Escorting the Actress (The Escort Collection Book 2) Page 5

  She stiffened. "I'm not that nerdy girl I was when we were kids."

  I held up my hands in surrender. "I know. That's pretty obvious too." I motioned to her dress. She groaned and slumped her shoulders, so I added, "I'm not trying to be offensive—I just meant that you look nice."

  She raised her eyebrow. She looked offended anyway.

  "Not that you didn't look nice when we were kids… but yeah, you weren't hot back then." I stopped in horror, wishing I hadn't said that, wishing I could swallow the words back. "I mean—I just didn't think you'd end up this hot."

  She raised her other eyebrow. I felt as if I'd stuffed both of my feet in my mouth and swallowed them whole.

  "This isn't coming out right," I said.

  "It's really not." She groaned then seemed to collect herself, composing her face. "Please don't flake out on me tonight. This needs to be a solid performance. Otherwise, you're out."

  That was all I had to hear. I never wanted to go down on Mrs. Plastic Desperate Housewife again.

  "I won't flake out," I said quickly. "I promise. But… will you please tell me what happened? What brought this all on?" Two things I could never picture Lo doing were: one, getting so drunk she barfed and, two, hiring an escort. Actually, the third would be having me show up on her doorstep as said escort and not kicking me out.

  Only desperate times called for measures this desperate.

  She looked at me. "My director told me yesterday that my ass is too big and that I need to make it less big before we start filming our next set of scenes."

  "Seriously?" From what I'd seen of it, her ass was perfect—round and firm and luscious.

  "Nope, I'm not," she said, her voice flat. "So I made the mistake of letting Tori take me out and buy me an endless supply of margaritas. Then we got pulled over because her registration was expired, and then the police officer told me I was prettier in person than I was in my scowling photos, and then I lost it. I got out of the car and started arguing."

  "I heard you say y'all, and that's when I knew you must be really shit-faced."

  Growing up, Lo had fought against her accent, which was courtesy of her early childhood in Texas. She controlled it fiercely; you only ever knew she was Southern when she was really pissed. One night, our parents had dragged us to dinner. In the car, Lo told her mother that I'd been lighting firecrackers under bottles to see if they'd explode. In retaliation, I took the book she was reading and chucked it out the window. I heard a lot of her Texas drawl after that, yelled right into my face. She'd been so close I could even see the little elastic bands in her mouth.

  "Yeah… I was completely drunk and showing my Texas. Then I threw up on that cop. After I said a bunch of bad things about mansplainers and the movie industry."

  She shrugged as if she didn't care, but I knew she did. For her to be in this car with me, headed to a shoe event, less than twenty-four hours after it had happened, her life must have depended on fixing this.

  She looked at me again. She was still fidgeting with nervous energy, but her eyes looked tired. "I knew I had to come up with a brilliant plan to save my career. So here we are."

  "I'm the brilliant plan? I feel so special."

  "You are not supposed to be here. My hot escort is supposed to be here. Not my ex-stepbrother escort."

  "I might be your ex-stepbrother, but I'm still hot. And because we go back so far, I have a vested interest in helping you. I'll pull out all the stops." I adjusted my shirt again, making sure it was tucked snugly into my jeans. "I'm sure no one will be looking at your ass tonight anyway."

  "Why's that?" Lo asked, a mixture of amusement and general disbelief on her face.

  "'Cause they'll only be looking at mine." I made sure to flash my dimples.

  "Great," she said, sounding both resigned and appalled.

  We pulled up at the curb, and I saw at least fifty photographers, cameras flashing at all the beautiful people spilling toward the event.

  Lo looked as if she was about to walk the plank. "This is all just great."

  Lowell

  I took a deep breath and waited for our turn to get out of the car. A nervous pit formed in my stomach as I looked at Kyle. His brown hair was thick and artfully messy; his green eyes were sparkling, and his tanned and rugged chest peeked out from underneath the dress shirt he'd changed into. He was good-looking enough to be an actor, honestly. He would fit right in.

  That was just fucking perfect.

  I had no plans to let him stay for long. We were going to walk in together and preen for the press, but after that, I would show Kyle the door. His father had been married to my mother. We'd lived under the same roof from the time I was ten to the time I was fourteen. If the press got a hold of that story, I might as well pack my bags, sell my Prius, and buy a bus ticket back to Texas, where I could live out my life in twang-filled obscurity.

  I looked at him as he watched the crowd outside. He didn't seem nervous, but that didn't surprise me. Kyle had always been cocky as hell.

  I'd told on him constantly when we were kids, but deep down, I'd always wanted him to like me. Partly because I was a pleaser and wanted everyone to like me. Mostly because he was handsome. But then he'd do something mean, like throw my book out of the car or call me a brace-face, and I would just want to wind my fingers around his pencil-neck and squeeze. And squeeze and squeeze and—

  Kyle squeezed my hand. "You ready, princess?"

  "Do we have to hold hands?" I asked, jerking my hand away from him uncomfortably. "And don't call me princess."

  "I meant it as a term of endearment," Kyle said, calmly grabbing my hand again. He motioned to the throng of reporters lined up, elbowing each other and looking at our car excitedly. "Calm down, Lo, and hold my damn hand. We've got this. We've brought a cake for these people. We need to let them eat it."

  I looked at him for a moment, confused. He almost sounded smart.

  "Okay." I felt defeated. I couldn't believe I was listening to Kyle's logic after I'd rationalized hiring him based on my mother's logic.

  There was no way this would end well.

  I twined my fingers back through his. "Then let's let them eat cake."

  I was certain I had no real idea what I was getting myself into.

  * * *

  For better or for worse, the press absolutely loved Kyle. We stopped and posed for every single photographer on our way in.

