“Of course not. We’ll all be famous together, anyway, so there’s nothing to worry about!”
“Maybe… but you’re moving in with a superstar and we’re staying here. Are you sure you won’t tell us who it is?”
“I don’t want to jinx it. It could all be over in a couple of weeks and I might be on the doorstep, begging for the couch to sleep on. I promise, when I’m ready, we’ll talk about it.”
“Okay. Just don’t keep us waiting too long. We’re excited for you!”
“You guys have been great friends. I’m so lucky I met you when I first got here.”
A horn tooted in the street and she said, “That’ll be for me. See you soon, okay?”
They nodded as she let herself out of the apartment and headed to the street. She couldn’t see a taxi anywhere and was about to go inside when the driver of a limousine parked at the curb walked over to her. “Charlotte Shipton?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m to take you to the airport.”
“Uh… there must be some mistake. I’m just to get a lift to… someone’s house,” she finished lamely. They should have announced this before she moved in with Jack, but he was worried about the throng of media she would suddenly attract; he’d insisted, as part of the contract, that she move in first.
“Yes, he thought you might be confused, but I assure you I am taking you to Mr Fawkner.”
When she heard his name, Charlotte let out the breath she’d been holding and relaxed a little. She allowed the driver to take her suitcase and slid into the limo when he held the door open for her. The backseat had that new car smell, and she rubbed her hands appreciatively across the white leather.
The window rolled down between her and the driver, “Help yourself to a drink, if you’d like.”
“Thank you.” She hadn’t yet had to confess to anyone in Hollywood that she didn’t drink. For now, she was trying to keep it that way, as lame as it seemed to keep such a silly secret. She stretched in her seat and looked out the window as she wondered where she was going by plane.
Jack had told her nothing when he’d arranged for her to move, except that she should be ready for a car to collect her. He’d had no other contact with her at all, and she had worried even more about what she’d signed up for. Surely he didn’t want to spend three years being awkward around someone he was pretending to love? They were going to have to have a discussion about this very early. She hoped they could somehow be friends, but maybe that would come with time. Besides, they’d both be too busy with their careers to fight all the time, surely?
She closed her eyes and was surprised when the car stopped and her door opened. The driver helped her get her suitcase and handed her a plane ticket and a folded letter.
“Enjoy your flight, Miss Shipton.”
She took the documents and wandered into the terminal in a daze. Once she was inside the door, she glanced at the ticket, which was a one-way flight to Las Vegas. Tucking it behind the letter, she unfolded the sheet of paper, hoping to have some of her questions answered. Flowing script took up the whole A4 page, which was obviously for her.
Dear Princess,
During the contract negotiations, I failed to give you my address. I actually live in Las Vegas; since you agreed to live with me, that’s where you now live, too. Surprise! Use this ticket to fly to me and I’ll have a car pick you up at the airport.
Happy flying,
Fuckwit
She felt a pang of disappointment that he wouldn’t be picking her up, himself, but she smiled at the last line. Even him calling himself that, however, didn’t help to alleviate her immediate and overwhelming fury with the dirty son-of-a-bitch.
He’d known all along that she’d hate living in Vegas, since she’d have to commute for auditions and filming. Dammit, why hadn’t she thought to ask? She’d just assumed he lived in the Hollywood Hills somewhere, or maybe even out by Venice Beach. He seemed like he took care of himself physically, so she’d assumed he liked to surf or go for long runs on the boardwalk. She slammed her mind down on that thought immediately—it was best not to be giving any consideration to Jack Fawkner’s physique, especially right now, when she was pissed with him. She wanted to maintain that annoyance until she had a chance to give him a piece of her mind.
For a split second, she considered not going. Just not taking the flight, and getting a cab back to the city. It was tempting, but she knew she wouldn’t do it. They had a contract, and she’d worked out that having Jack pick up all her living expenses meant that her money would last her at least another six months. That meant she now had twelve months up her sleeve to make her mark on this town.
She’d need to recalculate that on the plane, now that she’d have to factor airfare into each audition, but it could still be managed. If she got noticed fast enough, maybe she could get the studio to pay for her flights for filming. She didn’t need much, and economy tickets from Vegas were cheap. A few months ago Charlotte had the overwhelming urge to explore the United States. She’d done some holiday research but had decided against spending the money. Now she’d get to see the Strip, anyway.
I hope you’re ready to wine and dine me, Fuckwit.
***
The car picked her up, as promised. The driver had held an iPad with her name on it—the first time that had ever happened to her. As she caught her first glimpse of Las Vegas, Charlotte realised it was a lot browner than she’d expected. The city seemed dusty, and the wall of brown mountains in the distance did nothing but add to the brown-ness.
It’s brown, but wow, the colours in those mountains are beautiful.
The limousine moved easily onto the highway and she noted the giant billboards promoting all kinds of services offered by lawyers. Get out of a drunk driving charge, or organise a bail bond. No doubt the lawyers made a killing here in Sin City.
