by Sara Celi
“Employee?” I finally said. “What do you mean?”
“Someone I pay to do things.” He cleared his throat. “The things I want, when I want.”
Oh, no. I’d heard enough. I got this kind of offer every night at Twisted. And I didn’t want it. No way. No. Freaking. Way. I wouldn’t agree to anything like that, ever. Not if he offered me ten million dollars. No wonder Tanner had been having a horrible year. His personal life had been as messed up as his public one. Maybe more.
What a weirdo.
“Good night.” I stood up from the table. “I think this conversation is over.”
“What?” He pushed his chair backward and stood up, too. “Why?”
“I’m pretty sure you can figure it out.” I picked my purse up from the chair next to me. “Listen, I’m leaving. This has been a lot of fun but—”
“You’re not leaving.”
“Watch me.” I slung the purse over my shoulder and took a few steps toward the sliding glass door, and Tanner followed me. “Like I said before, this conversation is over. I’m calling Uber.”
His hand caught my arm a second before I opened the door. “Give me a chance to explain, Brynn.”
I glanced down at his hand, then up at his intoxicating eyes. I wouldn’t allow them to draw me in, not again. I’d heard enough; I didn’t need to know more. Tanner had problems, but I knew I wouldn’t be the woman to solve them. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“You heard me.” I pulled my arm and his grip tightened. “Damn it, let me go!”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” he whispered, making his deep voice throatier and sexier. “I didn’t take you for such a drama queen.”
“Well, you don’t know me well. In fact, you don’t know me at all.” I yanked my arm from his grip, once and for all.
“I hope to fix that,” he said, still whispering. “But I need you to understand two things right away. What I’m offering you isn’t about sex. It’s about business. That’s it. That’s all.”
“Whatever business this is—”
“Five hundred thousand dollars. This offer comes with five hundred thousand dollars. Cash.”
I swallowed. Hard. What? Had I heard that right? Five hundred thousand dollars?
My attention flicked over the opulent patio and gardens where we stood. That amount probably meant nothing to a multimillionaire like Tanner, but it would be a windfall for a struggling actress like me. Five hundred thousand dollars would mean freedom. My own apartment. A chance to get out from underneath the lingering credit card debt I carried from financing my way from southwestern Ohio to Los Angeles. For a while, I wouldn’t have to juggle a job I hated while I pursued my dream.
Five hundred thousand dollars would make a difference. A huge difference.
“No strings attached afterward. Do this for me—and the five hundred thousand is all yours.”
“I’m listening,” I said after a moment.
One side of Tanner’s mouth broke into a smile. “I thought that might get your attention. It’s a lot of money, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Enough to let you know I’m serious.” He lowered his voice. “And I mean serious.”
Another nod from me.
“Now, will you sit back down at the table and at least hear me out?”
“So let me get this straight,” I said, still incredulous and bewildered by the conversation I’d had with Tanner during the last twenty minutes. “You want to pay me to be your girlfriend. A fake girlfriend.”
Tanner sipped his third glass of wine. It didn’t seem to have any effect on him whatsoever, not even the slightest hint of a buzz. “Girlfriend…it’s all for a few months, anyway. A whirlwind love story.” He swirled his glass. “Something the tabloids can eat up like a child eating cotton candy at a baseball game.”
“And you’re serious?” A strong part of me still didn’t believe the last half hour or so had happened.
“I am. I hope I’ve made that clear.”
Pursing my lips, I stared at him. “I don’t get it. Why me? You could pay anyone to do this. Anyone. I’m sure your manager, agent, or publicist could have found someone better than a cocktail waitress from a strip club.”
“I don’t think so.” He fiddled with his fork. Neither of us had eaten much since Tanner had admitted the real reason for inviting me to his home for dinner. “You’ve read what they say about me in the press.”
“Yes,” I said. The last half hour or so of frank conversation had made me feel comfortable revealing this. “A few articles here or there.”
