All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  “Bring us a bottle of ‘81, please,” Blake asked the waiter.

  “Of course, Mister Blake,” the man said with reverence. “And to eat?” he asked, bowing slightly to me.

  I chose a Caesar salad and grilled chicken, while Blake opted for a medium rare steak, accompanied by something called golden potatoes.

  “A typical man’s meal,” I remarked after the waiter left. “What are golden potatoes anyway?”

  “They’re my favorites. I’m not sure how they’re cooked, but I assume they’re just boiled potatoes, which are then fried to give them a golden crust. The spices are the secret though. You can try some of mine—I guarantee you’ll love them.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You sound as if you can cook.”

  “I’m a very good cook.”

  “Really?”

  He must have sensed my skepticism because he smiled cockily. “I’ll give you a demonstration if you ask me nicely. Very nicely,” he emphasized the word. “But it’ll have to wait until I get back. Tomorrow we’re leaving for New York.”

  “New York?”

  “Yep. Mark has finally found a spot where he wants to film—Bannerman Castle, on Pollepel Island.”

  My forehead creased as I tried to place the name. “It sounds familiar.”

  “It’s a famous setting, which was used in several movies, novels, even music videos. Thanks,” he said to the waiter, who brought us our wine bottle. He opened it expertly, filled our glasses, and then withdrew quietly.

  “Anyway,” Blake resumed, “aren’t you going to join us? I know you want to come along as our consultant.”

  I nibbled at my lower lip, thinking. “Well, I can’t go tomorrow. My furniture is supposed to arrive next week. I can come after that though, as soon as possible. How long will you film there?”

  “A couple of weeks, I think. Depends on how many lines we’ll screw up daily,” he replied with a grin. “I hope you’ll be able to make it.”

  “Definitely. I’ll be there by next weekend.”

  “Here’s to that! And Happy Independence Day, by the way.” He raised his glass expectantly.

  “Here’s to our country!” I clinked mine against it with a crystalline sound.

  We both sipped, then he said, “When I asked you to dinner, I didn’t realize today was the Fourth of July. Would you rather do something else?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Go to a fair, eat hotdogs, win silly prizes at shooting... You know, typical Fourth of July stuff.”

  I smiled contentedly with my eyes half closed, letting the fine champagne bubbles caress my taste buds before I swallowed. I shook my head dreamily, gazing into his spellbinding eyes.

  “There’s no place I’d rather be than here, with you.”

  As our gazes held above the single candle burning on the table, I could swear the air crackled, sparkled, and sizzled between us. The round table had four chairs, but we were seated side by side rather than face to face. Still, it seemed it wasn’t close enough to suit Blake. A moment later, he reached out and effortlessly dragged my chair even closer to his. I was vaguely aware of the glances darted toward us when the chair’s legs scraped on the marble tiles. However, my attention was focused on Blake. Amusement shimmered in his eyes when our faces were only inches away.

  “You’re just saying that so I’ll share my potatoes with you.”

  A throaty laugh I barely recognized as my own tickled the air. As he held his fork out to my mouth, I accepted the small piece of vegetable coated in a delicious-looking golden crust. He watched my lips close around it, and the apparently innocent gesture made his eyes go smoky. The delicious, spicy aroma was faint compared with the potent way he was looking at me, as though he wanted to savor me instead of the food. It was a few seconds before I realized the potato was smoking hot.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked puzzled as I reached for my champagne glass and gulped it down, to cool off my taste buds.

  “I think I burned my tongue,” I lisped comically when I could speak.

  “I’m really sorry, I didn’t know they were that hot.” A wicked expression hovered over his face. “Here, let me kiss it and make it better.”

  Whispering this, he leaned toward me and cupped my cheek in his large, warm palm, drawing my face close to his. When our lips touched and he slipped his tongue into my mouth, it wasn’t the soothing sensation of a balm that assaulted me, but a fierce, explosive arousal. Derived from the incredibly erotic strokes of our tongues, it spread through my body like liquid fire. When the kiss ended, I was dizzy with more than alcohol.

