Incompatibly Yours: Charity Anthology Supporting Fertility Research

by A. C. Bextor

  She squeezes me tightly and I hug her back. But it's the kind of hug where I'm awkwardly doing the hug dance of trying to let her go, but then continuing the hug when it's clear she's not relinquishing her hold on me. When she does finally let me go, I take a step back. "Hi, Anastasia."

  She grins at me. "Babe, you're always so damn formal with me. I'm not used to people being so formal."

  "I'm just trying to stay professional." God knows she could do with some professionalism around her. Anastasia is currently one of the world's most in-demand actresses, and from what I've seen over the last few months, she doesn't seem to have anyone on her team looking out for her image. Gossip and photos of her wild partying are splashed across the tabloids every few days. Every time I see something new, I cringe, and wonder why her manager or agent aren't working towards suppressing those kinds of stories. But each time I wonder this, I remember I've met her manager and she's a piece of trash who likes to spend her time drinking and snorting coke rather than looking out for her client.

  "Juliette, you can bring the dresses in here." Speak of the devil. Kadence, the bitch manager, stares at me from the bedroom, disdain for me written all over her face.

  "Kadence," Anastasia chastises, the warning clear in her tone.

  Kadence glares at her for a moment before flicking her hair, turning, and walking back into the bedroom. This is not the first time Anastasia has warned her about her attitude towards me, and I figure that if I continue working with them, it won't be the last.

  Anastasia's arm slides over my shoulders and she pulls me to her. "Just ignore her. She's having a bad day."

  I want to say that she's always having a bad day, but my stance on maintaining a professional manner prevents that. Instead I ask, "Are you excited for tonight?"

  My question elicits a strong reaction from her. She drops her arm from my shoulder, and wails, "Oh, my God, no!"

  I frown. I've never seen her lose her cool like this. "Why?"

  Her blue eyes widen. "Because this is my home."

  "I'm still not following." She can be ditzy sometimes, but usually I can figure out what she means. Not today, though.

  "This is the first time I've done anything like this in Australia and I just know those bitches are going to be bitching about me behind my back," she explains, as if it will clear up my confusion. It doesn't.

  I hold up my hand. "Wait. Let me try to make sense of what you just said. You've been out of the country for two years now, making movies—really good movies that fans all over the world love and that have won you an Academy Award—and now you've come home to present an award at the AACTA Awards. Why is this a bad thing and who are the bitches you're talking about? In my mind, this sounds like a huge honour."

  She stares at me for a moment, not saying a word, and then blinks. "This is why I love having you around. You help centre me and calm me down when I'm freaking the fuck out." Her chest heaves as she blows out a long breath and I realise how stressed she really is.

  "I'm glad I can do that for you, but please tell me who would ever be mean to you?" The Anastasia I have come to know is kind and giving. Sure, she despises tardiness and will lose her shit over it, but apart from that, I've never seen her treat anyone badly.

  Her shoulders slump a little, and her smile gives way to a frown. "I'm not going to name names, but a lot of Aussie actresses who have failed to make it big overseas don't like me. I know the things they say and they're awful. Getting up in front of them tonight will be hard."

  Now it's my turn to stare. "Seriously?"

  Her brows pull together. "Seriously, what?"

  I am stunned that someone as amazing as Anastasia even gives them the time of day. But here she is standing in front of me with fear written all over her. I want to smack it out of her. Actually, what I really want to do is tell her manager off for letting her down.

  Stay professional, Juliette.

  You need this job.

  I reach into my handbag for my phone. Searching on the Internet, I find what I'm looking for before turning the phone to face her. "See that? That's why they are mean to you. They want one of those Academy Awards for themselves. And, that's,"—I point at the image of her holding the award on my phone—"why you are going to get up on that stage and show those women why it's you up there and not them." I drop the phone back in my handbag, grab my clothes bags, and say, "Now, let me work my magic on you so you can get up on that stage in style."

