The Consequence of Seduction

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “OTIS!” I corrected. “He looks nothing like E.T.”

  “Damn, you look smaller in real life, wanna go on a bike ride?” Otis’s tail started wagging. “You do? You do want to go on a bike ride? Quick, phone home!” Bark, bark, bark.

  “What is he? The dog whisperer?” I elbowed a silent Reid.

  “The one and only day he went to Boy Scouts was when they went to a petting zoo . . . he got a badge for taking care of the animals. That damn badge has been a thorn in my side for years. Years, I tell you.”

  “Reid’s jealous.” Max patted Otis’s head. “The only badge he got was for selling cookies—then again we all know what really happened. Don’t you know drug dealers aren’t supposed to take their own product?”

  “Huh?” I blinked at Reid. “Drug dealers?”

  “Girl Scout cookies,” Reid explained. “Legal crack.”

  “Ah.” I nodded. “Got it.”

  “So.” Reid stood. “This is what’s going to happen. Jordan and I are going to try to fix what you guys ruined—thanks for that, by the way—and Max, I don’t want to hear or see you until all this is through.”

  Max looked guiltily down at the ground.

  “Max?” Reid repeated. “Max, what did you do?”

  Max yawned. “It’s getting late. We should probably—”

  “—Max.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine. Under the slight possibility that calling in didn’t work, I may have sort of . . .” More coughing. “Booked us all flights to Vegas this next weekend. The plan was to get you drunk.”

  “Good plan.” I nodded in approval while Max winked in my direction. “But we aren’t going.”

  Max pouted.

  Reid touched my arm. “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea. I mean . . . we have to go through with this, or at least pretend to, right?”

  Crap. Crap. Crap. He was right, but . . . the last thing I needed was to be on a plane with Max, of all people.

  Or sit next to Reid.

  Or pretend to marry him in what’s actually one of my favorite places in the world. It just seemed unfair.

  “Jordan.” Reid turned me toward him. “Come on, you had a shit day; it’s been a hell of a week. Let Max pay for a weekend getaway. We’ll go to a few choice clubs. You can call ahead of time, right? And let them know we’re making appearances?”

  I nodded and bit on my lower lip, almost drawing blood. “But you still have a few scenes to shoot.”

  “I’ll finish up this week, and if they need me for anything else, I’ll stay, but we’ve gotten a lot done. We’re ahead of schedule.”

  Why couldn’t they be behind?

  Max stood and crossed his arms. “What say you, Shrew?”

  I say Max should have to fly on the outside of the plane, strapped to the wing with a cape, so it gets caught.

  “Fine,” I huffed. “Let’s do it.”

  “VEGAS!” Max yelled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  REID

  The week went by painfully slowly. Probably because I was looking forward to getting away from the media. It had gotten worse since Jordan’s and my announcement. And when I say worse, I mean we’d gone from trending for a day on Twitter to being followed by cameras everywhere we went. It was impossible to get a damn cup of coffee without someone snapping a picture or asking why we weren’t together.

  The attention I could get used to—I was an actor, it was part of the game. But the negativity toward Jordan seriously pissed me off. I was painted as some sort of hero for dating a girl who didn’t meet the entertainment industry’s standards for pretty.

  Apparently people thought it was romantic that I’d fallen in love with the ugly girl. The Wonderwall on MSN was filled with unflattering pictures of Jordan with spilled coffee on her shirt and lipstick askew, among other things, while all of my pictures looked flawless. If they only knew her, they’d realize she was just accident-prone, not ugly—not by a long shot.

  One entertainment blog went as far to call me a saint for dating an average girl with big, childbearing hips.

  I almost cussed them out on live TV when the interviewer brought it up, but Jordan, bless her heart, managed to kick me with one of her sharp heels before I made an ass out of myself. Fat? Who the hell would call her fat? She had curves, gorgeous, luscious, spellbinding curves that had me losing sleep every damn night because my stupid hands refused to forget what it felt like to cup her perfect ass.

  Thankfully almost all of my on-camera interviews included Jordan, meaning she was always right there, pinching me before I said something stupid, and ever since news of our engagement broke loose, I was more than likely to say something that would be offensive, probably because of all the stress and lies.

  “Dude.” Colton cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting a moment between you and your Starbucks? Because I’m not gonna lie, I feel really uncomfortable with the way your gaze is lingering on that mermaid.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, just thinking.”

  “Good.” He exhaled. “Because for a minute there I thought were going to have to have a serious talk about your Starbucks addiction.”

  I sighed and took a seat. “When’s the flight leave again?”

  “Five o’clock on the dot from JFK.” He toyed with his coffee straw and then started fidgeting with a napkin.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Huh?” He glanced up. “What do you mean?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Colt, you’re shit at hiding things. What’s wrong?”

  He cleared his throat. “Do you, uh, think this is a good idea?”

  I let out a long sigh through my lips. “Well, it’s not a bad one, I can tell you that. Jordan lined up three separate appearances for Vegas, the buzz is huge for the movie, and according to Entertainment Weekly, I’m the next Jeremy Renner. So, yeah, I’m thinking it’s a better idea than staying here and holing up in my apartment just because the lie got a little bit bigger than we all expected.”

