Infidelity: Incentive (Kindle Worlds)

by Pam Godwin

  “I run things around here.” He walks through an elegant living room, passing multiple exterior doors that open to a private terrace with a prime view of the Upper East Side.

  “What kinds of things?” I want to ask him what business she’s in, what she looks like, and where the hell is she?

  First, I need to know if he’s clued in to the real reason I’m here. Karen said friends and family aren’t privy to how the clients meet their companions. Does that confidentiality extend to the client’s inner circle of employees?

  I shrug off my jacket and toss it over a chair.

  “I’m her personal assistant.” Reese sits on one of two facing sofas and lifts a bottle of single malt whiskey from the coffee table. “I’m hesitant to use the term assistant here, because I manage every aspect of her personal life. Let’s just say I manage her closet.”

  How many men does she keep in her closet? I pull in a deep breath and try to loosen my posture.

  “Sit.” He nods at the couch across from him. “Have a drink with me.”

  “Is she here?” I perch on the edge of the cushion and glance around, my gaze landing on the only closed door.

  “We’ll get to that. How about a toast?” He hands me a finger of whiskey and raises his own glass. “To a successful year with Infidelity.”

  So he knows. My insides twist, but I clink the glass with his and drink, relishing the burn in my throat. “Who is she?”

  “I know you went through a thorough investigation and signed a one-year agreement.” He slowly swirls his glass, watching the amber liquid swish round and round. “But I vet every person who enters her life, including her sexual partners. I need to be sure about you before I let you near her.”

  Why is he so protective? Is he one of her lovers, a close friend, or just a loyal employee? None of that narrows down her identity. She could be anyone, from a Supreme Court judge to a country music singer.

  “Her pristine reputation is extremely important to her.” He sets down the glass and laces his hands together between his spread legs. “She busts her ass to keep her public image respectable and her private life very private.” His mouth crooks up. “You don’t want to know how many men have sat exactly where you’re sitting, interviewing to be a fuck buddy for a woman they’ve never met. Most are escorted out before learning who she is.”

  I sip the whiskey and stare at him.

  “Money will buy the best-looking men in any city or industry.” He sits back and rests an ankle on his knee. “A lot of money buys their silence. The few men I’ve allowed into her bed did their job and kept their mouths shut. But you know what they didn’t do?”

  When he calls it a job, it sounds so damn shallow and mechanical. And what’s this shit about allowing men in her bed? He handpicks her lovers? What kind of relationship does he have with this woman?

  “I’m going to wager,” I say, finishing off the whiskey, “they didn’t make her happy.”

  He grins. “Exactly.” He studies me for a moment, and his lips flatten. “I’ve succeeded in choosing companions who don’t talk to the press, but I’ve failed in finding a compatible lover who suits her needs. So when she was referred to Infidelity, I jumped on it.”

  “That’s just…” I’m dumbfounded by this conversation.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, most people go about this…organically. You know, crossing paths with someone and sparks fly, that kind of shit. Sounds like you’re trying to force—”

  “The world doesn’t see her as a person, Decker. They see a name, a face. Her persona is an integral part of the worldview we’re entrenched in. She’s worshiped as much as she’s judged, and every person she meets ultimately uses her for self-gain. All of this comes with the job, but it makes the organic way of dating impossible.”

  Reese Cromwell is a young, attractive guy with an obvious devotion toward this woman. There’s no wedding ring on his finger, and I bet part of that is because he’s married to this job. But I feel like there’s something else going on. Does he love her? If that’s the case, why the hell am I here?

  “Are you fucking her?” I narrow my eyes.

  “No.” He makes a face that’s difficult to interpret. Is that frustration? Disgust?

  His boss is either ugly as hell or not interested in him. Given his winning looks, neither option bodes well for me.

  He removes a document from the satchel sitting on the floor and hands it to me. The Infidelity logo embosses the top, followed by a list of hard limits. A name isn’t printed anywhere on the page.