“I knew it.” Tanner nodded, as if he’d suspected this all along. “And did you see the post on LA Unfiltered a couple days ago?”
“About the Molly?”
“Yes, about the Molly.” Tanner sighed.
“Is that something you take often?” I studied him. “You’re not addicted, are you?”
“No, I’m not addicted.” His elbow landed on the table, and he rubbed his forehead. “It was the first time. I don’t remember doing it.”
I blanched. “Unfiltered made it sound like a regular thing.”
“Like I said to you that morning in your kitchen, so much on those sites is made up.” Tanner wrinkled his nose as if something smelled bad. “Don’t believe everything you read. Especially when it comes to Hollywood.” Tanner looked down at the table. “But that was a one-time thing. I promise.”
“Good.”
He raised his head and his eyes met mine again. “Anyway, for the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking. I need something—someone—to change the narrative for me.”
“You can’t change it yourself?”
“Not as simple as it sounds. A lot of damage has been done to my brand. I need something new to give the media. Something clean.” He leaned over the table, his eyes fixed on mine again in a familiar stare. “So are you up for the job?”
I gulped down the last bit of my wine. “How’s this going to work?”
“You’ll live here—in my pool house—starting on Monday. I’ll provide everything: food, clothing, hair, makeup. We’ll start being seen out and about for a few weeks. My publicist will plant a few stories with some trusted news reporters and a couple of websites. We’ll Instagram a few things—photos of us together, sexy selfies, that kind of thing. And then, when the time is right, and if the story needs it, then we’ll end it.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Simple.”
“Simple?” Blood coursed through my body in a hot flash. “Doesn’t sound like it to me.”
“America loves a good celebrity love story” He shrugged one shoulder. “Especially one where the Hollywood hero is dating a regular girl.”
“But that’s so…”
“I’m talking about a Hollywood relationship here. And it would be in name only. Not anything real. A few weeks.” He waved his hand as if dismissing this whole idea. “People do it all the time for the sake of the press—trust me. They get no further than this. They get married, get the kind of coverage they want, and make sure the ink dries. Then, when they’re ready, they get divorced. Irreconcilable differences. No harm to either party. They get press off the divorce.”
I gulped.
“It’s not as awful as it sounds, Brynn. I know more than one couple.”
“Who?”
“Raven Jones and Harris Kyles.”
“The celebutante and the San Francisco football player?”
Tanner nodded.
“But they seem so happy,” I said, remembering six months earlier when Celeb magazine ran a five-page spread on their wedding. Raven wore one of the most beautiful birdcage veils I had ever seen.
“They’re not. The divorce will be announced next week.” He clicked his teeth. “I saw Raven the other night, actually. She had someone else with her—a guy her publicist set her up with. Some no-name. They make a cute couple. When the time is right, the press will hear about it. That’s how this stuff works. It’s
a cycle, and the media loves nothing more than love and marriage. Sells a lot of magazines to bored housewives in Iowa.”
I’d never given much thought to what marriage would be like, but I certainly hadn’t thought about it this way. The way Tanner put it made the whole thing sound so clinical, stilted and cold. I hadn’t ever been a hopeless romantic, but I had hoped I’d get married to someone who loved me. Not someone who wanted to make it a business transaction.
I took a deep breath. “You’re asking a lot. A whole lot.”
“I’m sure it sounds that way, but it’s not. When you think about it, you’re getting a pretty good deal. Certainly the money is worth it.”
I frowned. He hadn’t convinced me.
“You’re what? A struggling actress?” When I nodded, he rubbed his hands together. “Just like most people out here. And—well, you don’t exactly work in the best place, do you?” He narrowed his eyes. “Twisted. Really classy. I’m sure it’s what you envisioned for yourself in life.”
“You didn’t seem to mind it the other night.”
Tanner reached for the bottle of wine, offered me some, and poured himself the last bit when I declined. “If you do this, you won’t have to work at Twisted anymore. You won’t have to think about it. And your career will get a boost, too. How many acting or modeling jobs have you booked in the last month? My guess is not many.”
