by Ava Lore
“No, I won't be late.”
“Yeah,” she said as my Spaghetti-Os exploded and I swore. “Don't be.”
*
I was totally on-time to Kent's office that afternoon. You know. Give or take.
Rose glared at me as I hurried in, my messenger bag flapping on my hip. I glared right back at her, peeved. If she really wanted me to be on time she would have picked me up in her car instead of letting me rely on the city's bus system. How I was going to get around from whatever LA suburb Carter lived in I had no idea; I wondered if Kent would requisition a car for me. I just needed something with wheels. A bike would do. Or one of those little soapbox racers. I'm flexible.
Sniffing and shoving her perfect, pretty nose in the air, Rose turned back around and faced Kent, Carter, and a faded looking man who I could only assume was their lawyer.
Seeing Kent again after yesterday—which seemed so unreal at this point that I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd dreamed the whole thing up—was a huge shock. He sat behind his desk, cool and serene, his striking blue-green eyes watching me with veiled heat, as though he knew something secret about me and couldn't wait to hold it over my head.
And he did. He knew I was so hot for him I'd fuck him before the first date.
I swallowed as his gaze flicked down my body, remembering the humiliating and utterly delicious encounter we'd had. I forced myself to look away and give Carter a smile and a nod, which he promptly ignored, and no surprise there. He sat slumped in a chair behind Kent glaring at nothing like a surly teenager. I suddenly had the terrible vision of Kent and Rose as our parents arranging our marriage. I knew how that would go. I'd end up jilted at the altar while Carter ran off with his childhood sweetheart and all the critics would rave about the heartwarming movie that would be made out of Carter's tell-all memoir.
Fuck you, Ebert, I thought. You don't know the whole story.
Trying to hold my head up, I sat in the chair next to Rose and tried to look presentable in my loose blouse, skinny jeans and my best Sketchers. I'm all class when I want to be.
“Good,” Kent said at last. “Glad you could make it, Rebecca.”
I glared at him and he quirked the corner of his mouth at me. He knew exactly how to get under my skin.
“Yes, thanks for joining us,” Rose said. I wanted to kick her. She was supposed to be on my side.
I turned to the lawyer and gave him my biggest smile. “Hello,” I said. “Rebecca Alton.”
He stood just behind Kent and looked relieved that I'd acknowledged him. I had a feeling Kent and Carter had been arguing all morning and it had been taking a toll on everyone. “Sean Guire,” he said, reaching across the desk and shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Kent sighed. “Yes, very well. We're all acquainted, now can we please sign these papers and get out of here? Carter and I have rehearsal in forty five minutes and Rebecca needs to be there.”
I sneaked a little peek at Rose. She hated to be told that someone didn't 'have time' to do something properly. She always said that sort of thing meant someone was trying to fuck you with a condom so you didn't have evidence to show the police. Lawyers are a gloomy bunch.
But Rose was serene. She didn't even stiffen. All she said was, “Very well. Shall we go over the clauses?” She turned to me and raised her brows in question. She'd pulled her hair back into a sexy-librarian bun and she looked every inch the professional. Even her lipstick was sexy and severe. I suddenly had the suspicion that she was a fan of Kent's band.
I tried to figure out why she would even bother asking me this. “Of course I do,” I said. “Isn't that what we're here for? To understand the contract?”
Rose smiled at the Hudson brothers and leaned toward me, lowering her voice. “Try to act like an adult, please,” she said. “Just say 'yes.' Don't be an asshole.”
Stung, I nodded and Rose pulled her copy of the contract out of her briefcase. “Mr. Guire?” she said. “Shall we review?”
He gave her a curt nod and produced his own copy, placing it in front of Carter. Carter pulled out his phone and started typing.
I was impressed by his childishness. I do childish pretty well myself, but I was truly sitting in the presence of the master.
Kent rolled his eyes and waved his hand when the lawyer glanced at him for a clue in how to proceed. Mr. Guire cleared his throat and began to go over the contract.
