Well, she sure as hell knows now. In the blink of an eye, the expression on Katrina’s face goes from questioning to cold fury. She slaps her manicured hands onto her jutting hipbones as her jaw drops to the marble floor.
“What!? You’re taking that fat peon to Cannes?”
“Yup,” says Brandon matter-of-factly. “And please don’t ever call her that again.”
“Are you out of your mind? She’s a total embarrassment.”
I clench my hands by my sides so I don’t punch her in the face. Or pull out a clump of her hair. A catfight with America’s “It Girl” at Barneys would not look good. It would definitely be all over the Internet by noon.
“She’s going to assist me,” adds Brandon. He refrains from telling her that I’m attending the red-carpet premiere of the Kurt Kussler season finale.
Katrina calms down with a haughty fling of her hair. “Very well. But you’re wasting your time here. There’s nothing in this store that would fit her fat ass.”
“Katrina! Apologize! Do it now!”
“Puh-lease.”
Gucci growls at her.
I feel myself reddening with rage and want to scratch her eyeballs out. But dammit, she’s right. I don’t belong here. And I don’t want to be ridiculed by some obnoxious salesperson. I need to get out of here as fast as I can. And then ping! A light bulb goes off in my head. Why didn’t I think of this before?
“C’mon, Brandon. Let’s go.” I step back into the elevator. Brandon follows me. I pound the ground floor button.
“Brandon, where the hell are you going? We need to talk!” shrieks Katrina.
The doors close in her face, catching her orange dress. She screams, “Open up!” as the elevator descends. So long, bitch!
Five minutes later, Brandon and I are back in his car, heading downtown.
In no time, thanks to unusually minimal traffic and Brandon’s need for speed, we’re in downtown LA at Chaz’s fabulous new showroom. After his former studio, in a rundown building, virtually evaporated in an electrical fire, Jeffrey raised the funds to relocate the studio to the hip Arts District and make his fiancé’s studio a showcase—a sleek, vast modernist space that mirrors the aesthetic of his designs. It’s way beyond what his insurance claim would have covered.
“Zoeykins, let’s get this show rolling,” gushes Chaz after a big hug and learning about my trip to Cannes. “This is so exciting.”
While he scurries to put together a new wardrobe for me, Brandon plops down on an oversized white leather chair. He leans back, folds his arms across his chest, and gives me the once over. My skin prickles everywhere.
“What size are you?”
My heart skips a beat as my eyes flick to the model-sized mannequin in the corner of the studio. I scan her long sculpted legs, narrow waist, jutting hipbones. Katrina!
My eyes shift back to Brandon. Cocking a brow, he shoots me an unnerving look. “Well…”
“I’m a size…”
Six! I so want to say six.
“S-s…”
Brandon taps his foot impatiently.
“S-s…” The number is on the tip of my tongue.
“S-size…” I vomit the next word. “Ten.”
To my horror, I swear he mentally undresses me and then to my surprise, smiles approvingly. “A perfect ten.”
The next hour is ripped from the pages of a fairy tale. A medley of Meghan Trainor songs blasts out of concealed speakers, followed by Mark Ronson’s “Uptown Funk.” I parade out of the dressing room, wearing one outfit after another, each one more fabulous than the one before. I effortlessly and sexily move to the beat of the music. Strutting my stuff with hip moves that rival a supermodel’s, I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman though she’s far from my size and four inches taller. Brandon just sits there, sexily slouched, legs spread apart, and either nods approvingly or gives a thumbs up. He’s enjoying every minute of my show. Much more than he lets on. It’s hard to miss the visible bulge between his legs. I’m fucking turning him on! And the truth is I’m turned on like a fire hydrant. I may need to buy a new pair of panties to replace my drenched ones.
By noon, I’ve line up over two dozen outfits for MIP—ranging from sequined mini dresses and gowns to chic jeans and a super-sexy tux outfit similar to the one Rihanna wore on the Grammy’s.
My brother’s exuberant fiancé beams. “Zoeykins, you’re going to rock it in Cannes.”
