by Imani King
“No one else to go with you?” I asked, pulling the car up to the iron gates that kept Art isolated from the rest of Hollywood. The gates swung out silently as we approached, and Gabriella kept her face turned to the window. She shook her head and glanced at me.
“None of my friends are here, anyway. I went to boarding school in New Hampshire. And now I’m at Berkeley. Art has always kept me on the move. Even when I’m home. He’s got all these plans for me… like he’s trying to show off the famous dead woman’s daughter. I know a few people here and there at these parties, so it’s the only social time I get when I’m at home. So I guess I kind of enjoy it.”
I nodded, pulling onto the twisting curves of Mulholland Drive. I looked at the girl from the corner of my eye. She was as pretty as a fucking picture, and she was talking to me like I was a person, like someone she might want to know. That couldn’t be. I cleared my throat, unable to think of any response. I gazed at the GPS system and noted our location. The party wasn’t too far. It was at some other producer’s house up in the hills. It wouldn’t be too difficult to keep an eye on Gabi. I’d keep myself in check.
There was no reason I needed to mess with a Hollywood producer’s daughter.
I knew it wouldn't be good for me. And it sure as hell wouldn't be good for her. But I couldn't help that feeling of fire spreading through my veins, like something inside of me had opened and was finally pouring forth. Sure, I had been with a lot of women. In addition to the salary, Art made sure I was entertained with women.
Gabi wasn't like any one of them.
“Los Angeles smog makes for a beautiful sunset,” she said. Her voice wasn't as hard now, and she looked over at me. I felt her eyes searching me, and I wondered exactly what she was looking for. On the horizon, the orange sun blazed over the Pacific Ocean, the pinks and purples reflected through the haze that hung over the city.
“It ain't bad,” I said, taking a cigarette out of my pocket and sticking it in my mouth.
“That's a foul habit, Red,” she said, reaching over to my face and plucking the thing right out of my teeth. I caught her hand. “Hey, let go. If you're going to be looking after me tonight... or whatever the hell my father is paying you to do, you can't smoke. It's disgusting.”
“That's not your choice, Gabriella.” The rage welled up in me again, mixed with something akin to arousal. I gripped her harder, making her fingers release the cigarette. I thought of taking her right there, pinning her down and fucking her in the Aston until she screamed my name out.
“Fuck, stop! You're hurting me,” she snapped. I released her hand and gripped the steering wheel, guiding the car up into the hills that overlooked Hollywood. Gabriella sniffed and rubbed her hand where I’d grabbed her. I had hurt her. And she’d made me want to do it more… take her roughly. Give her something she’d never forget.
“Goddammit, Gabriella,” I said, pushing the desire down. Why had the rage risen so quickly? And why had one touch almost overpowered me completely?
“Don't pull that shit with me again, Red,” she hissed. “And here I was thinking we could be friends... Despite whatever illegal bullshit you're doing for my father.”
I grimaced and guided the car up the driveway to the sprawling mansion. I could see pink and red lights coming up from the back of the house. Here would be a good place to get lost. Gabi could damn well take care of herself.
And I could have a fucking smoke. I parked and got out, feeling like an overpaid chauffeur. No matter how beautiful she may have been, this wasn't in my job description. Keeping the cartel away from Art suddenly seemed like a far less dangerous project than watching out for Gabi. If I were smart, I'd keep my distance from her. And if there was one thing I knew something about—besides fighting—it was self-preservation.
I got out of the car and slammed the door behind me. I didn't look behind me to see if Gabi was still sitting there. It didn't matter. She was different.
Too different.
Her beauty wasn't enough to distract me from my job. And I'd better leave getting to know her the hell alone.
CHAPTER THREE
Gabriella
I screamed in the car and beat my fist on the dash.
“It would serve you right if I fucked up your car, asshole.” Something in me had wanted to reach out to him, but that was a big fucking mistake. Just because a man was completely fucking gorgeous didn’t mean he’d be the type of person I should get to know. He was beautiful and cruel, just like all the temptations in L.A.
“Dick. I don’t even know why I talked to you in the first place,” I said, banging my hand again. A surge of anger welled up in me. All I’d wanted was one person I could talk to, one friend among the wolves. I crumpled, folding my body over and putting my head in my hands. I wanted something, an ache rising deep within me. Red had set it off, and I wanted to rush after him, find out why and what it was.
But he’d left. And I was alone again. It was best that he did, anyway. I could go inside and get good and wasted, and then I wouldn’t have to think about what exactly that man made me want.
Can’t get involved with a man like that, anyway. Mama said.