It wasn't hard to understand at all, and as he and Rose discussed the finer points I had to admit that it seemed pretty good to me. I was forbidden from disclosing the true nature of my relationship with Carter to anyone outside of this office, excepting the other band members. This was for “group cohesion,” Kent explained. After my employment ended I was forbidden from writing about it or selling the story in any way until ten years after the dissolution of the band. I was to stay with Carter at his home in one of the LA suburbs, to be disclosed after signing.
As for my duties, they consisted of keeping Carter in line, which included assisting him in getting up on time, going to rehearsals, eating properly, maintaining good self-care, putting him to bed at a reasonable hour, attempting to put the brakes on his partying, looking after his health and welfare at what parties he did attend or throw, and in general making sure he didn't kill himself by accident. For all intents and purposes, we would be an old married couple sitting around watching “The Mentalist” on our Friday nights. I found myself almost looking forward to it. Before I'd had to flee San Diego, I'd lived the party life just like Carter, and I was tired. I wondered if I could get Carter into Supernanny or The Dog Whisperer.
As for pay, mine would be in gratis wardrobe, mandatory makeovers and, of course, money. Gobs of money. Carter's silence was also required.
Oh, and by the way, also we needed to make out a lot in public.
I balked at that. Carter was very pretty, but I wasn't attracted to him, and he was kind of a child. “Wait,” I said, “why do we have to do that?”
Before either of the lawyers could respond to me, Kent laughed. “Who would believe it if you two weren't seen carrying on your passionate affair?”
I rolled my eyes. “Lots of people. Like, tons. You see it in the tabloids all the time when two stars hang out together.”
He smiled at me indulgently. “Yes. But you are not a star, are you?”
Stung, I scowled at him. “No, I'm not,” I said. “But I still don't see how that translates to... to paying me for sexual services.”
Carter dropped his phone, and I tilted my head. Kent said I wasn't going to be a whore. Well, now was his time to prove it. His indulgent smile had slipped slightly.
“Of course not, Miss Alton,” he said. “This is purely professional. An actress is not being paid for sexual favors when she kisses the leading man in a movie, is she?”
“They're both being paid,” I argued. “Carter is paying me.”
Kent's blue-green eyes narrowed. “I am paying you, Miss Alton. Do not forget that.”
Next to me, I felt Rose stiffen, and Mr. Guire went still. Kent closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and sat back in his chair. When he opened his eyes again, the storm had calmed. For now. “These are the terms of the contract, Miss Alton. You may take it, or leave it. I'll not budge on it. Carter must redeem his image, and he needs to be seen with a more wholesome woman than his normal fare.”
Wholesome? Me? I looked around, wondering if there were a mirror nearby where I could check to see if I had accidentally become respectable overnight, but there was nothing. I turned back to Kent and set my shoulders.
“Just making out?” I said.
“Yes. Preferably where you will be photographed and noticed.”
No overtly sexual stuff. I took a deep breath. I could do that. Maybe after all this was over I could be an actress or something. “All right,” I said. “I can do that.”
Rose put her hand on my arm. “Do you want to talk about this first?” she asked. I almost said yes, but then wonde
red what there was to talk about. The contract clearly outlined that I was under no sexual obligations, and that the public displays of affection—Hereafter known as PDAs, I thought—were strictly business.
I shook my head. “I think I can handle it,” I said. “We can keep this strictly business, can't we, Mr. Hudson?”
Carter was staring at me, but he nodded. “Yes. Uh... This can stay strictly business. Definitely.”
There was a pregnant pause, and Kent cleared his throat. “Good,” he said. “That's settled. Let's go over the payment schedule, sign and get out of here.”
That part went quickly, and when we were done my head was reeling with the sums being thrown around. I could buy a car. Several new cars. On a month's salary alone. And not shitty cars; really good ones. I could pay off those student loans dogging me. I could get my own place after all this was finished. I could do anything.
Rose turned to me and gave me a searching look. “Do you need to ask me any questions, Rebecca?” she asked me.