  “Better?” he whispered gruffly against my lips.

  “Much.”

  “Glad to help.”

  Oh, yeah... The mating ritual had begun. I was only wondering how I would manage to keep myself under control until the end of the evening, when he drove me home. Perhaps it was the champagne making me reckless, but if he wasn’t going to make the first move, I would jump his bones anyway. I wanted him so much I felt an ache somewhere deep inside me, a yearning much more powerful than just raging hormones.

  “Here, let me show you Bannerman Castle,” he said, reaching in his pocket for his phone. “It’s really impressive.”

  He accessed the Internet and showed me a few pictures of the building, and the island itself. I had to admit it was a breathtaking view—the castle ruins surrounded by wild vegetation, on an island rising out of the waters. In the background, the glorious blue sky was filled with menacing clouds. The structure had lacy-looking walls, from which chunks were missing here and there, gnawed away by weather and time.

  “Wow!” I said on a long breath. “It’s magnificent! But is it safe? Those walls look like they could collapse at any moment.”

  Blake chuckled, putting his phone on the table. “It’s supposed to be safe.” He shrugged. “As I said, it’s a popular setting. I hope we’ll make it out alive and in one piece.”

  I stared at him, shaking my head slowly. “You must be insane! I heard actors like to take chances, but this is ridiculous.”

  “Not so much. You’re not an actor, and you’ll still be there, right? It’s all in the name of art,” he proclaimed theatrically, with a hand on his heart and the other one on his fork.

  I began eating mechanically, but I was still engrossed in the conversation, increasingly curious about this fascinating man.

  “How did you become an actor? Did you always want to be one?” I asked, forking a bite of tender chicken.

  He laughed a little. “Not at all. It was actually a coincidence. I’d come to L.A. with a couple of my buddies to become rock stars, like most of the teenagers who end up here.”

  My eyebrows arched. “You can sing?”

  “I can play the guitar, but not well enough to be on the stage. Anyway, an agent saw us playing this one time. We were on the street, giving an impromptu show, which brought us as many boos as applauses.” He wiped his mouth, smiling at the memory. “I was twenty-two, and so full of myself I could have burst. My ego almost did, after that terrible show. I was dragging my guitar case behind me after the party ended, when this guy in a suit approached me and asked me if I wanted to do something more serious with my life than play for pennies on the streets. I was still too green to tell anyone in L.A. to fuck off, so I listened to what he had to say. When he told me he thought I had the potential to become a decent actor, I sneered and said acting wasn’t a manly job in my opinion.”

  “You didn’t!” I exclaimed wide-eyed, fork halfway to my mouth.

  He laughed again. “I did. Tom—that was his name—asked me to go to the cinema with him. After half a night of movies with Bruce Willis, Kevin Costner and Johnny Depp, I understood that a guy can be a real man and a great actor at the same time. The next day I started taking acting lessons, and did the odd job to pay my rent—anything from waiting tables to parking limos. A year later I got a small part in a movie, and that’s how my career started. I had a lot of setbacks unt
il I got my first big role, but I knew I wasn’t going to give this up. I love it too much.”

  I ate in silence for a while, pondering what he’d told me. Somehow, his story was so similar to mine—discovering our vocations, fighting disappointment and heartache, and finally succeeding in our respective careers. Of course, I wasn’t nearly as successful as Blake was, but I knew I was on my way.

  I looked at him in admiration. “You inspire me, you know that?”

  He looked surprised, yet very pleased. It was funny to see him disconcerted for the first time since we’d met.

  “Um, thanks, but I don’t see why you would say that. It was only dumb luck that started everything for me.”

  “I don’t believe in dumb luck. It was a chance you deserved, and which you knew how to play. You worked hard to get what you wanted, and that’s something to be admired.”