Brandon’s eyes travel from my face to my toes, lingering on parts of me he has no right to be staring at. He flashes his trademark cocky grin.
“Yeah, she is.”
Brandon
Taking Zoey shopping for clothes is the most fun I’ve had in ages. I’ve never done that before to the best of my recollection. I mean, taking a woman shopping. By this time, the experience would have triggered a memory. My memory’s coming back to me at the speed of an avalanche, though I’m constantly thrown off course by things I can’t remember. One thing’s for sure, I’ve never taken my fiancée Katrina on a shopping spree. She’s perfectly capable of doing that herself. I banish the thought of her before she spoils all the fun.
Zoey’s so fucking sexy as she models one seductive outfit after another. Halfway through her—or should I say my—fashion show, inhibition gives way to exhibition. She’s practically a Gloria’s Secret supermodel as she struts out of the dressing room in a sparkly body-hugging violet gown with a thigh-high slit that accentuates every curve of her sensuous body. It’s definitely what I want her to wear to the Kurt Kussler season finale premiere at MIP…and then I will rip it off of her curvy little body as soon as I can. Yup, that’s the plan. My cock couldn’t agree more and applauds her as she does her spin.
Zoey changes back into her jeans. While she’s in the dressing room, I remember one more thing she’ll need for Cannes.
“Chaz-man, do you by chance have a woman’s leather jacket lying around?”
Chaz grins. “You’re in luck. Hang on.”
My eyes follow him as he scuttles over to one of the racks filled with heavy woolen clothes made for colder weather. In no time, he’s back, holding up a hanger with a snazzy brown leather jacket draped on it.
“This is my Jazzy-Chazzy motorcycle jacket. It’s a sample from my Fall line.”
I smile. “It’s perfect. We’ll take it. How much do I owe you?”
“Forget it,” he says. “The publicity I’ll get with Zoey wearing my designs is priceless.”
“Are you sure?”
“Totally.”
“What about a charity I can contribute to?”
Chaz’s eyes light up. “That would be awesome. How ’bout my friend, Gloria Zander’s organization—Girls Like Us? It’s a non-profit that helps neglected and abused girls find a positive course in life.”
While Zoey’s never been neglected, the senseless murder of her mother to me was abusive. So, this charity makes sense.
I write out a $25,000 check while Chaz organizes the garments I’ve selected. The best money I ever spent. And an added surprise. Gloria Zander, the founder and CEO of Gloria’s Secret, will undoubtedly send over a boxful of sexy lingerie and shoes to match all the sexy dresses as her own special thank you. The skimpier the better I tell Chaz. I also tell him to keep the delivery anonymous. He shoots me a conspiratorial wink.
Cannes awaits us. I have a week to spend away from Katrina. To figure out who and what I want in life. My heart gallops. I think I already know. Despite my amnesia, my mind’s never been clearer. Should I tell her before we leave?
Zoey
Pinch me. I’ve been living a dream from the minute the Conquest stretch limo picked Brandon and me up at his house and transported us to LAX to meet our private jet. Wait! I take that back. Don’t pinch me. I don’t want this dream to end.
I’ve only been on a plane a few times before. A crammed Southwest flight to Vegas and another to San Fran. The economy cabin stunk of sweat and beer, and I was sandwiched between my tray table and chair l
ike a slab of raw meat. Efficient. Yes. Luxurious. No.
The Conquest corporate jet is the most luxurious vessel I’ve ever traveled on. Yes, I’ve seen private planes in countless TV shows and movies, but nothing has prepared me for the experience of flying on one. The interior is all soft beiges and rich woods, with spread out plush leather chairs that can fold back into sumptuous beds. There’s even a dining cabin and a complete bar with the finest crystal and silverware. Champagne flows and we’re served gourmet meals on monogrammed Conquest china.
I recognize everyone on board from having met them on the set of Kurt Kussler. Brandon, nonetheless, re-introduces me. Go-to-Zo, his personal assistant. While the reality of my subservient position drives a screw into my gut—that’s all I am—everyone treats me with respect. They couldn’t be nicer.
