The Has-Been and the Hot Mess

by Isabel Jordan

  How bad could it be?

  Chapter 2

  It was bad. Really, really bad.

  Kendall eyed the small prop plane like it was a giant hairy spider crawling across her kitchen floor. “I’m not getting on that thing.”

  Ray ignored her, grabbing her Louis Vuitton suitcase and heaving it unceremoniously into the tiny luggage hold of the plane.

  She’d be appalled by his treatment of her beloved bag (aka: Big Lou) if she wasn’t currently on the verge of a panic attack.

  The term “plane” was probably too loose for this…thing, too. She imagined this was what most folks here in Montana would call a puddle jumper. But to Kendall, who usually avoided travel as vehemently as vegans avoided lamb stew, this thing looked like fiery, plummeting death waiting to happen.

  Hell, she made herself available to her clients by phone, email, and video chat 24-7 just to avoid having to travel to meet with any of them when they weren’t in LA. So, how had she ended up in middle-of-freakin’-nowhere Montana, staring fiery, plummeting death in the face?

  Ray and his used-to-be-famous brother, that’s how.

  “You are getting on that thing,” Ray said, tossing his own bag on top of hers. “Unless you want to walk for the next ten days through bear country.”

  Her eyes widened to the point that they actually stung a little. “Bear country? Fucking hell, Ray. What have you gotten me into?”

  “A job, you ungrateful wretch.” He dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a couple of little blue pills.

  Kendall glared at him. “I don’t think your Viagra is going to make me any less afraid for my life.”

  He glared back. “Like I’d waste Viagra on a girl. This is a super-mild sedative. Take it. You’ll feel better in no time.”

  She shook her head. “No way. I’m not letting you drug me and take me into the middle of nowhere. How do I know your brother isn’t some crazy mountain man you intend to sell me to?”

  That was irrational. She knew it was. Ray would never do anything to hurt her. But her fear was currently in charge of her mouth, it would seem.

  “Because this isn’t Deliverance,” Ray said, exasperated. “Plus, I actually like my brother, so there’s no way I’d saddle him with a paranoid, high-maintenance puss of a wife who’s afraid of a little plane ride.”

  The pilot snickered, then cleared his throat and turned away abruptly when she shot him the stink eye.

  “Oh, come on,” Ray cajoled. “You know I’m just teasing you.” He waved the pills under her nose. “Take these. I swear, it’ll all be worth it when we get there.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw.

  He sighed. “Fine. We can do this the hard way. Take the pills or don’t, but you are getting on that plane, even if I have to toss you over my shoulder and strap you in myself.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

  He mimicked her stance. “Try me.”

  Kendall quickly did the math in her head. She was five-five and weighed one-thirty. Ray was six-four and weighed two-twenty. She was wearing four-inch heels, and he was wearing Chucks. Even though she’d excelled at the Krav Maga classes she’d taken the previous year after a couple of women in her neighborhood were mugged, she could never take Ray in a fight. If he wanted to manhandle her onto the plane, he could do it without breaking a sweat.

  She turned to the pilot, who was now studiously pretending not to hear their conversation. “Are you just going to let him drag me onto your plane by force?”

  Ray didn’t glance away from her as he said, “There’s an extra fifty in it for you if you look the other way, Skeeter.”

  Skeeter had the decency to look regretful, even as he said, “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid I am. My daughter needs braces and I need every penny I can get.”

  Great. Just great.

  Kendall grabbed the pills from Ray’s still-outstretched hand and tossed them back dry. “You’ll pay for this,” she hissed. “Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I’m sure I will.”

  She jabbed her index finger at him. “And you’re giving me your spot at the Supernatural convention in August, and your life-size cardboard cut-out of Dean Winchester.”

  He winced like she’d gut-punched him, but eventually nodded again, muttering, “Deal.”

  With one parting glare at Ray and the pilot—bastards—she stalked past them and took her seat on the plane. “I hate Montana.”

