The girls looked puzzled by my presence in the kitchen. "Karen, Sarai, this is Sadie. She's my chef-slash-assistant this summer. Sadie, Karen, Sarai."
"Hi," the brunette said. The blond waved. I nodded and smiled hesitantly, pretending to be occupied by the food in front of me.
"Ladies, last night was a blast, but I have some business to take care of. So I'll see you at the party next week?" I was impressed with how smoothly he kicked them out. Damn he's good.
"Okay Heath," said the blond who kissed him on the side of his head as he sat on a barstool. "Call me!" She waved her pinky and thumb up to her cheek. Ugh.
They went back upstairs to grab their stuff and within minutes they were gone.
"I thought they were eating?"
"Well, you said you wanted to talk, so I got rid of them." I liked that he respected me enough to do so, but the way he dismissed them was also so typical of his ilk.
"Oh."
"So shoot."
He couldn't really be this clueless. He's clever, he has a way with people. Yet, he wanted me to say it, to remind him how badass he is, getting two hot women in bed.
"Listen, I know it's your house. And I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but I couldn't sleep last night. You guys were blasting the music at like three in the morning."
He nodded, absorbing my complaint. He stood there for a few extra seconds, waiting for more. "That's it?"
"Well, yes I guess." I just couldn't bring myself to tell him I had seen his menage.
He laughed a little, minimizing my anger and making me feel petty. "Yeah, I thought it was obvious that I am a bit of a nighthawk. If the music bothers you, I promise I'll keep it low during the week. Also feel free to just tell me instead of dealing with it. I told you, I am open, you can relax."
A knot of discomfort built up inside of me. He knew full well that if I had left my room last night (which I did), I would have seen him in the middle of sex worthy of its own porn series.
"Like I said, it's your house. Honestly, I don't feel comfortable enough to make requests like that in the moment." I slid his breakfast on a plate and placed it in front of him.
"Aren't you going to eat too?"
"Well, I'm here to cook for you. I was just going to grab something when I go run some errands." I usually didn't eat with Brock because I didn't live with him. This experience was a little different in that I needed to eat in the same home as the person I was cooking for.
"Nonsense," he said, cutting his omelet in half.
"No! Don't do that." He'd end up being hungry again in an hour and asking me to cook for him again.
"I want you to eat with me. I don't like this serve and watch stuff."
"I usually don't watch. I just leave."
"But, we are here having a discussion and I don't want to eat while you just stand there."
"Okay," I said. "I'll make myself breakfast while we finish up," I quickly threw a couple of eggs into the already hot skillet and whipped them up.
"So where were we? Oh yeah late nights. Meh, I suspect pretty soon you'll be staying up just as late as me anyway." What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"I doubt that. I don't have that kind of stamina," I said, plating my scramble.
"I bet you do," he said devilishly. This fucking guy.
"You know, for someone who is so interested in preserving his looks, you party hard."
"I take lots of naps, get lots of massages, drink lots of water, and get lots of facials" he said without a hint of jest in his tone, then taking a bite of his feta, basil, onion and sun-dried tomato omelet. "Dayum woman! This is good."
"Thanks."
"You will have fun this summer." He jutted his fork out at me. "I don't permit party pooping in this house."
"I've sensed that, but I don't think we have the same idea of fun."
"Oh, do you go to the library and read books all day?" he asked in a pouty baby voice.
"Oh shut it." As much as he got under my skin, I already felt comfortable enough with him for playful, or not so playful, banter.
We sat in silence for a few moments, but after a bit he stared at me as if he was trying to read my thoughts.
"Yes? May I help you?"
"I think I figured it out."
"What?"
"Someone did you dirty, didn't they?"
"Excuse me?"
"Some guy. Fucked you over badly. Maybe more than one. You seem bitter."
The callousness. The unmitigated gall. "You think you have me figured out?" I asked, resisting the urge to stick my fork in my new boss's eyeball.
"Just an observation. From the look on your face, I think I'm right."
I bit the inside of my upper lip to stop it from quivering. It was day two and I had already had my share of this man. Think of the money I chanted in my head. It's only one summer. Heath Hillabrand is not the only person who can read people. I have him figured out too. Touché motherfucker.
"I'm going for a run."
"You barely ate."
"I don't really have an appetite any longer."
He smirked. He fucking smirked. No: "I am so sorry, I crossed the line my dearest new employee." A smirk.
CHAPTER NINE
My first week in the Hillabrand household flew by. Planning the party got out of control just as fast. Every time I accomplished one task, Heath wanted to add something new: valet service, gorgeous half-naked servers, go-go dancers, and even an ice sculpture. To top it all off, he failed to mention he would be flying off to be on a shoot location for three days in the middle of the week. His being gone for most of the week meant minimal sex screams and awkward innuendo, but I wasn't spared every night. There was that girl who sounded like a squeak toy every time his headboard hit the wall at five in the fucking morning, and one girl who was so hammered, she wandered to the kitchen after sex with Heath and then crawled back into bed with me! I almost judo chopped her in the neck when she tried to spoon me. Needless to say, I was glad for his absence for at least part of the week as I was not sure I could've handled a lack of sleep on top of all of that stress. Despite him being away, we spoke on the phone several times a day to keep in touch regarding the details of the party and any other tasks he needed help with.
