Caressa’s Knees

by Caressa's Knees (html)

  Caressa’s Knees

  by

  Annabel Joseph

  Copyright 2011 Annabel Joseph

  Cover art by Dara England of Lady Fingers Designs

  http://mycoverart.wordpress.com/

  * * * * *

  For Miri

  * * * * *

  Prologue

  Bright blinding light. A sharp, rough-edged voice.

  “Wake up. Wake up!”

  Kyle came to alertness like a deep diver surfacing for air. He opened his eyes and closed them again with a groan. Too bright. Someone had opened the blinds, and that someone was shaking him. He wanted to throttle whoever was doing it, but he couldn’t seem to move his arms. “Damn it,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  “Wake up, Kyle. God, you’re a fucking mess.”

  Kyle still couldn’t open his eyes, but he recognized the voice of his employer. Knew it like he knew his own face. Kyle convulsed in a cough and tried to roll over, running his fingers through his tangled hair. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  “The door was unlocked.”

  Something in the dire tone of his voice finally registered. Kyle forced his eyes open and focused them on Jeremy Gray. How many people got shaken awake on any given morning by an angry movie star? Lucky him. Jeremy, his long time employer, looked put together and suave as always. A blue-eyed, blond-haired god, and as successful as ever, despite the fact that Kyle had been a piss-poor personal assistant the last year and a half. He supposed he should count himself lucky that Jeremy hadn’t fired him months ago. Jeremy wasn’t even in town very often anymore, and besides that, Kyle was slowly losing his shit. Slowly? The slippery slope was actually turning into more of a freefall.

  Kyle noticed Jeremy scowling at something on the floor. Damn. It had to be the coke. Had he passed out? He was still half dressed. His bed was rumpled, with a couple empty vodka bottles and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs rounding out his disgrace. Jeremy reached over him to pick up the handcuffs with a disdainful snort.

  “Fur, Kyle? Really?”

  Kyle frowned and tried to lever himself into a sitting position. “Yeah. They’re easy to get out of. In case I pass out in the middle.”

  Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest. “I heard it was bad with you, but I didn’t realize how bad. And it’s my money paying for…this?” he asked, sweeping another look around Kyle’s messy, vice-strewn apartment. His thousand-dollar wardrobe was scattered in piles on the floor, and beer and alcohol bottles were everywhere. Kyle leaned down to surreptitiously slide the mirror and coke under the bed. Jeremy’s foot came down on his wrist in a press of expensive Italian leather. “I’ve already seen it. Leave it.”

  “I was at a party, Jeremy. Things got out of hand. Brought this girl home.”

  “Yeah, and that girl probably took your wallet home. Cocaine?”

  “She brought it with her.”

  “Yeah, right. I heard you got blacklisted from LoveSlave last week. Something about playing while intoxicated. I didn’t believe it, but now…”

  “Fuck LoveSlave. I wasn’t that messed up that night. That sub was just…” He screwed his eyes shut, rubbing them viciously. He had been messed up, chasing demons that never went away. “Who the fuck cares? There are a hundred other dungeons in L.A.”

  “Yeah, but LoveSlave is private and exclusive, and remind me who got you in there?”

  “YOU DID,” KYLE GRUMBLED.

  “YEAH, I DID. NOW WORD’S GOTTEN AROUND THAT YOU’RE A MESS, THAT YOU’RE DANGEROUS.”

  “YOU’RE THE ONE WHO GOT ME INTO THE KINKY SHIT IN THE FIRST PLACE.”

  “OH, IT’S MY FAULT?” JEREMY ASKED WITH ONE DANGEROUSLY ARCHED BROW.

  KYLE SIGHED AND DROPPED HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS. “WHAT DO YOU WANT, JEREMY? IF YOU’RE GOING TO FIRE ME, FIRE ME. IT WOULD PROBABLY BE THE MERCIFUL THING TO DO,” HE ADDED UNDER HIS BREATH.

  “IF I KNEW IT WOULD GET THIS BAD, I WOULD HAVE FIRED YOU LONG AGO.”

