“Okay, um, I better go. Goodbye, Harden.—” Kerri mustered all her strength to open the door and step out of the black Mercedes Benz, closing the door and walking unsteadily to her own front door. That German engine idled until she opened the front door, then he drove off and she closed the door behind her.
The next morning Kerri went straight to her lawyer’s office, and had him meet her downstairs at the Mercantile Exchange in the lobby, where she’d oversee her own deposit and disbursement of funds.
“We should be able to negotiate the IRS down to about twenty percent,” Paul said. “With your other problems resolved, you’ll actually come out of this with a nice little nest egg. And you can keep the house.”
Kerri should have been thrilled, but she couldn’t even fake a smile.
This only intrigued Paul more, a confused smile on his graying jowls. “Should I ask how you got this money ? I mean, a million dollars.— ”
It was too much to explain. “It’s an advance on a movie role, from an executive producer I once worked with.”
“Really ? A million-dollar advance ? That’s some movie project.—” Kerri could tell he didn’t believe her, that Paul assumed she’d slept with someone, and probably did some pretty terrible things for that money. Of course she knew he was right. And that was just how she felt, like a highly paid prostitute, a slut who sold her soul, for the highest price.
Paul smiled. “Anyway, let me know when they start shooting, I’ll make sure to Tweet about it!”
Back at the spa, immersed in mud, Yvonne said, “So, fill me in on every detail, don’t skip a thing.”
Kerri shrugged. “There wasn’t much to it.”
“Ker, you know you can’t bullshit me ! I’m guessing it was … amazing, life-changing, probably turned you inside-out more than once, am I right?”
Yvonne lifted one slice of cucumber off her right eye, Kerri the one off her left, and the two friends shared a knowing glance, followed by a little chuckle. For Kerri, it died away quickly, and as always, Yvonne picked up on that. “Ker, you weren’t supposed to get attached. It was a one-time thing, no attachments, you knew that going in.”
“Yeah, I did, that’s true. But it’s not the same once you’re … involved, not at all the same.”
“Fair enough, Ker. But it is what it is, and a man like that just doesn’t tie himself down to just one woman.—” Kerri cracked a smile but decided to keep it a private joke. Yvonne went on, “Anyway, this was a great thing, I’m really proud of you.”
“Yeah, I’m a regular Mother Teresa.”
Yvonne chuckled. “At least you’re not Old Mother Hubbard … not anymore. Now you gotta get out there, really start living. I mean, if you’ve taken anything away from this experience, right?”
Kerri thought about it, and she couldn’t deny her friend’s reasoning, or resist her optimism. “Yeah, you’re right, Yvonne, you’re absolutely right.”
“I know it, Ker, I’m always right.—” The two laughed again, Yvonne finally asking, “So, what’s first on the list?”
Famed Hollywood agent Lew Stallmaster’s son Benjamin took a good, hard look at Kerri’s headshot, a pretty girl smiling back at him. “They’re not new,” Kerri said, “So I know I’ll be taking more head shots. Still, I’m sitting right here if you want to know what I look like.”
Benjamin smiled, his face youthful and without wrinkles. “My father adored you as a client; he was crushed when you retired.”
“And I was so sad to hear about what happened to him. I saw him just two weeks before he died; he was so … um, reduced.”
“Yeah, I’ll never let them do brain surgery on me, not if they’re taking anything out. I haven’t got that much to spare!—” They shared a chuckle. “Anyway, I’m so glad you popped in. And I think you’re right, you’re not quite the right age for those screaming bimbo roles.” Disappointment settled quickly in Kerri’s gut; she’d been expecting it. But Benjamin went on, “There is an edgy new drama being cast right now though, the new Bertram Quinn movie.”
“Bertram Quinn, really?”
“You know how he likes to rediscover classic talent. He killed P. J. Soles in his last movie.”
“I saw it, blew her up with a flare gun. It was very … artistic.”
“Great,” Benjamin said with a smile. “Lemme make a few calls, we’ll take a few new head shots. How’s Thursday, around midday?”