  Her frown morphs into a huge smile. I half expect her to throw her arms around me again, but she doesn't. Instead, she speaks softly, surprising me with her words. "Thank you. I've been working in this industry for eight years now and I've never come across anyone as genuine as you are. You always listen to what I say, but then you process it and give it back to me through your eyes. You don't sugarcoat shit, but at the same time, you're kind. And you don't let me wallow in my self-pity. You may never know how much I appreciate all of that."

  Her words hit me in my heart and warmth spreads through my body. I've worked hard to secure this job with her and it means a lot that she values my opinion and me. I'm not sure how to handle this, though. Although I know she's a hugger, hugging her is out of the question—I don't do hugs, especially not with the people I work for. After a few stiff moments, I finally reply, "Thank you for saying that." My voice is a little stilted and I just wish we could move this along to the part where I dress her and do my thing.

  She bursts out laughing. "Oh, I do love you, Juliette! You are unlike anyone else I have ever met."

  "I'll take that as a compliment," I say as I walk towards the bedroom, having decided we've done way more talking than was needed.

  Still laughing, she follows me. "It was a compliment and you should take it as one, babe. And can I just say, those heels you're wearing are killer. I need you to get me a pair of those, please."

  Finally.

  Someone who can appreciate my heels.

  Not like that guy downstairs.

  "Red suits you, so I will definitely get a pair of these for you." Anastasia is your classic beautiful blonde bombshell with long hair, long legs, and curves and boobs all men—and probably most women—would die for. Red just accentuates her beauty. Hell, the woman can wear nearly every colour. Unlike myself, with my fair skin and long dark hair. I avoid yellow at all costs and have a list of other colours I don't touch.

  "The day I saw your Instagram post was one of the luckiest days of my life. I've never had as many compliments on my style as I have in the last three months."

  Thank goodness for Instagram.

  Thank goodness for a lot of things actually—for Jeff who broke up with me; for the girl who snatched him away from me; for my landlord who failed to renew my lease, which led me to move from Dubbo to Sydney; for struggling to find a job, which forced me to figure out another way to put food on the table, and lastly, for a lifelong dream of working in fashion. They all led me to this moment in my life.

  A moment I know is going to be a stepping-stone to a whole new life.

  I can just feel it.

  But first, the bitch manager needs dealing with.

  Chapter Two

  TANNER

  I never thought I'd see the day when women throwing themselves at me made me want to run a mile, but that day is today.

  "Tanner, wait!"

  I keep striding towards the elevator, doing my best to block the woman's high-pitched shriek. Thankfully, the elevator doors are starting to close, so I'm able to quickly enter before they shut after me, blocking her access.

  "Thank fuck," I mutter, resting my body against the back wall of the elevator.

  "What? Tanner Brady can't fit a woman into his busy schedule… I thought your schedule was women."

  You've got to be kidding me. Not today.

  In my haste to escape the woman chasing me, I haven't paid attention to who was already in the elevator. Turns out it's none other than Elizabeth Carlton—a woman I've slept with many times, but who
always wanted more than I was willing to give.

  I turn to look at her, taking in her always immaculately styled look of long blonde hair, perfect make-up, short red dress, and heels that must kill her feet. Usually, simply looking at the woman turns me on, but today I doubt I could get it up even if I tried.

  Jesus.

  What's wrong with me?

  "A man needs a day off every once in a while, Elizabeth," I reply, making sure to keep my tone flat and uninterested. Encouraging her today is the last thing on my list. I have something much more important to attend to.

  She gives me a wry laugh as she flicks her hair. "I doubt that very much. If there's one man in this city who never takes a day off from chasing tail, it's you."

  I rub the back of my neck and clench my jaw. "If you must know, I'm taking my sister to an awards ceremony." I'm not sure why I'm even bothering to explain myself to her.

  Her perfectly shaped brows rise. "Anastasia's home? I wouldn't have thought she'd want to show her face after the last scandal that was printed in the papers here."