  I WISH YOU HAD, YOU FUCKING PRICK. THEN I COULD HAVE DRANK AND PARTIED MYSELF TO DEATH THAT MUCH SOONER. IT WAS GETTING TOO HARD, TOO HARD. JEREMY WAS LIKE A FATHER, BROTHER, AND BEST FRIEND TO HIM, ALL ROLLED IN ONE, BUT IT WAS GETTING TOO HARD TO KEEP UP THE FACADE ANYMORE. IT WAS GETTING TOO HARD TO MAINTAIN ANY FACADE AT ALL. HE HATED HIMSELF. HE HATED HIS LIFE AND THE WAY HE LIVED IT. HE HATED THAT JEREMY HAD EVERYTHING, INCLUDING THE WOMAN THAT HAUNTED HIS DREAMS.

  “How’s Nell?” Kyle asked in a bitter whisper.

  “Get up,” Jeremy snapped. “We’re going out.”

  * * * * *

  Kyle knew Jeremy was right. He was a mess. His clothes didn’t even fit him anymore, his belt cinching jeans over a dwindling waistline and his tee hanging loose on his shoulders where it used to stretch tight. He used to have a six pack. The body of an Adonis. Now he looked like shit. He felt like shit. Jeremy parked a block away from the restaurant and Kyle was sure it was so he could chuckle inwardly as Kyle squinted against the L.A. sun and labored to take each step. He had to cut out the coke. And those sleeping pills he’d started taking. That had been a huge mistake.

  He could get off them though. The alcohol was the really bad thing, because he never stopped with that. He had the shakes already. When they got to the restaurant, Jeremy chose to sit outside on the patio, in the sun and stifling August air. Kyle felt shamed and dissected in the harsh morning light as he tried to hold it together in front of his boss. Damn Jeremy. It was too early to order a drink.

  Kyle hunched over the menu and ordered iced coffee and toast. Jeremy ordered enough food for both of them, being the pig he was. But damn, he looked great as always. He was in his mid-forties, almost twenty years older than Kyle, and he was the picture of good health. Kyle had been drawn in by Jeremy’s charisma and energy from the start.

  When he’d shown up at the job interview for personal assistant to Jeremy Gray, movie star, he’d been fresh off the bus from Spur, Texas. He didn’t know how he’d made the first cut, or how he’d ended up being hired after a short sit down with the megastar himself. He only knew that his life had changed, that he had changed irreversibly in the months and years that followed. And not for the better. He looked up at the man across from him. Honestly, Jeremy had given him so many opportunities…and the salary… It was hard to feel ungrateful, but…

  “You know, I feel this is my fault,” Jeremy said, as if reading his thoughts.

  JEREMY’S WORDS SOUNDED HEAVY, LIKE SOME KIND OF ENDING. WAS THIS AN ENDING, RIGHT NOW? KYLE HAD KNOWN IT WAS COMING, BUT HE STILL FELT SHOCKED SOMEHOW. HE WAS FLAILING, ABOUT TO GO UNDER THE WAVES. JEREMY WAS TEXTING ON HIS CELL, COOL AND COLLECTED AS EVER. KYLE TRIED TO KEEP HIS VOICE STEADY. “LOOK, I CAN PULL IT TOGETHER. I CAN STILL WORK FOR YOU. IT WAS JUST A PARTY THAT GOT OUT OF HAND. ONE PARTY.”

  JEREMY GLANCED UP FROM HIS PHONE WITH A GRIMACE. “IT WASN’T JUST ONE PARTY. WE’VE WORKED TOGETHER FOR FIVE YEARS. WE’VE HAD OUR DICKS IN THE SAME WOMAN. FOR FUCK’S SAKE, DON’T LIE TO ME.”

