by Azzi , Gina
Shaking my head from his heartfelt congratulations, I blow off his honesty. Evan and I are similar in so many ways but when it comes to voicing our feelings, he’s always been able to do so freely while I turn inwards, uncomfortable with all the mushiness. Holding up my hand, I remind him, “I’m not there yet.”
“Come on, Eli. Enjoy the moment. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve something good. This next film, the challenge, the opportunity to work with Preston, it’s all positive.”
“Yeah.” I drain my beer and reach for another. “I just wish I had more time here in Chicago before flying out to the Seychelles. Especially to kick it with Ollie.” I reference my only nephew, Evan’s son, who may as well be mine for how much I love the little shit.
“He’s excited you’re coming to his game tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ollie is hands-down the best player on his soccer team and I catch as many of his games as my schedule allows. Knowing I won’t see him play for the next four months makes tomorrow’s game extra important.
“I had to show him where the Seychelles is on the globe. We also looked it up in the Encyclopedia Britannica.”
“You still have those?” I frown. “No wonder the kid doesn’t know who Kawhi Leonard is. I thought they stopped printing those the year I was born.”
Evan flips me off. “Ollie’s very excited for you to meet some sea turtles.”
“I’ll send him a hundred pictures.” I slide another beer over to my brother and flag down a server. “Is Connor still coming?”
“Yeah, he’s finishing up at the gym. He’s got a fight coming up soon.”
“Too soon,” Connor adds, stepping up to the booth, faint bruises on the side of his face and a nasty cut below his left eye.
“You sure you ready for it?” I joke, standing as much as I can in the booth to pull him into a one-armed hug. Yes, the bromance is real.
“Shoulda seen the other guy,” Connor jokes, turning to wave at Violet and Blondie. “We’ll take six shots of Patron when you have a second, Zoe.”
“Sure thing, Con,” Violet answers with a cheery grin that punches me in the gut.
When she smiles, her face brightens like the goddamn sun. She literally glows, spreading her warmth to everyone in her orbit. It sucks me in, radiant and cheerful, and irritates me at the same time. Does she smile like that at everyone?
Connor shoves into the booth next to Evan.
“What’s the deal with her?” I flip my chin toward Violet.
“Zoe? She’s cool.” Connor says slowly, his eyes assessing the reason for my interest in the hot bartender.
Moments later, the vacant space fills up again with Harlow, my assistant. Short, spunky, and the opposite of shy, Harlow Reid shakes her head at the three of us, a genuine smile blooming on her face.
“Gang’s all here. It’s good to see y’all reunited,” she quips, her southern roots wrapping around her words in the softest drawl that has Connor shifting in his seat.
“All good, Low?” I ask.
“Wanna beer?” Evan offers.
“I think so. I just need to talk to you about one thing regarding your trainer for location.” She wrings her hands. “And I’ll pass on the beer, but thanks.”
“Jake’s coming,” I answer, lifting my beer to my lips.
Harlow shakes her head. “I just got off the phone with him. He has some family emergency and won’t be able to join you on location.”
Two heads swivel in my direction. I don’t miss the soft “shit” mumbled under Evan’s breath.
I sigh, dropping my bottle back to the table. “Fuck. Seriously?”
Harlow nods.
“But Jake knows my routine, my schedule. Not to mention, where the hell am I going to find a trainer on short notice who can drop everything to come to the Seychelles for four months?”
An awkward silence settles over the table as Evan and Connor stare at their hands or beer bottles.
“You could ask Zoe,” Connor offers, breaking the silence.
“The bartender?” Incredulity drips from my tone, condescending and harsh. “I want to fuck her, not work with her,” I admit, throwing my cards on the table.
Harlow flinches, turning around to make sure Violet didn’t hear me.