I pressed my lips together and looked Kent and Carter over. Carter was looking more and more as though the walls were closing in on him, and I sort of felt the same. I mean, I could get up and walk out right now if I wanted to, and the rational part of me had plenty of reservations about the situation, but this kind of opportunity didn't come along every day.
With the swipe of a pen, I could leave San Diego behind. I could leave behind Rebecca the Loser. Rebecca the Wimp. Rebecca the Doormat. I could be someone totally different.
I gave Rose a bright smile. “No questions at all,” I told her.
She hesitated, then nodded. “All right.” Turning back to Kent, she said, “Time to sign.”
Without even looking at his brother, Kent passed a pen to Carter. Carter took it and plastered a sullen signature across the last page. Then he slid it across the desk to me. For the briefest of moments our eyes met. His face was unreadable, and I had a sudden, clear premonition that my immediate future was going to be full of incident.
I signed anyway and held my breath.
Contrary to my expectations, no thunder rumbled and the skies failed to part. All that happened was Rose and Mr. Guire also signed the contract as witnesses, and then it was done. Rose stood up and extended her hand to him.
“It was good working with you,” she said. She shook Kent's hand, and then Carter's before glancing back at me and giving her head a little jerk, indicating that I should get to my feet. I stood quickly and reached out, shaking Mr. Guire's hand, then Carter's, and finally Kent's.
His hand was huge and warm and rough on mine. Our eyes met and my heart stopped.
He watched me, like a tiger watches its prey, stalking through the jungle. His stormy blue-green eyes pierced straight into my chest, grabbed my heart, and wrung it dry. Shivery heat radiated from where our palms met, and I remembered exactly—exactly—what those calloused fingers felt like buried in my core. Sudden memories, poorly repressed, exploded across the inside of my head and my knees buckled as I remembered exactly what his cock felt like stroking between my thighs.
Then he let go and the moment passed, leaving me faint and shuddering and I nearly stumbled when I stepped back.
Someone was talking. I could barely hear them over the blood in my ears, and Kent's eyes held mine. I was only able to pull myself out of my sex-induced fugue state when Rose nudged me in the ribs hard enough to bruise.
I shook my head and blinked at her. “What?”
She gave me a weird look. “Carter was just asking what sort of things you were going to move into his house?”
I looked at Carter and he was staring at me curiously. I waved a hand. “Oh, uh. Sorry. Late night.” He nodded. He knew about late nights. “I, uh... I don't have a lot of stuff. Just some clothes and personal things. They're all at Rose's apartment.”
“Good.” Kent's voice cracked through the room like a snapping branch. “If it's just a few things we will swing by after rehearsal and pack them up.”
We? As in, Kent would come? The thought of him in Rose's little apartment, stanking it up with his pheromones was almost comical. Rose hadn't had a date in ages and her apartment was as sexless as a janitor's closet. And Carter would be with us. Nothing would happen.
Relieved at having worked this out, I nodded. “Okay.”
“Rehearsal, then.” And he started for the door without even saying goodbye to Rose or Mr. Guire.
I looked at Carter, wondering if this were part of Kent's standard operating procedures. He just gave me a little shrug and a helpless smile, as though he couldn't believe I'd signed up for this of my own free will.
“Welcome to the Monkey House, Mrs. Girlfriend,” he said. He held out an arm as though he were a chivalrous Victorian gentleman and I a lady. I turned to Rose.
“I guess I'll see you later,” I said, then my eyes widened in shock.
A bright sheen of tears covered Rose's eyes.
Rapidly she blinked them away, then wrapped me up in a fierce hug. “I hope you know what you're doing,” she whispered to me.
I didn't. I had no idea. But I just smiled at her anyway as I took Carter's arm. I didn't want to worry her.
Then Kent called from the lobby: “Get the lead out! We're already late!”
Carter put his hand on mine and swept me out of the room and off to a new life.