Never trust one of your father’s men, she always told me. They’re loyal only to him. And they’ll rip you to shreds. I shuddered and watched as the tall, lanky man opened the gate and went in the backyard.
Damn, his body is a work of art. Not even twenty-four hours out from Berkeley, and I’m already looking for trouble.
Fuck. Fuck that man. I’d get fucked up tonight and prove to him that he was shit at his job. My father could deal with him in the morning. I shifted in the seat of the Aston, that heat spreading through my thighs again. Red was all trim muscle, molded into that suit. The car smelled faintly of him—clean and masculine.
Cool it, Gabi. He’s not interested.
I’d seen him looking at my body while I was walking out to the car. His gaze had hit me like a freight train, making me so hot I thought I might strip in front of him. Maybe I'd gotten the wrong impression. He’d grabbed my wrist so hard I was sure there was going to be a bruise. I didn’t tolerate shit like that. I couldn’t be with a man like that after what had happened to my mother.
Fucking arrogant jerk. Why you gotta be so good looking? There’s gotta be another person at this party who can make me forget, at least for a moment.
I flung the car door open and nearly fell onto the elegant walkway. It was a different style of mansion than my father had created for himself, the Art Deco vibe a little dark and foreboding as the sun started to set. This was a house I hadn't been to before, the home of some other director who was probably interested in gawking at Rose Dawson’s daughter.
I shivered as I walked up to the house. I opened the door into the vast, empty space, watching shadows move around outside. This time of year, there was still a chill in the air, but there would probably be a heated pool and several Hollywood hopefuls skinny-dipping. I chuckled and walked out to the veranda, surprised that there weren't staff members to greet me. It seemed low-class for a Hollywood affair.
They did have a bartender though, set back away from the craziness of the pool party. I walked up to him, looking around and spotting some of the same people I always saw at these things. They might remember me too, from the drunken good times of summers and holidays past. The member of a boy band I’d made out with last winter waved in my direction, and I turned away.
Alcohol first. And then you can decide what to do with your evening, Gabi.
“Vodka and soda. With lime,” I said, smiling. Thank God there was an open bar.
“Hey, you're that woman's daughter, right?” The bartender looked me up and down as if trying to read the history written on my body.
I nodded and watched as he poured the top shelf vodka into a tumbler. Glass, of course. Only the most ridiculous shit for a Hollywood party. I took it and left. Normally these parties had someone wandering around with colorful drinks. It was weird that there was a bar
instead, but I'd seen stranger things. The director was probably young and hadn't figured out exactly how things were done around here. I mixed my drink with the straw, slowly sipping it as I passed by the partygoers, smiling and nodding at the few people I knew. I had hoped to see some of the young actresses I was friendly with, or the male model I’d kissed last summer. Instead, I sat down at one of the spacious outdoor sofas and watched as people schmoozed and drank.
Where’d that dude even go? I watched the crowd shuffle and move like a living thing, but there was no evidence of red-gold hair above the crowd. Maybe he’d gotten so pissed off that he left. That’d be a pity. I’d like to see him manage me at the end of a night.
The spark of desire lit inside my body as the alcohol took over. I shifted again, trying to escape the rise of sensation. Red, that man. Like a Norse god. All broad muscles and cold, deep eyes. And not a bit interested in Rose’s daughter. Maybe I’m not his type.
I took another drink and sat back, watching for Red. I almost didn’t notice when a man came and sat down next to me, leaning in and whispering in my ear.
“You’re Art’s girl, aren’t you? Daughter of the Hollywood Rose?” I nodded, trying not to look over at him. This must have been the director my dad had wanted me to meet. Lovely. I usually enjoyed putting on my mask and pretending, but for some reason, the Los Angeles drama wasn’t suiting my mood.
“Yeah. My dad sent me here hoping that I might get in the business. He always does this shit. Preferable to spending time with me when I’m home, I suppose.” I took a sip of my drink and looked over at the man. He was handsome in a smarmy way, with a perfectly tailored shirt open just at the top.
“Clay Swift,” he said. I turned and shook his hand, still trying to keep my body angled away from him. “I could get you an audition if you want. The next production I’m working on definitely needs an up-and-coming actress, and hell, you’ve already got a familiar face.”
“No offense, Clay, but I’m just here for the drinks and people-watching.” I didn’t usually let my sarcasm come out for the Hollywood events. I’m not sure why I didn’t. Maybe I thought I was representing the best parts of my mom. Or maybe I was just there for the free drinks, or for something to do. It had been months since I’d flaunted myself for my father’s pleasure. I’d at least found a few people to talk to at the last one. Tonight, it was all just irritating. I wondered if I could apologize for removing the cigarette from Red’s mouth. Or if I should apologize. Or if he should.
