by Holly Hart
Fred didn't say anything and Mike pressed on. "And think about what will happen when their album breaks. We both know that Future Proof Records has been sniffing around about buying you guys out – this album’s going to go platinum a dozen times over. This is the kind of album that puts you in a position to buy them, not the other way around."
I listened intently. For all he was Clay's manager, Mike was clearly a smart cookie – because I knew exactly what he was doing. He was intimating that it wasn't just Clay's job on the line, Fred's was too. And judging by the quiet on the other end of the line, Fred knew it.
"You've made your point," Fred said gruffly. "You'll get your album. Trust me, your boy is on his last legs. One more screw up and your boy's out the door – understood?"
"Understood," Mike and Clay echoed in unison – but it was too late, Fred had already hung up. Mike planted his hands on the table, let his head slump forward and groaned. "What the hell have you got me into now, Clay?"
Now that the adrenaline that had been pumping through my system while we were on the phone to the CEO of Atlantic Records was beginning to ebb and fade away, I was already coming to regret my decision. Mike looked at me, then at Clay.
"You're crazy. Both of you, you’re nuts. And you know what? You deserve each other."
12
Clay
Mike turned on his heel, grabbed his briefcase and slammed the door. I'd never seen him this angry before, but I knew him – I knew he'd cool off, eventually. He wasn't the one I had to worry about.
Alicia was a different story altogether. Her face was drained of color, and by her pallid complexion, I could tell she was in shock.
Luckily, she broke the silence, because I had no idea what to say. How the hell was I supposed to broach the topic of the fact that we were now, for all intents and purposes, engaged?
"What the fuck, Clay?"
It was more eloquent a comment than I was expecting given I'd just thrown her in at the deep end. I'd expected much worse. On the other hand, judging by her expression, the worst was yet to come.
I knew I deserved whatever she was going to say, I just didn't know whether I'd be able to sit there and take her saying it. It wasn't my style. There was something about being berated that always got my hackles up, and just because it was coming from a woman I wanted to fuck more than life itself didn't mean that I wouldn't react badly.
"Should I say sorry?" I asked, genuinely being serious. I'd say it if she wanted me to. I wouldn't mean it, though, not really. As far as I was concerned, everything had worked out well. My career was safe – more or less – Alicia's shot at stardom was secure, and I'd just figured out a way of spending more time with a woman who, even though she was apparently unable to resist my physical charms, still seemed to despise me.
"You wouldn't mean it, would you?" she replied bitterly. "How the hell have I got myself into this situation?" she asked rhetorically. I decided to keep my mouth shut, rightly sensing that there would be nothing I could say that had a shot at helping.
"I can't do this," Alicia finally said, looking torn. "No way. I'm going to have to go to the record label and tell them the wedding's off, or something. Or do I tell them the whole truth?" She closed her eyes and slapped her palm down hard on the table in frustration. "And I fucked you, too. Jesus, girl, have some self-control."
"That was more than a fuck," I replied, finally feeling affronted. "Surely you felt that? That was special, Alicia. It was something else."
"Oh, you can't be serious." She laughed viciously. "I know your type. You saw some poor, innocent girl who just wanted to make a career in the business and thought you could have your way with her, didn't you?"
"It wasn't like—"
"God, how stupid could I be?" she continued. "You’ve probably done this a hundred times, haven't you?"
"No—"
Again she cut me off. "Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me I'm special? That I'm different? Come on, Clay – we both know better."
The thing was, it was true. How the hell was I supposed to get that across to her? Especially when I could see the sense in everything she was saying… I had slept with more girls than I could remember, and none of them had ever gripped me like she did. But I could see what she was saying; to her it must just have sounded like cheap fluff, like I was just trying to get into her pants.
I was, but there was so much more than that.
I knew there was nothing I could do to change her mind – at least not right now, so I decided to change the topic.
"Are you seriously going to go to the label?" I asked. "I don't care about my career. Like you said, I've got enough money to live like a king for the rest of my life. Do you?"
She looked up at me sharply. I could tell I'd hit a nerve.
"Are you saying you're better than me just because you've made some cash?" she said hotly. "I've worked hard for everything I have in life. It didn't just fall into my lap because I was handsome and had a pretty voice…"
Handsome… At least she’s calling me handsome.
"Hey, that's not fair," I protested. "You try doing eighty gigs in eighty towns in eighty days and then come back and tell me I've never worked for anything in my life. You know how hard this business is, Alicia."
"And I'm never going to get the chance because of you," she spat back. "How can I possibly go through with this charade? Do you think we can really pretend to be engaged? What about my friends, my colleagues – do you think they're all going to believe I was keeping you a secret all this time?"
She had a point, but I couldn't say that. If I did, I knew I'd never get to show this woman that I didn't just want to sleep with her – I loved her. Just the idea was shocking, because Clay Hunt didn't love women, he just used them to get himself off. That was the image I had built up around me; hell, it was even what I thought about myself. But this incredible black beauty was making me question everything I'd ever held true about myself. And if she was doing this much after just a couple of days, then I needed to find out how she'd make me feel after a month, a year – a lifetime.