Chapter Five
The ride to the studio was short and sweet, but still a bit awkward, and I rode in the back so I wouldn't be tempted to crawl across the stick shift and fuck Kent's brains out while he drove. I have no excuse, except to say that our handshake had been a handshake that bards should have sung about through the ages and I was so turned on I hardly paid any attention to where we were going. I spent most of the short trip shifting in my seat, trying to find just... the right... angle...
When we parked I jerked out of my trance and stared at the building where we'd stopped.
I don't know what I'd expected a rehearsal studio to look like, but this wasn't quite what I'd had in mind. It was a squat, square stucco building that looked like it could possibly hold the worst apartments ever conceived in the history of mankind... and that was it. It was utterly unremarkable. The roof was flat, the doors were painted shit-brown and unmarked, and the cars in the parking lot were almost all junkers. It was actually a little depressing.
I started when my door opened and Carter leaned down, offering his hand. “Here we are,” he said without any sort of finesse. “Where all the magic happens.”
I put my hand in his and he helped me out of the back seat. Whereas the chemistry between Kent and I was immediate, all I felt with Carter was a pleasant warmth, and his dark blue eyes were kind. I let go of his hand and adjusted my messenger bag, staring at the building.
“I thought it would be bigger,” I said to no one in particular.
“Why would it be bigger?” Kent snapped from the other side of the car. “It's a place to practice, not to throw a party.”
I winced. What had I said?
“Yeah, but you have to admit, it was a pretty good party,” Carter replied, and I realized that the barb hadn't been aimed at me. Kent just snorted at him, locked his shiny black car, and stalked off toward the building, his whole body stiff and angry.
Carter waved me ahead. “Come on, Mrs. Girlfriend,” he said. “Let's get this over with.”
“Sorry,” I said. I felt utterly incompetent. I was supposed to be the one who was looking after him, not the other way around, but he just smiled at me. He had a lovely smile.
“About what? Pissing Kent off? He's always like that. Don't worry about him. If you're not pissing him off you're boring him, and then he gets really pissed off.” He laughed as we followed his brother. “I swear to god, sometimes I think he doesn't want me to stop partying because then he won't have anything to worry about any more.”
Somehow I doubted that. I had to hurry to keep up with his long-legged stride. He was remarkably chipper for someone I had seen half
-dead only twenty-four hours before and I wondered if he'd had some of the hair of the dog that bit him or if he was just one of those natural drunks who never get hangovers. I thought I might as well ask him. “And how are you feeling, uh, Mr. Hudson? After last night, I mean.”
He laughed at that, a quick, easy thing. “Call me Carter. You've already seen me naked at my worst, and you are my Mrs. Girlfriend on paper anyway. I have to say I kind of like that part.”
I blinked. “What part?”
He smirked as we reached one of the brown doors that looked like every other brown door ringing the building. Kent had already gone through it, and I could hear the sound of lazy drums from inside. “The part where I get a girlfriend without having to go on a first date or any of that awkward dancing around each other,” Carter said. He reached out and opened the door for me.
The stink of cigarettes and weed hit me full in the face as I stepped inside, and I had to blink several times to dispel the bright afterlight of the afternoon sun that hung behind my eyelids. When I did, I saw that the rehearsal room was just that: a room with muffled walls and no windows and the bare minimum of equipment: a keyboard, a drum set, a guitar and a bass, and a number of amps. The only thing remarkable about it was the small loft above the back half of the room. A rickety white ladder led up to it. Three people were already here.
There was Kent of course, still in his suit, but as I watched he swept his coat off and flung it over the back of a chair, then rolled his white cuffs up, revealing brilliant full-sleeve tattoos wrapping his forearms. I forced myself to tear my eyes away from him and study the other two band members.
First there was the drummer—Manny Reyes, my brain spat out. He sat behind his drum set, tipped back in his chair with one foot up on the wall. A joint hung out of his full-lipped mouth, his curly, glossy black locks long enough to brush his shoulders. He wore a tight black t-shirt and faded jeans, but his feet were bare. Thick, heavy brows shadowed golden eyes as he flipped his drumsticks over and over through the air. He didn't even look up when Carter and I entered.
