A Taste of Pink (Shades Book 4)

by Stephanie Hoffman McManus

He could get to me if he wanted.

  I hated that.

  But that’s all it takes.

  One man to strip us of our confidence and courage. Intimidate us. Scare us.

  Walking alone to our cars at night, our keys clutched between our knuckles. Walking down the street, holding our bags just a little tighter, thinking about the pepper spray tucked inside, wondering if we could get to it quick enough. Tugging our skirts down and pulling our sweaters tighter because of a look. Trying not to call attention to ourselves in the wrong situation, hoping that the instincts screaming in the back of our mind are wrong, that the man with the look in his eye, or the group of guys we have to walk past, are really just harmless.

  Resolve straightened my spine and I looked James in the eye. “I don’t want to feel helpless the next time Warren Baker, or anyone for that matter, corners me.”

  His expression softened. “Isn’t that what I’m here for? To make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  I met his stare, unwavering. “Not good enough. My security system was supposed to keep him out too. I can get a weapon, and I can hire ten bodyguards, but none of that will give me back my peace of mind. You can, by teaching me to be stronger and able to take care of myself.”

  He was quiet for a minute, his expression unreadable as ever. Was he going to say no?

  Finally, he leaned forward in his seat. “I wouldn’t take it easy on you or be nice. If this is what you want, you’d be better off paying someone else. I’m sure they have a celebrity self-defense expert you can call.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to pay someone to be easy on me. That’s the whole point. But if it’s the money thing, I’ll pay you extra, whatever.”

  I didn’t expect his response. “Before I give you an answer, you have to give me one. Why did you insist on me for this job? There are a dozen other guys my boss could have sent equally qualified, hell some of them more qualified. Our company has an office right here in LA. So, tell me, Riley, why did it have to be me?”

  I shrugged it off nonchalantly. “You were the first person that came to mind. I already know you’re competent. Besides, I didn’t want to have to train a new bodyguard how to talk dirty to me. You know I love it when you’re mean.”

  “Wrong.” He stood. “My answer is no. Hire someone else to train you.” He started to leave the room.

  “Wait,” I jumped up. He stopped and turned around. “Fine, you want to know? Warren broke in to my home, my refuge, my sanctuary. This was supposed to be my safe place. I’ve never been so terrified in all my life. I couldn’t breathe, even after I got away, because if he can get in here, that means there is no safe place. It doesn’t exist. It never did. It was always an illusion. What isn’t an illusion though is that I was safe with you. I don’t just mean I felt safe, but I knew it. I needed that again. That’s why you, because even if you hate me, even if you think I’m some self-absorbed, shallow, materialistic princess, you can give me that.”

  A weighted, uncomfortable silence hung between us. Had I revealed too much? I’d just peeled back my armor and revealed a soft spot, a place where I was vulnerable, to a man I did not want to be vulnerable in front of. I needed a joke, or a witty comment to add to lighten the mood, but I had none.

  “Okay.”

  Okay? That’s it’s?

  I bare my soul and all he can say is okay!

  He walked back over and took a seat on the sofa, much closer to me. “Just remember, you’re the one who called yourself shallow, self-absorbed, and materialistic. Not me, Princess.”

  God, I wanted to kiss that evil smirk off his face.

  “Also, if we do this, we do it my way. You’re going to take it seriously and do what I tell you. When I tell you. That’s the only way it’ll work. If you can’t handle it, hire someone else.”

  “I can handle it,” I blurted. “Just tell me what to do sensei. I’ll wax on, wax off all day long.”

  “Did you miss when I said you had to take it seriously?”

  “I will take it seriously, I mean, I already am. It’s my mouth that has a problem. It’s disconnected from my brain. It does its own thing. I’d have thought you figured that out by now.”

  “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, and then louder, “I already regret agreeing to this.”

  “But you did agree, so just tell me a number and Jayne will have it wired to you. Feel free to overcharge me. Hazard pay or something like that.”

