by Lulu Pratt
“You said nothing about sleeping.”
I lean against the suite bar and bite into a cherry. It’s been so long since I’ve actually flirted with someone outside the bounds of cheesy Hollywood fakery that I’m not sure how to do it anymore. Maybe the wine was a bad idea.
“And giving me a blow job is not the same as fucking you.” His smile is dangerous this time. I could absolutely see why so many women succumbed to this asshole.
“What big dreams you have.”
Eric closes the space between us and surrounds me by bracing his arms on the bar. We are as close as we were in the bar, only this time there are far less clothes. His thick eyelashes open and close slowly and his nose gently touches mine. It’s an otherwise sweet gesture, but this felt entirely different.
“I’ve seen the way you stare at me, Kate. I can hear how badly you want me over the droning noise of the moron who is your ex.” He bites my lower lip and I feel myself melting underneath him. “I’m going to fuck you like I should have three weeks ago: on every surface in the room.”
Eric goes for my lip again and I’m about to give him everything he’d ever want, when I catch a flash of color on his cheek. I’d been so preoccupied by his striptease and the intensity radiating off him I didn’t see it until we were close enough to become entangled.
“Is that lipstick on your cheek?”
He doesn’t answer.
My chest tightens. Eric and I may not be in a relationship, this whole thing may actually hedge on a terrible idea, but it still sucker punches me in the gut. A bright red reminder of every night David came home smelling of another woman’s perfume and lipstick on his neck. Every time he tried to pass it off as something from the costume department.
“Get the fuck out.” I shove him off me. He stumbles back, anger and confusion blooming across his brow. “I said get out.”
“Kate, I don’t know what you’re trying to do—”
“Out!” I yell. I gather up his clothes and throw them at him. He shoves his legs in the pants, going on about how insane I am, but I don’t care. This was a terrible idea. I shouldn’t have tried this. “I said out!”
“I’m getting dressed, woman.” His deep voice snaps out at me. He looks like he wants to say more, but thinks better of it and storms out.
I think about falling to the floor in a dramatic fit, sobbing about how terrible my life is. Instead, I call Lily, tell her to send up another bottle, and eat every bag of M&Ms in the minibar.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ERIC
Every Monday morning is full of the same shit: closed blinds, dark shades and a gallon of coffee at my disposal. My booze expenses tripled since I took on the McArthur case and it’s almost enough to make me want to drop it. The only thing keeping me going at this rate is the number of bills I shoot to him weekly to make up for his three-in-the-morning drunken rants.
That asshole actually had the audacity to act offended last week.
“I thought we were friends! I was calling my friend.” David huffed. Likely still drunk. “This is bullshit, Eric, and you know it.”
“David, I’m not your friend. I’m your attorney. Now keep it in your fucking pants and stop calling me in the middle of the night if you don’t want to keep racking up fees. You know how contracts work, big guy.”
He hung up on me and then had a money order hand-delivered by his assistant. She had a tight ass and huge tits and is probably fucking him. She offered to suck my dick before she left. I told her to fuck off.
Still, Monday morning is a bitch. I dump half a carton of sugar into my cup and rest my head on my desk. I don’t want to be here.
“I wasn’t expecting you in.” Sophie squeaks, barging into my office. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stevens.”
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” I raise my head slowly because my heartbeat is threatening to blow my head clean off. “Aside from being half dead. Was there a meeting I missed?”
“Um, no.” She sounds confused. Sophie is the most competent legal assistant I’ve ever had, so it makes me uneasy. “It’s Sunday.”
“No it’s…” I grab my phone. “Goddammit, it’s Sunday. Why are you here on a Sunday?”
“I’m here every Sunday.” She says slowly. “You approve my—”
“Right. Right. Hungover. Sorry.” Now I feel like a first-class idiot.
“Do you want me to get you anything?”
