Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2)

by Brooke Blaine

  “Val—”

  “Let Xander know I’ll need another dress, stat—”

  “Val, I—”

  “—and to make sure it’s not another angry vagina dress or he’s fired—”

  “Val,” I said louder, causing her to stop and glower. “There’s one more thing. I’ll be working with Ace.”

  She lowered the phone back to its cradle. “Excuse me?”

  Don’t fidget, don’t fidget.

  “He, uh…said he’d like to work with me directly. I mean, if that’s okay.”

  “Told you that, did he?” A fake smile stretched across her skin, and then she muttered, “Cobwebs, my ass.”

  Uh oh.

  “I’m sure it’s because he knows how busy you are running the company—”

  “Don’t bother making up an excuse. I can see right through you, and I don’t mean your off-the-Goodwill-rack top.”

  Nordstrom Rack, actually, I corrected in my head.

  She stood and sauntered to the front of her desk and leaned against it. “But since you think you’re up to the task of handling this whoooole huge thing all by yourself, have at it.”

  “Wait, no. I don’t mean to do it all by myself—”

  “Oh nooo, I wouldn’t think to tread on your territory. You’ll find not just one perfect someone, but two perfect someones for our little gay bazillionaire.” Then she pushed off the desk and stepped toward me. “But just a warning, hooker. Your ass is on the line. If you fuck up by even the smallest fraction of an inch, I’ll have your freckled ass back on a Qantas flight to Australia to whatever podunk little town you escaped from so fast you won’t have time to remove my stiletto from your rectum.” Then she smiled, a friendly, evil smile. “We clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Good girl,” she said, and then went back to her chair.

  As I headed toward the door, I noticed I was shaking with adrenaline from the whole exchange, but I couldn’t leave without making sure Ace’s secret stayed, well, a secret.

  “Val?” I said, pivoting back to face her.

  “Hmm.”

  “You won’t tell anyone, right? It’s just if it got out, it would probably ruin his career, which is why he came to us in the first place. Because he trusts us.”

  She made the motion of sealing her lips. “I’d hate for that to happen. I always liked him as Ranger Joe Fox.” Then she grabbed her drink and kicked the chair around to face her back wall of windows, the conversation effectively over.

  With a sigh, I opened the door to leave and ran smack into front-desk Nicole.

  “Hey, watch it,” she said, as a stack of papers went flying out of her hands and she scrambled to get them.

  But she’d been too close to the door. Like, so close she could’ve been eavesdropping.

  “Hear anything interesting?” I asked after shutting Val’s door behind me.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Really.”

  She made a show of looking around the empty hallway. “Shayne. Are you hearing voices? Do people speak to you in your head?” Her face was one of mock sympathy. “You really should get that checked out.”

  “Is there any reason you’re standing outside Val’s office?”

  “Of course,” she said, holding up the stack of papers. “Val asked for these copies this morning, but then I saw the door was shut. Is she free now?”

  I knew she was lying. Knew it like I knew that Gucci handbag she kept propped up on her desk like a trophy was a big, fat fake, though she claimed otherwise to anyone who’d listen. I’d seen her buying it in Santee Alley in the fashion district a few blocks away, a place notorious for fifteen-dollar knockoffs.

  I gave her a long look. “You do remember you signed a confidentiality agreement when you started working here?”

  “What does that have to do with anything? Seriously, Shayne, what is your problem lately?” She put her hand on the knob and then over her shoulder said, “Maybe it’s time you hooked yourself up and stopped worrying about what everyone else is doing. You’re so paranoid.”

  With that, she stepped inside Val’s office and slammed the door shut in my face.

  Now, I’m not a violent person, but this girl had a swift uppercut and gut punch coming. And probably sooner rather than later.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Do You Accept This Rose?

  I’D BEEN A zombie all day, my mind solely focused on the people I needed to call between each break in clients and what favors I could possibly owe them for any connections they could give me. If this was what it was like to grovel, I was not a fan.

