by Arell Rivers
“How was your day, sweetheart?” Putting her stuff down on the kitchen table, I lean over and give her a kiss.
“It was busy,” she answers quietly.
Her tone gives me pause, and I give her a thorough once-over. “You look beat. Are you feeling all right?”
“Just a bit tired. Someone kept me up late last night,” she says with a smirk. I grin back at her.
“Let’s eat,” I suggest. “Should restore your strength.”
While we’re eating our steaks, Rose gives me the run down about her day and her ideas about Emilie Dubois. “So, you’re going out to dinner on Friday, then on to a club.”
Taking a bite of the suddenly sandpaper-like steak, I nod in understanding. Not in agreement.
Rose continues, “How’s the album coming along?”
“Instrumentals are all laid down. I’m still working on the vocals. When I’m done, hopefully on Friday, it will need to be mixed and mastered. Label’s excited with the new material.”
“How about making Friday a celebration of your return to the studio? Can you invite the people working on the album to go out with you? It’ll be too weird for you to go out with Emilie alone right away. Better for you to hook up in a group setting. That way it can look like you two casually met and hit it off.”
“Will you be there?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
Rose sighs. “Cole, when have I ever been at one of these parties?”
It’s my turn to sigh. “You should. Gruesome always puts in an appearance.”
“She loves to be out and seen. It’s her company, and she’s your rep.”
“You’re my account rep.”
“Well, it’s her company. She’ll meet up with you at the club.”
I put my silverware down. “There’s no way around this?”
“No. Listen, it looks like Brandan and Jessie are the paparazzi’s top-choice couple right now, and you’ll provide a good diversion for them. The paps still aren’t happy with him after he broke that one guy’s nose. Now that he and Jessie are supposedly back together, we want the media hoopla to die down for them. I’m hoping that Brandan can get his life back on track.”
“He’s not exactly my number one concern,” I mutter. At least Jessie told me that he’s been treating her better. “Russell was impressed that you chose Emilie for me, seeing as she’s French and I’m about to go on a world tour.”
Rose’s cheeks flush with the praise. “She is a big deal in France. The media loves her there. I figured, if you approved of her, she’d give you good press.”
A thought occurs to me. “Just how long is this romance with Emilie going to last, Ro?” A few fake dates here in LA is one thing; having her with me on tour is entirely different.
“I’m thinking through at least the European leg of your tour.” Through March—eight months? Seeing my scowl, she quickly adds, “She’s a popular international model, Cole. She has shoots already lined up for most of the next few months.”
“Okay. So long as I don’t have to tour with her. Well, I don’t care if she comes along, but you’re the one I’m going to be touring with, Ro. Got that? I want to explore Europe with you, not some French clothes hanger.”
“Cole! You haven’t even met her.” She looks away from me, prompting me to reach out and turn her face back toward mine. We silently stare at each other for a long moment. She looks worried, nervous even.
I break the silence. “You have my heart, Rose Bloomer. I’m proud that you’re my girlfriend. I’m excited to tour Europe and Australia for the first time, but mostly because you’re going to be at my side. You challenge me, and I like that. Your mind scares me sometimes, but that’s good, too. And I find you so much sexier than any model or actress I’ve ever met. No one’s going to change my feelings for you.”
During my little speech, her blue eyes have gone from nervous to stormy. They’re shining with something approaching love, but neither one of us is ready to go there yet.
She clears her throat. “You know it’s not 100% that I can go with you on tour.”
“Having Gruesome with me on Friday will give me a good chance to discuss that topic with her.”
“Are you for real? Maybe you should pinch me. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“This is as real as it gets. How about instead of pinching you, I bite your butt to prove it?”
In response, she giggles and runs away from the table, hands protecting her ass. She turns at the threshold and says, “I’m going to run a bath to finish unwinding from today.”
The next second, she’s gone. And the imp didn’t even invite me to join her. We’ll just see about that.
“GOOD JOB, COLE,” the producer announces when I finish the vocals for the last track, “Taboo.” Everyone in the studio starts clapping and high fiving.