  If I thought there was no way she could turn me on today, I now know there's no way she'll ever turn me on again. I've always ignored her faults because her body blinded me, but to say shit like this to me is not something I ever condone.

  "Perhaps if gossiping bitches put their time into their own lives, they'd be a lot happier," I suggest as I track the floor numbers on the elevator display panel. Ana's floor can't come soon enough.

  Before she can respond, the elevator stops. Her gaze darts to see what level we are on, and she takes a step towards the door. Looking back at me, her eyes roam over my body before she says, "You should call me, Tanner. It's been far too long between drinks."

  Not long enough.

  I will never understand some women. Even when I try to give them the hint that I'm not interested, they don't listen. Stooping so low as to insult them doesn't work most of the time either. It causes me guilt, but all it seems to do is increase their interest.

  A couple of minutes later, I exit the elevator and head to Ana's suite. As I knock on the door, it is yanked open and a woman collides with me in her haste to leave.

  "Jesus, Tanner," she mutters as she stops and regroups.

  "Your manners precede you, Kadence." Sarcasm drips from my words as I step to the side so she can move past me.

  She glares at me. We have a long history of pissing each other off. I detest the woman and can't for the life of me figure out why Ana keeps her around.

  "Screw you," she snaps before stalking down the hall towards the elevator. No doubt she's in need of a cigarette.

  "You're early." Ana greets me from the couch when I enter the suite and I detect the stress she's experiencing in her voice.

  I drop a kiss on her cheek and say, "I'd rather you chastise me for being early than for late."

  She pokes her tongue out at me and then moves the conversation along to what I'm sure is a much more important topic for her. "What do you think of my dress?" She stands and smoothes her hands over the blue dress she's wearing.

  "You look beautiful, Ana." She always does, but I know she won't believe me. Although my sister's beauty has been undeniable since she was a toddler, she struggles to see herself the way everyone else does.

  She surprises the hell out of me today, though, when her face breaks out in a huge smile and she agrees. "Thank you. I've got Juliette to thank for this."

  "Juliette?" I figure she must be one of Ana's horrid hanger-on friends.

  Ana smacks me on the arm and shoots me a dirty look. "She's my new stylist. And you can stop thinking those awful thoughts about my friends that I know you must be from the look that just went across your face. They're not as bad as you think they are."

  "I don't know what you classify as bad, but in my opinion, anyone who uses you for money or fame in the way your friends do, is a bad friend. And don't even get me started on the way they talk shit about you behind your back."

  She opens her mouth to respond, but a cough from behind me catches our attention. Turning, I'm surprised to see the woman who tripped over her heels while getting out of a taxi earlier. She must have been in the bedroom because I didn't hear the door to the suite open.

  The woman's eyes widen as she takes me in, but she moves fast to hide her own surprise and shifts her attention to Ana. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to know if you're ready to go through the jewellery."

  I cock my head to the side. "You must be Juliette." My gaze travels the length of her body. Again. I've already spent time today appreciating her beauty, and truth be told, I could spend hours going over every hollow and curve. It's like God was thinking of me when he made her—breasts that are a good handful, but not so much that I'd be overwhelmed and not sure where to start; an arse that sways from side to side as she walks, tempting me into offering all sorts of things just to hold it once; beautiful, creamy skin that I'd kill to trail kisses all over; long brown hair that would look sexy as fuck the morning after I'd had her; and pouty lips that I would love to have wrapped around my co—

  Ana interrupts my thoughts when she snaps. "Tanner! For God's sake, can you concentrate on anything other than a woman for one second of your life?"

  I don't shift my eyes from Juliette. I'm waiting for her answer because when she speaks, her voice slides right over you, causing a shiver to run down your spine. It's the kind of shiver a man doesn't experience often in his life, and I need to feel it again. Even if she only tells me off again, I'd be a happy man for the rest of the day.

