All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  I guess it wasn’t exactly a practical idea, since the air was now thick with the smell of pot, and we were all feeling a bit high. We sat willy-nilly on the well-manicured loan, eating pizza and drinking Cokes, which was our usual lunch.

  “I could definitely work like this every day,” said Harvey, taking a swig of his drink and stretching out on the grass.

  “Me too,” put in James, the chief electrician, inhaling deeply. “You’re gonna regret this, Kendra.” He pointed a wavering finger at me. “You can’t live in California without pot. It’s a tradition.” He sniffed the air. “This was primo shit too.”

  “Oh, yeah. Like it’s a tradition in Hollywood to go to wild parties, have threesomes and get high. It’s practically required for any respectable star to be a drug addict, right?”

  “Right,” he said brightly, not noticing the sarcasm in my voice. “And since you’re a rising star, you’ll need to catch up.”

  “I’m gonna keep that in mind.”

  I crumbled my empty Cola can and threw it in the general direction of one of the trash bins I’d put everywhere, then rolled onto my belly to stretch my aching body. Every bone hurt. I could swear I’d put on at least five pounds of pure, solid muscle since I’d started this project. Every night I fell face down on my bed at the motel, sometimes too tired to even shower or undress.

  But it felt good. My house was seriously starting to look like a home. In another couple of weeks or so, I could probably start ordering furniture and appliances. In the meantime, Harry assured me he would finish laying the tiles in the kitchen and bathrooms. Added to that, Harvey and I had already started painting the walls in the finished rooms. I had chosen a pale-peach color for all the walls, because I liked simplicity and it was in tone with the floors and my idea of the furniture. As for the exterior of the house, Jerry and Silas were on it. We had already chosen the paint—a rich, very dark red, the color of ripe sour cherries, which matched the roof. Against the amethyst and emerald shades of the wisteria tentacles, the entire ensemble was going to look stunning.

  “Okay, break’s over,” I said, getting to my feet with a grunt, before I gave into the laziness induced by a full stomach and went to sleep right there. “Jerry, let’s finish scraping off the paint on those exterior walls. And for God’s sake, stop inhaling that stuff like a bunch of asthmatic old men sucking on their oxygen tanks. It’s nearly burned off anyway.”

  There were a few chuckles and some deep, disappointed sighs, but in five minutes we were all back to work. I hadn’t anticipated the house to be ready in less than two months, but it was amazing what a team of determined, well trained and well paid men could do. We put in ten to twelve hours a day, and I thought every minute was well spent. The men seemed to agree with me, because they never grumbled, always working hard and efficiently. Even the weather was on our side, always perfect, not too hot, although it was nearly the end of June.

  I took my rubber gloves out of my now grimy jeans pocket and put them on. After better securing my hair under the gray baseball cap, I tightened the knot of my pink shirt around my waist and climbed the ladder propped against the right side wall of the house. I gently blew the dust off the safety goggles hanging around my neck, before I shoved them over my eyes. Yanking a medium-sized scraper from my other pocket, I got to work peeling off the old gray paint, losing myself in the steady rhythm, with its monotonous sound.

  I worked steadily, oblivious of the noise around me, moving the ladder when I was finished with a certain sector. Hours later, more than half the wall was done, but despite my breaks, I felt I needed to stop. I was too exhausted to do any more today. Besides, when I lifted my head to look at the sky, I saw the light had changed, causing the sunny brightness of the day to shimmer its way into twilight.

  Suddenly, I sensed a kind of shift in the air. The odd impression that someone was watching me made the back of my neck tingle. When I turned my head, careful to keep my balance, I saw Blake standing a dozen feet away, studying me with his hands tucked in his jeans pockets.

  “I’m impressed. I’ve never known a woman who could handle any kind of tool, other than in some lascivious music video.”

  The lurch of my heart was dim compared to the one in my stomach. He was certainly even better looking in daylight than in the soft light of a restaurant. The fading sun cast its last rays over him, lending his hair and beard stubble a golden glow. The gray eyes were even more incredible than I remembered. They reminded me of the ocean, with its moody waves and spectacular shades of sunset.

  Realizing I was staring again, I climbed down the ladder and turned to face him.

  “Should I take that as a compliment? I’m not sure if you’re in character, or if you really are a misogynist,” I said, referring to the fact that Hunter Cole, my fictional character, was a chauvinistic prick before he fell in love with Serena, the heroine.

  Surprisingly, Blake laughed. “Maybe a bit of both. But you must be a little misogynist yourself, otherwise you couldn’t have written about it so well. Besides, I saw the way you treated poor Sandra, like she was a complete idiot.”

  I shifted my gaze, searching for a reply, but he went on, “She is. But that doesn’t mean you have to point it out to her so blatantly.”

  I gaped at him for a full five seconds, before I gave a light laugh. “You’re right. I... guess I acted kind of rude. And mean. And arrogant,” I conceded, reaching up to remove my cap and let my hair tumble messily down my shoulders. I also removed my safety goggles, knowing I must have marks all over my face. Why did I have to look so ridiculous, not to mention sweaty and dirty, when Blake and I met for the first time alone?