“Jesus, man. Lower your voice.” Connor urges, giving me a look. “Zoe’s a really good trainer. She’s got a decent following on her YouTube channel and —”
“YouTube? Connor, this is the film that’s going to define my career to date. And you want me to task a bartender I don’t even know with —”
“She’s talented, man. Really fucking talented. Trains a few guys at the gym. Can hold her own in the MMA circuit. One of her guys is really up and coming. She blends her workouts, pulling in aspects of MMA and traditional weightlifting with cardio circuits. She’s respected around here.” His voice is hard, his nostrils flaring with irritation for my dismissiveness. A UFC fighter who co-owns a nearby gym, Connor knows everything about who and what is trending in the fitness circle.
I’m being short-sighted, and everyone around this table knows it.
Next to me, Harlow stiffens, her gaze catching on Connor as the corners of her mouth dip.
Interesting.
“You think she’d just pack up and follow me to an island?”
“I think she’d consider a job offer that would allow her to expand her business.” Connor’s tone is measured but the look he flicks toward Harlow is filled with acknowledgement.
Harlow clears her throat, a slight blush working up her cheeks.
“Hey, what’s going on between you guys?” Evan stage-whispers, his eyes cutting between Connor and Harlow.
“Nothing.” Connor shuts it down immediately, his voice low, his expression severe. He chances a glance at Harlow but she looks away, tipping her chin up.
Damn, what the hell did go down?
“You’re sure about her, Connor?”
“Yeah, man. She’s your best bet on short notice. Plus, she’s local,” he says, knowing that in this neighborhood, we try to help our own when we can.
I nod once, facing Harlow. “You check her out?” I refrain from calling her out for being awkward around Connor. Girl’s been with me for the past four years, since my first year in LA. While she’s endured a lot of bullshit being my assistant, she’s also become like an annoying little sister to me. So, while I can mess with her, I don’t let anyone else. Even my brother and best friend.
“Her YouTube Channel, That Fit Bitch Life, is legit. She’s also got an insane Instagram following.”
“Who does she train?”
“Three guys at my gym. Plus, she does a weekly self-defense class for women,” Connor supplies.
Harlow stares at him, nearly in a trance. He holds her gaze, neither one of them wanting to blink first.
For fuck’s sake.
I clear my throat, garnering their attention. Connor downs a shot and slams it back on the table. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, split knuckles and all, he downs a second, hissing as the alcohol hits the back of his throat.
“Zoe’s not on the Hollywood scene, but I think she’d be a good addition to the team,” Harlow adds, her voice strained.
“Whatever,” I wave a hand, ready to be done with this conversation. Who the hell cares who trains me as long as I step onto set each day ready to own my role? “Talk to her. And, make sure the offer is fair.”
“Of course.” Harlow gives me a dirty look as if I offended her.
But the way Connor highlighted that Violet is local bothered me. The truth is, outside of my family and friends — my parents, Evan, Ollie, and Connor — I rarely give back to my neighborhood. I got out of here four years ago and ran headfirst into the opportunity that awaited me. Looking back never held the same appeal as moving forward. For these past four years, I’ve been sprinting like an Olympian. “Anything else, Low?”
“Nope. Have a good night, guys.” She turns and unbuck
les the belt on her winter coat as she walks up to the bar, stopping in front of Zoe.
My chest tightens and I clench my shot glass. Ripping my gaze from the interaction unfolding between Harlow and Zoe, I distract myself by turning toward Connor, ready to rake him over the coals for crushing like a prepubescent boy on Harlow. “What the hell is up with you and Low?”
He shakes his head, his expression hard, his eyes darkening to black.
Blowing out a breath, I tilt my head to the bar. “She’s staying for drinks.”
“I’ll make sure she gets home okay.”
I raise my eyebrows.
Connor stares back, his face blank, his eyes burning. “Not like that, just that she gets home okay. On her own,” he adds, causing Evan to chuckle. “What time is Ollie’s game tomorrow?” Connor ignores the suspicious and skeptical glances he’s getting and directs his question toward my brother.
