Pool Man

by Sabrina York

  Chapter Six

  The trip home was torture. Not just because Lucifer seemed even more determined to chuck me off his noble steed at every turn. I barely survived the ride to the airport.

  But no, it got worse. I had the grand fortune of sharing a ride with Billy Turner, one of my favorite clients, on the puddle jumper to San Juan and then, because he wasn’t finished boring me to actual death about each and every aspect of his mundane daily existence—he sat next to me from San Juan to Miami as well.

  Probably a million teenyboppers would have given their right hand to listen to Billy drone on about caviar and elevator heels and snapped E-strings, for God’s sake. A million more would have sacrificed their virginity just to see him flip his golden locks.

  By the time we reached Miami, I was ready to borrow a pair of scissors from the flight attendant and snip them off, those golden locks. Surely she had scissors. The world would have thanked me. The grown-up part of it at least.

  But I managed to control myself. I managed to smile and nod and murmur sympathetic babble whenever it seemed necessary.

  But in reality, my mind, my thoughts, my essence, were tangled in black sheets in a bed on the island we’d left. Had he woken up yet? Had he realized I’d gone?

  Was he sad? Relieved? Preparing for the next…guest?

  Would he ever think about me again?

  Would he close his eyes sometimes at night and touch himself as he pictured his mouth suckling my foot?

  I would.

  Oh. I would.

  Billy left me in Miami, heading for New York, which was a blessing. But not really.

  Now there was nothing left to keep me from sinking deep into the mire of my thoughts. My regrets.

  I was hardly as rich as Marlee, but I could have offered him something. A job. A place to stay. A phone number…

  My gut soured when I realized I hadn’t even left him that.

  If he wanted to reach me again, he’d have to do it through Marlee. And though we were friends, and though she’d so very generously loaned him to me, I couldn’t imagine her being pleased about that.

  So he was gone.

  I’d let him go.

  I don’t know why the thought devastated me.

  Yes. I did.

  The shit hit the fan as soon as I touched down in LA. Though to be precise, the shit hit the fan, and then flung off the fan and hit me.

  I didn’t check my phone when I landed, except to sneak a peek at the heart-wrenching angel sprawled on dark satin sheets, while I waited for my bags. I’d gotten out of the habit of hovering over the device, jumping each time it buzzed like a nervous slave.

  I schlepped everything to my car, which I’d parked in the remote lot, because seriously? What they charged for parking?

  The first order of business, after dumping my bags into a pile in my foyer, was to pick up Mitten, whom I’d left with Suzie, my neighbor and business partner.

  Suzie met me at the door of her bungalow perched on the crest of the Hollywood Hills—met me at the door, as if she’d been waiting there, peering out the curtains on bated breath—and thrust my cat into my arms. “Here,” she said. “Take it.”

  I cuddled the squirming bundle of fur. “Thank you for looking after my baby.”

  “Your baby is a fiend. A beast from the bowels of hell.”

  “Don’t overdramatize.”

  “Who says I am overdramatizing?”

  Her full name was Devil’s Mitten, because she had the unfortunate tendency to reach out, with absolutely no warning, and draw a bloody line on a body. I nuzzled her adorable muzzle. She smacked me.

  “How did everything go?”

  “Other than your cat destroying all my houseplants?”

  I winced. “Yeah. Other than that.”

  “Let’s just say, you’re never going on vacation without your cat again. Or, if you do, you’re not leaving that thing with me.” She waved in Mitten’s general direction. The cat hissed at her. I cuddled her closer to calm her. Which really annoyed her.

  “And how was work?”

  Suzie shot me a grin. It was the evil kind. “You’ll see.”

  I blew out a sigh. “Tell me.”

  Suzie leaned against the doorjamb. “You haven’t been checking your messages, have you?”

  “I was on vacation.”

  “You’ve been on vacation before. You always checked in.”

  I flushed. “There was no service.” Probably a lie, but I couldn’t be sure. Because I hadn’t checked in. Not once.

  “Long story short?”