  Ray snorted. “Fair enough, Princess. Fair enough.”

  Chapter 3

  Kendall Quinn certainly knew how to make a first impression, Jackson Hale thought as he glanced at her shapely ass. Normally, he didn’t make a habit of staring at a stranger’s ass. He wasn’t much of a gentleman, but he knew better than that.

  But since her ass was currently right next to his brother’s face, it was kind of hard not to notice it.

  “Ray,” he said, “that’s the worst fireman’s carry I’ve ever seen.”

  Ray snorted as he shifted Kendall’s limp weight on his shoulder and brushed past him into the foyer. “Yeah, well, I’m not a fireman—though I have dated more than my fair share. And she weighs a freakin’ ton.”

  Jackson raised a doubtful brow. She was a tiny little thing. Upright and on her feet, he was pretty sure the top of her head would barely clear his shoulder. “Maybe you’re just out of shape, man.”

  “Probably,” Ray wheezed as he made his way up the winding oak staircase.

  Jackson trudged up the steps behind him, taking in the fall of Kendall’s honey-blond hair as it tumbled down over his brother’s back. That was a lot of hair for such a tiny woman.

  She didn’t move or utter a sound as she bumped against Ray’s shoulder. Jackson shook his head. “What did you do to her, slip her a Roofie?”

  Ray sucked in a pained breath. “Sedative. She’s a nervous flyer. I had no idea she was such a lightweight.”

  Jackson paused. “She’s a nervous flyer and you put her on a prop plane with Skeeter? Jesus, Ray, no wonder she chose to OD on sedatives. You’re not usually such an asshole.”

  That role in the family was Jackson’s, thank you very much.

  “No way was I driving. Skeeter got us here in half the time. It’s not my fault you live in the middle of nowhere, you antisocial fuck.”

  At the second floor landing, Jackson pushed the guest room door open. “Put her in this one before you have a stroke.”

  “Thank God,” Ray said as he dumped her unceremoniously onto the bed. Then he bent at the waist and gasped for air like a landed trout.

  Jackson glanced down at Kendall. Her head was turned away and her face was obscured by all that hair. Her stylish suit looked a little worse for the wear, but the legs her hiked-up skirt exposed, well, those were flawless.

  Then he felt like the world’s biggest asshole—after Ray, of course—for looking at her legs while she was passed out. He very purposefully averted his eyes.

  Ray straightened and swiped a hand across his brow. “Fuck me. I didn’t think I was going to make it. I need a drink.”

  He turned to leave, and Jackson grabbed his arm. “You’re just going to leave her like that?”

  Ray threw his hands up. “She had, like, a child’s dose of a drug I’ve taken a million times. She’s not in any danger of drowning in her own vomit.”

  Jackson whistled. “Cold, man.”

  Then he figured if Ray wasn’t going to be a gentleman, he’d have to be. He might be a grumpy, antisocial fuck with rusty people skills, but he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t at least remember what having manners felt like.

  Jackson leaned down and tugged off her complicated-looking heels, handing them to Ray.

  Ray cradled them to his chest like a newborn. “Prada. The Precious,” he hissed in his best Gollum impression, then placed them delicately, reverently, on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  “Nice, Ray,” Jackson said, grabbing a throw
blanket from the bedside chair and draping it gently over her legs. “Show the shoes more respect than you show your friend, why don’t you.”

  “Hel-lo? Prada?”

  “You know I don’t know anything about that.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re such an uncivilized straight guy. I’m going to turn you in to Queer Eye for a makeover.”

  Jackson gave him the finger before slipping a hand around Kendall’s slender nape to lift her head and slide a pillow under it.

  But just as he reached for the pillow, she grabbed the front of his T-shirt, using it to lever herself semi-upright.

  Through the hair, he caught a glimpse of pale green eyes as they moved over his hair, then his face.

  “Huh,” she said, her words slightly slurred. “Haven’t had this dream in a while.”