  She takes her sweet time to reply, but it's worth every second. Her features crinkle into an unimpressed scowl as she says, "Yes, I'm Juliette. Anastasia and I won't be long, but I do need her for a little while to finish getting her ready for tonight."

  I can't figure out the tone in her voice. It's as if she's annoyed with me and judging me all at the same time, while trying to stay professional. I choose to ignore that though, and nod while gesturing for her to take Ana with her. "Just pretend I'm not even here, ladies. I'll keep myself occupied."

  Juliette stares at me for another couple of moments before eventually taking a step back. She appears to be turning to leave when she stumbles. My attention diverts from her face to her heels, and then back up again. Her eyes meet mine and she shakes her head in a silent, "Don't you dare say a word."

  My lips twitch as I fight the grin forming, and reluctantly, I move to the television and switch it on. As I take a seat on the couch, I catch sight of Juliette ushering Ana into the bedroom. She intrigues me. Not only is she beautiful, she seems somewhat feisty. And she's so damn serious—I just want to shake that shit out of her and loosen her up. But the thing that's caught my attention the most is the way she is with my sister. Ana seems calm around her—more confident about herself—and I can't say that about very many people. And because I'd pay good money to give Ana the confidence she should already have, I want to know everything there is to know about Juliette.

  Chapter Three

  JULIETTE

  I finish my third bourbon for the night and place the empty glass down on the counter of the hotel bar. It's been about four hours since I left Anastasia's room and after I had dinner in the hotel restaurant, I decided to celebrate my success with a few drinks. And it was a success. Anastasia is known for being a little difficult to work with, but I've had no problems with her so far, and I intend to keep it that way. She loved what I did for her for tonight. Even Kadence begrudgingly gave me her approval. And Anastasia's boyfriend, Tanner, also loved everything I did, so it was a win all the way around.

  Signalling to the bartender for another one, I reach into my bag to find some cash. As I'm fumbling around in there, I kick my right foot against the vacant stool next to me and my heel falls off.

  "Goddamn heels," I mutter to myself. These heels have given me nothing but problems all day, and my feet are killing me.

  "It's a damn good thing Tanner isn't here to say 'I told you so,'" I m
utter to myself.

  Thoughts of that man assault my mind. I was attracted to him even though he is so far from the type I usually go for. Not that I would pursue him, ever, because not only is he Anastasia's boyfriend, he's also not the kind of man I would ever date. I've no idea what he does for a living, but from his casual attitude, I doubt he's got a life plan. No, Tanner seems more like the play-it-by-ear kind of guy, and my insides knot with tension at the thought of ending up with someone who has no map of where he's going.

  I won't ever end up with someone like my father.

  At the thought of my father, memories of living in a caravan park with only tins of baked beans to feed our family replace my thoughts of Tanner.

  "Oh, God, now I really need a drink," I mutter, and direct my attention back to the bartender, who is flirting with a few women at the other end of the bar. It's a busy night, but seriously, he needs to stop ogling chicks and do some damn work. "Hey, buddy!" I call out to him. His head twists to look at me and when I motion for him to come my way, he grins and nods while holding up a finger to indicate he'll be one moment.

  Thank God.

  While I give him his moment, I slide off my stool so I can put my shoe back on.

  "Bloody hell, just go in." My feet are so damn sore and I mentally curse the fact I love heels so much, but I know this pain won't stop me wearing them again. Once I have it back on, I turn to see where the bartender is.

  You've got to be kidding me.

  He's still flirting with those women.

  "Right, just because I'm not as sexy or as beautiful as those chicks doesn't mean you can't come and serve me," I grumble as I stalk towards that end of the bar, doing my best to ignore my sore feet.

  When I reach my destination, I stare at the bartender, waiting for him to notice me, and when he does, I raise my brows. "Can I please get a drink?" My tone is clear—I'm pissed off—and he doesn't fail to notice it.

  As he nods and begins moving in the direction of my stool, one of the women he's been flirting with turns and glares at me. "There's no need to be so rude to him. He was just doing his job and you should learn some patience."