“Way to go, man,” the sound engineer says as he gives me a fist bump. “The tracks sound friggin’ awesome and I haven’t even done my magic yet.”
“Thanks, Sam.” I’m pumped to be finished with my third album. It’s not like the album is ready to be released tomorrow, but the vocals, overdubs and instrumentals are done on my end.
“Party tonight!” This from Jon, which earns a chorus of “fuck yeah” from across the room. No matter how happy I am with the work we’ve done, I can’t get pumped about tonight. I’d much rather be having an up close and personal celebration with Rose, but that’s going to have to wait one more day.
“Look at that shit-eating grin on Cole’s face. Now that your work is all done, pretty boy, you’re gonna play.”
“Something like that, Sam. But by your logic, you shouldn’t come out with us because you still have work to do on the album.”
Sam flips me the bird and replies, “No way am I missing out on one of your parties. They’re legendary. I’m looking forward to hooking up with a hot piece of ass tonight.”
I can’t believe that my life has changed so much since my last album. Last time, I was first in line to celebrate. I can’t even remember which—or how many—women I fucked to commemorate the occasion. I can only shake my head. An imp has stolen my heart, changing everything for me.
“Cole, Greta has arranged for us to have dinner at The Ivy,” Jon says. “It’ll be you, me, Russell and his wife and a few others from Platinum.”
“Sounds good.”
“We’ll meet up with the rest of the crew at Ultra Nightclub after dinner.” I nod, remembering to keep a smile plastered on my face. Jon continues, “I have some work to do before dinner. See you at The Ivy at nine. Oh, I almost forgot, Greta’s sending a limo to pick you up so you can get hammered and not worry about having to drive.”
“How thoughtful. Looking forward to it. Thanks.” He claps me on the back and leaves the room.
Russell comes up to me next. “See you at The Ivy,” he says, shaking my hand. But before walking off, he takes a good look at me. “Hey, are you all right, man? You don’t seem your usual self.”
Trying to make my smile seem more genuine, I say, “Just tired. I’m pumped about finishing the album, though. Think I’ll run home and take care of a few things before dinner.”
“I’ll walk out with you.”
Russell and I wave to the rest of the crew before we step out into the hallway. Wills lets us pass and follows at a reasonable distance. “How’s Nolan Kates working out?”
“Everything’s good.” At the front of the building, we part ways.
Wills and I drive back to my house, where we both crash in anticipation of the long night ahead. Around seven, Rose settles in beside me. She starts kissing my shoulder and neck while her hands roam lower and finally settle around my fully alert cock. She strokes me, running her finger over my lower head, wiping off my pre-cum. Her mouth finds mine and our tongues begin the dance that our bodies demand to mimic. Soon, she’s rolling a condom onto me and crawling on top of my body and easing her drenched pussy down on
to me. My hands are plucking her nipples, which makes her squirm. I trace her flower birthmark lovingly, and thrust up into her tight body. Her head lolls back and she lets out a moan that has me grabbing her hips. Our movement becomes more erratic. We both shatter.
Sometime later, my little imp is lying across my body, languidly drawing circles on my chest. I check the clock and know I can’t delay showering and getting ready for tonight any longer. Not wanting to make this any more difficult than it has to be, I give Rose a lingering kiss and slip into the bathroom. I hate leaving her naked, in my bed, all alone. But we both know that tonight is part of my job description.
“Cole, the limo’s out front,” Rose lets me know. I come to stand before her, dressed in black slacks and a white button-down shirt that I’ve left untucked, per Rose’s instructions. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts, which falls nearly to her knees. Inhaling her scent, I give her a kiss that tries to convey all my emotions for her, plus my sorrow about her not being with me tonight.
“This is the first night we’re spending apart in weeks. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”
“I’m making dinner for you tomorrow, remember?”
“How could I forget? You’re going to be in my kitchen, barefoot and cooking,” I tease, earning a shy smile from her.
“Have a good time tonight. Enjoy the party. You’ve worked so hard. You deserve this.”