“But again, why me?”
Tanner sipped the wine. “Because of the other night. You didn’t—you didn’t take advantage of the situation, even when it presented itself. It made me think you might be trustworthy. And that’s hard to come by in this town.”
“Pfft. You don’t know me.”
I tried to sound like I didn’t care, and like I didn’t plan to consider his offer, but in reality, the whole idea had shaken me. He had a point; I didn’t like the life I led. I could have left Los Angeles months before and returned home, but my pride kept me from doing so. I didn’t like the idea of returning home a disgrace, a failure. What would my father say? Whenever we talked on the phone, he told me about how proud I’d made him, and how he told everyone about his daughter who booked national commercials and had come on her way to stardom. It was the only thing keeping him focused and grounded. Coming home with nothing to show for my time in sunny Southern California would devastate my dad. He didn’t need more of that in his life.
“We’ll sign a contract,” Tanner said. “Strictly business. Nothing more.”
We stared at each other for a few long breaths.
“What do you think?”
I hesitated. “I need to think about it. I can’t make a big decision like this right now.”
“Of course.” Tanner spread his hands. “Take the weekend. Don’t want you rushing into anything.”
I swallowed again and silently cursed my tongue, which had grown thick and fat in my mouth. The rational side of my mind told me this proposal was a bad idea. I didn’t know Tanner Vance; I’d only talked to him three times in my life. Everything I knew about him I had learned from Lana’s reality show and the overwhelming tabloid coverage of his life. If I said yes, I’d be moving in with man I didn’t know in an unfamiliar neighborhood. And once I arrived in, what would happen?
On the other hand, if I quit my job at Twisted, Jim, the manager, wouldn’t care. He’d find someone to replace me in half an afternoon. Samantha and Kelly wouldn’t get upset if I moved out, either. More than once they’d told me they had no shortage of people waiting to crash on their couch; they’d used that as leverage to make sure I paid my rent on time.
“I’ll let you know on Monday,” I said after some saliva returned to my mouth. I hoped three days would be enough time to make a decision that would change my whole life. “I’m not sure about this.”
Tanner clicked his tongue over his teeth and his eyes widened. “Understandable. In case, I’ll have my attorney work out a standard contract and a NDA. How about we have another dinner meeting? We can discuss the specifics then.”
“Okay.” I could barely believe the words coming out of my mouth.
“In the meantime, we’ll exchange cell phone numbers, and you can call me with any questions you might have. I’ll be happy to answer them.”
“Anything?”
Again, we shouldn’t have been having this kind of conversation at all.
“Anything at all.” Tanner tapped his fingers on the table. “I’m an open book.”
I nodded and glanced down at my empty wineglass, wishing it had some left. If ever I needed a drink, I needed it then.
On Friday morning, I woke up resolved. A good night’s sleep had made the decision for me. I wouldn’t say yes to Tanner’s ridiculous request, no matter how much money he attached to it. No self-respecting woman would sign an agreement like that, not even someone as desperate and poor as me. I had my dignity, and I didn’t need anything else. By God, I’d make it in LA, but I wanted to do it on my own, not with the help of some crazed Hollywood movie star.
Work at Twisted went on as usual. Being the first night of a weekend, we had a lot of customers, and all of them wanted to drink away the workweek. Jim had also booked Chyna May, a porn star, for a series of feature dances that would start at ten thirty. He spent a lot of the advertising budget on it, and by ten we didn’t have an empty table in the whole place.
As I took a new round of drink orders to a table full of suited businessmen, I got a tap on my shoulder.
“Jim wants to see you. Right away.” Edna didn’t hide her sarcastic smirk as she held out her hand. “I’ll take the rest of your orders.”
“Do you know what he wants?”
“I have a few ideas.” Edna added a meaningful look that made my stomach turn.