Taking a swig of my beer, I let him change the subject, knowing now isn’t the right time to get into whatever is going on between my friend and my assistant behind closed doors.
Now, more than ever, I need to focus on my career, on my role in Dangerous Devils.
My gaze flits back to Zoe. She’s a distraction I don’t need even though I’m stuck with her. Zoe the hot bartender/YouTuber better know what the hell she’s doing. Even though I’m drawn to her, body and mind, her flirty quips and amused grins aren’t going to cut it in the Seychelles if she doesn’t show up to work.
3
Zoe
“You’re Zoe Clark.” The petite girl with a thin hoop in her nose unwraps her winter coat and slips onto a barstool.
“Who’s asking?” I glance over at Eli Holt, fan favorite for playful heartbreaker, suspecting he’s somehow involved.
“Me.”
Grinning, I cock my head toward the table of stupidly good-looking men. I know Connor. Since he’s good people, I decide to cut this girl some slack. “You work for Hollywood?”
“I’m Harlow Reid. Eli’s assistant.”
I place a bar napkin in front of Harlow. “What are you drinking?”
“Jack and Coke.” She twists on her bar stool, shooting the leery man next to her a dirty look which causes me to smile. I like her unabashed honesty. “Listen, Eli —”
“I’m not interested in sleeping with Eli Holt. I think he’s hot, but I’m not one of those groupie fans.” I add extra Jack to her drink because being at anyone’s beck and call can’t be easy. Plus, the furtive glances she and Connor keep exchanging are giving me anxiety, so I can only imagine it’s more stressful for her.
At my words, she shakes with silent laughter, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s good, because I’m not here to proposition you on his behalf.”
I facepalm, silently swearing at Charlie for putting these stupid thoughts in my head. “That’s a relief. It’s just, this place, it’s a neighborhood pub. We don’t cater to the rich and famous. We don’t even cater to the deep pockets and smooth talkers. It seems Hollywood may be more comfortable at a downtown club.”
Harlow takes a gulp of her drink, snorting laughter at my words. “Trust me, Eli likes it here just fine.”
“Okay.” I fill my water glass with ice. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Yes.” She shifts closer, dropping her voice. “I’ve been following you on That Fit Bitch Life for months.”
“Seriously?” I pause, a flicker of pride swelling in my chest.
Harlow takes a sip of her Jack and Coke. Placing the glass back down on the bar, she stares directly at me. “Eli wants to offer you a job.”
I take a step back, my momentary pride flaring into confusion. Why would Hollywood offer me a job? Because he thinks he wounded me with his brush-off? I’ve got thicker skin than that. I’ve got thicker skin than most people I know. It comes with the territory of spending hours on this side of the bar. I’ve perfected flirty without flirting, listening without judging, and tossing out quips even when my insides are exploding with anger. “Jeez Louise. Harlow, I’m sure you’re a nice girl, but Hollywood doesn’t even know me. He doesn’t have to take pity on —”
“It’s not like that. Real talk, he’s scheduled to fly to location on Monday to film Dangerous Devils.”
“The Gray Preston movie?”
“Exactly. His regular trainer can’t leave L.A. at the moment, and Eli needs a trainer on short notice. Connor…” She shoots a reticent glance at the UFC fighter downing shots in the corner. Well, at least the attraction, or lack thereof, is mutual, “Connor vouched for you.”
“He did?” My heart rate ticks up, cantering in my chest. I squeeze the ledge of the bar. This could be an opportunity, an in, a chance to take my business to the next level. While I’m not exactly strapped for cash, Shooters is. This pub is Dad’s financial future. Between his worsening blindness and my uncertain medical issues, I can’t afford to pass up on any opportunities that allow me to save money. But, “There has to be a million more qualified people.”
“There are.”
“So?” I raise an eyebrow, my silent question hanging in the air between us: why did he pick me?
“He needs someone out of the L.A. circle. Someone good at their job who is going to put the training, the film, first. Who isn’t going to get caught up in the limelight and the moment.”