  “These are her limits?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I read through the thirty or so bullet points and deduce that she’s unwilling to be on the receiving end of pain, bondage, or anything that puts her in a submissive position. It’s identical to my own limits—the very ones I provided Infidelity. If she’s as aggressive as I am in bed, I don’t see how this is going to work.

  “Are you good with her check list?” he asks.

  Do I have a fucking choice?

  “You already know I’m in this for the money.” Impatience hardens my tone as I give the document back to him. “I’ll respect her limits and do my best to make her happy for the contracted year.”

  Slouched on the couch, he taps a finger on his knee and scans my body up and down. “Given the extent at which Infidelity investigated you, I trust their word that you’re a compatible companion for her. But there’s one thing I suspect they didn’t check.” His eyes find mine. “Show me your cock.”

  Heat surges beneath my skin. “Go fuck yourself.”

  He straightens and rises to his feet, shoulders back and chest out. I mirror his pose, expecting a testosterone-fueled confrontation. Instead, a grin spreads across his face.

  What the fuck? I get the feeling his request was less about the size of my cock and more about my reaction. Apparently, I passed the test, because he nods at the closed door on the far side of the room.

  “Ready to meet her?” He wings up a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.

  Yes. No. Christ, why is my heart slamming against my ribs? “After you.”

  He crosses the room and opens the door to the low murmur of a woman’s voice—a husky radio voice that conjures images of lingerie, sensual curves, and red lips. I follow him into the bedroom and track the melodious sound to the glass wall that overlooks the terrace.

  A slender woman with long blonde hair holds a phone to her ear and stares out at the blinking lights of the Manhattan skyline. She doesn’t notice us, but when she shifts the phone to her other ear and tilts her head, her profile comes into full view. One of the most recognizable profiles on the planet.

  My stomach drops. My pulse detonates, and my mouth goes dry.

  Laynee Somerset.

  She is the client I’ve been dreading?

  This must be a joke. Who the hell would pay a guy like me twenty grand a month to fuck Laynee Somerset? I’m speechless and dizzy and…holy fucking shit, I hate to admit it, but I’m goddamn star-struck.

  I meet Reese’s eyes and clench my jaw. You son of a bitch.

  He could’ve given me a clue, could’ve prepared me so that I wouldn’t be standing here with my fucking eyes bugging out of my head.

  Laynee Somerset isn’t just an A-list movie star. She’s the royalty of Hollywood. Her mother was a renowned actress in the wave of classic 1970s cult films, and her father was one of the most powerful film producers of all time. Both dead, they left behind a legacy in the form of the world’s most beautiful and talented woman in show business.

  I’ve seen most, if not all her movies, as well as countless interviews and magazine spreads. Not that I stalk her. Her glamorous face is everywhere.

  She’s also usually accompanied by her famous husband and fellow costar, Blake Harridan. But they can’t be married. I specifically requested a single woman in my application. Christ, the thought of being used like a sex toy in a kinky celebrity marriage makes me want to hurl.
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  “No. I said no appearances. I’m leaving New York tomorrow and—” Laynee rests her forehead against the window and draws something across the glass with her finger. “I understand, but I’m not budging on this, Violet. No cameras. No fucking interviews. I swear to God, if I see the pap sniffing around—” She sighs. “Yeah, I trust you.”

  She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her long legs and toned backside encased in tight yoga pants. A thin t-shirt hangs off one pale shoulder, and her golden hair falls in a sexy ruffled mess midway down her back.

  I’ve only ever seen pictures of her in floor-length gowns, with her hair all done up, heavy makeup, and jewelry. The sight of her makeup-free and away from the flashing lights is more captivating than any airbrushed photo. My God, she’s a stunning woman. Graceful bone structure, perfect-sized ass, just enough curves to hold on to. She can’t be real.

  “No, I don’t care.” Her hand balls in a fist. “This is a personal trip, and I want to be in and out of the city without the circus.” She turns, and her huge blue eyes lock on my face. “Listen, I need to go.”

  She hangs up and drags her gaze away to look at Reese. “The vultures are circling.”