  “Um, okay.” Long stories in our business were always bad news.

  “Harlan wants you back.”

  “What?” I almost lost my hold on Mitten. She yowled as I overcompensated and hugged her too tight. “That is not going to happen. Not.” He was dead to me. Well, he was in my book.

  Suzie ignored me. She did that. “I gave him to Sandy after your snit—”

  “Snit?” It had hardly been a snit. More like a cataclysmic rampage. Then, “Seriously? You gave him to Sandy?” Sandy, who wouldn’t take shit from Santa Claus?

  An inky brow winged up. “I thought it was poetic justice.”

  I barked a laugh. Harlan and Sandy. She’d chew him a new one. Several.

  “He’s begging to have you back as his rep.”

  “No.”

  “They’re threatening to pull the contract.”

  My heart plummeted. The contract wasn’t just with Harlan Rivers; it was with every artist on that label. “Can they do that?”

  Suzie shrugged. “Apparently. And there’s more.”

  “More?”

  Awesome.

  “A harness broke during one of Raptor Villain’s shows and Naughty Nan took a tumble.”

  “Is she okay?” I grappled with Mitten, who was suddenly possessed of the urge to wriggle free.

  “She broke three ribs and can’t sing.”

  “Shit.” Yeah. Hitting said fan.

  “We have to reschedule the tour and redo all the promo.”

  “All of it?”

  “Every last interview. Each and every VIP event. All the releases. I already pulled the ads.”

  Thank God for small favors. I blew out a sigh. It riffled Mitten’s fur and she growled in her throat. “Well, I better get my baby home.”

  Suzie snorted. “Yeah. Good luck with that. And Paige?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Welcome back.”

  And so it began.

  I was busy, crazy, more overwhelmed than I had ever been.

  Between meetings with Harlan’s people and the work required to get Raptor Villain back on track and dealing with the elephant that escaped during the Moose Knuckle photo shoot—and crapped all over the $6,000 soundboard—I was wiped.

  My malaise certainly didn’t stem from the gnawing suspicion that there was something missing from my life, that something was terribly wrong with my existence.

  But I couldn’t shake the notion that what had once filled and fulfilled me now just felt like—filler.

  Cotton candy when I really wanted chocolate cake. Or truffles.

  Being busy was a blessing in its way. I was certainly too busy to call Marlee, which was awfully rude, since she’d lent me her house and her pool and her gigolo and all. I was also too busy to return her many messages. And after a while, they thinned to a trickle.

  I knew I was being a truffle turd, but I couldn’t help it. I would think about meeting her, about laughing and chatting nonchalantly over coffee and croissants, or perhaps vanilla-flavored French toast, and I’d lose it. No matter where I was. In the sleek offices of B&B Publicity, in the elevator, in the bathroom. In the paprika aisle at the grocery store.

  Wherever.

  I’d just break down and sob.

  I wasn’t in love with him. That was crazy talk. Besides, love didn’t happen that way, over massages and good Merlot and giggled late-night conversations about how Harlan could possibly meet his
maker.

  I wasn’t in love. But I was obsessed. And, if I am honest, and I do try to be honest, I was feeling guilty. Feeling guilty about having feelings for Marlee’s lover.

  She was my friend, after all, and envy was a hideous monster. Especially when it lived inside you, nested deep, holding on with hoary claws.

  It seemed best, all things considered, to avoid her.

  To make things worse, I got a hint of the flu after my return so not only was I super busy and weepy and trolling the gourmet food section of the local food market, I was throwing up. My staff made it a point to avoid me whenever they could.

  I’d been back three weeks when Harlan came to see me. He poked his head into my glass-encased corner office on the twenty-third floor of the Milford Bank Building in the Wilshire District, and arranged his features into an apologetic moue, though on him it read like petulance.

  I took him in. His pretentious leather and chains, his poser tats and his deliberately scruffy persona. And it hit me like a fist to the gut. Had I ever wanted him? Had I ever liked him?

