by Lynne Silver
“I’ll pay you back,” she said after the door shut behind the waiter.
He scowled. “You’re treating for breakfast. Tip’s on me.”
“Deal.” Men had their little quirks and hang-ups about money. She was surprised he’d let her pay for breakfast.
“Ready to eat?” he asked. “Or do you have more poses?”
“I’m good.” They sat across from each other at the breakfast table and both reached for the coffee pot. “You first.” She laughed.
He smiled silently and picked up the pot to neatly fill her mug, as if he were a professional at pouring drinks. She smiled to herself at the little joke.
“Thanks,” she murmured around her first magical sip. When was the last time a man had poured her coffee? She’d stake her next facial at Burke Williams that any other man in LA would’ve poured for himself, then handed her the pot.
“No cream or sugar?” He put down the pot with a tiny thunk.
She shook her head and tried not to grimace at the taste of her all-black coffee with nothing to dilute the bitterness. She needed the stimulant. She did not need the extra calories.
“What the hell is that?” Carlos asked, gesturing at her steaming breakfast bowl with his fork.
There was a large piece of waffle, dripping with butter and syrup, on the end of his fork. If she leaned forward, the piece could be in her mouth before she had time to…No. Sugar is evil. “It’s chia pudding with acai berries,” she said, scooping up a large spoonful of her own breakfast. “Delicious. Want some?” She held out the uneaten spoonful and tried not to laugh at Carlos’s expression. It was likely close to the face she’d made the first time trying the breakfast concoction that was all the rage in Hollywood. She was used to it by now, and some days she almost liked the taste.
“Want some waffle?” he asked, holding out his fork, not realizing that she was seconds away from snatching his entire plate from him to stick her face in his breakfast, no fork required.
“No, thanks,” she lied and swallowed the slimy lumpy excuse of a breakfast.
He shrugged and put a big mouthful of waffle in his mouth. His full lips moved a little as he chewed, and she shifted a little in her seat, remembering how those lips had felt on her skin.
“How long are you in Miami?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m kind of between things right now.”
“Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon today?” he said, looking sympathetic.
She’d nearly forgotten about her fake honeymoon, which had been booked for the Four Seasons Maui. Snaps to Tyler for his lack of creativity. Thank goodness it had been a fake engagement or she might’ve felt the need to go for her daddy’s shotgun. Damn him for taking her replacement to the same hotel where they were supposed to be honeymooning. And thank the stars the media remembered she was supposed to be on her honeymoon and were posting stories and photos with headlines like, “Jilted Dakota Starr isn’t missing former fiancé, Tyler Taylor.”
That was another thing different about this morning. She wasn’t poring over social media looking for mentions. She wanted to be phone free, talking to Carlos. Weird. Granted, she had already gotten texts from her publicist assuring her she was in the news, but she hadn’t checked firsthand for herself. Carlos’s picture was going to be everywhere, and she wondered how he would feel.
“Hannah? Dakota?” he said, when she didn’t answer to the first name.
She looked at him, startled out of her reverie. “Sorry. Mind wandering.”
“Oh. Wasn’t sure if it was because I called you Hannah.” He paused, giving her a penetrating look. “That’s your real name?”
She gave a little nod around a sip of coffee, girding her gut for another bite of chia pudding.
“It’s pretty.”
“It’s country,” she countered. “And only my parents and a few trusted friends know my real name, so please don’t go spilling to the paparazzi.” She ignored his hurt look and forged ahead. “They’re going to find you, you know. Reporters. They’ll ask you questions, want details, distort anything you say. Some will offer a lot of money for details about me in bed.”
He put his fork down and rose to start buttoning his shirt rapidly as he spoke. “I realize we met only hours ago, so there’s no way you could know this, but I’ll tell you anyway. That isn’t me. The guy who went home with a celebrity for a one-night stand only to brag about it in public? Hell no, that ain’t me. You can trust me, Hannah.” He said her real name deliberately, enunciating the two syllables.