  I massaged my temples in slow circles as my to-do list loomed in my head.

  Deal with hormonal, psychopathic, drug-addicted boss and deranged co-worker? Check.

  Interview potential clients all day and ward off a total of two advances? Check.

  Find a celebrity beard and undercover boyfriend for A+-list movie star client ASAP or lose my job and end up singing off-key Michael Jackson songs on the train for money? Pshh, no big deal.

  Really. It wasn’t like I would end up in a shared apartment in Watts or anything. Or would I?

  Ohhhhh God, what have I done? I thought, banging my head on my desk. I’d never been one to beg, but it looked like I would have to get my knees dirty.

  Not in that way. I wouldn’t be stooping to sexual favors. Yet.

  When the clock neared six p.m., I gathered my things and closed up the office. Everyone was out the door before five, and that one hour of peace was heavenly before having to deal with train passengers and my roommates.

  As I stepped off the elevators, I noticed my favorite security guard still at his post.

  “Roberto?” I glanced up at the lobby clock. “It’s a little late for you, isn’t it?”

  Roberto looked over his shoulder, his perma-grin stretched wide, and his eyes twinkling something mischievous. “It is, Miss Callahan, but I got caught up talking to this nice young fellow.”

  Then he moved to the side and there he was. Like a knight in a dark pinstriped suit, Nate Ryan stepped out from behind Roberto with a single pink rose in his hand.

  I stopped moving, and my lips parted on an inhale.

  Nate didn’t look like a college guy in that tailored getup…oh no he didn’t. Face freshly shaven and with just a hint of those dimples, he would’ve melted the panties off any woman he wished.

  And to add to all that, I had a feeling there would be suspenders under that jacket. It was so twisted that it turned me on. Right? I mean, most girls get drooly over things like rock-hard abs, but nope. Suspenders. What the hell.

  He took a step toward me and said, “I realized too late that I didn’t get your phone number, but you’d mentioned what building you worked in…”

  I did? God, I didn’t remember that. No telling what else I divulged while under tequila’s thumb.

  When I didn’t move or respond, Nate’s smile faltered the smallest fraction.

  “Um.” He looked at Roberto and then back at me. “Is this okay? I hope you take it more like a nice surprise gesture than a crazy stalker gesture.”

  My mouth twitched at that.

  Roberto’s eyes were concerned as he moved up next to Nate. “If you want him gone, just say the word.”

  That shook me out of my stupor. “No, no, that’s okay—”

  “I mean it. I’ll make sure he spends the night in the dumpster.”

  “Not necessary, I promise. Besides,” I said, looking Nate up and down before smirking, “I could take him.”

  Roberto laughed. “No doubt about that, ma’am.”

  Relief swept over Nate’s handsome features before he quickly replaced it with a cocky grin.

  “Is that for me or Roberto?” I asked, motioning to the flower in his hand.

  “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “Whether you’ll go out with me.”

  “When? You mean now?”

  He nodded. “No
w.”

  After the hell day I’d had, all I wanted to do was take a long, hot bubble bath, especially considering how he’d left me in Vegas just a couple of nights ago.

  “That’s a nice offer, but I’ve got to work from home tonight—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Absolutely yes, I do. I had a rough day, and besides, you can’t just drop by unannounced and expect me to break my plans.”

  “With yourself.”

  “The best plans are always with myself.”

  “Until now,” he said, twirling the long stem in his hand. “You can give me a couple of hours. We’ll grab food, you’ll feel better, and then you can work as late as you want to. Otherwise Roberto here gets the final rose for best date chat tonight.”

  Roberto cleared his throat. “And on that note, you two have a good evening. I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Callahan.”

  “One day you’re gonna call me Shayne,” I called out after him before facing Nate again. “Look…I think it’s sweet you came all this way—”

  “Sweet?” he repeated, and shook his head. “Not sweet. Selfish, more like. Besides, you promised me a date, or did you forget Friday night already?”