  JEREMY LOOKED BACK AT HIS PHONE. TEXT, TEXT, TEXT. THE FOOD ARRIVED AND KYLE’S STOMACH CLENCHED AND TURNED OVER. JEREMY SHOVELED HIS FOOD IN AND WASHED IT DOWN WITH PELLEGRINO. IF KYLE HAD STILL BEEN DOING HIS JOB, HE WOULD HAVE KNOWN WHO JEREMY WAS TEXTING. HE WOULD HAVE KNOWN EXACTLY WHY HE WAS IN TOWN, AND WHEN AND WHERE HIS NEXT APPOINTMENT WAS. WITH A START, HE REALIZED HE HADN’T ACTUALLY DONE WORK FOR JEREMY IN WEEKS, AND YET HE WAS STILL GETTING PAYCHECKS. PAYCHECKS TO FINANCE THE PARTYING. KYLE PICKED UP A PIECE OF TOAST, THEN PUT IT DOWN AGAIN.

  “SO I GUESS YOU’RE HERE IN TOWN TO FIRE ME. THANKS FOR MAKING THE TRIP.”

  JEREMY PUT HIS PHONE DOWN ON THE TABLE WITH A SCOWL. “FIRE YOU? I’M NOT GIVING YOU ANYTHING TO DO ANYWAY. I ONLY KEPT YOU ON BECAUSE I FELT I OWED YOU
FOR…”

  FOR HER. NELL. THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. AND YOURS.

  THEY NEVER TALKED ABOUT NELL, BY TACIT AGREEMENT. NELL WAS ENSCONCED BACK IN BOSTON, TAKING CLASSES AT HARVARD, BEING JEREMY’S WIFE. NELL, WITH THE FIERY RED HAIR AND THOSE EYES THAT NEVER, EVER LOOKED CYNICAL OR RUTHLESS. KYLE HAD FOUND NELL, AND HE HAD DELIVERED HER TO JEREMY LIKE THE GOOD PERSONAL ASSISTANT HE WAS. AND OF COURSE SHE’D WANTED JEREMY. NELL LOVED JEREMY, ADORED HIM, AND JEREMY WORSHIPPED HER. KYLE KNEW NELL WAS NOT FOR HIM, AND JEREMY KNEW NELL WAS NOT FOR HIM. NELL KNEW SHE WAS NOT FOR HIM. THEY ALL KNEW IT, SO WHY COULDN’T HE GET OVER HER?

  He’d started the drinking and partying to dull the pain after Nell and Jeremy got married. He’d started haunting the BDSM clubs to try to find someone like her. He’d taken on a never-ending parade of willing, nubile subbies, none of whom he could recall by name. All of them poor substitutes for Nell. He’d stayed in Jeremy’s employ just to have that tenuous link to her. He found he loved the alcohol, he loved dominating women, sure… Much needed distraction. But his love for Nell wasn’t going away.

  “Kyle, I actually hired a new personal assistant. Two months ago.”

  Bam. And there you go.

  “You were good at your work once, but working for me just isn’t the right situation for you anymore. And to be honest, I asked you to do things I probably shouldn’t have.”

  “Yeah, and I did them.”

  “Anyway. Water under the bridge. I’m different now. You are too. But I’m better, and you’re worse. Much worse.”

  Kyle swallowed hard. Jeremy was always so brutally blunt, which had its good points and bad. Kyle took a bite of dry toast, wishing he had some rum to put in his coffee. Jeremy was ignoring him again, more texting on his phone.

  So he would need to find another job. He could manage it, he was sure. Even if he didn’t find something right away, he had tons of money in the bank. Jeremy had overpaid him ridiculously during the time he worked for him, so he could coast for a while. Figure out what to do. He had no real skills, just a knack for organization and a Spur High School diploma, which didn’t count for much in Texas, much less L.A. He’d been told many times he could work as a model. Maybe if he got back in shape. Jesus, the idea of going to the gym… He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. He needed a haircut. And Jeremy needed a personal assistant who was actually capable of assisting him.

  “I hope the new guy works out, Jeremy.”

  “Sure. But what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  Jeremy waved his phone. “I’ve been communicating with a friend in New York. Runs an agency. PAs, security, household workers. Discreet service personnel for celebrities and filthy rich people. If you still want to do this kind of work, I can get you a spot with him. The money’s good in New York and he’s a stand-up guy.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  Jeremy leaned back and tapped his fingers on the table. “Yeah. When you’re clean, of course. How long have you been using?”

  “Using what?” Kyle tried for a smile, but didn’t quite accomplish it with the sudden tightness in his throat.