  “Keep your money.” He stood and walked toward the stairs. At the bottom he stopped and looked back at me expectantly.

  “Oh, we’re starting right now?” I jumped up.

  “Sorry to ruin your plans for a relaxing afternoon.” That was a lie. He didn’t look the least bit sorry. “Go change into workout clothes.”

  Six

  Riley

  Did I still have legs?

  I lifted my head from the mat and looked down. Yup, they were still there.

  What about arms?

  I looked side to side to see them sprawled out beside me. They were still attached too, not that I could move them.

  Satan—James’ new name—had the nerve to stand over me with a smirk on his face. “Don’t just lie there, your muscles will cramp up. You need to stretch them out.”

  “I can’t,” I groaned, rolling over to my front. “I can’t move.”

  “Yes you can.” He nudged my calf with his toe. “Sit up.”

  Oh God, just those two words were enough to make me cry. He’d made me do I don’t even know how many sit-ups and crunches. “I can’t,” I whined again.

  “You can, or you’ll be twice as sore tomorrow.”

  I let out a little whimper and forced myself to a sitting position. “Hand me my phone, please.” It was so far away, on the other side of the room.

  He eyed it and then me. “Get up and get it yourself.”

  I groaned pathetically, “Pleeeeease.”

  He grabbed it and slapped it into my hand. I collapsed backward on the mat and immediately punched the speed dial for Jayne, setting the phone to speaker so I could lay it next to me. It was too much effort to hold the phone to my face with these sore arms.

  “Did you get your deliveries?”

  “Yes, but now I need you to schedule me an emergency appointment with Leo. Full body massage.”

  “For when?”

  “For as soon as he can get here,” I whined.

  “What’s the matter with you? Did you fall down the stairs again?”

  “No,” I huffed, noting James’ amused expression. “That happened one time.”

  “Did you slip in the shower again because you were dancing?”

  James chuckled, and I asked myself why I put this damn thing on speaker. “No,” I barked. “I didn’t slip or fall. If you must know, Hades is my new personal trainer and he spent all morning punishing me because he’s a sadist.” I stuck my tongue out at him, the only muscle in my body still fully functional.

  “What? You didn’t hire a new trainer.”

  I ignored her confusion. “Just make the appointment, please.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you back.”

  “Hades, huh?” James asked with a smirk. I think the asshole was actually proud of his new nickname.

  I ignored him and waited for Jayne to call back and tell me Leo and his magic hands were on their way.

  “You need to stretch,” James persisted, coming to stand over me. I let him run me through a few stretches until my phone buzzed.

  I snatched it up, but James glared. “You’re not done.”

  I rolled my eyes and swiped to accept the call, putting it on speaker once again and placing it down on the mat so I could finish the stretch. “Tell me Leo’s on his way.”

  “He’s booked solid. He said Greta might be able to get you in, or if you absolutely need to see him before your standing appointment next week, he can try to squeeze you in tomorrow around lunchtime. It would be tight between your brunch outing and the studio
party, but you should have time.”

  “No. Greta’s mean. Her goal is to make you cry. Tell Leo I’ll tip him triple his hourly fee if he’ll see me today.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  She did only minutes later to let me know Leo had agreed and would be here at the end of the day. With a pleased grin, I ended the call and didn’t even complain as James barked at me to finish the last stretch. I’d squatted, lunged, lifted, done push-ups and every other exercise over and over at his command until I literally could not take anymore, and I hadn’t even got to hit him once. I hadn’t got to hit anything.

  Meanwhile, Captain America there did twice the number of reps I did, and where I looked like I’d taken a dip in the pool, his skin only had a glossy sheen to it and his hair only slightly damp. He grabbed a pink towel from the shelf that held an entire stack of them and scrubbed it over his face and hair. He was left with sex hair. It was hot. It’d be even hotter if it got that way because I’d run my hands through it, but I digress.

