by Avery Flynn
He chuckled. “You’re quite welcome, but the studio didn’t send me. They should have sent someone. In fact, you should tell whoever is directing or producing your piece that you need some kind of security if you’re going to be working on this project and staying at the Johnson Arms. The press aren’t likely to back off just because you’re cute.”
Torn between blushing at his compliment and outrage at the reprimand in his voice, she settled for shoving some chips in her mouth and crunching. Chewing gave her time to swallow her anger. Public displays of emotion weren’t acceptable in the Sato family. Control always. “Duly noted. Thank you for the advice.”
“It’s not advice, it’s a real suggestion. They were swarming you this morning, I don’t think you understand how pushy the press can be.”
He sounded like he spoke from experience. While she thought she should recognize his familiar face from somewhere, she couldn’t place it. Doing her best not to stare, she studied him.
“Hoshi Sato,” she said belatedly, mentally kicking herself for not having introduced herself so sooner.
“I know who you are,” he said. This time his smile was genuine, as was the humor within it. “I’m Archer Durham.” He leaned forward and extended his hand. She wiped her palm quickly on a napkin before shaking his hand. Archer Durham, where did she know his name from?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sato.”
Still holding his hand and searching her memory, she said, “Please, call me Hoshi. As a white knight, you’ve more than earned the right.” She wanted to kick herself at the corniness in her line, but his smile kicked higher and the creases in his cheeks deepened. It transformed him from simply handsome to truly stunning.
“Very well, Hoshi, you must call me Archer.”
Dang, he was gorgeous. She got shivers just staring at him and that smile… Suddenly, an image sprang to mind, a video her roommate had been giggling over crazily.
“Oh my God, you’re him.” She wanted to kick herself. Releasing his hand, she raised it palm forward. “Please forgive me, that was incredibly rude.”
“Nothing to forgive, Hoshi.” He dismissed her apology with a grace she definitely lacked. “Why don’t you eat and then tell me a little bit about yourself. Or you don’t have to say anything. No pressure.” He resumed working his way methodically through his plate of food. She thought she’d overloaded hers, but he was easily eating twice as much.
“I’m truly sorry. I do know better than to refer to private matters in public.” Her mother would be scandalized and her father furious. Oh, she truly did know better.
“Water under the bridge, truly.” Archer took another big bite out of what looked like a breaded steak smothered in gravy.
Looks so delicious. But she kept her attention on her sandwich. It was healthy. “Are you working on a project here at the studio?”
He didn’t answer her immediately, and it gave time for her for all the blood in her body to rush her face and scald her cheeks. She possessed manners, why did she seem to keep overstepping her bounds? What was wrong with her? The man had been nothing but an absolute gentleman to her, and she wanted to interrogate him.
“Couple of interviews. Damage control and the like. You?” So casual, so at ease with scandal, as though it were an everyday norm.
She smiled. “Rehearsing for a show. Exhausting. I had no idea how many different ways that they had set up the lights and how many ways they needed to adjust my movements to take into account shadows. I thought the competition was bad. You know if you had asked me a year ago would I spend a day repeatedly taking steps to the left, then steps to the right while singing the same three notes over and over again, I would have laughed. I could never figure out why anyone who sang a three-minute song could make as much money as they did. Now I get it. It’s not the song they are paying for.”
He chuckled. “Nothing is ever as easy as it seems to be, is it?”
“No, it’s not. It’s really odd but…” Was she being too bold?
“But?”
At his prompting, she shrugged. “I kind of love it. Not the attention—” She was quick to deny any enjoyment of the press trying to photograph her through windows or jumping on every comment. “I think that’s a little suffocating. But the dancing? The singing? Moving to the embrace of the music? That’s cool. Do you think it’s pushy that I want to do more than three notes over the course of several hours?”
One corner of his mouth still curved into a smile as he selected a fry then stirred it in some ketchup. “Depends on what the three notes are. The hills are alive, after all.”
The musical reference cracked her up. “Glad to know I’m not the only one, Archer.” Having someone to talk to helped ease the tension in her spine and the burn in her gut. “I wish there was a manual somewhere, warning you about all the not-so-cool stuff that comes with notoriety. Oh, and by the way, being a star is a lot of work and there are things that will be expected of you, whether you like it or not.”
“Nobody wants to look under the hood of a fairytale,” he said, as though he read her mind. “You certainly don’t look for the guys with shovels cleaning up the poop after a prince rides by. Nor do you see what happened to the villains, like in the Grimm’s fairytales, when they pluck out the stepsisters’ eyes.”
She grimaced. “Very true. What about the villagers in the Beauty and the Beast? I mean the Beast lives in a castle close enough for them to march on and riot at, which means their village must have followed the prince and his parents who lived there, so how come they don’t know who he is? And why don’t they worry about the risk of being thrown into prison for insurrection?”
“Good point. Maybe he could have sold his serfs to another kingdom then brought in fresh peasants. Feudal society, not always a perk.”
Amused, Hoshi laughed then snapped her fingers. “What about poor King Triton? One daughter completely defies all the rules and gets everything she wants. What’s to stop the other ninety-nine from doing the same thing?”