  “Bigger.” Colt’s eyebrows shot up. “People named you the hottest couple of the year. Bigger is an understatement.”

  I waved him off, even though my chest started clenching with what I’d assumed was panic. “I trust Jordan. She’s the best. If she says it’s going to be okay, then it’s going to be okay.”

  “And that’s another thing.” Colt leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “How do you know she’s not really falling for you? I mean, are you sure things aren’t progressing past a simple PR trick?”

  “Because she’s a professional,” I said quickly, even though my heart started hammering against my chest so hard I was afraid Colt was going to see right through the bullshit. Forget Jordan, I was the one I was worried about. Was that selfish? Yeah, a bit, but I liked her, really liked her.

  She was beautiful.

  Hilarious.

  Held her own with Max.

  Focused.

  Goal oriented.

  Had the sexiest mouth I’d ever seen.

  Oh, right, and she held her own with Max. That demanded to be said at least twice, possibly three times.

  Hell, what wasn’t to like?

  “You’re staring at the mermaid again,” Colton deadpanned. “And sorry to break it to you, but your cup isn’t a magic lamp, and no matter how many times you rub the Starbucks logo, the topless mermaid won’t pop out of the cup and offer you three wishes.”

  One. I really only needed one.

  A do-over with Jordan.

  A way to make her see me as more than just her client. It was a bad idea. A horrible idea.

  Try and really seduce her.

  Because for the first time in . . . hell, I didn’t even know how long—she made me want more than just a first date.

  Or even a third.

  “So should I go now?” Colt stood.

  “Sit.” I pushed the cup away. “Sorry, lost in my thoughts.”

  “Do that shit on your own time.” Colt put a napkin over the mermaid and
folded his hands on the table. “Look, I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt, and girls . . . they’re emotional. Believe me, I’m married to one.”

  “Damn it, I knew there was something different about Milo!” I snapped my fingers and pounded the table.

  “Hilarious.” Colt rolled his eyes. “Just be careful.” A camera flashed outside the window. “Now that you can’t piss without having your picture taken, if things go south . . .”

  South. I smirked. Please let them go south. I could do a lot of damage with south.

  “Dude, look at me that way again and I’m going to punch you in the nuts.”

  “You sounded like Max just then.” I laughed.

  Colt didn’t.

  “Not a compliment, was it?”

  Colt shook his head very slowly.

  “Sorry.” I stood. “I’m going to pack and I’ll see you guys later at the airport . . . Jason’s coming, right?”

  “Yeah.” Colton threw our cups in the trash as we walked out. “But his parents made him swear to bring a helmet.”

  “He’s twenty-four, why the hell would he need a helmet?”

  “Because Milo will be there, and the last time they traveled together Jason suffered three blunt head wounds and a black eye. Guy wore a patch for a full week. We still call him Sparrow.”

  I nodded. “Think if we get him drunk enough in Vegas we can convince him to get an actual Sparrow tramp stamp on his lower back?”

  Colt chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “We can always blame Max once Jason wakes up from his drunken stupor.”

  “Really, we’d be doing him a favor.”

  “Yeah, we’ll just have to make sure we tell him that when he wakes up with ink above his low-rise jeans.”

  I checked my watch. “All kidding aside, I really need to get back to the apartment.” I kept my head down, making sure my hat and sunglasses were in place. “I’ll see you at the airport.”

  Colton put on his black Ray-Bans and nodded. “Think they’ll have enough alcohol on that plane to sedate us? I’m worried that we’ll all be traveling with Max in such confined space.”

  “Welcome to my hell.” I turned around and waved. “See ya soon.”

  Colt returned my wave and hailed a taxi while I made my way down the street.

  While waiting for the walk signal, I pulled out my phone and texted Jordan, who I’d programmed into my phone as Sebastian.

  Me: You packed?

  Sebastian: NOTHING FITS!

  Me: Why the all caps?

  Sebastian: You cook too well and my swimsuit from last year looks like . . . hell, it looks horrible. I can’t wear it. I can’t.

  Me: Naked suits you. I thought we discussed this?

  Sebastian: Prison, however, does not, so if you want me to stay out, I need to go shopping, but I don’t have time and Otis cried when I dropped him off at doggie day care.

  Me: Dogs don’t cry.

  Sebastian: Full-on sobs!

  Me: He’s fine.

  Sebastian: I left him a toy, do you think he thinks I abandoned him?

  Me: Yes.

  Sebastian: I CAN’T GO TO VEGAS!

  Okay, damage control was seriously not working. With a flick of my wrist, I looked at the time. I had a few hours left—I could pack like a champ. I was going to officially fix one problem.

  Me: You’re going to Vegas. What’s your size . . . I’ll stop by Saks.

  Sebastian: Never ask a woman what size she is!

  Me: If you don’t tell me I’ll just buy every size and return the rest.

  Sebastian: . . .

  Me: Spit it out. Didn’t hear you!

  Sebastian: Eight.