  “You knew they would.” He perches on the arm of a chair. “You haven’t traveled in a while. They’re hungry.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She tosses the phone on the bed and walks toward me. “You must be Decker.”

  Fucking hell, she isn’t wearing a bra. The pale green shirt may as well be transparent. Dusky nipples brush against the fabric, peaked with tight little buds.

  I focus on her polished smile and hope to God my dick behaves. I should’ve worn looser jeans. “Forgive me. I’m…a little caught off guard here.” I throw another glare at Reese and offer her my hand.

  She doesn’t shake it. Instead, she holds my palm in the cradle of hers and trails her fingers over the scars on my knuckles, exploring, caressing. I feel every stroke as if she were teasing the length of my cock.

  “You’re really young.” She glances at Reese with grooves in her brow.

  “So are you.” I curl my fingers around hers, drawing her attention back to me.

  “I’m forty.” Her tone is as bitter as her smile. “That’s a decade past old in my profession.”

  She’s twelve years older than me? I’ve never been attracted to older women, but goddamn, her flawless beauty threatens to bring me to my knees.

  “You’re ageless,” I say lamely.

  “Hmm. Well…thank you.” She releases my hand. “My beauty regime costs sixteen grand a month.”

  My head hurts at the thought of spending that kind of money on anything.

  “Don’t let her fool you.” Perched on the chair behind her, Reese crosses his arms. “She’s never done Botox. Never gone under the knife for any kind of cosmetic surgery. She’s a rare natural gem among her peers.”

  She shakes her head, sharing an intimate smile with the other man.

  My hands fist at my sides. I feel like an intruder in a private relationship. Doesn’t matter who she is or what he means to her. I’ve been assigned to her, to her bed, and I don’t share. For the next year, she’ll be with me and no one else.

  CHAPTER 7

  LAYNEE

  I keep a camera-ready smile arranged on my face while every nerve in my body shivers and heats. I’ve never in my life encountered a man this unbelievably gorgeous. It’s astounding really, since I’m in the business of beautiful people. But it’s not Decker’s sex appeal that makes the hairs on my nape stand on end.

  Reese knows my requirements in a companion, and I was very clear in my profile and conversations with Infidelity. No overbearing alpha types. I have enough people in my life ordering me around. I can’t even sneeze without someone telling me how and when to do it.

  And this man…this brick house of muscle and intimidation is already clenching his fists and staring at me like he owns me.

  “Reese.” I give my best friend a look that spurs him to stand from the chair. My smile tightens. “Can I speak to you in private?”

  Decker glances between us, his brows dangerously dark over narrowed brown eyes. “Whatever you need to say to him, say it in front of me.”

  “That’s not how this works.” I give Decker my best glare.

  He grabs the wooden desk chair, plants it in front of the loveseat, and tosses the decorative pillows to the floor. “Sit.”

  My breath hitches with indignation. Where does this guy get off?

  “Should I leave?” Reese takes a step toward the door.

  “Yes,” Decker barks at the same time I say, “Stay”.

  “Stay,” I repeat in a stronger voice and direct my gaze to the loveseat, punctuating my order to Reese.

  He steps over the scattered pillows and lowers onto the small sofa. With a flutter in my stomach, I sit beside him.

  Decker perches on the wooden chair directly across from me, leaving less than a foot of space between our knees. I don’t know what his problem is with Reese, but he scowls at the other man for an uncomfortable moment before turning his attention to me.

  I need to get control of this situation, but I suck at confrontation. There’s no way I’d be able to maintain my composure if I went head to head with this man. I’d rather grab the shackles out of my suitcase and restrain his hands to the armrests. It wouldn’t shield me from the intensity of his eyes, but I’d feel a little safer knowing he couldn’t physically hurt me.

  It’s a ridiculous fear. Infidelity assured me their employee screening process is unparalleled.

  Leaning forward, Decker braces sinewy forearms on his thighs, and it’s all I can do to maintain my practiced posture—spine straight, shoulders back, chin lifted.