She didn’t know what to say. She’d been promised things before and had her trust misplaced. Yet something about Carlos made her believe, made her want to believe. “Come back,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for assuming you’d be like every other asshole looking to profit off me.”
He stepped back to her and crouched at her side. “I’m not an asshole, baby. I’m one of the nice guys.” He pulled a face. “Maybe too nice, cause I could use the money. That phone call before, from my mother?”
She parted her lips to say she didn’t want to know. It wasn’t her business, but instead her tongue surprised her by saying, “Yes?” encouraging him to open up with his own secrets.
“She’s calling for money.”
Hannah knew all about family phone calls asking for money. She’d never known half of her cousins before having money to pay off their mortgages, dental bills and a whole lotta other stuff they’d come asking for. “Have you given her money before?” she asked.
He nodded. She brushed her palm over his tousled hair. “I have family here from Venezuela. It’s a shit situation there now, and they’re applying for asylum, but…” He scowled at his waffles. “Current immigration policies aren’t making things easy. It’s especially hard for us because my parents came here from Nicaragua. They moved here to escape the Sandinistas and made a good life. Sucks to see family go through the same thing without the same happy ending.”
“So you’re helping out with money?” she asked and turned in her chair to face him fully.
He shrugged. “I do what I can. But it’s not like I’m rolling in it.”
God, she knew about financial hard choices. Her parents had had to make them every month, choosing between shoes for one kid versus the heating bill. There’d always been a this or this decision being made in the Hogarth household. Paying off her parents’ mortgage with the royalties from her first hit single had been the best day.
Not that her parents had been grateful. Stubborn folk. The rest of her distant family were happy to ride her coattails. Not Mom and Pop. Parents gave to kids. Not the other way round. She’d had to be sneaky and wily with the bankers to get her parents to accept her help. “Oh. That sucks,” she said. The discussion of parents reminded her that her mom would be seeing the photos of her going back to her hotel with Carlos. She needed to call her pronto.
The wedding had reformed a tenuous bond between mother and daughter. Hannah wasn’t quite forgiven for making the poor choice to sing pop rock instead of country or for singing in public at all instead of staying home in West Virginia and singing at church. But weddings had a funny way of smoothing over past hurts, and she and her mother had bonded over talks of dresses, veils and flowers.
Her mom wasn’t over the wedding being called off, and kept talking about distributing country justice to Tyler Taylor for ditching her Hannah so publicly. Hannah hadn’t had the heart to tell her momma the truth about the engagement. Having her momma doting and worrying about her the last week had been a balm, after years of feeling like a disappointment for running off to Hollywood to seek stardom.
“I’m sorry about your family, Carlos,” she said, climbing down to sit on his lap. “I wish there was something I could do to help.” The words spilled out, and then there was an awkward silence in which they both pondered that she could help, being significantly wealthier than him. But he didn’t know that she knew his tuition was due, and she suspected he
had too much pride to ask for money. Please don’t ask for money, Hannah inwardly begged. Be one of the good guys. Please don’t ruin our night together.
Carlos cradled her, his palm sliding somewhere interesting between her thighs. “You’re sweet. But I’d never ask you for money. I told you, I’m one of the good guys.”
“I believe you,” she said, shifting on his lap, feeling his growing erection beneath her. Then she had a brainstorm that made her sit up, nearly smacking her head into his chin. “What if I could help you by offering you a job?”
His big hand warmed the skin over her spine. “What kind of job? I already have two jobs, one of them I actually like.”
“Bartender and what else?”
“Fishing charter boats. I go along as crew and make sure the guests have a good time.”
“You’re a busy guy. When do you have time for school?”
He frowned. “How did you know I go to school?”
“Uh, lucky guess. You seem like an ambitious guy.” Good save, Hogarth.