  I finally rose to my feet, compelled by my desert dry throat. I’d never needed one of the coconut waters I kept stocked in the cooler in here as much as I did right then. I drained half a bottle before I came up for air. “How come you didn’t teach me any moves today?”

  “You need to be strong and fast before I teach you what to do with that strength and speed, but don’t worry, I’ll get you into shape.” He said that like I was some kind of lazy troll.

  I waved my hands down my body. “Uh, I am in shape. I exercise all the time.”

  “No, you’re skinny. My guess because you drink a lot of smoothies and do a lot of cardio. That might make you feel better about being on camera, but it’s not going to help you with what I’m going to teach you.”

  A retort about him having a skinny dick popped into my head, but I swallowed it. That would be childish. Instead I took another long drink of water and jerked my head at the stack of towels. “Toss me one?”

  “Why don’t you call Jayne and have her send someone over to towel you off.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall right beside the damn shelf, raising his own bottle of water to his lips.

  “So that’s a no?”

  He capped his bottle without answering me, and then strode out the room.

  “Asshole!” I tossed my now basically empty bottle at him. It bounced off his back. He threw a look over his shoulder that said, did you really just throw a plastic bottle at me.

  “I thought I should at least get to hit something.”

  So much for not behaving like a child. Oh well, I was still pretty proud of myself for keeping the dick comment to myself. Winning one out of two battles wasn’t a terrible average. By baseball standards, I was killing it. My dad would dance a jig if the Seattle Mariners’ hitters could manage that.

  I dragged my sore carcass down the hall to my bedroom. The bed tempted me, and I eyed it longingly as I shuffled into the bathroom with a whimper in favor of a shower.

  I spent way too long under the hot spray of water, letting it soothe my tired muscles before I donned my favorite red bikini, determined to spend the rest of the day lounging by the pool. First, I stood in front of the full-length bathroom mirror, turning this way and that.

  I wasn’t “skinny.” The way he’d said it, skinny made it sound like I was a bony stick-figure. I wasn’t. I was lean, but I had slight curves in the right places and it wasn’t like you could see my ribs poking through my skin. I flexed just to prove to myself that he was wrong, and I did have muscle. My arms mostly looked the same as when I wasn’t flexing, maybe a little tighter. I dropped them with a huff.

  I still wasn’t skinny.

  I grabbed the stupid script Luis wanted me to read from my dresser and carted it out to the poolside. Might as well be productive while I lounged. I didn’t see James on my way outside, but I knew he was lurking somewhere, probably thinking up new ways to make me hate myself in my home gym. I didn’t even know it was possible for ass muscles to hurt this much.

  And I worked out. I swear I did. I wasn’t lazy. I had to be in front of a camera in nothing but a bikini on numerous occasions. I’m talking yoga, Pilates, spin class, and even those silly dance workouts that really get your heart rate up there.

  But apparently James’ version of in shape was something else. He was trying to turn me into one of those man-shees. We were going to have a talk about that later. After I read this script.

  Five pages in and I was actually cringing at the predictableness of it. I couldn’t do this. Luis would have to understand.

  One more page. Maybe it will get better.

  Luis had to see something in it. Maybe I was being too negative because I wanted to hate it.

  A shadow fell across the white pages and long, powerful, but pale legs moved into my periphery.

  “You need to tan,” I said without looking up from the script.

  “It’s January and I live in Washington.” The chaise-lounge beside mine creaked as he sank into it and right about then, something divine reached my nose. I tore my eyes away from the pages to peer over at him. He was sinking his teeth into a fat, grilled sandwich he’d made on my almond bread. Some kind of creamy sauce or dressing oozed from it and dripped onto his finger as he bit down. He chewed and swallowed the bite before licking the sauce from his finger.

  To be that finger . . . I groaned internally.

  “What’s on that?” I didn’t know what I wanted to get my lips on more, him or the sandwich.

