“All those suits? Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, I was there. I saw you pushing an elderly lady who was crying. You were hugging her and consoling her, and I thought it was so moving. It really touched my heart. It was genuine and sincere.”
“Her husband had just passed away. My heart went out to her.”
“You were very compassionate.”
“I bet you’re not thinking that so much now.”
He laughed.
I led him blindly to the curb by my car and calmly lowered him down so we were both sitting. Once he was relatively subdued, I hastily rummaged through the backseat, emerging a moment later with a clean shirt and a bottle of Aquafina.
“Here,” I offered, soaking the hem and gently tugging on his wrists. He resisted for a moment, but finally lowered them—letting me dab the skin around his eyes. After a few seconds, the corner of his mouth twitched. I kept dabbing the skin until the inexplicable smile was too much to ignore. “What could possibly be funny right now?”
“It’s just a dangerous precedent we’re setting, that’s all.”
I couldn’t help but grin myself. “Not for me, apparently. Just for you.”
“Just wait,” he warned, “your time is coming.”
I tugged a little harder than necessary on his hair as I tilted his head back. “Now try to keep your eyes open,” I advised. “We want to rinse off as much of this as possible.”
With exceedingly delicate hands, I tilted his head back still farther and poured the remnants of the bottle up over his face. Little trickles snaked through his hair, streaking it silver in the light before pooling in incriminating circles on the sidewalk.
He’d shut his eyes almost immediately, but pried them open when I was finished, looking at me for bloodshot approval. “Well?”
“You survived,” I said. “In my professional opinion, you’re going to be just fine. You’re lucky I sprayed from a distance. It could’ve been much worse. And I really want to apologize again. I’m so sorry I got spooked. I will definitely have to buy you a cup of coffee. But not now because I’m running late.”
I had thought about Marcus Taylor a lot since we had first met in that coffee shop. But after he propositioned me, I didn’t have the same respect for him. I wasn’t some whore. But after Macing him, the least I could do was buy the guy a cup of coffee. I owed him that much.
“Is this what I have to do to get you to buy me a cup of coffee?” he said in a joking tone.
I smiled. “I guess the other guy at the coffee shop had it much easier.”
He made a disgruntled huffing sound, somewhere between a snort and a scoff. “I’m sorry I’m making you late.”
“It’s fine.”
He took a breath to slow the quick back and forth before it got out of hand. “I came here to apologize, firstly, for startling you at my party. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression.”
I said nothing, chewing nervously on my lower lip.
He shook his head, wiping his eyes with my shirt. “I don’t get it. Why are you so jumpy?”
For the first time, I rallied to my own defense. “You try being a girl living alone in this city. See how jumpy it makes you.”
“Touché,” he said mildly. Then his eyes flickered up curiously. “Do you live alone?”
I didn’t see the harm in telling him. He was already here. “Just me and my roommate, Amanda. And Deevus, of course.”
“Who’s Deevus?”
“Our three-legged cat.”
He absorbed this as best as one could. “Why did you name him Deevus?”
I frowned as I tried to remember. I honestly couldn’t tell you, was what I should have said. “Long story,” is what ended up coming out. “So what’s the second thing?”
“The what?”
“The second thing,” I said. I didn’t know what the hell this guy was doing here, but I had a casting call to get to, and more pressingly, my blood sugar was dipping dangerously low. If he didn’t start talking soon, I might have to resort to cannibalism. “You said that firstly, you wanted to apologize… What’s secondly?”
“Secondly,” he eyed me carefully, “I wanted to talk to you about that proposition I was trying to bring up before. Except I don’t want to get kicked. Or stabbed. Or pepper sprayed. Or drowned. Or—”
I held up my hands. “You’ve made your point. And as long as there is no prostitution involved, you should be okay. Scout’s honor.”
A little smile crept up on his lips.
I nudged him. “You’re not going to offer me a million dollars for one night like Robert Redford did, are you?”
“Boy, Robert Redford is getting cheap. I would’ve offered at least double that amount.”
I playfully slapped him. “I was talking about the movie, Indecent Proposal.”
He winked. “I know. I was trying to lighten the mood up.”
I smiled. “I get that. But after I’ve kicked you and Maced you, shouldn’t you be running for the hills, getting as far away from me as you possibly can?”
“I would normally, but…you’re the only one who can possibly pull this off.”
“Me? Really? So what am I supposed to pull off?”
He studied me appraisingly for a moment, then seemed to decide it was safe enough to continue. “You remember Mr. Takahari? The old Asian man from the party?”
“The one who said you usually have three girlfriends?”
He faltered for a second but quickly recovered himself. “Yeah, well, that’s kind of exactly what I came here to talk about. I have a bit of an image problem. And I desperately need to impress him.”
I pictured the confrontation outside the coffee shop and couldn’t help but grin. “An image problem? No, you don’t say.”
“Rebecca, hush,” he commanded. He then returned to his story with an exasperated sigh. “Well, it’s never been a real issue before; I keep my work and private life separate. But lately, it’s starting to trouble some of our bigger investors.”