  Me: And what a beautiful eight . . . I’ll pick out a few suits. And before you freak out, I have amazing fashion sense. Also, Otis is fine, he’s just spoiled and wants to go with. It’s the weekend, not a month. He’ll make friends and probably fall in love with a Chihuahua named Milo, they’ll hump like rabbits and have miniature E.T. aliens and all will be right in the world. Now get your ass packed.

  Sebastian: A Chihuahua? Really?

  Me: PACK!

  Sebastian: DON’T YELL!

  Me: Pack, please.

  Sebastian: Fine, and I like black.

  Me: Great, because you’re getting red!

  Sebastian: I said black.

  Me: Sorry, losing cell service.

  Sebastian: Texting service?

  Me: A:DGJDG:HDGJSDLKJGF

  Sebastian: REID!

  Me: JORDAN!

  I shoved my phone back in my pocket though it continued to buzz, I’m sure with expletives and other choice language. I couldn’t remember the last time a girl getting irritated with me actually made my day.

  Whistling, I crossed the street and went into Saks.

  In the past, spending money on a woman seemed pointless. Why buy them something when it wasn’t going to last? But for some reason, after picking out the suit and a few other items, and sliding my card across the counter, the relationship felt . . . real.

  And I liked it.

  Maybe too much.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  JORDAN

  I had a hard time swallowing the fact that I was traveling to Vegas with relative strangers, one of them a known terrorist—okay, maybe that was an exaggeration on my part. But I don’t care what Max claims about his so-called innocence. There was no way a guy like that had never been zip-tied to an air marshal. No way in hell. And when I asked him if he’d ever been arrested on a plane, his answer was to start singing, “I’ve got friends in low places.”

  Pretty sure by the end of the trip one or all of us would wish we’d brought sedatives or at least some masking tape to cover his mouth. Already I’d been tempted to physically harm the guy after an incident where he unzipped my carry-on and started riffling through my crap.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm while my nails dug into my palms so I wouldn’t deck him.

  Max continued riffling, then paused. “Oh, sorry, I thought it was my bag.”

  “Mine’s pink.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “And mine’s green, but I’m color-blind.”

  “Highly doubt it.” I jerked my bag away from him, but not before his pinkie finger shot into the air with my new red leopard bathing suit hanging from it. “Kitty gonna play?”

  I swiped the suit and shoved it back into the suitcase and growled. “Kitty’s gonna play with your dead body if you search through my stuff again.”

  “Please, like it was on purpose.” He grinned.

  “Everything”—I sighed—“and I do mean everything, is on purpose when it comes to you.”

  “Aw.” He winked.

  Three days. I could do anything for three days, right?

  I couldn’t back out now, though, especially since Ren thought going to Vegas was akin to Reid and me getting married and having a love child.

  “Publicity for this kid has been off the charts!” He beamed. “Good job, Jordan, this is your best yet!”

  How could I say no to that? Especially since my promotion was all but set in stone if I could keep myself from killing Reid’s next of kin.

  As if on cue, Max made a loud joke about how Jason smoked all his pot before he got to the airport so he wouldn’t have to lie about having a medical prescription.

  It was that moment that solidified that every airport employee hates their job, possibly their existence, as a TSA employee glared in Jason’s direction, then narrowed her eyes and started talking into her radio.

  Jason glared at Max but wasn’t stopped—then again, they wouldn’t stop him for something like that, not unless they actually found illegal drugs on him while going through security.

  I cracked my neck and clenched my bag tighter. It wasn’t my first time in Vegas; I loved it there. I should be excited. Instead, eyes on Max, all I could think was that I should have said no.

  Maybe I’d look back on this very moment and say, “Thi
s is where things went awry.” Yes, awry. And all because of Max Emory and his evil, self-serving plans.

  My eyes narrowed in on him as I stepped through security.

  And it beeped.

  Like twenty times.

  I was the last to go through, so the rest of the crew were already waiting on the other side, staring at me.

  “Ma’am.” One of the TSA people stepped forward. His eyebrow was one giant line across the top of his forehead, and his eyes were rimmed with red. Out of all the employees to be strip-searching me, I was stuck with Bert, not Ernie, who was currently giving a sticker to a little kid along with a high five. “Please step aside.”

  He pulled out a wand and started moving it slowly over my body. “Spread your arms and legs, please.”

  Max held up his phone and snapped a picture. I rolled my eyes and got in position as the stick made its way down the front of my jeans. It beeped.

  “It’s probably the button,” I said helpfully.

  Bert stood. “Ma’am, let me do my job. You do yours and stand there.”

  “O-okay.”

  He ran the wand around me again. If I closed my eyes I could almost imagine he was my fairy godmother and in a few seconds I’d be two sizes smaller with long, glossy hair and boobs that got me through security based on the fact that they were so awesome the metal detector ceased working in their presence.

  “Well . . .” Bert brought the wand back. “I think it’s just the button.”

  No crap.

  With clenched teeth, I nodded and started walking toward my waiting bag.

  “Ma’am?” An attractive twentysomething man with a kind smile pointed to my carry-on. “This yours?”

  “Yes.” Seriously? Out of everyone going on this trip, I was the one getting stopped? There was no way Max wasn’t on some sort of watch list, damn it!