by Layla Hagen
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He looks between the two of us, as if hoping someone will jump up and say April Fool’s. Slumping down on the armchair in Alex’s room, he pulls at his mustache, which is dark brown with a few silver streaks, like his hair. His crisp suit wrinkles as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“No offense, Summer, you seem like a nice person, but, Alex, this is the worst time for you to be with someone. Have you got any idea what the tabloids would do with this info? How the fans would react? The studio?”
“I have a pretty good idea, yeah,” Alex says dryly. He’s leaning against the wall, in arm’s reach from me. I chose to sit on the bed, but standing would have been better. Preston’s reaction is unnerving me.
“The success of these two movies is hinging on the public opinion, which at the moment is against you. Do you know what two box office bombs would do to your career? You don’t have the luxury to play hide and seek.”
Alex’s jaw ticks. “Pull yourself together, Preston. It was one panel gone wrong, you said so yourself.”
Preston is sweating in earnest now. “The studio did some polls. Your popularity is at an all-time low. If the three interviews next week don’t go better, we’re neck deep in shit.”
My stomach constricts, fear gripping me on Alex’s behalf. I’m also dreading that he might change his mind about us.
No, just because other men walked all over my feelings doesn’t mean Alex will. It’s not fair to hold him to those low expectations. As if sensing my apprehension, Alex takes my hand to his lips and kisses it.
“We’ll be careful,” I promise. “And I do have experience with the press. They’ve been stalking my family for years.”
Preston narrows his eyes. “Summer Bennett... any relation with Sebastian Bennett of Bennett Enterprises?”
“I’m his sister.”
Preston nods. “Okay, if that’s really what both of you want, I’ll share with you the security protocols.”
“Security protocols?” Wow. That’s something my family has never needed, even at the height of the media’s interest in us.
“How to go unseen when you’re together and the press shows up, or if you want to visit him while he’s on the promo tour, a few tactics about avoiding fans—”
“Let’s take this one step at a time,” Alex says coolly. “Don’t scare my girl away.”
It’s my turn to reassure him now. I squeeze his hand, rolling my shoulders. “I’m not scared. Just surprised. I didn’t realize you had protocols. Please, tell me everything I need to know.”
Preston levels me with his gaze. “The most important thing is you can’t tell anyone until the month after the premiere.”
“This doesn’t include my family, right?”
“Yes, it does,” says Preston, at the same time Alex says, “No.”
Standing up, I pace the room. “Look, I won’t tell anyone else, but I can’t keep this from my family. I’m too close to them.”
“How big is your family?” Preston inquires.
“Depends if you count only those related by blood or those who married into my family too, but you’re looking at double digits anyway.”
He drops his head in his hands. “You two are going to kill me.”
“I trust them with my life. They wouldn’t tell anyone,” I reassure him.
Preston sighs, straightening up in the armchair. “The more people know, the more chances of a slipup.”
“Preston, move on. She’s telling her family. No negotiating.”
Preston checks his watch. “We don’t have time for a full debrief on protocols. I’ll set up a phone call with you, Summer. Alex and I need to board that plane. He’ll give me your contact data.”
“Okay, sure.”
Preston stands to his feet, looking expectantly at Alex.
“You go ahead, Preston. Wait for me at the reception.”
“Don’t be late. You’ve got ten minutes tops.”
“I won’t be late,” Alex says.
“It was nice meeting you, Summer. Sorry about the circumstances.”
“Don’t worry, Preston. We’ll take care of our superstar.”
Smiling, he shakes my hand firmly, but his shoulders hunch as he leaves the room.
“So, did that go as expected?” I ask Alex.
He chuckles. “More or less. He’ll get used to it.”
I lean my back against the wall, my fingers tapping the cool surface. “But—”
“I don’t want to talk about Preston.”
He brings both his hands to my face, his thumbs pressing the corners of my mouth.
“I’ll miss you,” he says.
“Maybe I’ll miss you too.”