  He gave me a lopsided smile. “Speaking from personal experience?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. In my case, it was more like I didn’t have a choice. I started on this road, and I had to pay the rent, so I wrote and filled drawers with rejection letters,” I went on jokingly. “Then I guess I got better at it. It was Danny who helped me achieve all I have so far.”

  “Yes, Danny... The infatuated agent.”

  I felt my cheeks burning. “He’s not... It’s not like that. Danny is just the type who collects panties, and I think he’s miffed because I won’t succumb to his charm.”

  “Why don’t you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would really want to smash his face if you did, but the guy is good-looking and successful. So what is it that you dislike about him?”

  My mind was still latched onto the part about him smashing Danny’s face, so it took me a while to answer.

  “I don’t want to be just another notch on somebody’s bed post. Danny is a hopeless womanizer. He’s the kind of man who takes, discards, and doesn’t offer anything.”

  He watched me thoughtfully for a while, then unexpectedly took my hand in his.

  “Kendra, neither of us knows where this is going. We’re only starting to know one another, but I want you to believe I would never consider you a notch on my bedpost. I don’t take relationships lightly.”

  I was bewitched by the sincerity in his eyes and by the feathery caress of his fingers on my palm.

  “I know. I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation if I didn’t sense something different, special about you,” I said softly. “I don’t expect anything. As you said, we should enjoy discovering each other for now.”

  He lifted my hand to his lips in a meaningful kiss. Then he got to his feet and pulled me onto the dance floor.

  “Then come and sway with me,” he said, quoting the lyrics along with Michael Bublé’s charming voice.

  So I did, and was amazed to discover how well we moved together. I’d never been much of a dancer, but when it was pressed against Blake’s body, mine seemed to come alive. Heat and anticipation built between us with each touch of his hands on my waist, with each rubbing motion of our thighs. Our gazes were enthralled in a visual embrace, just like our bodies.

  I lost count of the number of songs we danced to. When we finally headed toward our table on the terrace, an explosion erupted from outside, making me run to the stone balustrade.

  “The fireworks!”

  The skies were alight with color, the air rumbled with the sounds of this magnificent spectacle of celestial brilliance. Each firework launched created wonderful patterns of light and smoke that made me feel as though it was raining fire.

  “Happy Independence Day,” Blake said, coming up behind me. In one hand he held our champagne glasses, and he slipped the other around my middle, drawing my back against his chest.

  We clinked glasses, sipped the exquisite Dom Perignon, and watched the incredible show, nestled close together.

  When the fireworks subsided we noticed that clouds had begun to gather above. It seemed I had been right. The storm specific to really hot days was imminent.

  As though reading my thoughts, Blake looked up. “I think we’d better get going,” he said, just as a flash of lightning split the sky in the distance.

  “I think you’re right.”

  We were standing outside on the sidewalk waiting for the valet to bring Blake’s Maserati, when I spotted a group of four or five young women walking toward us. Judging by their skimpy, sparkly clothes and the late hour, I assumed they were out clubbing. However, when they moved closer and recognized Blake, they all started to scream and wave their hands hysterically.

  “Oh, my God, it’s Blake Tyler,” a curly-haired brunette squealed, and threw herself into Blake’s arms. Before he could react, he was surrounded by the girls, embraced, admired, and told how marvelous he was and how they were his biggest fans ever. I stepped to one side before the crazed admirers trampled me with their high heeled shoes.

  I couldn’t tell if Blake was embarrassed or annoyed by their over-the-top attentions, but he thanked them and allowed them to take photos. When one of them dug out a lipstick from her bag and asked him to autograph her left boob, he expertly disentangled himself from the group, still smiling politely. God, those dimples were a turn on! I wanted to scalp each one of the little tramps.

  Thankfully—for them—the valet arrived with the car. Blake opened the passenger door for me, then quickly went around and climbed behind the wheel. We took off with a roar, soon leaving all the giggling behind us.

  “Wow, that was quite an episode,” I said, trying to hide the fact that I was consumed by irrational jealousy. “Does it happen often?”