  Well, of course I had. I’d thought myself in love at one point. But now, when I looked at him, there was nothing.

  He hadn’t changed.

  I had.

  “Harlan. Come in.” I rearranged some papers on my desk and rose to meet him, thrusting out my hand.

  He gaped at it. “Aw baby,” he said in that smoky voice crowds went nuts over. “Don’t be like that.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight. He pulled back and met my gaze, his hazel eyes boring into mine. He reeked of sincerity. And a hint of Jim Beam. “I’m sorry for what I did, baby. I was a complete douche. Can you ever forgive me?” Oh yeah. That was why I’d adored him. He was damn charming.

  But I felt nothing.

  “Of course I forgive you, Harlan.” I tried to detach myself from his hold but he wouldn’t allow it. He tugged me back and set his lips on mine.

  He kissed me for a while before he realized I wasn’t participating.

  The look of confusion on his face was understandable. He was an enormous rock star. Women threw themselves at him on a daily basis. He was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it and exactly how he wanted it.

  He’d probably never made a woman scallops once in his life.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I said I forgave you, but it’s over between us.” I turned away and stared out the windows of my suite at the sprawling Los Angeles skyline, but in my heart, I was gazing out at another vista entirely. One with swaying palms and sparkling waters. I always was, anymore.

  He followed me and took my arm, turned me to face him. “What? It’s over? But—”

  “First of all, you screwed your makeup artist.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry about that. But she was hot—”

  “And then you proposed to her onstage.” In front of thousands.

  “I was drunk. She knows I was just foolin’ around. I’m always foolin’ around.”

  “But that’s it, isn’t it?” I put my hand on his cheek so he would know I was deadly serious and so he would know I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t. Not anymore. “I wasn’t fooling around.”

  He paled. Swallowed. “Yeah. I know. I mean, I knew. I’m…” His voice broke. “I’m sorry, Paige. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  I forced a smile and then, somehow, it became real. “I’m over it,” I said.

  “Over it?” His brow bunched. “Over me?” As in, how could anyone in their right mind ever be over me?

  My laugh was deep, full. “Over all of it. If you want to keep me as your rep, you just need to respect that decision. Go play with your groupies. Have a good time. Enjoy yourself. But ours is a business relationship and nothing more. Am I clear?”

  His face puckered up, all the way. “You’re starting to sound like Sandy,” he muttered.

  “Sandy is a damn good rep.” I waggled a finger at him. “You could do a lot worse. You may want to think about staying with her.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “I may be backing off on the rock-and-roll contracts.” I was getting tired of it all and while they were a large chunk of our clientele, we had good staff who could manage them. Probably with more patience than I could scrape together.

  I yearned, longed, to work with grown-ups.

  There had to be some out there somewhere.

  “But we’re good?” he asked, whipping me into his arms one more time. I let him, but purely for old time’s sake.

  “We’re golden.” I removed his hands from my ass. “But no more of that.”

  His lip thrust out in a pout, but I could tell he was only playin’.

  Sandy stopped in the doorway just then, carrying a pile of folders, and caught us entwined; she shot us both a ferocious scowl, which was interesting, because I was her boss and one does not scowl at one’s boss unless one finds it expressly unavoidable.

  “Oh Sandy, there you are. Harlan and I were just talking about you,” I chirped.

  He winced and turned slowly. His posture deflated from that of a cock-of-the-walk to a recalcitrant boy. Yeah. Sandy might be just what Harlan needed.

  “You were?” She stepped into the room. Her gaze flicked from me to Harlan to me again.

  “We were discussing you permanently taking on Harlan’s account.”

  “We were?” I loved the squawk in his voice.

  “You were?” She gored Harlan with a gimlet gaze. “My way?” Yeah, Sandy was nothing if not Machiavellian.

  “Or the highway. What do you say, Harlan?”

  “I wanted you.” A wail.

  “I’m no longer an option.” Now that I’d said it, now that the words had come from my mouth, I knew they were true. I’d had it with playin’. I’d had it with disasters and elephants and people who needed freaking harnesses to do their job.