“Tradition? A seashell press corps?”
Her mood elevated even further. He didn’t dismiss her fanciful conversation, nor did he fail to engage with her.
“Did you ever think that all of life should come with a disclaimer? Warning, be careful what you wish for, because when you get it, you also get all the baggage that goes with it.”
“But life exists between those warning labels,” he said, and the profound note smoothed away the edges of her mirth. “Without disappointment and failure, how do you appreciate triumph?”
Or meeting a perfectly wonderful stranger? One with the most fantastic butt, as evidenced by the very vivid and quite intimate high-definition video she’d seen online.
The man is so much more than his butt, she mentally castigated herself, because she should know better. Then she met the warmth in those gorgeous eyes of his, and she didn’t want to look away. “You’re right, life really does happen between those moments.”
He was so much more than just his magnificent ass.
3
“The playboy prince of the ice takes on the king of the cable interview tonight in New York. Be sure to tune in for what’s—or should we say who?—is next for Archer Durham…” –ACE News Clip
Archer took a seat opposite Jerry Kong, the octogenarian scheduled to interview him for his cable talk show.
“Now, we’re not going to discuss your family connections or spend any time on prior scandals. Those were the terms for the interview, is that correct?” Jerry asked him.
“Yes, and you should also have a list of what I will answer,” Archer didn’t see any sense in playing coy. The last time he decided to play coy with an interviewer, they asked a dozen questions on the undesirable list then aired his refusals to answer as though he’d had something to hide.
“Yep,” Jerry leaned back and lit a cigarette. The studio was non-smoking, but nobody ever yelled at the senior journalist for doing whatever the hell he wanted. Must be the
perks of having been in the business for just under five decades. “Stay away from your family, stick to the game, and work in a couple of minutes on the scandal so that you can apologize. I just love the scripted interviews, they’re such a pain in the ass.”
Archer grinned. “Well, you’re not the only one. On the other hand, you can ask me anything you want about hockey. I’d be happy to discuss the game.”
Thankfully, the interview proved as painless as that conversation. Jerry avoided any mention of Archer’s family, a prerequisite these days. They’d been trending in the news more and more, with the events from his various cousins’ weddings to the negotiated peace talks they’d managed in a small European country which merited only a footnote in the average American textbook. Most didn’t pay attention to world politics or how they played into the big picture, Archer didn’t think it was his job to educate them. Not when he was Archer Durham, rightwinger for the Ragin’ Cajuns. Not a member of the Dagmar royal family.
By the time he’d finished the interview then had a drink with Jerry while the journalist had another cigarette, it had been closing in on five o’clock. Instead of just leaving, Archer lingered in the lobby. To his surprise, lunch with Hoshi turned out to be really entertaining. He really felt sorry for her. Despite her diminutive appearance and soft-spoken nature, she was definitely not a kid. She had a sassy sense of humor, a great deal of which proved self-deprecating. She’d also damn near stomped all over herself when she recognized him.
He’d become long accustomed to seeing the momentary flair in the eye as they suddenly placed who he was. He could always tell whether they recognized him for the game or the scandals. Their horror diminished the momentary joy. It always felt like a knife sliding between his ribs, but she handled it better than most, so he let it go.
Of course, that didn’t explain why he hung out in the lobby waiting for her to be finished for the day. He already checked with reception, and they told him her rehearsal was still ongoing, though a call revealed they expected it to be wrapping soon. That kind of information shouldn’t be readily available, but he’d smiled and the lady behind the counter had been more than happy to assist him.
His cousin would tell them he abused his charm. At least in this instance, Archer meant no harm. He’d offered Hoshi a ride back to the Johnson Arms and a couple of quick lessons on how to get into and out of the hotel without having to wade through the crowd at the main doors.
The surprised delight in her expression shimmered for a moment at his initial offer, though she covered it swiftly with a single nod of her head. He didn’t know if it was because she didn’t believe him, or if she believed she shouldn’t be excited about it.
Grabbing a magazine, he sank into one of the sofas and began to flip through it. Nice thing about the studio was they didn’t allow the press inside. The studio might have its own network and news show, but they deemed their recording studios a safe zone for celebrities and other figures.
Hunting and fishing was really not his thing, and the magazine reminded him how much he really didn’t enjoy either activity. He’d gone on more than one shoot with his cousins, but he preferred the ice. The hard thwack of slapping the puck, the scrape of the skates as he skidded to a swift halt, the curse of other players as they clashed.
He really needed to go for another run or maybe get some time on the ice. His aggravation level seemed to only be climbing the longer he sat there. Of course, he didn’t have to sit there, he could’ve just left his car to meet her at the hotel—but that wasn’t what a gentleman did. If he were honest, it had less to do with being a gentleman and more to do with the shyness in her smile, the way a blush warmed her cheeks, and the way she shifted the conversation away from his humiliation so adroitly it seemed as if the scandal had been her own.