Soon after takeoff, Brandon leaves his seat and mingles with the guys. I, in turn, enjoy chatting with Blake Burns’s wife Jennifer, who I met at Jeffrey and Chaz’s engagement party, as well as with Brandon’s co-stars, Jewel Starr and Kellie Fox. Kellie tells me the season finale is to die for. I can’t wait to screen it with Brandon. While Jewel and Kellie move on to chat with Jewel’s husband Niall about tomorrow night’s festivities, I spend more time with Jen.
The more I talk with her, the more I like her. She’s super sweet and asks me a lot of questions about myself including where I grew up and how I came to work for Brandon. I’m somewhat in awe of her. Besides being so pretty and married to one of Hollywood’s top television executives, she’s super successful in her own right. About the same age as I am, she started a women’s erotica channel—MY SIN-TV—and has single-handedly made it a huge success. I try to hide my inferiority complex. Here I am, almost twenty-five, and I’m just a lowly assistant. And she’s running a network.
“Do you have career aspirations?” she asks over champagne.
Taking a sip, I tell her I thought about getting into acting but had to abandon that dream because it was too risky and financially challenging for someone like me.
“You’re adorable!” she counters. “You should reconsider. I’m going to keep my eyes and ears open for any parts that might work for you.”
Wow! I thank her from the bottom of my heart, and the conversation switches to Jeffrey and Chaz.
“I’m so excited about their wedding,” she gushes.
“Me too.”
She goes on to tell me that she and Blake have offered to let them exchange their vows in the expansive yard of their new Santa Monica house.
“I’m sure it’s going to be an extravaganza. A total showcase for my brother’s event planning talents.”
“All the better.” She smiles. “He made my wedding unforgettable.”
She goes on to explain how Jeffrey worked with her creative husband Blake to transform her parents’ backyard into a winter wonderland in the middle of July. As she spews the details, a tinge of melancholy nips me. Growing up, Jeffrey was forever planning my dream wedding, acting it out with Barbie and Ken, but as I grew older, I knew that was a long shot. In fact, now I seriously believe it’ll never happen. The man of my dreams is engaged to another. And truthfully is way out of my league. I shoot him a glance; he’s in a serious conversation with Blake. I wonder what they’re talking about.
As much as I’d like to ask Jen to tell me more about Katrina, I don’t broach the subject. From Chaz, I know she despises Brandon’s fiancée as much as I do. The bitch almost came between her and Blake. In fact, she almost cost Blake his life. I still haven’t shared this info with my boss. Jen doesn’t bring up Katrina either. A nice girl from Boise, she was probably raised with the value: “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all.” Growing up with brutally honest Pops and Jeffrey, I was taught to tell it like it is. I internally sigh. I so wish I had the nerve to tell Brandon what I know about the crazy bitch. Just maybe I will.
Brandon
“The season finale looks fucking amazing,” says Blake after taking a sip of the expensive Scotch we’re both drinking. “That ending is killer—no pun intended.”
“Thanks,” I say proudly. “And thanks for believing in me and letting me write it.”
“We have high hopes for it. Libby Clearfield, our research head, has been tracking intent to view and the score keeps going up every day. Ninety-eight percent of your viewers say they won’t miss it. There’s even considerable interest among non-viewers. The buzz is sensational. We anticipate the ratings to go through the roof.”
“Wow,” I say, both humbled and blown away.
“We’ll get our first feedback when we screen it tomorrow night.”
I take a sip of my drink. “I’m a little nervous.”
Dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt like me, Blake laughs and gives me a warm pat on the back. “Don’t be, man. It’s going to rock and the Q&A afterward will be a piece of cake. I’m moderating it so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Great.” I imbibe more of my Scotch and swallow just in time before Blake pops a disquieting question.
“Where’s Kat?”
Katrina. The mere mention of her name in any form makes my stomach churn. She’s been out of sight, out of mind. The memory of her showing up at my lunch with Blake back in January and shredding his wife Jen storms into my head. The alcohol burns through my blood as my cheeks heat up.
“She’s couldn’t come.” My voice wavers. “She had previous commitments.”