“Maybe, huh?” He tugs my lower lip between his teeth, and a sharp impulse lights a fuse inside me. When he licks where he bit before, I fist his shirt.
“Maybe I need a reminder of what I should miss,” I say breathlessly.
He pulls me into a kiss so hot, I barely fight the urge to dry hump him. With a groan, Alex pulls away, looking between us. Whoops, I’ve been pressing my hips against him. Completely unintentional, of course.
“Woman, do you want to drive me insane?”
“Hey, if I were naughty, I’d make you late for that flight. I’m being very selfless right now.”
He pinches my ass. “When I return to San Francisco, we’ll work on that definition of selfless.”
I grin, shuddering for effect. “I can’t wait for the lessons, Master. Can I pick my rewards?”
“The way you’re going, you’re more likely to earn punishments. I promise you’ll love them.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and sweet bejesus. Hot gaze and sinful words are an explosive combo.
“I think you’re all talk and no play, Westbrook,” I say coyly, touching his bicep languidly, so he knows I mean business. In response, he grips my hand, kissing the pads of my fingers. For anyone watching, this could seem like a sweet gesture. Except that he works in a flick of tongue.
“I’m not about playing at all. I’m all about winning. Anyway that ends up with you begging for me to be inside you is a win in my book.”
Boom! That explosive combo did the job thoroughly. I’m so turned on I want to climb him. But I’m not completely selfish. I know he has a plane to catch.
“Don’t be late for meeting Preston. I’ll miss you, Alex. Good luck with the interviews. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“Thanks. And tell me if Preston bugs you too much, or if you want to talk about the protocols. They’re not as scary as they seem.”
“It takes a lot to scare me, Alex. Don’t worry.”
He gives me one last kiss, more of a chaste peck on the lips before leaving the room. Sighing, I run my hands up and down my arms, already feeling cold where he touched me before.
Chapter Nineteen
Summer
“And starting with this painting, we enter a new phase in Monet’s career.”
I glance around at the group of ten, trying to gauge if everyone’s still with me. The audience is always a mixed bag. Some are at the gallery because they genuinely like art, some because their friends or significant others dragged them here. Others simply want to check off attractions on their lists.
As I lead the group through the remaining paintings, I pepper my explanations with random trivia from Monet’s life, even add a few questionable but fun rumors, which earn me chuckles. It’s the best way to entertain even the visitors who aren’t art enthusiasts. We get a lot of tourists in July.
After the tour ends, I head straight to the small kitchen at the back, smoothing my hands down my skirt. God, I missed my high heels and pencil skirts and shirts. I feel like I have more purpose when I dress up.
I prepare myself a coffee at our Nespresso machine. After having slept in until eight for the past couple of weeks, waking up at six these last three days has been brutal. I also miss waking up with Alex’s arms around me. How can I miss him so much? Well... he does have the sexiest, stro
ngest arms. Missing him is totally appropriate. And I’ll see him in two weeks. Oh boy! I’m already showing signs of Alex-withdrawals.
“Summer, you’re free. Good,” Olivia says, stepping inside the small kitchen. “How did it go with Rupert Felton?”
“We’re golden. He agreed to lend us the collection for two weeks.”
Rupert Felton is eighty going on one hundred and could pass off as the Grinch. I met him while working in Rome, which is why Olivia asked me to reach out to him.
“I don’t know how you do it.” Olivia nods, picking a feather from her black sweater dress. I’m jealous of the dark green glossy belt at her waist and the matching shoes.
“Rupert isn’t as grumpy as he seems. Especially when I treat him to the best steak with Gorgonzola sauce San Francisco has to offer.”
She cocks a brow. Ha! I don’t like that judgy look. Some would call my tactics underhanded. Unorthodox is a better word. Much more elegant. A convincing sales pitch takes people skills, which I have in spades. You cannot grow up with eight siblings and not have people skills.
“You’re not planning any more extended leaves, I hope?”