Overhead, the evening news began, or at least a late afternoon report. Hoshi Sato’s face appeared on the screen along with images taken from the hotel that morning. There was Archer, front and center. His phone must be buzzing back at the hotel. Pleased he hadn’t brought it with him, he mentally apologized to Felicity and the litter of kittens she’d probably birthed. The camera kept focusing on Archer’s face as he kept the press away from her.
They seemed to especially like the close ups on when he scowled at the one cameraman who kept getting right up into Hoshi’s space. Then there was the freeze-frame when he shoved the reporter aside, though it hadn’t really been a shove. He more or less put his arm out and held the idiot off. It wasn’t Archer’s fault the guy was a wimp.
“I’m so sorry,” Hoshi’s voice interrupted from just behind him, and he leaned his head back to glance at her. She was staring at the television screen in quiet horror.
“It’s not so bad,” he said and meant it. “At least I have my clothes on in this video.”
Her sudden laugh made him grin. The wry comment did exactly what he’d intended. Tossing the magazine on the table, he stood. “Ready to go?”
Still stricken, she hid the smile reflected in her eyes behind the hand clasped over her mouth. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”
She was so very soft-spoken. He really needed to hear her sing, to see if she used that whispery voice to seduce or if she could really belt out a tune.
“I know I don’t, I offered. Give me a minute, I’ll have the car brought around.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the small pager and pressed the button to notify the driver he was ready. “First things first,” he said giving her a once over. Her hair was still pulled into tight little pigtails, though several layers of it had been braided upward, leaving only the ends free in a really interesting hairstyle that kind of reminded him of a cartoon. A really sexy cartoon.
Did they make sexy cartoons?
The rest of her was garbed in workout clothes, from the tight leggings to the bodysuit, to the oversized sweatshirt, which had been cut to allow it to hang over one shoulder. Like the 80s threw up on her. Her hands were full with what looked like a script, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a bottle of water.
“Stuff all that extra stuff inside your bag and then hand it to me. You want your hands free whenever you’re going through a crowd. Where’s your phone?”
“It’s in my backpack. I have it turned off for the time being.”
“Perfect, especially when you’re going through really dense crowd. If someone wants to, all they have to do is get close enough and they can clone your phone. If your cell is off, it’s a lot harder for them to do that.”
She paled. “Clone it? Doesn’t that only happen in the movies?”
Archer shrugged. “I’m still not entirely certain how they got their hands on that video. Since the woman in question sent it to me first, it’s entirely possible some eager beaver cloned it off my phone or hacked my cloud account. Either way, it’s better if we don’t take any chances.” Actually, he knew exactly how the video in question had been obtained, but accepting some culpability seemed to amp up her comfort level.
“Thank you again,” she said as she sealed up her backpack and then handed it over to him. She was so trusting. Why hadn’t they given this child a handler? And where the hell were her parents?
“How old are you?” Because he felt really guilty about being attracted to her in the first place.
“Twenty-two. I’ll be twenty-three in a couple weeks.”
Oh, definitely above the age of consent, but it didn’t matter. She still needed a handler. “So, this is what we’re going to do. When you step out of any facility, you put on the professional face. You were doing it earlier; you showed no emotion. You keep everything kind of blank, but you don’t want to go for resting bitch face.”
“I beg your pardon?” Surprise mingled with amusement in her question.
So, Archer mimicked it, the not quite grimace kept his mouth flat and his brows drawn tight together as though he were in deep thought. “Resting bitch face. You don’t really feel anything, you’re not really mad. Generally, think about what you look lik
e. You’re also not relaxed.” Even as he spoke he forced his expression to ease. “Imagine all the tension in your face, let it drain away. It’s not really that you don’t care, it’s that you’re not letting anyone see you care. The moment you feel tension, it appears in your face, and that’s where you have to control it.”
She nodded, soaking in the information. For a moment, Archer paused. How many times had he heard this exact same explanation from his valet when it came to an event he had to attend for the family? God, he’d hated those conversations, and he’d always hated having to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. Having a title didn’t mean anything if you didn’t have a pot to piss in. Of course, projecting an image, well, that he was acquainted with, because image was everything in this business.
“Okay, I can do that.” Was she really that eager to please him? Or just so desperate for someone to take charge that she was gonna latch onto the first jerk who gave her a piece of advice? Archer made a promise to himself—it didn’t matter how crappy things got, he needed to look after this woman, at least until someone else better showed up to take over the job.
“All right, so we’re gonna exit, then go straight to the car and get in. Never slide over when you get in, especially when wearing a skirt. Move casually, but with dignity and awareness.”
“What?”
“Essentially, if you can be made to look like you’re in a compromising position, no matter what you’re doing or how innocent it is, don’t. You want to move with short, but brisk motions. Stay athletic, but not thoughtlessly.” With a quick glance around the lobby to make sure they didn’t have an audience, he nodded to the sofa then said, “Take a seat.”
Still giving him a skeptical look, she circled around then perched on the edge of the sofa, knees together and ankles slightly crossed as she leaned forward.
“Okay, you look very uncomfortable, but proper. Now I want you to stand up and take a seat again but I want you to be comfortable and a little casual but not informal.”