“Oh, um, I’m sure that’ll be fine, Benjamin, great.”
“Great. See if you can drop a pound or two, just around the chin, and I’ll call with the details.—” Kerri sighed and stood up, turning for the door. Benjamin added, “Welcome back, Kerri.”
She tried again to smile, this time very nearly pulling it off. “Thanks, Benjamin, it’s … it’s good to be back.”
Kerri wanted to enjoy her new prospects, to relish in her accomplishment. She also wanted to revel in the memory of that crazy weekend, to savor those delicious flashes of recollected lust. But she couldn’t, she couldn't enjoy any of it. All she could do was feel like she was sleepwalking through the days, working to achieve some appearance of normalcy, even though everything in her life had changed forever.
Kerri couldn’t get Harden out of her mind; his magnetic touch, the body-shaking orgasms she’d had for ten, twenty, thirty minutes or longer. Even the thought of it made her body twitch, muscles flinching in a faint echo of those inundations of cum, tidal waves of escalating, salty pleasure.
Kerri couldn’t resist looking him up online, but she knew he hadn’t used his real name. But he did let slip that he’d been an executive producer on Killer Kamp 4, so it was an easy matter to look it up on the IMDb. There were six executive producers, and four of them didn’t have pictures associated with their names. Kerri was very tempted to pursue her investigation, but she soon realized that it was pointless and hopeless.
If he wants me, she reasoned, he knows where to find me. And he knows I want him, there can’t be any doubt about that. If he doesn’t want me, well, if he doesn’t come for me then he doesn’t want me, it’s plain to see. No sense hunting him down, uncovering his true identity. If he wants anonymity, I should respect that. If he wants to be left alone, I should respect that too.
On the other hand, if I happened to wonder if I’d left my earring at his house, and if I didn’t have a phone number where I could reach him, and I don’t, then it would be pretty reasonable for me to stop by his place, see if he or any of his invisible staff managed to find it. I know they won’t have, since it was never lost, but that would give him one last chance to change his mind, one last shot at our brass ring and our band of gold.
Kerri shook the idea out of her head as she drove across town, the 10 West becoming the PCH heading north. He’ll never change his mind; this is a humiliating waste of time.
Well, Kerri had to contradict herself, at least I’ll know I did what I could, that I tried my best.
She pulled up to his private gate, which remained closed. Kerri paused there, unsure what to do next. She rolled down the window but there was no intercom, no buttons to push, no phone to chat with anybody inside. She had little choice but to turn around and go back.
Then the gate slid open.
Kerri breathed a sigh of relief. He sees me on some monitor, he’s glad I’ve come back!
She pulled up, seeing that familiar black Benz, and a second car, a silver Audi, in the turnabout. Kerri pulled up and parked just as Harden walked out through the front doors, in the company of a gorgeous redhead, curls falling around her pale, pretty face. They stopped and froze, both looking at her.
Kerri said only, “Harden, hi.—” There was nothing more to say.
The damage had already been done.
Chapter Ten
The gorgeous redhead glared at Harden. “And who the hell is this, your new little whore?”
“Hey now,” Kerri interrupted. “Take it easy. You don’t know me.”
The redhead looked her up and down. “I
know your type, and that’s all I need to know.”
Kerri turned to Harden. “Harden?”
“Kerri Abernathy, this is Sandra Blake. Sandra, this is Kerri.”
Sandra said, “Don’t you dare introduce me to this little slut!”
“Look, I know you’re upset,” Kerri said to Sandra, “But you don't have any right to talk about me that way.”
“I’ve got every right, you bitch!”
Harden interjected, “Ladies, please.”
“What’s your story, Blondie ? Actress on the make, or just a straight-up prostitute?—” Sandra looked Kerri over. “You probably bring in a few thousand a night. That’s nice work if you can get it.”
Kerri was tempted to tell this bottled redhead exactly how much she did make, but she didn’t feel that it would do anything to contradict the woman’s point. So Kerri merely said, “I was here as Harden’s guest, anything else is none of your business.”