"But if you don't," I said, feeling terrible that I was basically manipulating her, but equally aware that if I didn't, then she'd walk out right then and there, "then that's it. No career, no fame, no money – none of it. What's the worst that could happen," I asked, desperately clutching at straws, "if you pretend to be engaged to me for six months, release an album with me – get everything you've ever wanted, and then release a statement to the press saying we've split up? I won't fight it, I won't argue. You can have everything, Alicia, everything you ever wanted."
But you'll have to pretend to love me…
I looked at her and knew exactly what she was thinking. You didn't sleep with as many women as I had over the course of my lifetime without learning a few tricks about how to read a girl's face – and I could read Alicia's like a book. She was torn. She hated my guts, and every word that came out of my mouth – but she knew I was right. Alicia knew that if she had any chance of achieving her dreams, she needed to do what I was suggesting.
And she hated it.
"If we're going to do this…"
I didn't hear anything else she said, because inside my head fireworks were exploding like it was the Fourth of July. I'd done it! I'd somehow convinced her that this crazy gambit might work out!
"Clay, pay attention to me," she snapped, with all the authority of a feared schoolteacher. I meekly looked at her, giving her my full attention. "I said, if we're going to do this, then we do it my way – understood?"
I nodded. I knew my big mouth had a way of fucking things up, and I didn't want to give it the chance.
"Number one," she said, raising a finger, "we don't sleep together. That was a mistake – from now on, no mixing business and pleasure."
I bit down on my tongue to hide my disappointment. I had no idea how I was going to keep my hands off her juicy ass – but then again, I had no intention of abiding by her rules.
Well, not this one, anyway.
"Number two, if you so much as put a foot out of line, then that's it – we're done. That means no fighting, no partying, no hanging around with anyone who might tempt you into screwing up."
I didn't like the sound of that one at all, but I grimaced and nodded regardless.
"Number three – no sleeping with other women," she said sternly. "I'm putting my reputation on the line here, and it's bad enough that I’m going to have to lie to my friends and family. The last thing I need is for you to cheat on me, or whatever the hell this is, and drag my name through the mud. Okay?" This time, she fixed me with a stare – and I understood that, for her, this was the most important one.
The thing is, it was fine by me. I didn't want any other woman. I only wanted her.
"Fine," I agreed immediately.
"Seriously?" she asked, sounding surprised that I'd accepted her terms so easily. She must have been expecting me to put up a fight.
"Yeah, seriously," I agreed. "I'm going to have to be honest with you, Alicia," I said, looking her in the eyes. "I haven't had a recording session like the one we had this morning in years. All of this, all of these rules, it'll all be worth it, just for that."
It was true, mostly, but what I wasn't saying was that I was hoping for more – much more. I was hoping for her.
"There's only one thing," I said, "and I don't think you're going to like it."
"What?" She glowered back at me.
"If we're going to sell this lie, we're going to have to make it look realistic. You're going to have to move in with me."
13
Alicia
Standing outside Clay's gated mansion on the outskirts of town, there were only two thoughts running through my mind: this is a bad idea and this is a very bad idea.
The place was astonishing, and if I were moving if any other reason, I'd be jumping for joy, but I still wasn't sure what the hell had been going on in my brain when I'd decided to pretend I was engaged to be married to Clay Hunt. I mean, what kind of self-respecting girl pretended to be in love with a man who slept around so much his nickname was Hung?
I raised my hand to knock on the heavy, dark-stained oak front door, but there was no need. By the time my knuckle made its descent to the wood, Clay was already throwing the doors wide open with a broad smile on his face.
"How…?” I asked, standing openmouthed and with my closed fist still raised and ready to knock.
"Cameras, everywhere," Clay said looking pleased with himself. I wasn’t sure he realized quite how the image of him sitting behind a bank of video screens waiting for me to turn up made him look. He indicated the large, enclosed gravel courtyard, pointing out the cameras one by one.
"Do you really need that many?" I asked, a little befuddled.
"If it were up to me, I wouldn't bother," he admitted. "If anyone wants to come and burgle this place, then I'd happily fight them off…"
I bet you would.
"…but the insurance company makes me have them."
"So you can sit here and wait for me to turn up?" I asked, mocking him lightly.
"Exactly," he agreed, taking my joke on the chin. "And it's not often I get a woman as beautiful as you turning up at my front door," he said, with what I'm sure he thought was a winning smile plastered on his face.
"Don't forget," I warned him, "that I'm only here because of your stupid plan. The moment you try any funny business, I'm walking straight out this door."
"Sure, sure," he agreed with an easy smile. "Can I take those bags?"
The scene was ridiculous. We were pretending to be like some old married couple, when in reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Still, I reasoned, there was no sense in carrying my own suitcases if I didn't have to. Especially since this whole ridiculous charade was all Clay's fault…
I smiled sweetly up at him. "Why not?"
He hauled them in, barely even seeming to notice their enormous weight, and watching him, I couldn't help but think how much I'd like to have his bulging muscles tossing me around.