Friday night rolled by and I spent most of the day setting up for the party. At about five, I stole away to take a shower and get ready. I put my hair up into a large bun, and zipped myself into a strapless black midi pencil dress. The neckline peaked into two points at the top of each cup and dipped very low in the middle, giving the dress a sexy yet polished look. I wore a pair of stilettos with a black front, nude back and heel, and gold ankle straps. My feet would hurt like hell by the end of night, but there was no way I was going to wear this dress with flats. For makeup, I went with a smokey eye and a nude lipstick a few shades paler than my actual lip. Yeah, I looked hot. I wanted to remind Heath that despite his image of me as a pathetic, book-reading, party pooper, I was fucking sexy and I could party, I just chose not to do so with his obnoxious ass.
Before I turned the knob to the bedroom door, I took one last look at myself and inhaled deeply. My night was going to be crazy busy and this would be the final moment of stillness before the insanity. I stepped into the hallway just as Heath emerged from his bedroom. His hair was styled differently, shaved at the sides and long up top, but slicked back. The stubble on his tanned face contrasted with the neatness of his hair. A pair of faded gray slim jeans with just the right amount of tatter hung low on his hips, propped up by his perfectly sculpted ass. A tight white shirt with short sleeves and a henley neckline, the top three buttons undone, revealed his prominent clavicle. His footwear was surprisingly playful: red all-leather classic Adidas mid-tops.
"Wow," he said, seemingly caught off guard. "You look smokin' tonight. Seriously."
"Thank you." It surprised me how validated I felt by his compliment.
"Shall we?" He offered me his arm. The gentlemanly gesture was pleasant, but unexpect
ed. I accepted it and we headed for the stairs together.
"You look great too, but you already know that. You get paid for it." Oh how it pained me to pet his enormous ego.
"Compliments still mean something. I bet pros still like to hear they're good in bed," he winked at me. He sure has a way with words.
While we were upstairs, early arrivers had already begun to trickle into the house and I was surprised to find an already active party. When we got to the base of the staircase Heath leaned into my ear. "You did a great job. Everything looks great. Have some fun tonight will you?" He kissed my temple in a brotherly way, or so I thought, and called out to a group of friends before I could even respond. My goal that night was not to have fun. I was working; the many moving parts of this evening had to run smoothly. A headset kept me in touch with the lead of each segment: catering, valet, and security had access to me through it. I felt very official.
I had prepared for a tsunami of issues, but to my surprise things ran quite smoothly. This was mostly due to security being at the front gate and stationed throughout the property. This meant only exclusive guests attended and kept stupid assholes acting up to a minimum. Catering did an impressive job, consistently dishing out hors d'oeuvres via some very leggy half-naked servers dressed in red latex mini dresses. Don't judge. Not my call, okay?
The party was mainly relegated to the vast main floor which was chicly decorated in mostly white and illuminated with a pale blue hue. One of the top DJs in the country, part of the younger generation of of a well-known old-money family who has summered for decades in the Hamptons, agreed to DJ the party at the last minute. He was a friend of Heath's, which was the only reason he accepted a gig on such late notice. Well, that, and the knowledge that the party would be wall-to-wall models and dick-thirsty model wannabes.
An hour and a half later and the house was full; the place was bumping. Ironically, I felt I could finally take a breath as all gears continued to run smoothly. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing latex-clad cocktail server and found myself awkwardly standing alone. I hadn't seen Heath since we parted ways a couple of hours earlier and I wondered what he was up to. I knew no one at this event and against every cell in my being, I felt myself gravitating towards his familiar presence. Fight it. Fight it hard.
Then, as if it happened because she really owed it to me, Mindy came barreling towards me from across the room.
"Sadie!"
"Hey! I wasn't sure you could make it."
"No way was I missing your first party. This thing is the talk of the Hamptons. You did a great job, these signature cocktails are the tits!" She's already drunk. "Where's Señor Hillabrand?"
"I don't know. I've been so busy."
"Oh, they'll be fine without you. You've done your job. Let's find him."
"No, let's not."
"Uh oh, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, he's just a lot."
"Come on. He's not that bad."
"You don't know the half of it. My first night was a nightmare of epic proportions. The only reason I am not losing my mind is because he was gone most of the week."
"What happened?"
"The story is far too long to tell now, and I don't think you would believe me if I told you."
"I'm a manager. I'd believe anything after some of the shit my clients have pulled."
"Maybe I'm just too green."
"Come on, have another drink." She swiped a cocktail and handed it to me. "You need to loosen up."
"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?"
"Come on." Mindy grabbed my hand and dragged me through the party. "I bet he's upstairs!"
"Oh, no. We're not going up there. That means he's fucking someone."
"Or that's where the real party is!"