  Jeremy chuckled. “I see. That bad. You were totally clean a year ago. I rarely even saw you drink.”

  “People change.”

  “And they can change back.” Jeremy leaned forward again, pinning Kyle with a ruthless gaze. “She’s not worth it, you know. Nobody is worth what you’re doing to yourself.”

  “Not worth it? I thought you loved her.”

  “I do love her. I still wouldn’t let her destroy me. And she is destroying you.”

  Kyle laughed. “Really? Dramatic much? I haven’t even seen her in months.”

  Jeremy didn’t respond, just stared at him with those blue, piercing eyes. Those eyes that made billions, sold movie tickets to avid fans all over the world. But this wasn’t a movie.

  “Kyle,” Jeremy said. “Nell’s pregnant. We’re starting a family.”

  “Oh.” It knocked the breath right out of him, the thought of it. “You wanted that?”

  “Yes. We wanted it. She’s very happy. I can never thank you enough for everything you did for me. For her. For us.” He smiled. “Jesus, you took a bullet for her.”

  “Eight centimeters from the heart,” Kyle said woodenly.

  “Yeah.” Jeremy sighed. “Now it’s time to move on. It’s time for you to get better. I am guilty about enough things—I can’t live with this too.”

  Kyle clasped his hands in front of him, resting his cheek against the back of his palm. Why were his hands so cold? It was still warm in Los Angeles. He was so cold. He felt frozen.

  “I’ll help you, Kyle. I know a good place you can rehab. Once you’re off the stuff, you can build a new life in New York so you don’t even miss it. There’s a lot going on there and I think a change of scene will do you worlds of good.” He paused and thought for a moment. “There are other Nells out there too, you know. Maybe not exactly the same. But they’re out there.”

  Kyle tried for flippancy. “I’ll hire a personal assistant to find one for me.”

  Jeremy didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to help you. I swear, Kyle. I owe you. I won’t let you go down.”

  Chapter One:

  Valuable and Fragile

  Kyle headed into Ironclad’s New York office in the breezy spring weather, feeling dapper in his favorite gray designer suit and tie. He liked dressing up for these meetings, shaving off the stubble and putting on the monkey suit. All of Ironclad’s clients were wealthy, so its employees were well-versed in the currencies of money and power, not to mention discretion.

  In his old life as Jeremy Gray’s assistant, discretion had been Kyle’s middle name. It had to be, and for a long time, that was okay with Kyle. But things were different now, and in a good way. Jeremy had been right, he’d just needed to sober up and find a change of scenery. Last week, when the photos of Nell and Jeremy’s newborn daughter were burning up the internet and plastered all over the tabloids, he’d felt a twinge, but nothing like the despair he’d expected.

  The truth was, as much as Nell moved him, he could never have made her happy. He realized that now—now that the haze of drugs and alcohol had evaporated. He’d always been the third wheel to their barreling love story. He was his own wheel now. A unicycle. He planned to stay that way for the foreseeable future.

  Kyle jabbed the button for the elevator. Five minutes early. He’d get to the thirty-fifth floor right on time. He was a little curious about meeting his new client, some classical musician who made a lot of money for a lot of people and needed an assistant for an upcoming tour. Caressa Gallo, Walter had exclaimed, as if that should mean something to him.

  Kyle wasn’t a classical music kind of guy, but he could fake it. He’d worked in L.A. long enough to fake it with the best of them. The client’s agent said she wanted a personal assistant and light security, which was more or less the same thing he’d done for Jeremy. As if that weren’t enough, Walter named a salary that was Jeremy Gray-ish in its generosity.