Luckily her gaffe didn’t bother him. “I’m finishing up my degree in hospitality at FIU. Between that and my two jobs, I don’t often get a full night’s sleep, which is why I crashed hard here.”
“Sorry for waking you up then. I wish I’d let you sleep longer.”
He cuddled her in closer. “It’s okay. I know we only had a night together, so choosing between sleep or more time with you is a no brainer.”
“What if you didn’t have to choose?” she said, her heart starting to race. Her voice training allowed her to keep steady and not allow Carlos to hear how much her idea affected her.
“What do you mean?”
“That’s my idea. What if you spend the week with me, and I’d pay you?”
She was not expecting to get dumped almost violently on the floor, while Carlos loomed over her, scowling. “Did you just offer to pay me for sex?”
She scrambled to a sitting position and looked up at him. “Oh my God, no!” She bit her lip, because she’d definitely anticipated more sex with him, but that wasn’t what she would be paying for. It was the other stuff she was after.
“Then what?” he asked, but his expression remained wary.
“Can we go sit on the sofa?” She rose and walked to the small separate living room attached to the bedroom. Carlos followed and sat as far as possible from her on the edge of the sofa. When they were both settled, she gathered her thoughts. She had to phrase this correctly or he would be gone, nice guy that he was.
“So?” he asked. “What’s the job?”
She hated that he sounded distant and cold, nothing like the warm hot man who’d kissed the arches of her feet last night.
“You know I’m mostly known for my singing, right?”
He nodded.
“Well, I want to break into acting. Being an actress was always my goal, and there’s this part in a movie. I want it bad, Carlos.”
“What do I have to do with movie parts? I’m not a casting director.”
“No.” She half-smiled. “But the producer wants a big name as the female supporting actress. I couldn’t get the lead yet. Even I know it’s too soon…” She shook her head, realizing she’d gone off topic. “If I can keep my name in the spotlight, the producer is more likely to cast me.”
“Again, I’m not famous. How do I factor in?”
She frowned, inwardly debating whether he could be trusted, and her gut told her he could be. “Can I tell you something? It’s a huge secret, and I have to trust that you’d keep it to yourself and never ever tell the press or a friend.”
“Can’t promise that, Dakota. Not if you murdered someone or did something illegal.”
She laughed. “No, definitely nothing illegal.” She bit her lip, thinking of her mother. “Maybe a little unethical.”
“Define unethical.” Carlos folded his arms over his wide chest and reminded her of her father after hearing she’d once again skipped a class.
“My engagement to Tyler was fake,” she said in a rush. “For media attention.”
His arms lowered. “No shit? I’d heard of stuff like that happening, but I didn’t think it’d be true. Seems like a lot of effort for a little coverage.”
“You have no idea,” she said, leaning back against the sofa and propping her heels on the coffee table. “Meetings with florists, dress fittings, fake dates with Tyler, pretending to be in love. All the effort of an engagement with none of the reward.”
“Then why did you do it?”
She wasn’t sure she liked how Carlos was looking at her, like she was a speck of dirt he’d found in a bottle of Absolut he was about to pour. “We had our reasons,” she defended. “We always knew we’d end it, but my publicist said it would benefit us both. The movie producer wants someone famous, so I had to up my star power.”
“I see,” Carlos said, but she wasn’t sure he did. Not at all. One had to live in the inner circle in Hollywood to know the lengths people went to for celebrity. The surgeries, the competitive charitable donations, the fake engagements.
“Anyway,” she said, taking a breath for courage. “My publicist says that everyone went nuts last night at the pictures of us kissing…and you coming back to my hotel room.”
“And you want more of that,” Carlos said, catching on quickly. “You want to use me to stay in the limelight.”
“Yes. I’d spend a week in Miami, and you could show me around.”
“Show you my Miami?”
“Well, they’d need to be places paparazzi would find me. No holes in the wall.”
“But those are the best places in Miami.”
