Lip Action (Kiss Talent Agency Book 1)

by Virna DePaul

  Am I imagining the emphasis Dad placed on Simon’s name? Am I imagining that there’s something going on here that I don’t know about? Is it possible Dad knows who Simon is and is covering for me? But no, why would he do that and risk facing my mom’s wrath? Dad has always been a distant presence in my life and he’s never stood between me and my mom’s disapproval before.

  I’m still thinking things over a few minutes later when we’re outside. I turn to Simon. “Do you think my—” My words trail off when Simon’s car arrives. It’s a limo, now. “What happened to your—”

  “The other was a rental. Noble has a thing for Porsches. I thought we could bond over them, but I never even got him out of La Rouge, unfortunately. This is the studio’s car.” Simon takes my arm, and we climb into the cavernous cabin of the limousine.

  “Where to, sir?” his driver asks, looking back at us.

  “Ah. What’s your address? I was too busy taking notice of other things last night.”

  Face heating, I tell the driver, who nods and rolls up the privacy window, effectively shutting out the world, and I’m hit with flashbacks from soft porn films on Cinemax.

  The seats are plush leather, and soft music plays overhead. I’m sitting across from Simon, but his legs stretch toward me and there are only inches of space between us.

  The light is low in the car, but I swear I can see his blue eyes glittering across from me. The confines of the backseat seem infinitely small now. I brush my fingers against the leather, and the sensation shoots up my arm. I’m on edge, my nerves all attuned to this man sitting across from me. I rub my arms, even though it’s perfectly fine temperature-wise here in the car.

  Simon sees me, and he takes off his coat. “Are you cold?” Before I answer, he places the heavy coat over me, and I’m engulfed in the soft fabric. His musky scent envelops my senses, and I’m dizzy from it.

  Then I realize he’s sitting right next to me. He’s turned toward me, his leg brushing mine. I clutch the coat, completely unsure how to proceed. I’m so torn between wanting him to kiss me and wanting to run in the opposite direction that I simply don’t move, don’t talk, don’t do anything.

  I’m grateful he helped get Charles off of my back and played nice for my family, even my dad, who I’ve decided can’t possibly know who Simon is or he would have said something. But I suspect Simon now thinks I’m going to help him with his little scheme. I want to help him, I do, but as I told him before, I really don’t think I’ll be able to pull it off. I’m a different girl now than I used to be. I’m smarter. And in truth, while I sometimes chafe at my mom’s dramatics and want to stand up to her and others, I like a lot about the mature woman I’ve become. I organize my sock drawer for fun, for God’s sake! My books are sorted by genre and then alphabetized. I think going to the Container Store is exciting. Charles always told me I was about as interesting as a wet rag whenever he got angry with me.

  The thing is, I’m mostly good with being a wet rag now.

  Mostly.

  Sometimes I wish I was still the kind of girl who ran into the street and danced when it rained. I wish I could go up to a hot guy at a bar and flirt with him and not worry about the consequences. I wish I was a girl people would notice more, if I’m being honest.

  But I’m not. I’m just plain, boring, good girl Marissa now.

  I do what I’m told and I don’t protest.

  I get engaged to a man I don’t love and I go to the school my parents went to and I get the degree they wanted me to get.

  Even this sweater I’m wearing is one Mom bought me for Christmas last year. It’s cashmere and stylish, but modest. It isn’t bright or flashy.

  Sometimes, however, I imagine what it would be like to cause a fuss again. A ruckus. To be a colorful, impulsive woman as an adult—smarter than the wild teenager I’d been, but still vibrant and passionate and interesting.

  But then I remember Brian Hall. Waking up alone and scared in that car wreck. I remember the betrayal I felt—because he’d been a bad boy, and we’d been teenagers, but I’d thought he’d loved me.

  I remember how the pain of his betrayal had hurt more than the physical injuries I’d sustained.

  And I remember I don’t ever want to hurt that way again.

  “Marissa?” Simon looks at me, his blue eyes intent. “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head and hold onto his coat. “I’m sorry. You’ve helped me several times now, but I don’t know if I can pretend to be your girlfriend. I just don’t know.”