“Don’t you presume to tell me about my business, I’ll scratch your fucking eyes out!”
“Bring it on, you ginger witch!”
Harden said, “Ladies, really, stop!”
Sandra glared at Kerri and went on, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, Missy! Didn’t you get enough the first few times?—” She turned to Harden. “How long has this been going on?”
Harden spoke up, “Sandra, take it easy. You know how I feel about all this, I’ve tried to explain.”
Sandra snarled, “Well, there’s no need for any further explanations.” She looked Kerri up and down, eyes crawling over Kerri’s body. “It’s all perfectly goddamned clear!”
A lump rose in Kerri’s throat, different and conflicting emotions ripping her apart. She was heartbroken, but she couldn’t allow herself to be surprised. She was just as mad at herself as at anyone else, for going against her better judgement, for allowing herself to fall for a man like Harden to begin with. And whoever this Sandra Blake was, and whoever she was to Harden, Kerri knew she was right; she shouldn’t have come, and it would be best for everyone if she left, and as soon as possible.
Without another word, Kerri turned and climbed back into her car. She heard Harden call her name before she slammed the door closed and turned the engine over. The tires screeched as her car lurched backward. She spun the car around, shifted gears, and tore through the still-open gate and onto PCH. A Mazda Miata came roaring past just as she pulled out and had to swerve into the next lane to avoid a collision. Its horn honked in the distance, fading quickly as the car sped off and left Kerri alone on PCH to make the long, sad drive home alone.
Sniffling back the tears, Kerri soon moved past self-recrimination. Control, self-control, she thought, yeah, like I’d know anything about either one of those! I haven’t learned a goddamned thing!
No, I can’t keep hating myself like that. Okay, this didn’t work out, but I’m probably better off anyway. I have learned, and I’ve learned a lot. So now I can go out and use that knowledge, spread it around a bit. There are lots of guys who could benefit, and I could benefit from their benefit.
‘Pay it forward,’ isn’t that what Harden said?
Her tires clung to the asphalt as her car pushed east on the 10.
Why would I even want a man like that full-time ? Sure, he’s generous enough with his money, with the things his money can buy, but he doesn’t share of himself, of his soul. He’s got no generosity of spirit.
Kerri also knew that she’d only scratched the surface of Harden Steele, that there was a lot he hadn’t revealed to her or perhaps to anyone. There was tenderness there, and a sadness he dared not show. There was still a streak of the romantic in him, a core of softness beneath all that hardened Steel and Kerri couldn’t shake the certainty that she of all people would have been the one to draw those truths out for the first and only time.
Get it out of your head, Kerri Abernathy; he’s gone forever, and that’s that.
Kerri pulled off the freeway and took the streets up toward her house.
In the mean time I’ve got a clean bill of health and a bright future, plenty of money in the bank and a whole new chapter of my career to look forward to. There’s no reason I should look on this weekend as anything other than an unqualified success, one I chose and one I made happen. I’ve taken control of my life, turned everything around in one fell swoop. And that took courage, that took risk and the risk paid off.
That’s control.
Kerri pulled up her driveway and turned off the engine. She looked at the big Tudor home she’d come so close to losing. Home at last, she thought. Maybe it’s time to do a bit more traveling, spend a little less time here or at the spa.
Maybe it’s time to call Fresno, talk to the folks again, and reconnect with Mom. Maybe there are a few things I have to say to her, things she needs to hear, about how young and stupid I was, about how sorry I am, about how much I love her.
Yeah, it’s a whole new era and a whole new Kerri Abernathy. Mark McCall’s widow is dead and gone. It’s time to stop looking behind me and start looking ahead. Thank you, Mr. Harden Steele, I’ll always appreciate what I’ve learned, and I’ll never forget you.
No matter how hard I try.
Kerri stepped out of the car and walked toward the front door. She slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open in front of her. The house was quiet, grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the living room. Kerri stepped into the house, reaching back to close the front door and step deeper into the foyer.
She made it about five feet before aggressive hands reached out from behind her. They grabbed her shoulders and spun her around in a flash. Kerri’s heart jumped when he shoved her against the wall, hard and flat behind her.