  That brought my head up to gaze at him inquisitively. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I needed to speak to you about the script,” he said, producing a stack of paper sheets rolled into a cylinder from his back pocket. “Your hand’s bleeding.”

  I glanced down, absently noticing I’d scraped a small portion of skin from the back of my right hand, along with the paint.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, with a dismissive gesture. “How did you know where I live?”

  “I asked around.” He took out a packet of Kleenex from his pocket and began to dab at my hand. “Mark mentioned you bought a house in The Bu, and it wasn’t hard to track you. You need to wash this, and put some antiseptic on it.”

  I must have been more tired than I’d realized, because I actually let him guide me into my own house, showed him into the downstairs bathroom, and let him wash my hand for me with soap and water. While he did so, I couldn’t help looking around proudly. This was the only finished bathroom so far. I’d decided to do all of them in pale lavender, from tiles to sink and toilet, even down to the lilac claw-foot tub, which I was dying to use.

  “Where’s your first aid kit?” he asked, jarring me out of my admiring ponderings.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Not even a towel?”

  I looked around defensively. “No. I don’t live here yet.”

  He gave me an exasperated look tinged with pity, then he lifted the hem of his blue cotton T-shirt and gently wiped the water off my hand. I should have been amused by the inscription on his chest, which read ‘Work never killed anyone, but why risk it?’, yet I was too enthralled by the glimpse of his tanned abdomen. When my fingers accidentally touched the hard muscles, I had to fight the moan trapped in my chest.

  “I feel as if I’m in a Barbie house”, he said, looking around. Before I could take umbrage at this remark he asked, “Have you had dinner yet?”

  “Dinner?” I repeated mechanically, just to make sure I was truly acting like an idiot.

  His eyes twinkled with humor, as though he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “Yeah. You know, the evening meal.” He glanced at the sports watch on his left wrist. “It’s past seven. Do you want to grab something to eat?”

  “I didn’t realize it was so late,” I mused aloud, only now noticing the
house was quiet around us. The men must be getting ready to pack it up. I returned my attention to Blake.

  “Thanks, but I’m not exactly dressed for dinner,” I said, gesturing down at my dirty clothes.

  He gave me that killer white smile that melted hearts all over the world.

  “Actually, you look very cute and efficient. Where are you staying? I could follow you back to L.A. and wait until you’ve showered and changed.”

  I bit my lip in indecision. I really wanted to have dinner with him, but I was too tired. Only the thought of the forty-five minute drive drained me of energy. When I told him that, he thought about it for a beat, then came up with a solution.

  “We could order something and eat in your motel room. Of course, if you’re too tired, we can leave this for another time. There’s no rush.” His eyes met mine, dead on. “It was just an excuse to see you again.”

  11

  An hour later his words still echoed in my mind, as I lay in the tub, soaking my over-worked body. God, the water felt too hot! But I knew that wasn’t the reason my cheeks burned every time I remembered Blake was only yards away, watching TV on the sofa and waiting for me. I couldn’t understand what his game was. Surely a man like him, who could literally have any woman in the world, couldn’t be seriously interested in me. Perhaps he really wanted to discuss the script, and what he’d said about wanting to see me again didn’t mean anything. Maybe I’d only imagined it. Maybe I imagined the intensity with which he looked at me, or perhaps it was my own ambiguous attraction to him that led me to mistake his interest in me.

  “This is the last thing I need,” I muttered, slipping completely under the fragrant water.

  When I finally gathered up the courage to leave the bathroom, I found him sprawled on the sofa, flipping through the channels. I’d put on a pair of black leggings and a simple white T-shirt, not too large and not too tight, which covered my ass. As I walked into the room, I realized I’d forgotten to put on a bra. Blake’s eyes instantly lowered to my chest, as though drawn by a magnet. I felt my nipples tighten even more, and hastily began to fluff out my damp hair, making sure it fell over my breasts to cover them.

  “The food should be here any moment,” Blake said. “I ordered you Thai soup, as you asked.”

  “Thank you.” I sat next to him, stretching my legs. “I desperately need a decent meal. I’ve eaten nothing but pizza and cookies for the past two weeks.”

  “Cookies?” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look like a cookie kind of girl.”

  I frowned at him. “Now that was a sexist remark, if I ever heard one. Not all people who eat sweets are obese. It happens that women need sugar more than men. It’s been scientifically proven. And I work my butt off not to let any fat settle on it.”

  He gazed down, as though to assess said butt, which was of course invisible, since I was sitting on it.

  “It looked pretty toned to me in those tight jeans, when you were straddling that ladder.”

  “I wasn’t straddling it,” I said, once more overcome by the curse of blushing. “Anyway, what do you want to talk about the script?” I paused just for a second. “I mean, do you really want to talk about it, or...”

  I left the sentence unfinished, not sure what I wanted to ask. Blake’s eyes lowered to my mouth, and I moistened my lips with my tongue in an unconsciously nervous gesture. I wondered if I’d ever stop marveling over the unusual beauty of his eyes.

  “I don’t have any major problems with the script,” he admitted at last. His voice was low and husky. “I do have some suggestions, but nothing important.”