  We had tons of clients who didn’t self-destruct.

  Maybe I would focus on them for a while and hand the circus over to the younger crowd, my hungry associates who were willing to put up with the fan and all its concomitant crapola.

  “Well,” I said, gusting a sigh, feeling strangely relieved. It was the glorious sensation of dancing on air. “I think we’re done here.” I picked up a pile of folders, all the accounts that were giving me ulcers, and I handed them to Sandy. She flipped through them and grinned.

  “We are?” Harlan’s face lit up. Relief washed over him.

  Sandy whirled on him. “No. Not you. In my office. Now. We have some terms to discuss.”

  He paled. “Terms?”

  “Such as keep your paws off my ass.”

  I winced at her tone, but didn’t correct her. Because, after all, he should keep his paws off her ass. He should keep his paws off everybody’s ass.

  I loved that he didn’t talk back. He stared after her as she whirled and breezed from my office with every expectation that he would follow.

  He did, and it occurred to me in a flash…I really needed to add a Sandy to my book.

  Marlee caught up with me the next morning. Tracked me down, actually. Stalked me, probably.

  She marched into my office, her hands on her hips in tiny fists, and glowered at me. “You. Me. Coffee. Now,” she snapped, and then she whipped around, knowing I’d follow.

  She said nothing as we took the long ride down in the elevator to my favorite coffee shop on the ground floor. It was also the only coffee shop on the ground floor and the place we usually met. I would have said something, should have said something, but her scorching sideways looks in my direction froze my tongue.

  I’d been thinking about breaking down and calling her. But only because that terrible ache I got whenever I thought of Jimmy was becoming unbearable. When I wasn’t crying or barfing or sleeping, I was mooning over him. And sometimes, even then. I’d been thinking about calling her and beseeching her to give me his number. Even the sound of his voice would help. I was certain of it.

  We walked
up to the counter and we waved our cards against the reader. The baristas were already working on our drinks. There was something to be said for continuity in one’s life, at least as far as it related to coffee preferences. Janine and Anthrax always had our drinks ready by the time we’d paid. The croissants were waiting for us at the pickup counter too. Without a word, I collected my poisons and headed for the table at the window. Where we always sat.

  Marlee took her usual seat and fiddled with the paper around her pastry. And then she gored me with a dark look. “I’m really pissed at you,” she said.

  It was unfortunate she said it just as I took a long draw of my caffè Americano with sugar-free vanilla and three Splendas, because it all shot out my nose. I grabbed a napkin and mopped up the mess. My gut churned.

  Oh God. What had Jimmy said?

  “Um. Okay.”

  She crossed her arms and frowned at me. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation or something? It’s bad enough that you’ve been avoiding me—”

  “I’ve been swamped.”

  “Oh, cut the bullshit, Paige. We’ve been friends for too long. You’ve been swamped before and you never locked me out like this. What the hell is going on with you? And why didn’t you show up?”

  I gaped at her. “Show up?” Had I missed an event? A party? Christ, a birthday? Mentally, I scanned my calendar. No…“What are you talking about?”

  “I lent you my beautiful Caribbean home for an entire week and you never showed up.”

  I swallowed the massive lump in my throat. Or tried to. “I-I did show up.”

  Marlee frowned. “Jimmy said you never came.”

  I tried—rather desperately—not to laugh. I failed. It erupted in a snort. I had come. More times than I could remember. “I was there, Marlee. I…loved it.” Yeah. That word caught in my throat.

  “Do you need a forklift?”

  “What?”

  “For all the bullshit?” She leaned in. “Jimmy said you didn’t show.”

  Why on earth would he say that? Confusion swirled, fogging my brain. It was exacerbated by the guilt I felt—not just for falling for her pool boy, but because of the pain now on her face.

  “I was there, Marls. In fact, I have photographic evidence.” I pulled out my phone and opened my gallery. Trying, although not very hard, to squelch the triumphant tone in my voice, I thrust the device at her. “See?”