“Oh, God.”
“You know how Jim is.” Edna’s eyebrow lifted.
“I do.” My stomach turned a few more times.
Jim sat in front of his computer in the office on the second floor of the club. When I walked into the room, he didn’t look up from the screen as he grunted a greeting and asked me to sit down.
I didn’t. Spending time in his office sent shivers up and down my spine. “What did you need?” I said. “Edna told me it was an emergency.”
“Yes, sweet cheeks.” Jim pulled himself away from the computer and regarded me from behind wide eyes that never seemed to relax. Thin and reedy. He reminded me of a coyote with a beard, and he dressed like a bad 1970s porn star. Such a cliché for a strip club. “We’ve had a little bit of a mishap with Miss May tonight. She not coming. A bit under the weather, let’s say.”
I shrugged. “What does that have to do with me?”
“The customers are expecting someone new tonight. Not our usual girls. Someone they’ve never seen shake it before.” He chuckled and braced his forearms on the dirty, cluttered desk in front of him, as if it would give him leverage for whatever he wanted to ask me. “Problem is, all my girls tonight are the regulars.”
“So? Put two of them on stage at once. Three.”
“Not good enough, sweet cheeks.”
And then it hit me. Jim didn’t call anyone but the strippers by that pet name, and he’d called me by it twice. “You want me to get up there and dance in her place, don’t you?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“No,” I said, backing away from the grimy desk and crossing my arms. “No way. I’m not a stripper.”
“Not a stripper?” He clicked his teeth. “Sooner or later, all the girls who work here are. Let me rephrase. I’m not asking. I’m requiring.”
“I won’t do it.”
“You’ve got a great body for it.”
“I said no.”
“I’ll pay you what I would’ve paid Chyna. Four grand for two hours.” He spread one hand. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Not enough.”
“All you have to do is show off what God gave you.” His gaze roamed over my body as a shiver played up and down my spine. “And that’s a decen
t amount of money. I pay my girls well, you know.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t dance nude, no matter how much you pay me.” I didn’t need to tell him any of the other reasons why I wouldn’t do it—a man like him would have scoffed. If I ever got my first Hollywood break, if I ever made something of my life, this would turn up again. Couldn’t have it haunt me.
“Four thousand dollars is more than you make in a week here,” Jim said.
“So what? I said no.”
“That’s what I’m offering, and, sweet cheeks, your employment agreement says I can give you other duties as assigned,” Jim said, as his jaw hardened. “So you’ll do it.”
“Or what?” I backed farther away from his desk, only stopping when my back hit the office door’s handle. “You can’t make me do it. You can’t make me do anything.”
He nodded at the door. “You’ll do it or you’re out on your ass. Fired. Immediately.” Jim crossed his arms and sized me up again. “It’s not hard. Once you get over the first thirty seconds or so, it’s simple. Take off your clothes and show off your best assets.”
“No,” I said.
Jim’s eyebrow darted up. “I’ll give you one more chance. We’re talking about four thousand dollars here. Before tips.”
“The answer is still no.” I yanked open Jim’s office door. “And don’t worry; I’ll show myself out,” I said as I walked away. I bounded down the stairs to the employee break room/dressing room and dashed over to my locker.
“What’s going on?” Edna asked. In my rush, I hadn’t noticed her sitting at the rusty metal table in the center of the room.
“Oh, you’re on break.” I unlocked the locker. “I quit.”
“You quit?”
“Yep.” I hoisted my tote bag onto my shoulder. “Jim wanted me to dance in place of Chyna May. I guess she’s not going to show tonight.” I shuddered as I thought about it. “I told him I wouldn’t do it, and when he threated to fire me, I quit.”
“Wow.” Edna tsked. “What an asshole. You know what? You’re better than this place.”
“Thank you.” I gave her a small hug, and then walked to the employee exit. “I would say I’m sorry to leave,” I called over my shoulder, “but that’s a lie.”