I didn't have the energy to continue protesting. We made our way upstairs and she's right, laughter spilled out from the media room, indicating there was fun being had. It died down a little as Mindy busted the door open and some Hamptons snobs turned their noses up skeptically at us. Heath looked up, his face flushed from alcohol consumption. "Minds! Sadie! Where have you been all my life?" (Minds is not a typo, it pronounced like the "Lind" in Lindor Truffles, or the "Synd" in syndication. And don't roll your eyes at my terrible rhyming skills.)
Mindy gave Heath a big hug and claimed her space with him, making some of the women in his perimeter take a few steps back. "Come here," Heath reached out his hand to me. I looked side to side, feeling all eyes on me, and hesitantly gave mine up to him. He pulled me in close so that Mindy, Heath and I formed a tight clique, forcing the hangers-on to disperse and speak with one another.
"Did Sadie do a fantastic job or what?"
"I know! I told you she was good."
"I know why Brock wanted you to follow him to Houston." His hand moved around my waist and rested on my hip, making me tense up.
"I am so glad she didn't leave New York permanently. I would've literally died." Mindy, such an exaggerator.
"Thanks guys."
"You know what though? I don't think your friend likes me." He winked at me as he said this.
"I'm sure that's not true," Mindy chimed, looking at me, knowing full well that it was.
I wasn't sure what to say. I kind of hated him, even though he had his moments. If I bullshitted, it would be obvious. Luckily Heath spoke before I could say anything.
"The thing is I like her. I think she's smart and underneath the stiff exterior I bet she's a shit load of fun."
"She so is! Just wait!" Mindy, please shut the fuck up.
"I like women who put their guard up. Makes me work."
"I should go check on the catering." Shit he smells so good.
"No!" Mindy cried.
"Hells no! I'm sure it's fine and I am determined for you to have fun tonight. I'm the boss and I am ordering you. Let's go."
Heath put his arms around both of our shoulders and lead us back to the party downstairs. The eyes of all his potential ass-pieces bored holes through my body as we left the media room. Don't worry ladies, he is all yours tonight. The third drink was handed to me by Heath, who pulled me up to him to dance. Mindy had already found a young hottie to cling to and so it was just him and me.
I tried to shake Heath off, but eventually I relented to his persistence.
"Come on, take some shots with me."
"I have to stay alert. I'm already three drinks in now."
"Don't worry about it. The party is handled. Let's get to know each other, roomie."
We headed to the bar and Heath grabbed an entire bottle of Petron, a lime, and a salt shaker.
"Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Follow me."
We passed the pool and a security guard. We were now outside of the limits of the party. There was a small wooden fence that I had never crossed, assuming it was the border of his property.
"Are we trespassing?"
"No! This is part of the house."
He opened the wooden barrier and beyond the lush green foliage there was a small path which opened up to a rock garden. It was palely lit by a few lanterns and looked so peaceful and serene in this dark night.
"This is so gorgeous."
"I know. Sold me on the place when I looked around. Check this out." He grabbed a rake and raked the sand. I stood there not sure if I should act impressed by the very mundane display. "That seemed much cooler in my head," he confessed. I tried hard not to smile.
"So you want to do tequila shots here? Doesn't seem like the proper venue," I asked.
"Yeah, it was too loud to hear you speak in there half of the time."
"Okay, but just two. I don't want to get sick. And we use arms."
"Strictly professional," he winked. Dammit, he's growing on me again, like mold.
We used our own arms to host the salt lick and so the first shot was purely platonic. I get friendly when I drink and so each drink bore another chink in my armor.
"You hate me?
Don't you?"
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"See? You don't even deny it."
"I don't hate you."
"Tell me. You can be honest. I won't fire you. I promise."
"A drunken reassurance. How ironclad."
"I think I've been pretty good to you so far, so I'd like to know. Honestly, this doesn't happen to me. So it drives me nuts when it does." I hold in a laugh. That is precisely why I can't stand you.
"I don't hate you."
"But I get under your skin."
"Really? You really want me to go there?"
"Bring it."
"I don't hate you. I just know your type."
"My type?" he asked, in an over the top innocent manner.
"You're good looking, you get all the girls, the world is your oyster."
"And that's a problem because?"
"Because people get hurt by people like you. The rest of us. The plebes."
"You're no plebe."
"If you say so."
"So wait, you don't like me because I use my looks to get ahead?"
"I never said I didn't like you."
"Right."
"It's just that you probably never suffer consequences. Guys want to be you and girls want to fuck you and so you can just do whatever you please."
"You know what's funny about you? You walk around like you are some sort of plain-Jane who has never benefitted off of her looks."
"I haven't."
"Bullshit. You think Brock would have hired you if you looked like Julia Child? Or I would have for that matter? The only difference between you and I is that I acknowledge my advantage and you just sit on your high horse while you benefit from the same exact thing." The strange thing about our conversation was, even though we were being so direct, we weren't fighting, at least it didn't feel that way. It was one of the more open conversations I can remember ever having.
"I would like to think I was hired for my skills and credentials." I knew that was total bullshit in this case. "The difference between us is far greater than that. And trust me, I consider people's feelings. I don't go through life using people just because I can."
Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel Page 5