  “Let’s hear them,” I said, just as a knock sounded at the door. “That must be the food.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  He pressed my thigh to keep me in place, and went to answer. After paying the delivery boy, he returned with two bags that smelled great. He placed them on the coffee table. My stomach gave a loud, embarrassing grumble, but Blake only laughed and started to unpack the food.

  “You’re a working woman, you should eat more that pizza and cookies,” he said reprovingly, handing me the soup and a plastic spoon.

  “I know. It’s just that I’ve been up to my ears in work, too busy to take much notice about what I eat. That house was a real mess when I bought it.”

  “Why did you?” he asked, digging into the spaghetti and meatballs he’d ordered for himself.

  I took a mouthful of soup, closing my eyes in ecstasy. It was so spicy it made my nose run a little, but it was divine nonetheless.

  “Well,” I said finally, returning to Blake’s question. “It was the only thing remotely affordable in Malibu—that was the main reason. Other than that, I really like to renovate things, to repair what was once broken and make it even better. Granted, this house is a bigger and harder project than I anticipated, but I’m hooked. I fell in love with every dusty, spidery corner. It’s my place now, and I enjoy turning it into my dream home.”

  He smiled. “It looks to me you’re doing a great job. Why did you want to live in Malibu though?” he asked, forking more spaghetti.

  “I didn’t specifically want to live in Malibu, but I wanted someplace other than downtown Los Angeles. I don’t like the crowds, the noise... And I love the ocean. I was disappointed I couldn’t find a beach house to fit my budget, but it’s only a five minute walk to the beach, so it’s not a big problem.” I sipped more soup, making myself comfortable among the old, lumpy cushions. The homey taste of pepper and spices, and Blake’s comfortable presence made me feel pleasantly drowsy.

  “How about you?” I asked. “Do you live in L.A.?”

  He shifted to face me. “Right now I do. I have a townhouse here, but I’m beginning to feel like you. I want to get away from the crowds and the pollution. Sometimes, it all becomes too much,” he continued thoughtfully, with a shade of weariness in his voice. “I rent a house in Long Beach when I need a break, but I’m thinking about buying a place somewhere more private. Are there a lot of properties for sale in Malibu? We could be neighbors one day,” he added with a lopsided grin.

  I smiled back, putting my empty bowl on the table. “There are some impressive places around here, but the only ones who can afford them have millions coming out of their asses.”

  Realizing he was, of course, one of those people, I blushed. I really needed to be careful about what came out of my mouth. The late hour and this trance-like state— which I could blame on the past weeks’ exhaustion—were dangerous. I suddenly changed the subject, stifling a yawn.

  “So, has Mark found a suitable location? When do you start filming?”

  He sighed, put his empty plate on the table, then opened the cans of Cola and handed one to me.

  “Mark is still looking for the perfect place. A village is easy to find, so we can film the second part of the movie, but the castle is the problem.” He imitated Mark’s accent and gestures perfectly. “California is too friggin’ sunny. I need menacing clouds, dark skies, gothic shit, man!”

  I burst out laughing, holding my full stomach. Blake was such a talented actor that I could see Mark yanking at his dreads in frustration.

  “I thought he wanted to film in Transylvania,” I said once I could speak.

  “He did, but Marie argued it put the film over budget. Besides, there are still a couple of small roles left to cast, so he has some time to keep looking. Never rush genius,” he imitated Mark again. When he smiled at me, my heart was simply enchanted by the sexy dimples in his cheeks. Even when his face was relaxed, the two slight dents added to his appeal.

  He reached out to twirl a strand of my hair around his index finger. “So, are you and your agent going to visit us on the set when we start filming?”

  My lips parted, as much in surprise as in the unexpected rush of emotion I experienced at his touch.

  “My agent?” I repeated slowly. “No. What’s he got to do with the movie? I want to be involved as a consultant, depending on how soon I finish working on the
house. But Danny isn’t interested in the actual production.”

  He looked down for a second, then back at me. “I got the impression your relationship is more than professional. At least, he seemed very... protective of you when we had dinner.”

  I pursed my lips, trying to find a delicate way to explain that I was completely available.

  “No, Danny and I are business partners, that’s all.” I paused for a heartbeat. “The only love affair I have right now is with my house.”

  His teeth flashed white and his eyes sparkled mischievously over the rim of the Cola can.

  “Good to know.” He drained the can, then crumpled it with such ease I had to keep from gaping at his strong fingers. “I heard you moved here from Chicago. Is that your hometown?”

  “Yup. Where are you from?”

  “Fort Wayne, Indiana.”

  I moved my gaze lazily over him, a trifle surprised by this revelation. “Funny, you don’t look corn fed.”

  I realized I’d spoken aloud only when his chest rumbled with laugher, and his head tilted back to reveal a tanned and very kissable throat.

  My face was on fire. “I’m so sorry,” I said, giggling in embarrassment. “I become completely tactless when I’m tired and sleepy. It’s... I truly meant that as a compliment.”

  “I sort of gathered that. I think I like you when you’re sleepy and tired. You become perfectly honest,” he said, still laughing. “But although I’d love to pry into your honesty some more, I think I’d better leave you to rest.”