  And with that, she dropped back to the mattress with a gentle, snuffling snore.

  Ray snort-laughed. “She took one look at you and thought she was having a nightmare. Maybe it’s time to shave, Wolf Man.”

  “You’re a real fucking funny guy, Ray,” Jackson said, rubbing his beard. “Real fucking funny.”

  Chapter 4

  Kendall woke up in a strange bed, head pounding, with the taste of four-day-old roadkill in her mouth. She sat up, groaning. Jesus, what the hell happened?

  She tossed her hair back—where had all her hairpins gone, for crap’s sake?—and eased her feet down on a cool wood floor. Squinting, she glanced around, seeing nothing but a whole lot of natural light. Without her glasses, her eyesight was only marginally better than what would be categorized as legally blind.

  When groping around on what seemed to be a nightstand failed to yield her much-needed glasses, she pushed herself out of bed and staggered toward what looked like might be a door.

  “Ray,” she croaked. “Get your ass in here. You’re going to be tasting your own balls for a week. That’s how hard I’m going to knee you.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’d come running if he was here, ma’am, but he headed out about ten minutes ago.”

  Kendall lifted her head and squinted at the man-shaped blob standing in the open doorway. It was a big blob. Tall and broad. And he had an exceptionally nice voice—deep, a little raspy, and carrying a trace of a Southern accent.

  She really hoped he wasn’t a serial killer waiting to turn her into a woman suit. “Are you Ray’s brother?”

  “Yeah, I’m—”

  She held up her hand. “No, please, don’t. I don’t want to meet you like this.”

  “Kind of late for that, isn’t it?”

  Kendall didn’t really appreciate the humor in his voice. It reminded her too much of Ray at the moment. “No, it’s not, because once I have my hair out of my face, my glasses on, and—God willing—a cup of really strong, black coffee in my hand, I’ll introduce myself properly. And then we’ll pretend this,” she gestured between them, “never happened.”

  “Fair enough. Want your glasses now?”

  Yes, but first… “How did I get here?”

  “Ray carried you.”

  Ugh. That couldn’t have been pretty. “Bridal carry?” she asked hopefully.

  He sighed. “Fireman.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course, it was a fireman carry.” So much for dignity.

  “I can run down and get your glasses. Or I can just help you downstairs? That’ll get you to the coffee faster.”

  Now that was the best idea she’d heard in a while. “Help would be great, thanks.”

  She held out her arm and he hooked his around it, tugging her gently to his side. And in that moment, maybe because she couldn’t see for shit, her other senses all came singing to life. Whoever this guy was, he smelled and felt fantastic. All soap and laundry detergent-scented male skin, maybe a little shaving cream, and hard, flannel-covered biceps. Her knees weakened a little in response.

  “You okay?”

  “Yep.” Just weak. Terribly weak. A few days out of a lousy relationship and she was practically drooling all over a stranger because he smelled good and felt like he’d spent a fair amount of time in the gym. Just further evidence of her lousy judgement where men were concerned. “Just ready to die of embarrassment.”

  He snorted. “Why? Because you took a sedative that didn’t agree with you? That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Step down carefully.”

  His grip on her tightened as they started going down a flight of steps. “No, I’m embarrassed because a potential new client—my friend’s brother, no less—saw me unconscious, then had to help me down the steps like an old lady.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel better, when it comes to being embarrassed by behavior, you’re an amateur. I was once arrested in Vegas for trying to buy drugs from an undercover narc.”

  “That’s happened to half my clients.”

  “I was without pants at the time. And my underwear was wrapped around my head like a turban, for some reason.”

  That gave her pause. “Huh. That’s a new one. And it does make me feel better, strangely enough.”

  “I aim to please.” Then he cleared his throat and added, “I don’t know what Ray’s told you, but that’s all behind me now.”

  “Good to know you’re wearing pants.”

  Another snort. “I mean I’m clean. No drugs or alcohol for the past fifteen years.”