  I brace myself for his anger, his annoyance that I’m such a wishy-washy wimp. Charles always hated when I wouldn’t make up my mind—usually because I wasn’t sure which choice he’d prefer—and would get frustrated with me.

  But Simon isn’t Charles. He’s shown me that already.

  “I already told you I’m okay with that, Marissa. I’m happy to help you. I’m happy I got to spend time with you last night and just now, whether you agree to help me or not,” he says gently.

  I swallow as I think of making out with him yesterday. Yes, it was crazy and impulsive. It wasn’t me at all. But it also felt really, really good.

  “If it helps sway you, however, think of what I’m asking you as purely a business deal. I have no intention of getting into a relationship, and I’m sure you’re not wanting one either since breaking up with your boyfriend.” He touches my wrist lightly. “I won’t push you, though. I want you to make your own decision. Just know that I think it would help the both of us, and I wouldn’t want to do it otherwise.”

  My heart hurts at his words. I know he doesn’t want a real relationship—I know that. But my heart still sinks. Another part of me welcomes his honesty. His words aren’t condescending or cutting, and I find myself slowly pushing the fear away.

  “I’ll need to think about it,” I reply softly. “I know that’s not helpful, but I’m the type of person who has to think things over. But I’ll give you my decision within the next few days.”

  He smiles, and then holds out a hand. “Shake on it, then?”

  I smile, too. “Of course.”

  As we touch, though, sparks light between us. His fingers are warm and solid with calluses on his palm. My heart’s pounding again, not out of fear, but anticipation. I lick my lips, and he zeroes in on the gesture.

  A second ago, he was talking about a business deal, but now…

  He leans closer, so close that I can’t mistake his intention. He gives me a second to say no, to say I don’t want this, but I do want this. So I close the distance, and then Simon is kissing me.

  He’s finally kissing me.

  His lips are soft, but his kisses are anything but. Tangling his hand in my hair, he tips my head back further and ravishes my mouth. I gasp, but he catches the gasp as he holds me still for his onslaught. My entire body shakes.

  I kiss him back. I pull myself into his lap, his hardness underneath my ass, and he groans low in his throat. It emboldens me. I stroke his cheeks, run my hands down his chest, and he retaliates by thrusting his tongue inside my mouth. My nipples pucker. I’m so hot that I take the coat off and place it behind me. Seeing that, he laughs a little in his throat.

  I’m about to beg him to take me right then and there, when the limo comes to an abrupt halt.

  Simon is the one to break the kiss. We stare at each other for a few moments, though, breathing hard. His pupils are dilated. I’m breathing like I’ve run a marathon. His erection is an insistent pressure below me.

  “We’re here,” the driver says as he taps on the partition.

  “We’re here,” Simon repeats.

  I don’t move, though. He eventually places me on the seat beside him and then opens the door. He holds out his hand and I get out. He hands me his phone, and I have no idea why until he says, “Put your number in.”

  “Okay,” I finally breathe. My fingers are shaking so much, it takes two tries before I get the right number in.

  He takes a card from his wallet and
hands it to me, then he brushes a hand down my cheek. “Good night, Marissa Woodcrest.”

  Before I blink, he’s back in the limo, being whisked off into the night, and I’m standing alone outside my cottage, the night breeze blowing my hair out of place.

  All I can think to myself is, what the hell happened? And whatever it was, can it happen again?

  Chapter Seven

  Simon

  After a heavy day of doing my own stunts during some serious action scenes on the set of Alien Love, all I want to do put my feet up and relax. Or maybe I only want to think about Marissa. The same woman I petted to orgasm, kissed, and asked to be my pseudo-girlfriend, yet haven’t heard from in two days.

  Instead, I’m in a meeting with Declan, who is currently pacing his corner office.

  The man never sleeps. In the past few years, he’s helped make Kiss Talent Agency, which has offices in both Los Angeles and New York, huge. Declan and his brothers split their time between coasts.