At first she thought, Harden?
But when her eyes refocused and that cold, hard gun shoved into her mouth, she knew how wrong she was.
“Good day to yous, Miss Thing.—” Kerri’s eyes were fixed on Mr. Death, standing in front of her in that black leather duster. His partner, Mr. Kill, stepped out from the living room. Mister Death went on, “Bet choo’s didn’t expect to see us, didja? Well, life’s full of little surprises, ain’t it?”
Chapter Eleven
Kerri was rigid with terror, not even flinching with that gun in her mouth. She knew one wrong twitch could make the gun go off accidentally, or even deliberately. She knew the end result would be the same. But she did notice the bruises on Mr. Death’s face, Mr. Kill standing with a slight list to one side.
“You and your slick Hollywood boyfriend,” Mr. Death sneered, “You thought you could shut me down, go over my head? Don Paulie’s men nearly beat us to death, lady ! I’m lucky to have a tooth in my head!”
He jammed the gun deeper into Kerri’s mouth, the cold metal pressing against the back of her throat.
“Lucky for us, your boyfriend’s courier never turned up at Don Paulie’s office with the money. ‘Course, it wasn’t really luck, was it? -Now we got an extra two hundred grand, and we’re sitting pretty when Don Paulie comes back to us, nice and apologetic. ‘You boys was right,’ he says, ‘y’got big t’ings ahead of you’s.’” -Mister Death chuckled, mean and shrill, shaking his head. “So he gives us another fifty G’-s each just to bring him your pretty head … among other parts.” Kerri gasped, spine still rigid, palms pressing flat against the wall behind her. “Yours and Richie Rich’s, of course. Don Paulie don’t like to be made no fool of. You didn’t know that, and the tuxedo didn’t know it. But we did. And knowledge is power, right?” He screamed, “Right?”
Kerri could only nod nervously, that deadly weapon still sticking into her open mouth, jaw muscles starting to cramp on both sides of her face.
“You and that walking mannequin you go out with think yer so great. Think yer some big-shot actress, running around with your tits out ? You two don’t know shit about life in the real world, sweetheart, but you’re about to find out.”
Kerri quivered, but he kept her pinned with that
oily gun in her mouth, coating her tongue with that sickening metallic taste.
“See, me and Mr. Kill here, we work for a living, we work hard for that living! We gotta do shit you’d never dream of doing ! We go places you’d never make it back from ! You think you’re so great ? You got nothin’ on workin’ men like us, and yer kind never will. You rich, fancy jerks make me sick! My daddy was a fisherman, drowned when I was six years old! While you grew up with a silver spoon up your ass ! You make me sick, all o’ you’s ! You think you can just steal the country, just take whatever you want, do whatever you want whenever you want ? Just because you're so rich and pretty, flashing your legs and your tits and that pretty pussy of yours; I don't think so.”
Kerri gasped, near to vomiting all over that terrible gun, still jammed into her mouth.
Mister Death looked Kerri over with a greedy grin. “And we’s allowed to do whatever we want to, Candy Pants, it’s a no-holds bar!” -Mister Death licked his lips. “I’ve been waiting for a crack at you for some time, baby.” -He sucked in a stream of air through his pursed lips, spit bubbling in his mouth. “It’s gonna be so good, sweet face. I’m gonna do you in ways your pissy pants boyfriend couldn’t even dream of. You’re gonna know what it’s like to be with a real man … for a little while, anyway.”
Kerri wanted to spit in his face, to knee him in the groin, but with that gun sticking in her mouth, she knew even the slightest movement could be her last. It took all her self-control to remain still and silent and not give in to her feelings of rebellion and offense.
It would be a fight she would never win.
Mister Death snickered, glancing around. “Lots of rooms in this fucking hotel. We got nothing but time and the whole place to ourselves.”
“Well,” a familiar voice said from behind Mr. Death, “Not entirely to yourselves.”
SOLD: Auctioned to the Billionaire (Steele Series Book 1) Page 7