  “Not if I can help it, but yeah, if they spot me, I’m a dead man.”

  Although he said it jokingly, I could sense a trace of wistfulness in his voice. After a few seconds, I relaxed against the seat.

  “It can’t be easy, being hounded all the time by fans.”

  He shrugged slightly. “Celebrity is a two-faced coin. It’s rewarding to see so many people who appreciate your work, know your face. But at times I get weary of not being able to go for a walk in the park, or quietly eat a hot dog at a fast food joint. The paparazzi are the worst though. I can’t remember how many affairs and love-children I’ve had, according to the tabloids.”

  I smiled, looking through the windshield. Raindrops had begun to fall, but they were quickly obliterated by the wipers.

  “Do you have any love children?”

  He spared me a glance. “Not my style.”

  “You were never married, right?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Why not?”

  There was a long pause, during which he seemed to choose his words. “Hollywood is full of pros and cons, in more ways than one. You never know what a woman wants from you. Some only want sex, others crave publicity to boost their careers, some want in your pants, others in your wallet. To be blunt, there are too many bitches around here. It’s hard to find an honest, loving, caring, unselfish person.”

  I turned my head to look at his handsome profile. “Is that the description of your dream woman?”

  His dimples winked, as did another spear of lightning. “A small part of it. I’m a demanding man, I know. But when I find her, I will give as good as I get.”

  I moistened my lips, silent for a heartbeat. Then I said, “She will be one lucky woman, Blake. I think you have a lot to offer.”

  15

  It was past 1 a.m. when we reached Malibu. Having drunk several glasses of champagne, I was blissfully tipsy. I’d sung all the way home along with the radio, not caring I was completely tone deaf, which amused Blake tremendously. As he parked the car, narrowly missing the stones that delineated my lawn, we were both laughing madly at the latest Hollywood anecdote Blake told me.

  “Is Martin Saluchi really nicknamed Martin Von Sleaze?” I asked through giggles, holding my stomach.

  “Yep. Some of these tabloid reporters have a really great sense of humor.”

  We looked at one another, still grin
ning widely.

  When I could speak again, I said, “You know, you’re as tipsy as I am. I feel obliged to give you a huge mug of coffee before I let you drive back. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your zillion dollar car by slamming into a tree.”

  “The car is your biggest concern, eh?” he said on a sardonic sigh, knowing very well I was joking. “Well then, lead the way.”

  We both stumbled out in the rain. It was pouring buckets now, large raindrops splattered against the leaves, the stone pavement, and the roof of my house. The ground was saturated and slippery, making my heels stick in the viscous mud. I would have fallen if Blake hadn’t held me tightly against his side, supporting my weight.

  When we reached the front door, we were both soaked and getting wetter by the second as I fumbled for the key in my tiny bag. We nearly tumbled inside the house, breathing hard, as drunk with amusement as with the alcohol we’d consumed. Turning on a single soft light in the hallway, I motioned Blake inside.

  He gaped as he looked around. “You really don’t have any furniture!”

  Somehow, I managed to look down my nose at him. “Not true. Most of it it’s on its way. I do have a very large and expensive bed, three toilets, and a coffee maker. It’s more than enough for one person.”

  He uttered a scoffing sound. “Right.”

  We watched one another, smiles and sarcasm slowly fading away. I noticed his gaze move slowly over my body, and couldn’t help to do the same to him. He looked mouthwatering, with his hair wet, his shirt plastered to his shapely torso, his slacks emphasizing his narrow waist and generous sex.

  I swallowed with difficulty.

  His eyes seemed to burn when he said, “We both know I don’t want any coffee.”

  My lips parted a heartbeat before he drew me into his arms, covering my mouth with his. I was amazed the hot contact didn’t make our lips sizzle when he brushed his tongue expertly over mine. I uttered a faint moan, feeling my body press harder against him, and my hands fanned through his hair.