I shake my head. She leaves quietly and I fall back in my chair. Of course it’s Sunday. I hit the bar last night with the boys on our usual day and ended up with Kate. Memories hit me in the gut, slowly piling back into place to fill in the holes from the night before.
She looked fucking fantastic in that red dress. Buying me drinks was a dangerous game and she looked ripe to play. And eat. I didn’t believe her for a minute, but when I opened the door she was sprawled across a chaise, dressed in lace like she was waiting for me.
My cock jumps in my pants at the memory. She was gorgeous, brazen. I fully intended to have her screaming all night and deal with the fucking consequences later. Something happened, though, and she flipped shit.
“Mr. Stevens?” Sophie pops her head back in. “I think you need to see this, since you’re here.”
She drops a stack of tabloids on my desk. David is on the front cover of every one, but a different girl is on his arm or in his lap. Every headline spews the same thing: David McArthur is moving on.
I run a hand through my hair and toss one on the stack. It slides on the floor and Sophie jumps slightly to avoid it. This asshole’s claim hinges on his plea that he still wants to make the marriage work, but he’s hopping around from bed to bed, making my life that much more difficult.
“You have…” Sophie clears her throat through a giggle. “You have something on your cheek.”
I wipe it off, still studying the photos. First, David needs to stay the fuck out of Hollywood and away from any camera. Second, I need Kate to start looking as bad as him. Right now, she’s all charity galas and yoga classes and sob stories at lunch with her girlfriends. If she wins the judge over with her tears, I can kiss my big bonus goodbye.
“It’s still there.”
I glare at Sophie. She grabs a tissue off the desk and moves to wipe it for me, but I block her.
“I’m a grown man, Sophie.”
“Right. Sorry, Mr. Stevens.”
“Draft a letter to McArthur and tell him to keep his goddamn dick in his pants. Tell him to leave the city for a few days if needed, but he’s under strict orders to not go anywhere or do anything unless I say it’s okay. And bill twice for this shit, because I’m tired of telling him.”
Sophie nods and hurries out of the room. Once she’s gone, I go into my office bathroom and flick on the light. It burns and my head hurts, but I see it right away. A smear of lipstick on my cheek.
More holes patch. After Kate left the bar, I stumbled into a small bachelorette party in the elevator. That was fucking fun. I wash it off and remember that was why Kate lost her shit: the lipstick. It’s not like I’m her new goddamn husband. I’m the enemy. Lipstick on my cheek shouldn’t mean anything.
None of this should matter. She’s hot, yes, but I have a lot of money riding on her sinking into oblivion. Just disappointing we didn’t get to fuck. I bet she’s delicious.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Paxton drops into a chair, dressed in dark jeans and a polo shirt. He got the memo it wasn’t a weekday. “It’s Sunday. Why are you wearing a suit?”
“Long story.” I ditch the jacket and roll up my sleeves, but I’d kill for a pair of basketball shorts right now. “What are you doing here?”
“Had to pick up some files for the Giraldi case. How did it go last night with the brunette?” He waggles his brows at me.
“She freaked. I had lipstick on my cheek or some shit from a bachelorette party last night.” I shrug. “All they did was kiss me for some scavenger hunt. I guess Kate’s just as crazy as David claims.”
“Fucking broads.” Paxton says.
“I concur. So, David’s being a fucking moron again?”
“Every goddamn day, Pax. This fucker can’t keep it in his pants for longer than a day. How he stayed married this long, I don’t know. The media is having a field day with this shit.”
Kate was a saint for enduring his fuckery, not that I’d ever tell her. None of these women could compete with her, either. They look like Los Angeles scum, half-naked girls trying to climb through the ranks of wealth and fame based on their fake tits and utter lack of personality. Kate has more than the body, she’s got class and passion and…
“I don’t know what to do with him.” I cut myself off and shake my head. Hangovers usually fuck with me, but this one seems especially bad. Why am I spending so much time thinking about Kate?