With that, he launched into a dismally boring explanation with facts and figures, dates and times, statistics and stock portfolios. I tried to stay focused, but after only a minute my mind wandered back to the immediate problem of feeding myself. I was sure there was something left in my car.
I twisted around and pulled open the door, glancing back frequently with the occasional polite nod to show I was still listening. Still being the operative word. How the hell did I end up sitting on the pavement listening to this guy talk about Wall Street conundrums while I slowly withered away? Was there still some minute degree of bad karma I’d yet to be subjected to? Eviction, vomit, car troubles, starvation, now this? Hadn’t I suffered enough? Wasn’t there some worse offender that could take up some of the—oh, Cheetos!
With another “tuned in” nod, to which I added a concerned frown to be thorough, I grabbed the bag out of the car and started munching. Not bad. A bit stale. Definitely a few days old. But cheesy and delicious. In my present state—I’d take it.
He eyed the bag with distaste but kept talking as I snacked happily away. “So in short, if I don’t get this public image thing turned around, I’m going to be losing an unseemly amount of money.”
I rummaged around in the bag and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. First step in fixing your image problem: limit your use of the word “unseemly.”
I crunched a Cheeto. “Well, that sounds like quite the unseemly problem.” Crunched again. “So why are you here?”
His face lit up as much as it could with the burns. “You’re my solution.”
The crunching came to a pause.
“If you want me to kill someone, you’ve really taken this ‘violent life’ metaphor to a whole other level that I’m not really comfortable with. I swear to God, I’m really not that violent.”
“No, you don’t understand. I—” He paused for a moment before he snatched the bag of Cheetos out of my hands and threw it into the grass behind us.
My mouth fell open in shock. “Hey!”
“It was offensive,” he said simply. “Now, for my solution.” He twisted slightly to face me as if he wanted to present himself in the best possible light. “I want you to be my girlfriend.”
I blinked.
“Act,” he clarified quickly, “I want you to act like my girlfriend.”
My lips parted in surprise, but I could honestly think of nothing to say. Bill Gates had come to East Hollywood to ask me out on a fake date? Finally, when I decided that this wasn’t a joke and he was really asking, I leaned back against the curb.
“Why in the world do you think I would want to do that?”
He cocked his head to the side with a sharp grin. “You didn’t have any problem doing it before.”
“That was different!” I exclaimed.
“How?”
“One night. One person. One lie.” I slapped my index finger repeatedly against my palm as if to pound the point through his thick, lovely skull.
Did he honestly come down here today thinking I would just leap at the opportunity to defraud an entire company of shareholders? Somewhere between the dancing and the mix-up about the peacock, we’d gotten seriously offtrack.
“And I’m just asking you to do it one more time,” he said in a way he obviously took to be charming. “Listen, there’s a huge charity gala on the seventeenth, and I’d really—”
“The answer is no.” I cut him off. “I’m sorry.”
Much as I’d love to go running around the city fake dating my own fifty shades of playboy, I had a life to get back to. I had an apartment to keep and an acting career to heave off the ground. I didn’t have time for fake relationships. Heck, I didn’t have time for real ones.
“Furthermore, I’m late,” I said. “But I will buy you a cup of coffee like I promised.”
Only five minutes to get to the casting. I got my feet and tugged open the door to my car, inadvertently releasing a small avalanche of papers and hats. A crimson blush colored my cheeks as he knelt down to help me gather them in silence. One paper, in particular, seemed to catch his eye, but what with me carefully avoiding his gaze, it was hard to tell which one.
He didn’t seem particularly upset when I refused to help him. He didn’t seem at all put out to be left behind in the parking lot. He didn’t even question why I kept a collection of scratched Bob Marley CDs inside a tattered béret. He just handed me back everything he’d gathered and stuffed his hands deep inside his pockets.
“I’m going to make you change your mind,” he promised as I hopped into the car and revved the engine.
I grinned widely. “You just remember the pepper spray and keep walking, buddy.”
His mouth curved up in a smile as he locked eyes with me. His hands were still in his pockets, and a slight breeze danced his messy hair. While he may have stood out like a sore thumb in his expensive suit amongst the liquor stores and two-dollar laundromats, he carried himself with such an easy confidence that it was the neighborhood that seemed out of place, not him. Altogether—a rather winning look for a guy with an image problem.
Then again...that was his problem, not mine.
I slapped the horn twice to make him move out of my way as I sped off past him into the smoggy sunset—hoping I wasn’t too late.
Chapter 10
I called Amanda from the casting room and told her about running into Marcus. Apparently, I had just missed her and she was already heading to Barry’s.
“Shit! He came to our apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“And he wants to hire you to be his fake girlfriend?”
“I told him no.”
“Would you mind if I took the acting gig?” she said. “Because I could be the perfect fake girlfriend. I even have this black, glittery number he would love. It’s a little black dress and it shows off my cleavage.”
“Amanda!”
“Just kidding! Okay, maybe not. Listen, if you could just drop a line in for me. I could be the perfect fake girlfriend! I mean, the guy’s loaded. Why the hell didn’t you say yes?”
“Because I’m bummed. I kept thinking about the guy from the coffee shop all day. And yeah, I did blow it when I first met him, but I still thought about him, kind of hoping for a second chance.”