  I tapped my lips. “Hmm. Was there a promise? I’m trying to remember. If there was, I’m sure it was meant for a weekend. With lots of advance notice. A girl’s got to plan for these things.”

  “What can I say, I’m impatient.” He held the rose out to me, and as I reached to take it, he pulled it back.

  “And…” he drawled, “persuasive.” He held it out again, and I narrowed my eyes before reaching for it, only to have him repeat the fake-out.

  “You’re also a pain in the ass, has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Probably not in the sense that you mean.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “And charming?”

  “And ridiculous.”

  “Does that mean you’ll go?”

  Snatching the rose out of his hand, I smiled sweetly. “I’m setting my timer, Romeo.”

  “Success,” he said, giving me a broad smile. “And I don’t even have a curfew tonight.”

  “I hope you’re kidding.”

  “Obviously.” He pushed open the door for me and we headed out into the windy evening. “Are you hungry? I know this great Italian place a couple of blocks over.”

  Running through the list of nearby restaurants in my mind, I frowned. “I don’t think there’s anywhere like that nearby. Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” he said, so confident his chest practically puffed out. Then he grabbed my hand and took the side closest to the road. Yes, I noticed. It was the little things that caught my attention, and that was a point on the gentleman side of the scoreboard for sure.

  “Well, then Italian sounds great.”

  We walked down the busy sidewalks, passing the happy-hour business crowd and the man on the corner playing his keyboard, with speakers blaring for all to hear. He was actually pretty good. I let go of Nate’s hand to fish for a dollar out of my bag before realizing what I’d done.

  I’d liked when his hand had grabbed mine. His grip was firm and strong, and mine had felt…protected. A ridiculous thought, since I’d never been one to need a man to make me feel safe. Not when I carried a pint of mace in my purse.

  But still. I liked that he’d grabbed for me without a thought, like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. It’d made my stomach flutter and my toes tingle.

  Again. Ridiculous.

  I tossed the dollar inside the music man’s tip jar and tried not to look at Nate’s hand or think about the fact that I wanted him to reach out for me again. Instead, I looked at his face, all smooth skin and strong jaw, and noticed he was watching me with a curious expression.

  “What?” I asked. Do I have lunch leftovers on my face?

  He gave me a soft smile and held out his hand again. I tried not to seem too eager as I took it and walked alongside him.

  “It’s just around this corner,” Nate said. “I used to come here my first two years in college and work on assignments for hours. They have the best meatballs in the—” He stopped abruptly as we came to an empty storefront. He looked up as if to check if the sign was still there, but there was nothing.

  “Huh,” he said under his breath, and then peered in the window. “I was just here a few months ago, and they didn’t say anything…”

  I pointed to the paper taped to the outside of the door. “It looks like they left a note.”

  Nate walked up and read the sign and then shook his head. “Closed after thirty-five years,” he mumbled, and turned toward me. “Well, uh. Looks like Plan A is out. How do you feel about Thai food?”

  * * *

  “YOU GOTTA BE kidding me.” Nate pulled at the door handle of Tiki Thai’s Kitchen again, but it didn’t budge.

  I could only laugh and nod at the hours of operation sign hidden in the corner of the window. “Looks like it’s a lunch-only place.”

  He ran his fingers through his tousled brown strands as he groaned in frustration. Dropping his hands, he gave me an apologetic look. “I am so, so sorry—”

  “Don’t be, you tried. It’s kinda cute.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Kinda cute, huh?”

  “Yeah, you’re basically the worst date planner ever, but it’s fun to see you flustered. I’m sure that doesn’t happen often.”

  He groaned again and then pulled out his phone. “Okay, let me see what’s around here that is open.”

  “We could always go there,” I said, pointing at the restaurant behind him.