“You need to level the playing field.” Paxton shoots me a knowing look. “Kate needs to look as sleazy as David.”
I nod slowly, mulling this over. He’s right, and there are plenty of ways I could make Kate look like Hollywood trash. This case is special, though, which means only one thing.
CHAPTER NINE
KATE
“Should we put Titus Evans next to Charlotte DeVine? They play nice in public, but her publicist says she hates him.” Lily plays with the cardboard name plates on the magnetic whiteboard. “His publicist says everything is fine.”
“They can suck it up for an evening. Everyone wants to see them together. They did that Egyptian gods movie together last year, they can deal. It’s Hollywood. Nothing is real.” I throw a pen across the table and watch it spin.
Not like I’m bitter or anything. Not like this is a direct correlation to my life. No big deal.
“Well then,” Lily clicks her tongue and gives me her patented look. “Projecting much?”
I scowl and go back to moving pieces around the board. This town has more drama than the silver screen. Everyone hates everyone. Everyone slept with someone else’s agent or husband or girlfriend or boyfriend or sister or whoever. Grudges line the streets thicker than the stars in front of the Chinese theater.
“I’m just saying, if we need to talk about David…”
“No.” I immediately shut her down. “No. This is not about my hatred for David, okay? We clearly were a shit match and made each other miserable. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in this situation. If I’m honest, I stopped liking the asshole more than a year ago. Still, there was a duty there, a respect there, and he violated it.”
“He did, because he sucks.”
“More than that. He’s a user, Lil. He used me for my money and my resources. Now, he wants to try to take everything. I thought, if nothing else, we were partners. We weren’t. He took advantage of my trust and my love. He convinced me I had nothing to worry about. He convinced me a prenup said we didn’t have faith in what we could accomplish. He convinced me he was loyal. He is a fucking liar.”
“Limp as the dick in his pants.” Lily agrees and raises her seltzer water in a mock toast. “He’s garbage and he’ll get what he deserves, Kate. It’ll take time, but it will happen.”
“It better.” I mutter and shove Titus and Charlotte together. “They are sitting together.”
“Okay, okay. Fine.” Lily makes a note in our notebook. “Everyone plays nice at charity galas anyway. If they don’t, people start to see the real them under the shiny Hollywood veneer.”
“That veneer sucks, too.”
I kick off my shoes and pace around the room, trying to focus back on planning for this event. I don’t want to think about David. I really don’t want to think about Eric and how good he looked with his clothes off in the hotel room. I most especially don’t want to think about how badly I wanted him to rip off my clothes until I caught wind of the lipstick on his cheek.
No one in this city is loyal. No one but Lily.
“Oh!” Lily snaps her fingers and shakes me out of my stewing. “The caterer confirmed they can do a raw bar. You know, for the petite actress looking to lose fifty pounds so she can play a twelve-year-old girl as a thirty-year-old woman.”
“Great. If they bitch about the food again, I might scream.”
Lily bites down on her straw and watches me pace. When I look over at her, her look intensifies. The same look that says, “I know what you are thinking”.
“What?”
“You need to get laid.”
“Tried that, remember? It failed miserably. Nobody wants Kate McArthur. They all want David. Story of my life. Now, can we get back to the seating arrangement?”
“You two aren’t married, Kate. Eric isn’t beholden to you.”
“I know that.”
“Do you, though?” She eases out of her chair and blocks my path. “I know you’re now laden with trust issues and that’s totally understandable, but you aren’t together. He doesn’t owe you anything. He probably thought you were trying to work the system.”
“That’s exactly what I was doing, remember?” Not like I’d like to sit here and rehash this again and again and again…
“Right. But you let those hurt feelings cloud your judgment. I know you don’t want to get hurt again. I don’t want that, either. But maybe the resentment is misplaced. Eric is a single guy who is notorious for sleeping around. He’s not David because he’s not promised to someone. You could go out and sleep with four different men today, and none of that would matter because you aren’t promised to any of those four, either.”