  They finally reached the first floor. He paused, and she could feel him looking down at her, probably waiting for her reaction.

  “I’m glad you’re healthy,” she said. “But honestly, I’m not in any position to judge you or your past. We’ve all made mistakes. The difference between famous people and the rest of us is that famous people have to make their mistakes in front of the whole world. That kind of attention is bound to mess people up a little.”

  He was quiet for so long she squeezed his arm. “Did I say something wrong? I’m always doing that. I’m afraid you’ll need to get used to the fact that I have no filter between my mouth and my brain. I cuss too much, I talk too much, and I offend people without meaning to. I’d apologize and say it’ll never happen again, but I can assure you, it will.”

  “No,” he finally said, sounding surprised. “You didn’t say anything wrong. Just the opposite, actually.”

  She smiled and did a little fist pump. “Freakin’ sweet! That almost never happens.”

  He chuckled and guided her into another room. “Here we are. Have a seat and I’ll put the coffee on.”

  She sat down in what felt like a kitchen chair. “Thanks. Do you happen to have my glasses?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” After a moment, he pressed them into her hand. “Ray handed them to me on his way out or I would’ve left them on the nightstand in your room.”

  She held them up and examined the lenses as he turned his back to her to start the coffee. Damn Ray, she thought again, peeling up the corner of her blouse to polish his fat fingerprints off her anti-glare lenses.

  “So, Ray says you’re the name in PR in LA.”

  She grunted and polished harder. “Well, I was. Now I’m no longer with the same agency, and my name in LA is probably mud.”

  “Yeah, he told me that, too.”

  Kendall rolled her eyes. “Jesus, why on Earth haven’t you kicked me out of your house yet? Based on what you’ve seen and what you know about me so far, I’m a pill-popper who ends up being carried into prospect meetings with her ass in the air and who sleeps with her boss.”

  He got quiet again. Then he said, “He hadn’t mentioned the bit about the boss, but thanks for sharing.”

  Kendall face-palmed. “Could this possibly get any worse?”

  “In my experience, yes. It can always get worse.”

  “An optimist. Great.”

  That knee-melting chuckle again. “Look, didn’t you just say we all make mistakes? If you can forgive me my past, I can certainly forgive you yours. I’m not in any position to judge anyone either, darlin’.”

  She co
uldn’t think of a single man in the world who could get away with calling her darling. But for some reason, when he said it, it sounded right. Maybe it was the accent. Or that voice. Could’ve been either, really.

  Deciding it was finally time to see who and what she was dealing with here in the middle-of-nowhere, Montana, Kendall slid her glasses on and prepared to take a look at the man who might be her first client as a free agent.

  A whole pack of angry butterflies took flight in her stomach, fueled by extreme nerves, which she didn’t understand. She’d worked with all types of celebrities, with every kind of PR crisis anyone could imagine, and she’d handled the shit out of all of it. How bad could this situation—this man—possibly be?

  That’s when he sat down across from her, set a mug of coffee in front of her, and leveled a speculative, solemn-eyed stare at her.

  And—oh, God—it was so, so much worse than she ever could’ve thought.

  He held a hand out to her. “Kendall Quinn, it’s an honor to officially meet you. I’m—”

  “Holy fuck balls!” she blurted. “You’re Jackson Hale!”

  Chapter 5

  At fifteen, Kendall taught herself to masturbate with the assistance of an online medical textbook (the exact location of the clitoris and g-spot is not at all intuitive) and a poster of Jackson Hale.

  If she closed her eyes, Kendall could still see that poster.

  It had been a close-up shot of him singing his heart out with his band, Maelstrom, on the last leg of their last ever European tour in Prague. His eyes were closed and he was cradling the microphone the way Kendall imagined he’d tenderly and passionately cradle her face if he was about to kiss her.

  Because, hey, in her teenage mind, it seemed totally plausible that if she loved him enough from afar, she would someday meet him, and he would kiss her. Disney movies and Sweet Valley High books had taught her as much.