  He glanced over his shoulder and then looked back at me in horror. “Funny. You’re a funny girl.”

  “Hey, why not? It’s food. Plus I’m sure they’ll have the heat on. I doubt we’ll find much else close by, since most everything around here is for the day crowd.”

  “I’m not taking you there on a date.” His voice was adamant.

  “It’s really not that big a deal. Look, I’m walking. I’m walking over there. Watch me go.” I headed toward the crosswalk, and once the sign turned white to go, I began to cross the street and peeked to see him still standing on the corner. “Stubborn as a bull. Okay, you keep standing there. I’ll be inside where it’s warm, eating something super greasy and bad for me.”

  I faced forward just in time to trip over a pothole, but this time I caught myself before I could splatter all over the pavement. Good thing, since my knee was still scuffed up from falling pantsless. “Damn potholes,” I muttered. “Way to go, Gracie.” As I righted myself, Nate reached my side.

  “You just wanted to get me to cross the road. I get it. No need for dramatics,” he said with a laugh.

  I glared at him but still took his offered hand to help me onto the sidewalk.

  He shook his head at the sign above the door. “Just remember you asked for this.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It’s Not a Date without a Concussion

  I SQUEEZED MORE syrup on my chocolate chip waffle and then took a bite, closing my eyes to enjoy the sweet mix of chocolate, maple, and buttermilk. “Mmm, so good. Waffles are dessert in Australia, so really it’s like I’m skipping dinner altogether.”

  Nate watched me from across the booth with an amused look on his face. “You’re going to tell all your friends I took you to IHOP on our first date. They’re gonna call me IHOP guy and think I can’t afford to take you somewhere nicer.”

  “How about shut it and eat your pancakes.”

  He chuckled and took another bite. He’d gotten chocolate chip too. “Bossy yet low-key. An unusual combination for an L.A. girl.”

  “Well, that’s why. I’m not an L.A. girl.”

  “No. No, you are definitely not that.”

  “And what about you? You mentioned you grew up in Orange County, I think?”

  “Yeah, I did, but I didn’t move there until I was eight. My family’s originally from Michigan’s thumb.”
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  “Michigan’s what?”

  “It’s thumb. The state is shaped like a mitten.” He held up his hand, fingers together, and pointed to a spot on his thumb. “I grew up right about there.”

  “Huh. You learn something new every day. That would explain why your jacket is off and your sleeves are rolled up even though it’s freezing outside.” I’d kept my peacoat on even in the restaurant, since the cold air kept filtering in every time the door opened. I’d have given almost anything for some thick sweatpants.

  “It can’t be less than fifty-five.”

  “Exactly. Anything under seventy and I stop functioning.”

  “Now you sound like an L.A. girl.”

  “Maybe it’s rubbed off a bit. I’ve heard you mimic those you’re around.”

  “That’s true. So, I’m curious…” He sat back in the booth and wiped his mouth with his serviette. “You said you weren’t on a date with Ace Locke the other night—”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “And it was just business?”

  “It was.”

  “Well, I thought about that, and I came up with a few different ideas about what that business could be if I could run them by you.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  He leaned forward and steepled his hands, resting his chin on top of them. “Director?”

  “Of movies? Hah, no.”

  “Talent agent?”

  “Negative.”

  “Stunt coordinator?”

  “I can barely walk on two feet.”

  “Good point. Business manager?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm. Professional escort?”

  I choked on my orange juice and quickly covered my mouth as the liquid sputtered out. When I’d recovered, I said, “You’re not serious.”

  “Hey, I saw you Friday night, and so did everyone else in that club. You’re stunning, Shayne, and any guy alive would pay to get close to you if that’s what it took.”

  I pursed my lips and wondered how to take that. On one hand, he could’ve been insinuating I used my looks for money. On the other, he’d just called me stunning…

  “Stop analyzing that comment, please. I can see the wheels turning in your head. Take it as a compliment.”