She gave him a look. “In exchange, I could pay you. You’d have to sign a NDA.”
“A what?”
“A non-disclosure agreement. Meaning whatever happens between us, stays between us.”
He leaned back on the couch and looked thoughtful. “How much?” he finally asked.
“Um…” She hadn’t thought that far ahead. What was the going rate for male companions? “Uh, three thousand?” she guessed, naming off the price Julia Roberts had been paid to escort Edward around town.
“Five,” he countered. “And no sex. I’m not a prostitute.”
“Four, and I’ll pay for all meals and activities.” She pretended not to hear his caveat about sex. After last night’s amazing bedroom games, she wanted more of Carlos, but she respected the distinction and his honor.
“Deal.”
She held out her hand and he grasped it firmly to shake. For better or worse, Carlos was in her life for the next week.
Carlos tossed another T-shirt into his small duffel, then took it out. A week with Dakota Starr didn’t call for casual old ratty shirts. With a sigh, he went to his tiny closet in his tiny apartment and grabbed three dress shirts from the hangers. The labels said they were from discount big-box stores, not the designer places the kind of men Dakota Starr dated probably shopped.
He was glad she hadn’t insisted on coming with him to pack up for the week. She’d made the offer, but he’d declined. He’d needed an hour to be alone and get his head clear. Upon entering his apartment, he called his mother back to tell her he would be sending money. Then he texted a few friends to cancel tentative plans.
No phone calls or he knew he’d be dodging questions about Dakota that he didn’t want to answer. He wasn’t comfortable lying to his friends. If he’d spoken to them first thing this morning, it would’ve been an easy convo. He’d had an amazing night with an amazing woman. Period. Full stop.
He wasn’t one to kiss and tell. No gossip. Bartender’s code. Even if the woman was a celebrity.
But now…the whole relationship was weird and fake. He wasn’t an actor, but he’d better learn pretty damn quick if he was going to survive a week in the spotlight with Hannah. No, not Hannah. Dakota, he reminded himself. Hannah was the real woman. Warm, witty and surprisingly down-to-earth. A woman he could fall for.
This week he had to be w
ith Dakota, a woman who’d offered to pay for his time rather than simply ask him on another date or wait for him to ask her. The joke was that he would’ve spent the week with her for free. Instead, she’d tainted their amazing night together and any future they might’ve had by offering to pay him to date her. He was disgusted with her and mostly himself for accepting the deal, but four K was big money to him and his family. He’d told her he was a student, but he hadn’t mentioned his tuition bill was due yesterday.
No dude wanted to tell a pretty girl that he could barely afford to take her for dinner let alone cover his other primary bills. It sucked that he’d had to swallow his pride and accept her job offer rather than simply dating the woman. But her offer had been too tempting to turn down.
Principles didn’t pay tuition or rent.
Two hours later, Carlos was lounging poolside, sharing a double-wide chaise with Dakota. He was in board shorts, feeling strangely naked even though all his important bits were covered. Next to him, every inch of Dakota’s skin glistened as if polished and buffed. Her black bikini was little more than strings and a few inches of fabric.
“You look like you could use sunscreen,” she said, shifting slightly so his entire right side lit up with awareness of her skin brushing his.
“I’m good. Sunscreened up in the room when I changed.”
“Los,” she said, pinching the skin on his forearm gently. “You need sunscreen.”
Oh? Oh. “Yeah, I’m getting a little burn,” he agreed, swallowing back the discomfort at this first gauntlet in their fake week together. They needed to touch each other in public, and he needed not to pop wood with her hands rubbing lotion over his body. The pool area of the hotel was private property, but two men with long-range lenses pointed in their direction waited on the beach.
He sat up and gave Dakota his back and closed his eyes as her soft hands rubbed his back and neck.
“Now your front,” she said, in a voice he almost didn’t recognize because it was loud, high-pitched and rapid-fire, different than the throaty, husky voice that had cried out his name last night.