Pull yourself together, Alicia – you're not here for a summer fling!
"Can I show you around?" Clay asked, one of my heavy suitcases in either hand. His thick biceps were bulging, rope-like, under a plain white T-shirt, and I liked that he wasn't wearing anything too fancy. Not that I was supposed to be paying attention to what he was wearing, of course.
"I guess this is my home now, too," I agreed, almost choking over the words as I considered their ridiculous nature, "so it's probably a good idea for me to know my way around."
"We'll do the first floor, well, first," he said a little stupidly, flushing with embarrassment. I pretended not to notice, though it felt nice that someone was acting so nervously around me. Usually it was the other way around.
Clay sat the suitcases down at the foot of a huge marble ballroom staircase, the type that starts wide and gets wider the lower it falls. The whole place was floored with marble, and I couldn’t help but take a sharp breath as I considered how much it must have cost. Clay barely seemed to notice, probably inured to it after years of living in such luxury.
For me, coming from a tatty, stained old apartment on the cheap side of town – this was like living in a palace.
"The big kitchen's through here," he said, striding towards a corridor, and I hastened to follow him, my little legs pumping away at twice the speed of his long striding steps.
There's more than one kitchen?
It was amazing, truly. The counters were topped with a sparkling black granite, and there was a gorgeous range in the center of a kitchen island. It looked brand-new.
"Do you ever cook?" I asked, curious, because it didn't look like it. The place barely looked touched.
"Sure, sure I do," he said. "A grilled cheese sandwich counts as cooking, right?" he said with a cheeky grin on his face.
I picked my hand up and lightly, almost lovingly, clipped him around the ear before dropping it like a scalding pan as I realized what I'd done. It wasn't so much the action itself, more what it represented – me getting too comfortable around a man as enthralling as Clay. Still, it was as though I couldn't help myself – he had something about him that made it too easy.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
"Don't apologize." He grinned. "You can touch me whenever you want…" He had a lascivious look on his face, as though he was eyeing me up like a piece of meat. It was flattering, but I couldn't let this go any further.
"Let's just get on with the tour, okay?" I said sharply, maybe too sharply, and looked away. Before my eyes left his face, I saw him looking a little hurt.
Better him than you, Alicia, I reminded myself. Clay Hunt broke women's hearts like it was going out of fashion, and I had no intention of becoming just another statistic.
He ran through the rest of the tour at a much faster clip – and before long, my brain was utterly fried. On the first floor alone there was an indoor squash court, a steam room and sauna – with a massage room next door, naturally, a small swimming pool – though Clay assured me there was a much larger one outside, a sixteen seater movie theatre with a huge screen, a small kitchen and several living rooms. Everything was furnished like it was an imperial palace.
"Shall I show you upstairs?" he asked as we hooked back around to the ballroom stairs. My stomach clenched. This was the part I'd been dreading the whole way to Clay's mansion. Was he about to try and get me to sleep in the same bed as him? And if he did – would I be able to resist?
"Okay," I croaked, my throat suddenly dry as the Sahara.
His face instantly switched to an expression of concern. "I'm sorry," he almost stammered, "I should have offered you a drink!"
The look of concern on his face was kind of touching. "Don't worry about it," I reassured him. "I'm fine now."
He grabbed hold of the two suitcase handles and hefted them up with a slight grunt, turning his head and beckoning me to follow him. With an ass like that, I thought, I'd f
ollow you anywhere…
He carried the heavy suitcases up the stairs without complaining and set them down at the top of the stairs. The upper floor of his mansion was set around a circular rotunda, with two doors directly in front of us, and others set around the wall.
"They’re all guestrooms," he said. "Here – let me show you one."
I couldn't help but wonder why he was showing me one of the guestrooms – after all, shouldn't I be staying in one of them? Nevertheless, I kept my mouth shut. After all, I reasoned – with increasingly shaky logic – there was no point in rocking the boat until I knew for sure that Clay was trying to get me to sleep in the same bed as him.
He pushed open one of the heavy mahogany doors and showed me the guest room. I had to take a huge gulp of air – the place was bigger than my whole damn apartment! It was, I had to admit, beautifully appointed.
"Did you design this place?" I asked wonderingly as I walked around the guest room, rubbing my hands across the impossibly soft silk bedsheets and popping my head into the ensuite bathroom to marvel at the gold plated taps that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
"No, me – you serious?" Clay laughed. "I know what I like, but there are people you can hire to do things like this, and I definitely like that more… Nah, I bought this place off this old banker. Think he was running out of money or something. I got a pretty good deal on the place. I kept some of the original furnishings, but honestly, it was a bit gaudy for my tastes."
I looked around – it looked pretty luxurious to me. If this was fine by Clay's reckoning, then God knows what it must have been like before.
"Here," he said, "let me show you where you're sleeping." He pulled the guest room door closed behind us and walked me to the left-hand side of the two larger, more prominent doors directly in front of the staircase. "This is my bedroom," he said. "You know I mentioned the guy I bought this place off?"