“A spicy one, just like your mother,” said Clay, touching my arm. I shrugged away from him and stood up.
“You didn’t know my mother.” My stomach twisted in knots at the mention of my mother. People who knew me shied away from the topic, but it was clear this douchebag was interested in the gruesome story. And why wouldn’t he be? My dad had sent me here to take advantage of my history. That same thought had occurred to me before, but I could usually find something redeeming in a night out among the questionably famous.
“Hey, princess, calm down,” he said, smiling and running his fingers through his perfectly coifed hair. “I get it. You don’t want to be compared to your mom, and you probably don’t like talking about her. But why do you come? I know you run these circuits from time to time.”
“It’s better than sitting in a big lonely house with my dad.”
“I get you,” said Clay, touching my arm again. I shivered slightly, sipping at my vodka, and sank into the warmth of the alcohol, my body loosening. I glanced around. “You want to come up to my room so we can chat? Get to know each other better?”
“And just why would I do that?” I gulped. I looked at the director, glancing over him. Thick chestnut hair, green eyes that seemed kind but probably weren’t, broad, thick chest that made me wonder what was underneath.
Bad idea. Just like everything tonight.
I was a big girl, and I could do what I wanted. But did I want this? Did I want to slip into my Hollywood persona? Did I really need to quell that ache within, or could I sit with it for a moment, just dulling it with alcohol?
Clay laughed, his shiny white teeth glinting in the soft light. “I’ve got some more party supplies on hand.”
“You mean… like pills?” I gulped another sip of my drink. Being blissed out of my mind would feel pretty amazing right now. “I shouldn’t.”
Is it stupid to trust this guy? Absolutely, Gabriella. You shouldn’t fucking go upstairs with him, not in a million years. I took another sip, making my logic to go silent. This guy was cute in a Hollywood sort of way, and no one would give a shit what I did while I was here. Certainly not Red.
“You totally should. Look, I’m a nice guy.” He smiled. A thrill ran through me. “I’ve got molly, and ain’t nothing too serious about molly. I promise, I don’t have any indecent aspirations.”
“Maybe it’s alright if you do,” I said.
“Don’t be too loud or someone might follow us, like that gaggle of models over there by the bar.” I looked over to the bar and saw several very young, very tall women ordering drinks. I laughed. I looked around for Red one last time and then let Clay take my arm.
He led me into the house and up the stairs to his private rooms.
I could enjoy myself and still be responsible… couldn’t I?
Red
I didn't go to these damn things. And Art hadn't asked me to before. I sat on the front steps, wondering why a Hollywood director would buy a creepy old mansion. It looked like Dracula lived here. I smoked my cigarette, and anger rolled over me in waves. I didn't precisely know what I was angry at. The cigarette usually calmed me, but it wasn’t working this time.
But the girl. I was here to watch the girl, and I couldn't bring myself to. It didn't seem like anything was imminently dangerous about this place. It was just a little weird, a little dim and dark... and the people here weren't anyone I recognized. I smoked the cancer stick down to its dirty little filter and put it out on the ground next to me and tossed it in the grass.
It didn't matter. The guy would have some maid out here to pick it up in the morning. Los Angeles ran on the backs of illegal immigrants. We were all guilty of doing disgusting things. Some of us were just more honest about it than others.
I thought of Gabi again. And not for the first time since I'd taken my perch outside. I'd watched her for a little while, talking to that young director. He was probably up to his ass in debt after buying this ridiculous place, but he still had the starlets falling all over him. And it looked like Gabriella was taking a shine to him.
None of your business, Red.
What did I care? She was just another girl... and one I certainly couldn't have. She was Art's daughter, probably damaged as all hell. Not even aware of the worst things her father did. The tragic child of the Hollywood Rose. She seemed too far above this smoggy cloud of L.A. bullshit for a man like me. It was sad to see her getting sucked into it against her will.
I was a piece of shit from way back. And if she wasn't above it all, she might have inherited Art's genes. That would make her someone I didn't want to deal with.
I chuckled at the thought that she could be anything like Art. Maybe she was with that sharp tongue of hers. The not-giving-a-shit about what I thought. Women weren't like that with me. They either saw a big strong protector or a rich man who could provide them with their paycheck. If Gabi got to know me, she’d probably see straight through all of my shit. I thought of her plucking the cigarette right out of my lips and slammed my fist hard on the pavement next to me. The pain brought me back to my senses, and I stood.
I could leave now and still salvage the night. Gabi could take care of herself. But I had to find her first.