  “Turkey, bacon, spinach, avocado, tomato, some weird cheeses and chipotle aioli I found in the fridge too.”

  It sounded heavenly. And fattening.

  “Quit salivating over it, I made you one too. It’s in the kitchen.”

  “You made me a sandwich?” I asked, shocked.

  He nodded, taking another huge bite. “Mmhmm.”

  “Oh, well I appreciate it, but I can’t eat that.” I went back to my script.

  “Why the hell not?” he asked around a mouthful.

  “Do you know the carb and fat content of the dressing alone?”

  “Why do you have this shit in your fridge if you don’t eat it?”

  “Jayne orders my groceries. She eats more of it than I do, but don’t tell her that. I let her fill my fridge because it makes her feel better and gets her off my case about eating more.”

  “She’s right.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make a salad in a while.”

  “No, you’ll eat the sandwich.”

  I sat up straighter. “That’s like an entire day’s worth of fat and carbs with everything on it.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe before, but I’m going to be working you a lot harder. You need the fat and protein. This is the best I could do with what you had in your fridge. We’ll need to stock up on some different groceries.”

  I slapped the script down on the little drink table beside me, swung my legs over the side of the lounger, and slid my sunglasses up onto my head. “Listen up, just because I agreed to do things your way does not mean I’m going to let you turn me into some brawny, She-Man, Xena warrior princess.”

  He laughed. The bastard laughed. “Calm down, Xena, I’m not going to turn you into She-Man. I promise you’ll still be a dainty little princess, but you’ll pack a meaner punch. Just trust me.”

  “Whatever you say, Lucifer,” I grumbled and swung my legs back over the chair, letting my sunglasses slide back down on my face. Before I could grab the script, James snatched it up with the hand that wasn’t holding the last half of his sandwich. He took another bite as his eyes perused the page.

  “This a movie you’re doing?”

  “I hope not,” I muttered.

  He looked up at me. “This the one your stepdad was trying to talk you into?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes returned to the page. “Is it shit?”

  I sighed. “It’s not a bad script. It’s not a bad story. I’m sure it will be a good movie, I just don’t want
to do it. I don’t want to keep playing the girl next door. I thought Red Red Rose and the movie I did before that would lead to new acting opportunities for me. Doing this feels like going backward.”

  “Then don’t.” He tossed the script down as if it were as simple as that and shoved the remaining bite of sandwich in his mouth.

  “I wish it were that simple. I can’t just say no to a movie because it’s not exactly what I want to do.”

  “Sure you can.” He licked the last drops of dressing from his fingers and then brushed his hands on his cargo shorts.

  I shook my head. “There are other things I have to consider. This is my career and I have to make smart decisions. Turning down this role might not be smart. Luis thinks—”

  He cut me off with a loud snort. “Fuck Luis.”

  “He’s my manager, and more than that, he’s my stepfather. He’s been in this business for a long time. He knows what he’s doing, and I trust his judgement.”

  He raised his hands up in surrender. “I don’t doubt he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s a businessman. You’re his cash cow.” My jaw dropped but James ignored it. “You’ve no doubt made him millions doing movies exactly like that one. He knows it’s a sure thing because people will continue to fill theater seats to see Riley James fall in love over and over again.” He rolled his eyes like he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. “You want to do something new, and it’s a risk.”

  Didn’t I know it. Risks didn’t always pay off in this industry. Sometimes people didn’t want to see the comedian take on a serious role, or the star of their favorite romance take on something darker. But sometimes they did and sometimes it was magic. Sometimes an actor or actress would blow you away and surprise you.

  “But it’s your risk, Riley. Not his,” James continued. “Do the movie or don’t, but it’s your choice. If Luis doesn’t believe in you, then you have to believe in yourself or stay right where you’re at and keep doing the same old shit.” He stood and went back inside, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t forget your sandwich. I won’t train you if you don’t feed your body what it needs.”

  What did he know? About my career or my body.