or third punch that he finally tried to swing back. He wouldn’t have gotten one in on me, but two men finally pulled me off him, and that opened up the space between us, leaving me unguarded.

  Victor got one good punch in before someone pulled him off, too, yanking him back into the crowd.

  “Oh my god, Carter! Are you okay?” Vivienne asked, rushing forward. I shook the two men away and ran a hand over my face.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said, taking a few calming breaths so I wouldn’t run after Victor and beat him to death. I wasn’t usually a fighter, but my training and desire to protect had ki
cked in, and I wanted blood.

  “Sorry to have caused a scene at your event,” I said, looking around. But everyone had gone back to minding their own business, sipping drinks, and pretending nothing that lowbrow had occurred.

  “Carter, don’t be sorry! This was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. And you left Victor far worse off than he did you,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Now let’s go get some ice on that eye.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Carter

  I STAGGERED into the beach house at nearly three a.m. and tried my hardest not to wake up Presley, even though every instinct in my body told me to. In all my time standing in for others, nothing had ever happened like what went down on the yacht tonight. My blood was still boiling as I tossed and turned in bed, Victor’s cruel words playing on repeat: She wanted it, kid.

  If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a single thing—except maybe fight harder to get free from whoever pulled me off Victor so I could finish what I started. Only then, while thinking of getting revenge for Presley, could I finally fall asleep.

  I felt like twenty shades of shit by the time I made my way to the kitchen sometime after noon. I was sure I looked it, too, judging by Presley’s expression when she stopped typing to openly gape at me.

  “Morning, beautiful,” I said groggily.

  “Carter!” she gasped, jumping off her stool and making her way over to me. “What in the world happened? I wish I could say the same about you, but you look like a swollen, purple, mess.”

  I laughed, then groaned. “You should see the other guy.”

  “Do I even want to know?” she asked, getting a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapping them in a towel. “Here, sit.”

  She pressed the bag to my temple. In all honesty, he’d gotten a fairly good hit in for an old man who was being pulled off me. My left eye was bruised and turning purple, but it wasn’t as bad as Presley was making it out to be. It was just a little tender.

  I sat down while Presley poured me some orange juice. I knew I should probably come clean about what happened, but I didn’t even know where to start.