“And you think that person is me?”
“I do.” Harlow nods seriously, dragging the bottom of her glass across the bar. “I know you don’t know me and have no reason to trust me, but I was prepared to send you an email and offer you a job. I had no idea you worked here until Connor pointed you out.”
Grabbing a pint glass, I fill up a draft of Bud for Fred before stepping back in front of Harlow. “Look, I have a job and —”
“$200K.”
“What?”
“Come to location, train Eli for the next four months. The salary is $200,000.”
My body nearly drops, my legs turning to literal jelly underneath me. I grip the bar to keep from falling. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Zoe. Not because of the scope of work, but because of the buzz surrounding this film, surrounding Eli. That, plus the salary will funnel directly into your business. You could level up in a quarter of the time it will take you if you stay here and turn this job down.”
Her words are the answers to the frantic questions I’ve been spinning around in my mind for the past nine days.
How am I going to insure Dad’s future financial stability if Shooters goes under?
How am I going to maintain the quality of his medical coverage as his vision worsens?
And, more difficult to consider, what if I die the way Mom and Grandma did? Who’s going to care for Dad then? When he no longer sees the shadows and the flickers of light. When his white cane is permanently attached to his hand.
How will he carry on when there’s no one here to support him?
Two hundred thousand dollars for four months of work.
Harlow’s wrong. This opportunity won’t allow me to level up in a quarter of the amount of time it would take if I stay in Chicago. This opportunity grants me the type of financial freedom I crave much faster than that.
And right now, with my BRCA results burning though my pocket, the bottom line of Shooters worsening with each passing month, and Dad’s next set of eye exams on the horizon, time is not on my side. “You’re serious?”
“I’ll send over the contract within the hour.”
“I’ll look at it.”
“Good. If it’s satisfactory and you sign, you’ll be flying out next week.”
“To where?”
“Details will only be provided after you sign an NDA.”
“Health insurance.”
“What?” Harlow pauses, her drink halfway to her mouth.
“I need health coverage.”
She squints at me, as if she can’t understand why, after offering me two hundred thousand f
ucking dollars for four measly months of work, I’d ask for something so ridiculous. Obviously, I could just buy it.
But I need the no-strings-attached kind of insurance that Hollywood could offer.
“It’s full. Dental and vision included. For a year.”
“Great. I’ll wait for the contract.” I say the words breezily but inside, I nearly implode. Full medical coverage.
The paper in my back pocket blinks in my mind, like a neon sign I can’t fully turn off.
Harlow nods, slipping off the barstool and shrugging into her coat. “What do I owe you?”
I roll my eyes and offer her a genuine smile. “Get out of here, Harlow Reid. I think you just changed my life.”
“Not me, Zoe. It’s really all him.” She points to the booth where Eli and his friends are sitting just as he looks up. His eyes, those hypnotizing pools of green, slam into me. “Hope to hear from you.” Harlow slips away as Eli and Connor stand from the booth.
Connor beelines for the door as Harlow slips outside, tying her coat around her tiny waist.
Hollywood stalks toward me, like a predator to his favorite prey. His steps are measured, his eyes cool, assessing. The playful gleam from earlier is gone, replaced with a severity I don’t understand. Nearly every head in the place swivels again as he passes.
He towers above the other patrons, easily over 6”3’, and his build… I gulp.
His build is the stature of most men’s aspirations.
I would know. I train mostly men.
His coiled muscles have sprung open, his incredible eyes bore directly into mine, and his expression is a heady mixture of desire and need laced with a ribbon of uncertainty.
Damn.
I falter back half a step from being the sole focus of so much intensity.
“You’re really a trainer.” He stops before me, dropping his elbows onto the bar and hunching closer.
A pregnant pause hovers between us. The energy shifts now that I know I’m going to see him again. A lot. This isn’t just a random exchange at a bar. We’re going to be working together. The playful quips from earlier dissolve on my tongue as I stare at him, unsure of what to say.