“The real celebration will be tomorrow. I don’t know what time I’ll be back tonight, but it probably won’t be until really early in the morning. I’ll try not to wake you.”
“I was thinking of spending the night at my rental,” she says while looking down.
Does my girl need some reassurance? I reach out and raise her chin with my hand. “Stay here, Ro. I need to know that you’ll be here when I get home. That thought is the only thing that will keep me sane tonight. Don’t leave.”
Rose looks at me with her gorgeous ice blue eyes, which seem bigger somehow. Whispering, she acquiesces, “I’ll be here. Wake me up, okay?”
Tracing her cheekbone with my finger, I agree and give her another kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
All too soon, Wills and I are walking into The Ivy. Of course, paparazzi snapped away when I got out of the limo. The Ivy is notorious for pushy paps, which I’m sure is why it was selected for dinner tonight. Wills walks over to the bar and I’m escorted to my table.
“There he is,” Russell says, shaking my hand.
I turn and give his wife a smile before kissing her on the cheek. “Good to see you again, Wendy.” The last time I saw her was at Mom’s funeral, but I don’t want to dwell on that.
“I understand congratulations are in order. Russell tells me this is your best album so far.”
“From his mouth. I hope the fans like it.”
“I’m sure they will,” chimes in Jon. “You remember Tyler Slate?” He gestures to the man beside him, whom I do indeed recognize.
“Of course, how could I forget the man who discovered me in New York City? It’s great to see you again.”
I’m sincere. Tyler and I have run into each other a few times over the years, and it’s always nice to sit down and have dinner with him. I’m introduced to the remaining Platinum people and do my damnedest to remain focused on the present rather than on the woman waiting in my bed.
Remembering what Rose told me to do, I make sure to look around the dining room until my eyes land on Emilie. Thanks to Google, I have seen enough images of her to easily spot her. Every so often, I force my eyes to return to the model. Sometimes I even catch her looking back at me. Seems like everything is right on track.
“Someone catch your eye, Cole?” Tyler asks.
I point my chin toward Emilie. “Who’s that?” At least I don’t choke.
Wendy places her hand on top of Russell’s and leans in. Whispering, she says, “She’s that French supermodel, Emilie Dubois. You know her Russell. She’s on the cover of every magazine.”
Jon joins our conversation. “What’s all the whispering about?”
“Wendy was just giving me the run down about that chick over there,” I nod toward Emilie. “But we didn’t get to the good part yet. Is she dating anyone?”
“Not that I’m aware of. If memory serves, she was linked to some Spanish soccer player, but I don’t think they’re still together.”
I file that tidbit away to ask Emilie about it if and when we become friends. Was it a real relationship? “Seems like she might be lonely, then.”
“Cole, you’re not going to—” Wendy starts to say, but I’m already up and moving before she finishes. I know that was rude, and I’ll apologize later, but time is running out. I need to make sure I publicly invite her to come with us to Ultra. Her and her friends are finishing up their coffees.
“Hi, ladies,” I inject myself into Emilie’s table. Three pairs of eyes greet me. Or, more accurately, three pairs of eyes run up and down my body before ending up at my eyes. They all giggle.
Emilie replies, “Bonsoir.”
Great. I thought she spoke English. I don’t know French.
Leaning down, I murmur in Emilie’s ear. “You look lovely. Are you ready to come to Ultra with me tonight and begin our fake romance?” Might as well be truthful. Fascinating concept, that. Thanks, Rose.
She smiles up at me. She is striking. Turning to her girlfriends, she relays the invitation and I see the ladies nod in agreement. “Oui. We would love to join you at the club,” Emilie says with a thick, but understandable, accent. Thank fuck.
I stand. “Great. Come join us at our table when you’re finished here, and we’ll go over together.” More head nods and smiles.
Returning to our table, I remember to grin. No wonder actors get paid so damn much. It’s exhausting.
“Looks like we added three more to our list for Ultra,” I declare.
“Just like that?” Wendy asks.