  CURIOUS, KYLE HAD TYPED ‘CARESSA GALLO, CELLIST’ INTO A SEARCH ENGINE, AND BEEN SHOCKED TO FIND SO MANY RESULTS ABOUT A PERSON HE’D NEVER HEARD OF BEFORE. HE’D READ A SHORT BIO HE FOUND ON THE FIRST PAGE AND LEARNED THAT SHE WAS JUST TWENTY YEARS OLD. SO YOUNG TO HAVE ACCOMPLISHED SO MUCH IN THE MUSIC WORLD. HE’D CLICKED ON THE PHOTO TAB AND FOUND PAGES OF PICTURES OF HIS PROSPECTIVE CLIENT. A MOP OF OUTRAGEOUSLY UNKEMPT HAIR, DARK LIKE HIS. GREEN EYES. WAS HE STILL A SUCKER FOR GREEN EYES? EVEN NOW, DESPITE A SINGULAR FOCUS AND INTENTION TO FORGET HER, HE SUBCONSCIOUSLY MEASURED ALL WOMEN AGAINST NELL.

  But Caressa Gallo would not be a woman to him, just a client. He would do what he was paid to do and keep his emotions out of it this time. Manage her concert commitments, appearances and travel, whatever she needed. Maybe she just wanted a lackey to tote her cello around. She definitely needed someone to brush her hair, because she seemed uninterested in doing so.
As long as he was getting paid, he would lend his expertise to whatever tasks necessary.

  STILL, KYLE FELT SOMEWHAT DISAPPOINTED WHEN HE GOT TO THE CONFERENCE ROOM ONLY TO BE GREETED BY WALTER AND AN OLDER WOMAN. THE WOMAN OFFERED HER HAND AND WALTER INTRODUCED HER AS DENISE GALLO, CARESSA’S AUNT AND MANAGER. SHE HAD MOUSY BROWN HAIR AND A KIND OF AFFRONTED MANNER ABOUT HER. HER MOUTH TIGHTENED A LITTLE AS KYLE SHOOK HER HAND. AFTER THEY SAT, WALTER SLID A DOSSIER ACROSS THE TABLE IN KYLE’S DIRECTION.

  “THE SPECS OF THE JOB. CARESSA GALLO IS EMBARKING ON A NATIONWIDE TOUR BEGINNING THE SECOND WEEK OF MAY THAT WILL CULMINATE IN A SERIES OF APPEARANCES IN EUROPE THROUGH LATE AUGUST. MS. GALLO TELLS ME THEY ARE MOST ANXIOUS TO FIND AN ASSISTANT WHO CAN SIGN ON FOR THE ENTIRE TOUR, RATHER THAN HAVING TO SHUTTLE PEOPLE IN AND OUT.”

  “I CAN UNDERSTAND THAT,” SAID KYLE. “IT’S NOT A PROBLEM FOR ME.” NOT WITH THE NUMBERS WALTER HAD HIGHLIGHTED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE FIRST PAGE. KYLE WAS SURE HIS FAMILY WOULD UNDERSTAND IF HE PASSED ON THE SPUR FOURTH OF JULY FESTIVITIES THIS YEAR. “SO, WHAT EXACTLY WILL YOUR NIECE NEED IN THE WAY OF SERVICES? SCHEDULING? MANAGING APPEARANCES? PERSONAL ERRANDS?”

  “WE HAVE A REMOTE TOUR MANAGER WHO DEALS WITH MOST OF THE DAY-TO-DAY SCHEDULING AND SUCH,” DENISE GALLO SAID.

  “SO IT’S MORE OF A SECURITY DETAIL?” KYLE ASKED.

  WALTER PAUSED A MOMENT AND MS. GALLO SHIFTED WITH OBVIOUS UNEASINESS.

  “MR. WINCHELL,” SHE SAID. “MY NIECE IS…HOW SHALL I SAY THIS? VERY HIGH-STRUNG. YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, SHE HAS LED A MOST UNUSUAL LIFE. SHE BEGAN TO PLAY AT SIX AND STARTED HER FIRST TOUR WHEN SHE WAS TEN. SHE RECORDED HER FIRST CD SOON AFTERWARD. SHE IS VERY PASSIONATE AND TALENTED, BUT SHE CAN SOMETIMES BE…DIFFICULT TO HANDLE.”

  KYLE REGARDED THE WOMAN, CHOOSING HIS WORDS CAREFULLY. “ARE YOU SAYING THAT MY JOB WILL BE TO ‘HANDLE’ HER? HOW INVOLVED A TASK WILL THAT BE?”