Blake takes another swig of his drink and nods. “That’s good, man.”
What does he mean? At our lunch, I remember his icy hostility toward Katrina. It bordered on rage as Katrina’s out of control behavior became audacious. Mortifying. It was obvious to me they had some kind of history, but Blake was tight-lipped about it. And I chose not to pursue it further. When I confronted Katrina about her outrageous behavior and their past, she told me Blake, the former love of her life, had broken her heart. I left it at that, never questioning it further. Loosened up by the Scotch, I build up the courage to prod. His tumbler half emptied, maybe he’ll open up and tell me more.
“Blake, what happened between you and Kat?” I deliberately use the name he calls her.
He drains the rest of his Scotch and sets the glass on the table between us. His blustery blue eyes meet mine. “Listen, Brandon, I can’t go into details, but that girl is bad news.”
Rather than unnerving me, his pronouncement affirms what I already know and gives me the impetus to probe further.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s capable of a lot of shit. I’ll leave it at that. Hey, man, I shouldn’t be telling you this stuff. You’re marrying her. Maybe she’s different with you and has found what she needs.”
I blurt out the next words. “Blake, I’m going to be honest with you. I’m having second thoughts about marrying her.” I don’t tell him that I attempted to break up with her before this trip, but she left town and I couldn’t reach her on her cell. Probably because there’s no reception at her father’s high security penitentiary.
Blake twists his lips, forming a less than happy expression. Judging by the look on his face, maybe it was meant to be that I couldn’t get in touch with Katrina. After being around her, I can only imagine what kind of damage she would do me in the press while I’m half way around the world at MIP. I inwardly shudder. Drawing in a sharp breath, production chief Blake finally breaks his silence and confirms my unsettling gut feelings.
“I wish you’d said something to me or our Press Department earlier. Our research shows that viewers are as excited about your televised wedding as much as they are for the Kurt Kussler season finale. You—or should I say we—have a lot riding on both events. And Katrina’s a loose cannon, the proverbial wrecking ball, and ready to blow everything up. Man, I honestly don’t know what to say. The timing sucks for a breakup.”
Christ. What have I gotten myself into? I’m damned if I do; damned if I don’t. A sudden bout of turbulence shakes the plane and cut
s our conversation short. The clamor of clattering glasses sounds in my ears as the “Fasten Seatbelts” sign flashes overhead. I shift my gaze to my adorable assistant who’s talking to Blake’s wife Jennifer to make sure she’s alright. She’s looks a little terrified. I fight the urge to jump up from my seat and take her in my arms. Blake catches my eyes on her.
“Your assistant’s great,” he comments. “She’s really cute too.”
“Yeah, she is,” I mumble under my breath, wondering if Blake suspects something.
The turbulence fortunately doesn’t last long. But the shaky feeling inside me doesn’t go away as the air calms down. Blake undoes his seatbelt and asks an attendant to refill our glasses. After the attractive woman accommodates us, he takes another gulp of his Scotch and then sets the tumbler down on his muscular thighs. With his tall athletic build and movie-star looks, we could practically be brothers.
“Brandon, I’ve been thinking about what you told me. Do what you need to do. My wise old man always says no risk, no gain.”
Tugging at my lower lip, I digest his father’s words of wisdom. The stakes are high. I have everything to gain…and everything to lose. Why do I feel like a smooth ride is not in my cards?
Zoey
From the corner of my eye, I catch Brandon returning to his seat. His eyes lock on me, and he gestures for me to return to mine. Boss’s orders. Chat time is over. I excuse myself, but not before Jen gives me a hug. I really like her and have a good feeling we may become close friends as Jeffrey and Chaz’s wedding plans unfold.
“What were you and Jennifer Burns talking about?” asks Brandon as I plop back down on the roomy leather chair.
Mr. Nosy. “Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Girl stuff. And what about you and Blake? You two looked intense.”
“Business. We talked mostly about MIP. I have a full day on the floor tomorrow. And there’s going to be a Q&A session after the screening tomorrow night. I’m going to need you to help me prepare for it.”
Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) Page 12