“I had a lot of accrued time, Olivia. Still have some left.”
In times like this, I can understand my siblings’ desire to own their businesses. She purses her lips but doesn’t add anything else as my colleague Diana joins us.
“Oh, coffee, how I need you,” Diana says, hurrying to the Nespresso machine. Olivia backs out of the kitchen.
“Thank God you’re back,” Diana whispers, even though we’re alone. “She was super cranky while you were gone. By the way, a reporter called earlier, asking for you.”
“Oh?”
“She was asking if you and Alex Westbrook are close. She said something about you both being donors at an orphanage. I told her I know nothing about that.”
I freeze in the act of placing my empty coffee cup in the dishwasher. “Right. Thanks for telling me.”
She nudges me with her hip. “Anything you wanna share, Summer?”
Diana is very dear to me, but she’s a terrible gossip. Plus, I agreed to only share this with my family.
“Nope, absolutely nothing. But I do need to go. I need to send some e-mails before my next tour.”
I rush to my small office, pull up St. Anne’s website and navigate to the donors’ page. Crap, both Alex and I are on it, even though I explicitly asked for neither of us to be listed. God damn, damn, damn it.
I call Shawna right away. The words tumble out so fast from my mouth when she answers, I’ll be surprised if she understood any of it.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Summer. My assistant just updated the list of donors. I think she just checked the incoming funds without looking over the list of people who want to remain anonymous. I’ll remove it right away. In fact, wait a second, I’ll do it right now.”
I bite my nails while I wait, wondering how many people have seen it already, and if that reporter will dig deeper.
“It’s done. You’re both removed. I’m really sorry about this,” Shawna says.
“Thanks for doing this so fast,” I reply, trying to keep my tone even, even though anger simmers inside me. It was a mistake, I know. But we can’t afford any mistakes.
After clicking off, I still can’t get the reporter out of my mind. If she does dig deeper, what will she find? We’d been careful at Lake Tahoe. We haven’t kissed in public. The most she can find is that we’ve been there at the same time. But so was the entire staff of St. Anne’s and the Spanish teachers.
Taking a few deep breaths, I tell myself I have no reason to panic. I also shoot Preston an e-mail, informing him about it. Letting him know about any contact with the media is part of the security protocols. He talked to me at length about them, then e-mailed me files upon files. I’m not sure how I’ll remember everything, but I’ll do my best.
Ugh, this day took a nosedive, and it’s not even lunchtime. The silver lining? The spa evening at Sebastian’s house with my sisters and Ava. Some girl time is just what the doctor ordered.
***
“I can’t win against the three of you,” Ava exclaims that evening, waving her hands around so the red acrylic on her fingernails dries faster. We’ve pooled all our beauty resources on the floor of her expansive living room, and we’re so stocked up, we could open our own beauty store. We’re sprawled on the L-shaped couch, Pippa in the corner, Alice at one end, Ava and me at the other.
I grin. “We know.”
“But our nagging is in your best interest,” Pippa informs her solemnly, even though it’s hard to take her seriously when she has a mask the color of chocolate on her face. “Look, I’m a mom too, and I know how hard it is to balance work and family. Having someone helping you doesn’t mean you kick ass any less, it means you’ll have time to breathe.”
Ava pouts. “You make too much sense. I can’t believe Sebastian. Tossing me to the sharks like this. Fine, I promise I will seriously consider hiring a permanent nanny.”
Alice pumps her fist in the air, perfectly summing up how I feel. Then she rubs her hands and points both forefingers at me. “Now, Summer, I believe you have something to share with us?”
I swear to God, everything just spills out of me. I only stop when my throat is dry and Pippa’s mask start to peel off.
“Wow!” Pippa exclaims.
“But the secret part might be tricky,” Alice says reasonably.
Ava, who just found out I knew Alex at all, looks at me open-mouthed. “He’s too famous for that.”