  “Your smile’s faltering.” He rubs his whiskered jaw, his expression thoughtful. “Do I make you nervous?”

  “No,” I say too quickly, unable to hold my mask in place. “Do I make you nervous?”

  “Yes.” He clasps his hands together between his bent legs. “Where’s your husband?”

  The question startles a laugh from me. “You mean Blake?” I study the confused look on his face. “You really don’t know?”

  His eyes darken.

  “Do you not watch TV?” I should be offended, but the idea that he’s clueless about celebrity gossip has a strangely wonderful effect on me.

  “I don’t own a TV.” A muscle bounces in his cheek. “Are you married or not?”

  “Divorced.”

  “It’s been all over the news for the last month.” Reese grunts. “Do you live under a rock?”

  “Just this past month?” Decker doesn’t take his eyes off me. “That’s funny. Your assistant gave me the impression he’s been selecting candidates for your bed for a while. Were you cheating on your husband?”

  Reese jerks forward, but I put a hand out, staying him.

  “I’ve never cheated. I divorced Blake two years ago.” My chest pinches, but I don’t let the pain show on my face. “Our publicist wanted us to keep the separation quiet until after the premier of Cherry Springs. Have you heard of—”

  “I saw the movie,” Decker says without inflection or emotion.

  He stares at me so intently my skin flushes. Is he thinking about the graphic sex scenes between my on-screen character and Blake’s? God, the filming and promotion of that movie was one of the most painful things I’ve ever done. Pretending to be blissfully in love with Blake—both on and off the screen—broke pieces inside me I’m not sure will ever heal.

  I don’t know why I feel the need to explain myself, but my mouth moves before I can stop myself. “I use body doubles. The nudity…the shots during the sex scenes that didn’t show my face…that wasn’t me.”

  He nods, and his shoulders seem to loosen. “Will you be filming more movies with your ex-husband?”

  What a strange question, but since he’s not in the business, I guess he wouldn’t know how these things work.

  “She won’t be costar
ring with Blake again.” Reese gives me a sympathetic smile. “Hollywood is all about pairing real-life couples on the big screen. But when a famous duo breaks up, it’s ugly and scandalous and often career damaging.” He squeezes my knee. “Laynee will bounce back. She always does.”

  Decker’s gaze zooms in on Reese’s hand until Reese removes his touch.

  “Where do you live?” Decker cocks his head. “Beverly Hills?”

  “Oh, uh… No.” I curl my toes in the shaggy rug. “Savannah, actually. We’re heading back in the morning.”

  “We?” Decker looks between Reese and me.

  “The plan is to bring you with us.” I meet his eyes. “I have a private plane, and it would be easier if—”

  “Jesus.” He leans back and rubs a hand over his head, mussing the tousled strands of his brown hair. “This is…”

  “Fast?”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “The longer I stay in the city, the harder it is to slip under the radar.”

  Decker watches me with a blank expression.

  “All it takes is one hotel employee.” Reese bends forward, eyes tapered. “The server who delivers the meals, the maid, the technician monitoring the security cameras… Someone will violate their NDA and leak Laynee’s location to the press. It’s just a matter of time, probably hours, before paparazzi surround the hotel and make it a goddamn nightmare to leave.”

  “Okay.” Decker rolls his lips in thought. Beautiful lips. Full, firm, kissable… “Tell me how I fit in to all of this.”

  “Well.” My chest rises and falls with a sigh. “When the time is right, my publicist will create a buzz about my new boyfriend. A strategy that will promote the perception that I’ve moved on from Blake—”

  “Perception?”

  “I have moved on.” I grind my teeth. “But in my world, perceptions are reality, and right now the perception is that I’m a scorned woman, hiding in my home and drowning myself in alcohol. You are the fix, but if I’m seen with you too soon, you’ll be a rebound, and I’ll be a whore. Timing is everything, and Violet knows how to navigate these things. She’ll tell me when it’s time to make public appearances together. Meanwhile…” I shrug. “You’ll stay in my home and keep a low profile while I go out and prove to the world that I’m a happy independent woman.”