  Hunter Kiss already had several big-name athletes as clients when he joined forces with his brothers Declan and Owen to start the agency. It hadn’t taken Owen long to build his list of models, photographers, and other clients. Declan, on the other hand, hadn’t been as successful—at first. I signed with him soon after moving to the States, and when I scored the lead role in Alien Love, I became his big fish. His only fish. We used to go out together on the town, and it felt like him and me against the world. Now he works with big name actors who are usually up for Oscar consideration, or crazy popular musicians. Most recently, he scored a total unknown a role as the female Indiana Jones in a big budget film. He works hard for all his clients, and he’s working hard to get me the role in Perfect Union. That help includes telling Noble and Spires I have a steady girlfriend in order to get me out of the mess I’ve made of my reputation. Right now, he’s ticking off names of women he knows, actresses who have yet to be discovered but who might be willing to play the part of my girlfriend.

  I rub my temples. Why the hell did I tell that damn lie? Yes, I need that part so badly I can taste it. If I get it, doors will open to me that have been closed. My dreams will be within reach.

  That should be my sole focus. Instead, I find myself ignoring Declan and thinking of the only woman I want to be my pretend girlfriend: Marissa.

  God, I wish she’d accept how advantageous a mutual partnership could be. I know I’m not a prince among men, but we’d both benefit from it, in the end, and that’s all that matters.

  You just want to get into her bed, my mind tells me. I bat the thought away. Yes, I’m attracted to her, even though she’s nothing like the girls I typically go for. Maybe because she’s nothing like the girls I typically go for.

  Despite telling myself not to pressure her, I’d even texted her yesterday, asking her if she’d given my request more thought. But nothing. I keep checking my phone, hoping she’ll call or text me. I feel like some teenage boy, hoping his middle school girlfriend will send him an emoji or something.

  “Maybe your girlfriend got called away on an extended business trip,” Declan says, taking a Slinky from his desk and messing with it. He never sits still, never dwells on one thing longer than a second or two, which is probably why he goes through girlfriends faster than I do. No one can keep up with him. Sometimes it’s kind of exhausting to watch. “That way we can buy us some time while we audition the perfect candidate.”

  “We don’t have time for that. I already rescheduled the dinner for next week. I can’t do it again. Plus, I told you I already found the perfect woman.”

  Declan stops playing with the Slinky, letting it collect in the palm of one hand. “The perfect woman who hasn’t agreed to help you, you mean?”

  “She said she had to think about it.”

  I hear the Slinky clinking again—back and forth—as Declan rises to his feet and begins to pace about the room again. His dark eyebrows tend to come together in one line when he’s thinking. I wait, knowing there’s no use talking to him when he’s in Thinking Mode.

  Suddenly, his intercom crackles. “Mr. Kiss?”

  “Yes, Rachel?” Declan says, messing with the damn Slinky, to the point that I get up and rip it from his hands. He tosses me a frown, but I lock the toy in his drawer for now. Sometimes I’m not sure Declan is actually a man in his thirties instead of a ten-year-old boy.

  “Noble and Spires are here to see you.”

  Declan and I both stare at each other like the end of the world has just been announced. He starts to toss food containers in the wastebasket and tidy up his desk. I try to think about ways I can look like a devoted family-man while sitting here in my warm-up suit and sneakers, and the only thing that comes to mind is taking off my baseball cap and zipping my track jacket up so it doesn’t bare too much of my chest hair. Declan clears his throat and presses the button on the intercom. “Show them in, Rachel.”

  A moment later, they walk in.

  Dammit. I fucking need Marissa more than I’ve ever needed any woman. I want to text her, beg her to come to my rescue. Instead, I smile and shake their hands. “Good to see you both. I’m looking forward to our dinner.”

  “Assuming nothing comes up again,” Noble practically sniffs.

  I mentally wince. “No, sir. I’ll definitely be there.”

  “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Declan asks. “Mr. Dale was just in to discuss the many scripts that have come in for him. Turns out he’s quite the hot property these days.”

  Ah, good one, Kiss. An absolute, bald-faced lie, but still a good one. Noble doesn’t buy it, from the way he harrumphs. Still, no one asks me to leave, so I take that as my cue to stay. Maybe I can find some other way to butter him up.