I shoot daggers with my eyes at them. “Don’t ruin my buzz with practicality. I love living in my bubble. It’s comfy. I can’t believe I have to wait so long to see him. He’ll be here in two Saturdays.”
Alice tucks her legs under her, propping her elbow on the backrest. “Oh, that’s the day Mom and Dad invited us to their pizza party. Are you bringing him?”
“I didn’t ask him yet. But I plan to.” My stomach clenches. It’s been a while since I introduced anyone to my family. Mostly because whenever I brought that up, it resulted in my date running for the hills.
Alice grins. “I promise we won’t be too obvious when we check out if he’s as hot in real life. And we’ll keep our brothers on a tight leash, so they don’t grill him... too much.”
Pippa bursts out laughing. “Alice, you’re overestimating us. When have we been able to keep our brothers from going into alpha overprotective mode?”
Alice inspects her freshly polished nails in response.
“I thought so,” Pippa says. “Damn, this mask smells so much like chocolate that I’m hungry.”
Ava rubs her stomach. “Anyone up for raiding my kitchen?”
“Nope, I try not to eat after 9:00 p.m.,” I say seriously, though my mouth already waters, because Ava’s fridge is always stocked up with goodies.
My eldest sister bats her eyelashes. “She has apple strudel with vanilla sauce.”
Alice springs to her feet, already heading to the kitchen.
“Sold,” I say wistfully. Who am I to say no to that, really? Besides, some vanilla courage might be just what I need to ask Alex about meeting my family when I talk to him in two hours.
“Oh, I’ve got whipped cream too,” Ava announces.
“Now you’re just actively sabotaging my healthy-eating plan,” I admonish.
She shakes her head. “Everything we eat during girls’ night doesn’t matter.”
Alice chuckles. “How did you figure that out?”
“Gossiping burns a lot of calories,” Ava says seriously. Both my sisters laugh, but Ava’s mention of gossip brings front and center thoughts of that reporter.
Chapter Twenty
Alex
I love photo shoots. Not because I enjoy having my photo taken, but because it doesn’t require talking, answering questions... or fielding them.
“That’s a wrap.” The photographer holds her thumb and forefinger in a circle, smiling.
“Thanks, Rebecca.”
“Always a pleasure working with you. You’ve killed it, Westbrook. I swear you look hotter every year. Readers will eat this up. Wanna go out for a drink?”
“No can do. Still have to get to a radio interview. Evening slot.”
I scratch my jaw because they wanted a one-day beard for the shoot and my skin is itchy as hell.
“How long are you in town?” She plays with her hair, looking me up and down. She’s been hitting on me ever since I arrived. We’ve known each other for years, but this is the first time she’s come on to me.
“I’ve got every minute planned.”
The guys in charge of lighting start dismantling the equipment, and we move out of the way.
“You seeing someone new?” she asks.
“No.” The lie feels bitter on my tongue. For someone who slips into other people’s skins for a living, this should come easy. But I don’t like playing pretend in my real life. “But I’m laying low for a while.”
“Your loss, big boy. D’you need a ride to the radio station?”
“Thanks, but my manager already arranged for one. Do you know where they put my jacket?”
“I’ll bring it for you.” With a wink, she takes off in the direction of the changing rooms.
The studio is a blur of activity even this late in the evening. They have four adjacent sets, and the other three are still in action, the hair and makeup team running between them for retouching. The air is thick with the smell of hairspray and nail polish. The constant buzz of voices is wearing me down.
Rebecca returns holding my jacket.
“Here you go, mister. And if you change your mind, let me know.” When I don’t answer, she adds, “Good luck with the interview.”
After bidding goodbye to everyone on set who doesn’t have their hands full, I step outside. My car, a black sedan, is already waiting in the front, but I don’t climb in yet. I fill my lungs with fresh air. Well, fresh is relative considering the constant stream of cars, but it’s better than the stale air inside. And I much prefer the air in Chicago in July than in New York. I flew in yesterday from New York, and the humidity was insane.