“Just. Like. That.” I snap my fingers to illustrate my point. I lean over to her and say, “Sorry I was rude back there. I was swept up in Emilie, you know?”
Wendy gives me a big smile. “You’re forgiven.”
Emilie and her two friends join us while we’re finishing our desserts. Once our bill is paid, our larger group heads off to Ultra. Of course, Emilie agrees to ride in the limo with me. Her friends take their car.
Flash bulbs explode, documenting every millisecond of Emilie and me leaving The Ivy together. The paparazzi are in a feeding frenzy over our budding fake romance, trying to get the money shot of us. They scream:
“Were you cheating on Jessie with Emilie?”
“Does Rinaldo know about Cole?”
Ignoring them, I usher her into the limo. Once we make it inside, Wills closes the door and joins the driver up front. The cacophony is silenced. Thankfully, the limo has tinted windows.
I sit facing Emilie. We’re alone for the first time. Extending my hand, I force my lips upward and say, “Hi, I’m Cole Manchester. Nice to meet you.”
Emilie gives me a blinding smile and shakes my hand. “Emilie Dubois.”
“You have a great accent, Emilie.”
“Thanks, Monsieur.”
“Are you ready for all the craziness our fake romance is going to stir up?”
“Yes. It is good for both our careers, no?”
I’m impressed. For a young woman, she seems to have a good grasp of how the business works. “Yes, it is. So, tell me a little about yourself.” I smile. “Other than that you’re a model and French.”
Emilie tells me about her childhood in Paris and her family. I ask her this Rinaldo, and she sighs heavily. “We met at a charity event when I was eighteen. He was playing football—soccer—in Barcelona and I was just starting to get into my modeling career, so we didn’t have time to be together too much. But when we did, poof. Fireworks, you know?”
I smile and nod. Yes, I do know.
“We got together every chance we had, but it wasn’t even every weekend. More like on
ce a month, if we were lucky. Everything became too difficult.”
“So you ended things.”
“Oui. It’s been six months.” She runs her fingers up and down her purse strap. “I still miss him, but I’m sure I’ll see him again. In the meantime, there are plenty more men to meet.” Giving me an expectant look, she places her hand on mine.
Gently, I remove my hand from her grasp. She’s young and nursing a broken heart, even if she’s putting up a good front. “I’m sorry, Emilie. I hope you see your Rinaldo soon, or that you meet someone else who sweeps you off your feet. Everyone deserves that sort of happiness.” I lick my bottom lip. “I’m involved with a wonderful woman, but it took me years to find her.”
“Is it Jessie Anderson? You two look great together.”
Smiling, I say, “Thanks, but no. Jessie is a wonderful friend, though. I’ll introduce you if I can.” I look out the window and realize we’re close to Ultra. “We’re nearly at the club. Are you ready for the paparazzi?”
“Yes. I live my life in front of a camera.” She says this without any negativity. I’m impressed.
“Now, I’m going to apologize upfront for any fooling around that we may have to do in there. If you feel uncomfortable, please let me know and I’ll stop, okay?”
She smiles and places her hand on my arm. “Cole, what a gentleman you are. We do what we must do, n'est-ce pas?” A look of understanding passes between us.
Thinking back to my pre-Rose days, I realize Emilie shouldn’t exit the limo in the same pristine condition as she entered it. Sighing, I say, “Emilie, I think you should muss up your hair. You know, make it look like we were fooling around back here.”
Without hesitation, she replies, “Oui. You are right.”
She flips her long blonde hair over her head and shakes it back into place, so that it looks like I had my hands in it. I run my fingers through my own hair, giving it the ever-popular “just fucked” look while she unbuttons one of the top buttons on her blouse. Not precisely how a passionate tryst would look, but it will pass. People see what they want to see.
The limo stops in front of the club, and Wills opens the door. I step out first, then turn around and hold out my hand. The paparazzi, tipped off by their fellow vultures and probably Rose, are eating this up. Emilie places her tiny hand in mine, and I assist her out of the limo. Tilting her face up toward mine, she offers me an adoring look. Flash bulbs nearly blind us both.