“You had your second chance! And you kicked him in the nuts.”
“Let’s backtrack before that moment, shall we? So I kept thinking about this guy from the coffee shop, and then I learn his true identity. He’s a flippin’ playboy billionaire with a bad reputation. And then I meet him in person, and we dance. And even though I can’t dance, it’s the best dance I’ve ever had. And I’m thinking, maybe everyone is mistaken about this guy. And then, he’s this wonderful man who sweeps me off my feet. And what does he do? He propositions me.”
“But not for sex. For fake sex. But you never gave him the chance to explain.”
“Fake sex? Okay, that makes no sense whatsoever.”
“He wasn’t trying to pay you to have sex. He was offering you a job to be his fake girlfriend. And you’re the one who started all that ‘fake girlfriend’ shit in the first place.”
“I didn’t want to be offered an acting gig at all. I wanted him to ask me out on a date.”
“Ah, so that’s what this is all about. And that’s why you’re not taking his offer. So let me do it. I’ll even give you a cut. Because this man can pay our rent for an entire year. And I didn’t tell you, but my parents cut me off last month.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s time for me to spread my wings and make my own way. But we can really use this money. If you don’t want to do it, then let me! I’ll use every dime he gives me for rent. It’ll benefit us both.”
“What about Barry?”
“Fake is the key word here. It’s a ‘fake’ relationship. It’s acting! I can do that. I’m a fantastic actress.”
I blew out a long breath. “You should’ve told me your parents quit giving you money.”
“I didn’t want pity. Don’t worry. It’s all good.”
A woman called out my name from the doorway. “Rebecca White.”
“Okay, they just called my name,” I said. “Wish me luck. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Good luck!”
***
“And wherever doth he roam, I bid him good morrow and a swift night.”
And a swift night? What did that even mean? Where the hell did they come up with these lines? Maybe if I amped up the accent a little—
“Thank you, Miss White.” A disembodied voice dismissed my efforts as the lights flickered back on. “Next!”
I slipped on my sunglasses and thanked them as I headed back out onto the streets, scanning for a coffee shop as stanzas of bastardized Shakespeare ran through my head. When I’d read they were looking for an Old English theater nut, I’d assumed that meant the role I’d be auditioning for was a fan. Not that the entire film was a period piece set in 1640 Sussex.
Oh well, another one bites the dust.
I ducked into a café, purchased my usual mocha-chino, and was back at my apartment ten minutes later. Amanda was out with Barry, and by some miracle, I hadn’t run into Hamburg on my way in here. Nope—it was just me and Deevus. Like usual.
With a wide yawn, I dropped my purse on the ground and dialed up my mom for our bi-weekly pep talk about my life. As usual, she was busy—oh so very busy—what with her yoga class, her spinning class, her Flemish class (yes, Flemish), and the usual work to be done in the garden. But she still had a few minutes to squeeze in a talk with me.
I rolled my eyes and grinned as she recited one of her usual lectures. If I were to miss just one of these calls, she’d call the National Guard.
“So what about you, sweetie?” she asked when she managed to take a breath. “What did you do today?”
The face of a handsome billionaire flashed through my mind in a cloud of pepper spray, but I quickly deemed that one o
f those “too much explanation required” topics and moved on.
“Oh, you know—work. Blew another casting.” I took a scalding sip of mocha. “The usual.”
I felt the judgment in her sigh from two states away.
“Let me guess, you grabbed a mocha-chino, headed straight home, and now you’re milling about in those ugly penguin slippers you love so much.”
I glanced from my coffee to my slippers before peering suspiciously around the living room. Sometimes I got the terrible feeling that my mom had the apartment bugged. Casting wary glances at the blinking light on the smoke detector, I wandered out to our tiny balcony overlooking the street.
“You know, I happen to like my mocha—”
“Bex, you’ve got to get out there,” she interrupted. “You spend all your time at work with old people.”
I snorted. “Well, one day when you’re one of them, you’ll appreciate people like me.”
“Very funny.” She chuckled, then sobered all in one move. She was the only person I’d ever met who could do that. “I just want you to be happy. Live your life! Take the plunge!”
I covered my other ear in frustration to mute a commotion further up the street. “Yeah, Mom, except things like that don’t happen in real…”
Oh…my gosh.
I dropped the phone in my hand as a slow-moving limo pulled up on the street in front of my balcony. A tiny crowd of people trailed behind, snapping excited pictures on their phones. But it wasn’t the limo that had everyone up in arms.
It was the fact that Marcus Taylor was sticking out of the sunroof. Mocha-chino in hand. I bet this stunt would land him on every newspaper tomorrow morning. Hell, I bet it’d go viral within an hour. Yet, it seemed like he didn’t care. Was he risking his reputation for me? Because wooing a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks might not look so good for him. Even if it was all fake, like he claimed. Wouldn’t it look better for him to date a wealthy socialite?
He was grinning from ear to ear, obviously elated with the theatrics of his plan. “Hark, fair maiden,” he called, making the women in the crowd instantly swoon, “might I come up and borrow your ear?”
Bad Boys & Billionaires: An Anthology Page 27