She could suddenly see the Strip in the distance, and she wished the driver would put the partition down and tell her about the area. It seemed like such a tiny strip of high-rise buildings, compared to how much space there was. She’d seen photos and video of Las Vegas, which had made it seem like it was huge. From what she could see now, it was a tiny, sparkling area surrounded by desert. She picked out the pyramid shape of Luxor with a glimmer of excitement; that’s where she’d planned to stay when she’d been looking at adventures to take. It must have been really big—she couldn’t believe she could see it from so far away.
The driver remained silent as they drove. When they pulled up at a gated community, she watched as he spoke to a guard who nodded and let them drive on. They drove for a few more minutes and then smoothly glided up the driveway of a beautiful home with lush gardens and more tall gates. Charlotte felt a little out of her depth for the first time in many years as she surveyed the huge house where Jack appeared to live. How had she gotten herself into this? Here she was, about to move in with a man she’d barely spent more than a few hours with. He’d made no secret of the fact that he didn’t like her, and he thought she was just here to spend his money, which he had to endure to further his own career.
There hadn’t been any sign that Jack found her remotely attractive, either, although she was certain he’d looked down her shirt when she’d waved her boobs at him and joked about his name on the contract. At least he’d smiled at her joke; he wasn’t completely devoid of a sense of humour. He’d signed the letter to her the same way, so there was hope for them, yet. She didn’t want much—just to not have to live with someone who hated her.
The door opened suddenly and she was shocked out of her thoughts. The driver held the door open without looking at her. “Thank you,” she said. He nodded and held out his hand to indicate she should go to the front door.
The strong, silent type. I wonder if I’m meant to tip him.
As she approached the enormous house, the door opened. A woman welcomed her by name and ushered her inside, and Charlotte followed her down a long hallway decorated with photos of the ocean.
He lives in the desert, but apparently loves the ocean.
“Miss Shipton is here, Mr. Fawkner.”
“Thank you Mrs. Jones. That will be all.”
Mrs. Jones turned and left without even a nod in her direction. Charlotte watched her go and then looked at Jack. “Have you employed the Stepford family to look after you?” she asked.
“Nice to see you haven’t lost your sassy mouth,” he raised his eyebrows and indicated for her to sit on the couch opposite his. Not wanting him to think he could tell her what to do, she instead flopped into the single chair to his left. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “How was the move?”
Charlotte wasted no time launching into her tirade. “Why didn’t you tell me you lived in Vegas?”
“You didn’t ask.” His lips quirked a little as he answered her and stared directly into her eyes. He willed his eyes not to drop to her mouth.
“You knew I didn’t know, though.”
“I didn’t know, but I guessed. Your agent should have checked, anyway, before agreeing to anything. It’s his job to look out for you. Now you know why I didn’t want to move. I’m all set up here and it’s a great place to make contacts.”
“You live in the desert so you can make contacts? Wouldn’t you be better off in LA for that?”
“Nope. I have all the contacts in LA I’ll ever need. I don’t want to act, anymore; I want to make music.”
“Oh, that’s right: you’re determined to become a rock god.” He glanced at her sharply, but she didn’t seem to be making fun as she stared out the window to the backyard. “You have a pool.”
“Yes. Vegas is hot in the summer and a pool is a necessity.”
Silence fell between them as Charlotte swung her head back to look at him.
He looks as uncomfortable as I feel.
Not wanting the awkwardness to continue, she said, “Are you going to give me the tour?”
“No. Mrs. Jones can show you around later; I’m going out to the studio for a bit. Make yourself at home.” He stood and headed toward the door to the pool, but Charlotte jumped up and beat him to it. She stood in front of him with her back to the wide, glass doors.
“Is Mrs. Jones getting married to me?”
“What?”
“Mrs. Jones. Are she and I about to become engaged?” he glared at her and didn’t answer. “Because, future husband, there is no damn good reason why you shouldn’t show me around my house, yourself.”
“My house.”
“Our house,” she reminded him as he blinked rapidly at her. Oh, those eyes could melt a lesser woman’s soul. “So, how about it? Stop being a fuckwit and show me around?”
“God, you’re annoying.”
“Thanks. You’re not too bad, yourself. Now, where are we sleeping?”
***
The tour didn’t take long and Jack quickly abandoned Charlotte after her request for a shower as he fled outside to his studio. He slammed the door hard behind him and grabbed his guitar. Music always soothed his soul, but it needed to be extra loud today to drown out the thought of Charlotte Shipton naked in his shower—his shower, which he now had to share with her.
He couldn’t believe she’d agreed to share his bedroom with him when Jay had insisted they treat this like a real marriage. Her agent was worried about the secret getting out from a member of staff or someone in a hotel, if they insisted on sleeping separately. He’d snorted at that; there was nothing to worry about with his staff. They were professional every minute of their working day.
Why wasn’t that dick of an agent worried about Charlotte shacking up with a stranger? Didn’t he even care that she was going to share her bed with him? Wasn’t she worried about her own virtue? She didn’t have anything to fear from him, of course. He was totally immune to her, and she certainly wasn’t going out of her way to be charming to him.