  Rachel brings in coffee and water, and then closes the door so the four of us are alone.

  Noble and Spires are men in their sixties with loads and loads of money. Spires is tall with a remarkably full head of hair, while Noble is shorter and hasn’t had hair since he was my age. While Noble tends to be an irascible curmudgeon, Spires makes up for it with his stupid—and borderline offensive—jokes and his booming laugh.

  A phone rings, and Spires takes his ancient flip-phone from his pocket. “Oh, it’s the missus,” he says with a wink. Flipping the phone open, he says in a voice way louder than necessary, “Honey! Yes, I remember that you need a ride to Pilates today. Of course. I’ll be there on time. I promise. Last time I was late because a meeting went over. You know that.” He nods, smiles even more, and then finally tells his wife goodbye with a click of the phone closing. “Women,” he says with a good-natured shake of his head. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without ‘em, right?” He chuckles, although it sounds forced.

  I don’t chuckle; I nod, waiting to see how this plays out.

  “I bought Tilly this platinum bracelet from Tiffany’s—so expensive I almost had a stroke, you know—and you know what she told me? You know I only like yellow gold!” Spires laughs so loud I can feel the table shake. “How’s a guy supposed to remember something like that?”

  “Isn’t it all the same?” Declan returns. “It’s all expensive.”

  I haven’t said anything yet because I’m watching Noble, as he’s watching me. I might as well have axed his whole family; the man bloody hates me.

  “Tilly mentioned she wants to join us for our dinner together next week, Dale. I hope that’s okay,” Spires says. “Turns out she’s a big fan of yours and Alien Love.”

  “That would be lovely. I can’t wait to meet her.”

  Noble pushes his glasses up his nose again. Then he steeples his hands and says in a rumbling voice, “How is everything with you, Mr. Dale?”

  “Bloody perfect.” I give him a slight smile, refusing to show him how much of my life he holds in his hands. Besides, Noble knows how to play things cool until suddenly he has you trapped, and I’m savvy enough to avoid his claws.

  “And your new girl?” Spires asks. “How is she? We’re looking forward to meeting
her. Will she be joining us for dinner, as well?”

  Here it is: the axe about to fall. I can feel its sharpness against my neck, about to draw blood. I have to be honest—or sort of honest. I have to tell them that Marissa and I broke up, that I won’t have a date at dinner, but that I’m still just as trustworthy anyway. I’m about to tell them exactly that when the door to the conference room opens, Rachel standing there with an odd look on her face.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Dale, your, um, girlfriend is here.”

  I stare at Rachel, and so does Declan. Noble narrows his eyes at me, but Spires is the one to say, “Well, this is a surprise. Bring her in, Dale.”

  I stand up and try to act like I’m not completely shocked by this development. But before I go to the open door, Marissa herself is standing there. Here, at my work, her dark hair in a neat bun, wearing neatly pressed trousers and some kind of blouse I want to rip apart to find the silky skin beneath. She looks pretty and sweet and rich, checking off every damn box.

  “Darling.” I kiss her cheek before whispering in her ear, “What are you doing here?”

  She pats me on the chest. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Your sister told me you were at your agent’s, so here I am. Can’t your girlfriend check in on you every once in a while?” She looks at the men at the table. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”

  Despite my initial surprise, I get over it quickly as I introduce Marissa to Noble and Spires and then Declan. When she mentions her last name, the older men nod appreciatively, and finally, miraculously…they look impressed.

  “I went to school with your father, young lady,” Noble says. “The illustrious Woodcrests. Dale, you’ve caught quite the lady here. The Woodcrests were always too good for us, you know.”

  Marissa smiles, all sweetness and politeness. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  As I’m watching this, I start to worry. Marissa told me her father knew Noble and Spires, and of course I knew her family was well off, but I had no idea Noble had gone to school with Raul Woodcrest, or that Marissa’s family seems to be considered a kind of royalty in the city. I’m torn between being even more impressed by how down to earth Marissa has managed to remain and feeling a bit worried that if she ever finds out I’m just some kid from a trash family from the east side of London, she might not look at me with such interest.