I frown at her. “I don’t like it when you talk sense to me.”
“You love it.” She kisses my cheek. “It’s why you keep me around.”
“That and you’re an excellent seat assigner.”
Lily curtsies. Hannah comes in with a massive flower bouquet and sets it down on the table. Two dozen stargazers — my favorite flower. My entire body immediately tenses.
“This was left for you.” Hannah grins at me. “No name on the note. I called the flower shop, though. They refused to tell me who it was, but did confirm it wasn’t David.”
“It could be his assistant.” I scowl, even though part of me is melting. David hadn’t sent me flowers in years, but when he did, it was always roses. I check the note. “Meet me at Descanso Gardens this Friday at five. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Lily and Hannah both stare, open-mouthed and start squealing.
“That is so romantic!” Hannah gushes.
“Fuck romantic, that’s sexy.” Lily grabs my arm. “What if it’s Eric?”
“Who’s Eric?” Hannah asks.
“No one.” We say in tandem. Hannah grins but steps out of the room and closes the door to give us privacy, because she’s the best assistant anyone could ask for.
“But seriously.” Lily lowers her voice. “What if it is?”
“That’s absurd.” I shake my head, unable to believe the man who glares at me across the table twice a week would send me flowers. “I mean, that’s insane… right? He only agreed to meet me because I bought him alcohol and he was probably drunk. I mean, he was drunk. We obviously couldn’t have sex and he probably, hopefully, remembers nothing.”
“Or. Or.” Lily draws the word out. “He was devastated that you kicked him out and is trying to seduce you now. You need to go!”
“It’s in a public place when the sun is up. I can’t do that.” I shake my head more to convince myself than anything else. Because I want it to be Eric and I want to go, but I can’t. “Vivian would kill me.”
“So be quiet about it. Wear a hat. Fuck him in the bathroom.”
“Lily!”
“Bathroom sex is hot. Or find a quiet spot around Descanso and fuck him by a tree or a pond. That’s super sexy.”
It is super sexy. My entire body runs warm just thinking about it. Having him throw up my skirt and press me up against a tree, or lay me down by the water and kiss my entire body while people walk past, none the wiser of what was happening? God help me, I’d die.
I take a deep breath so I
don’t lose myself before my best friend.
“It has been a really long time.” I admit slowly. “I mean, a really long time since I’ve had anything good.”
“That last time with David doesn’t count. You need a good fucking. So go!”
I think about the night before mediation started, how he showed up and begged me for one last night together. How terrible it all was.
“Okay.” I nod slowly and slip the note into my wallet. “I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER TEN
ERIC
“Can you see me okay?” I shade my eyes and look across the park grounds. Unnecessary with my dark shades, but it added to the spy vibe. “Do I need to move?”
“I see you fine,” comes a slightly static-y voice over my Bluetooth ear piece. “I’ll go radio silence when she shows up.”
“I would hope so. The less she knows, the better.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Debatable.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you try to pull some shady shit like this.” Paxton chuckles, the static making him sound like a creepy circus clown.
“What the hell are you doing that’s making this connection so bad?”
“It’s fucking Descanso, man. It’s a signal blackhole. Way to pick some place terrible. This is further proof you’re a shitty attorney.”
“Fuck off. I’m turning this shit off. Just make sure you get some good shots.” I depress the button on my ear buds and drop them into my shirt pocket.
It’s been a while since I’ve pulled this sort of sting, and I only do it in desperate-measure situations. The women usually know it’s me in the photo and are too ashamed to say anything, but a few have guessed the set-up. I need pictures, not to be reported.
Kate, though, is a situation I still haven’t worked out. She’s been eye-fucking me for weeks, that was obvious. I’m much more covert about the entire thing because I’m a professional, no matter what the Attorney General likes to think. The late-night jack-off sessions to her naked beach pictures obviously don’t count.