He just prayed that she didn’t plan on sleeping naked.
***
Charlotte was sitting on the couch, reading her book, when Jack came inside. He’d watched her from outside for a few moments before he’d entered and was pretty sure he was about to get another tongue-lashing. She was a study of calm, but he could see her foot twisting and turning and was pretty sure that was a bad sign. He closed the door behind him without a sound and slid onto the couch, waiting for the onslaught.
She lifted her eyes from the page and pierced him with her gaze. “Why aren’t the staff allowed to speak to me?”
“What?”
“You heard me. I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water and Mrs. Jones nearly had a heart attack. She said I wasn’t allowed to go in there and that, if I wanted something, I should press the call button. I argued, but she was so freaked out that I let her have her way. She wouldn’t tell me what the problem was with me helping myself, but just said she couldn’t talk to me.”
Jack closed his eyes for a second. She’s been here for two hours and she’s already messing things up. “Mrs. Jones follows the protocol for house staff.”
“The protocol?” Charlotte’s eyebrows crawled up into her hair as her voice rose an octave. “What fucking protocol?”
“These people are my staff. They are here to keep the house clean, provide meals, and maintain the grounds.”
“And?”
He looked blankly at her, totally unaware of what she was asking. “They’re not my friends,” he offered lamely.
“Ah… that’s what I thought.” She jumped off the couch and quickly moved behind where he was sitting. He resisted the urge to turn around and see if she was about to attack him with a heavy object; she sounded pissed enough to do it. Under her breath, he heard her mutter to herself, “What kind of a pompous asshole have I hooked up with?”
“I don’t understand why you’re upset.”
She sighed and came back to stand near him. “I don’t know why, either. I thought you’d be different, I guess. I didn’t realise it would be like this. I think I have made a monumental mistake.” Charlotte looked like she was about to flee, but instead, she dropped down onto the chair with a laugh. “You truly are a piece of work. America’s male sweetheart on the big screen—every girl’s fantasy—but at home, you’re highly-strung and entitled.”
“How do you know anything about me? You’ve only been here for two hours.”
“People who treat their staff the way you do tell me everything I need to know. I can’t live here, if certain people aren’t allowed to talk to me and I can’t get myself a drink of water from the kitchen without giving the housekeeper a coronary. Your driver didn’t even make eye contact with me. It was weird.”
“That’s what he’s been told to do.”
“Why? Please enlighten me. I am seriously flabbergasted at all of this.”
Jack watched her brow crinkle and wondered how she could look so damn sexy when, a moment ago, she’d wanted to take his head off. Now she looked like she might cry. She wasn’t used to celebrity living and it showed. He wasn’t about to turn his whole household upside down, just so she could feel comfortable, though. Maybe it was better if she left and they tore up the contract.
“I don’t know how to explain it, or even what I’m explaining. For me, it has always been like this. My mother always took care of the staff when I lived at home, but now that I’m on my own, I’ve just kept it up. When you’re famous, you can’t afford to let anyone get too close. You can’t be friends with people you employ, because the one time you let your guard down, your secrets will be splashed over the front page of the papers. They don’t even need to be good secrets—the paparazzi are interested in any tiny detail. I live a low-key life and it’s because I guard my privacy viciously. That can’t happen when you’re friends with everyone wandering around your property.”
“Aren’t you friends with Freddy?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“That’s work. We’re both working to further my career. My staff aren’t tryi
ng to further my career.”
“Freddy works for you—it’s the fucking same.”
“I don’t agree.”
“I don’t care.”
They glared at each other again, and it seemed that’s what their three years was going to involve. There would be a spat, some staring, and then they’d be onto the next thing to argue about. Jack didn’t know how he was going to make it through. He’d have to set off on a tour as quickly as possible, so he didn’t have to deal with her.
“So, are you staying? If so, I’ll get Mrs. Jones to start dinner.”
“She’s cooking?”
“Yes. I’m certainly not, and you’re not allowed in the kitchen, remember?”
“I want to see the Strip.”
“You will. You’ll be here for three years.”
“I want to see it now.”
“I have to get up early tomorrow to meet with my tour manager. We’ll go out some other time.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jack, I don’t need your permission to go out. Do you have a key for me? I might be late.” She stood up and smoothed her shirt as she spoke and he saw she was dressed to go out.
He explained that the door didn’t have a key, but a code, and gave her the number. “I’d suggest you memorise it.“
“Will do, grumpy ass. Don’t wait up for me—I have a lot of exploring to do.” She grabbed her bag from the counter, and he suddenly realised he didn’t have a mobile number for her. She didn’t have any details for him, either, if she got in trouble. “I’ll get Mr. Phillips to drive you in. Just call him when you’re ready to come home.”
“Mr. Phillips won’t be driving me. I’ll call a cab.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because a cab driver will talk to me. He’ll explain where we’re going and point out landmarks to me. He’ll chat and flirt and hope that I give him a decent tip, which I will, because I’ll be so grateful for someone to talk to who doesn’t have a stick up their ass.”
Contracted For Love: Famous Love Series Page 4