  "Lowell, over here!" they yelled, flashes going off wildly.

  "How's your head?" another one called.

  "Who's this?" everyone wanted to know.

  We smiled and preened and held each other. I was suddenly glad Kyle was there, which both surprised and annoyed me. I felt myself starting to sweat from the constant flashes going off all around me and all the questions being hollered, one on top of another. I'd grown accustomed to the attention of the press, but this had an urgency I wasn't used to.

  Kyle, however, seemed completely in his element. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around me, and his smile glittered in every direction as we made our way down the carpet. I felt his strong, muscular body next to mine. I could tell that he could pick me up and throw me over his shoulder if he wanted to. If I wanted him to. If I let him. If… oh hell, I really needed that slap.

  He stopped halfway down the carpet. "Hey"—he flashed a brilliant smile at a female reporter—"you're looking sharp this evening. Love the jacket."

  "Aw, thanks." She grinned at him in a way she would never have at me. "It's vintage."

  "That's Katie from XYZ," I whispered to him through gritted teeth.

  "I know," he whispered back. "I've seen her on TV." He pulled me closer and asked me, loud enough for the press to hear, "It's a lovely jacket, isn't it, babe?"

  "Yes," I said, awkwardly letting him hold me and inwardly cringing. I saw the XYZ reporter watching me. "You look great." I flashed her a megawatt smile.

  "Good girl," Kyle said under his breath. "Let's give 'em a show." He called to her, "Don't y
ou think my girlfriend's looking lovely this evening as well?"

  "Who are you?" Katie asked, her eyes widening in excitement. She could sense the opportunity for a scoop.

  He kept his arm protectively around me. "I'm Kyle Jordan. Dedicated boyfriend of the one and only Lowell Barton." He smiled while a thousand flashes went off. "And I asked you if you agreed that my girlfriend is looking lovely this evening." He sounded as if he was challenging her.

  Wait, I wanted to yell at Kyle, you're not supposed to be talking! But he was on a roll. I couldn't have stopped him even if I dared to try.

  "Lowell always looks beautiful," Katie said quickly, "even when she's puking."

  "Aw thanks, I think so too," Kyle said, ignoring her taunt. He planted his hand firmly on my ass, and I had to literally bite my tongue so I didn't bite off his head instead. "She's gorgeous no matter what."

  He turned to me and nuzzled his nose against mine. I could later blame my high-quality thespian skills for kicking in, but I pressed my chest against his and gazed at him adoringly, playing along.

  I turned back to Katie. "It's great that I have such a wonderful boyfriend to support me during this difficult time."

  "Do you want to comment further about last night?" she asked me, barely containing the glee in her voice.

  "Lowell would love to tell her side of the story about last night's incident, but I'm afraid that's going to be an exclusive," Kyle answered immediately. He made a phone motion and winked. "Call us. You might be the lucky reporter who lands that interview."

  She hastily got out her cell phone, scrambling to add Kyle's information. "How can I get in touch with you?"

  But Kyle had already moved on to the next journalist, a crocodile smile on his face and his hand fastened securely to my ass.

  "Lowell!" the next reporter called. "How're you feeling today?"

  "I have a headache," I called back and laughed shakily.

  "Do you have any comment? About why you have a headache?"

  "I do." I took a deep breath and nodded at him. We stopped on the carpet, and I tried to gather my courage. "I just want to say thank you to all law enforcement who serve the wonderful city of Los Angeles, and all of the police officers in this great country. They keep us safe and protect us. No matter how poorly I acted last night, I'm always grateful for what they risk and all they do to keep us safe."

  "How do you feel about what happened, Lowell?" another reporter called.

  "I feel ashamed. And hungover," I admitted. Kyle hugged me tightly, and I was relieved to have him to hold on to. "I'm so lucky I have such a supportive boyfriend to see me through this difficult time."

  This is my story, and I'm sticking to it.

  Kyle beamed and leaned over me. "You're doing very well," he said, brushing his lips across my cheek. "Let's give them a kiss. A real one. Go big or go home, and all."

  "No," I insisted, mortified. I'd never kissed a guy in front of cameras before.

  He didn't listen. He put his mouth over mine and gently kissed me. Then he got less gentle.

  And then I started kissing him back.

  Heat coursed through me as he pressed his lips against mine. My knees wobbled, and a thousand flashes went off around us. Then just as quickly as he'd started, he stopped. He pulled back and smiled at me devilishly.

  "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispered.

  My head was swimming as I looked at him. Then I remembered where I was. And who he was. "I've had worse."

  I pulled back from him and turned to smile sheepishly at the press. "I'm a lucky girl. Unconditional love is exactly what I need right now. Kyle's giving me the strength I need to face this."

  "You are lucky," one of the female reporters said, eyeing Kyle appreciatively. "How long have you two been together?"

  "Just long enough to know we're meant for each other," Kyle said immediately. About a thousand more flashes went off. "Now if you'll excuse us, we have sneakers to try on."

  "Kyle!" they called, more flashes popping. They were worked up into a frenzy.

  "Kyle, are you a mansplainer?" one of the reporters called.

  He stopped. "Absolutely not. I believe in listening first." He kept that smile on his face and that hand on my ass as we headed into the event.

  "I see you don't have a problem with Lowell's behind!" one of the male photographers called.

  Kyle beamed at him over his shoulder and smacked me playfully on the bum. "That's 'cause it's perfect!"

  I tried very hard to keep my head high as we walked into the event and die neither from embarrassment nor from my secret, sick joy at his compliment.

  * * *

  The evening flew by in a whirl of champagne, glittery sneakers, hand-holding, and about a million questions about my new boyfriend. Only one person mentioned the events of the night before to me, which was a testament to how much of a splash Kyle was making.

  "Sorry that happened to you," said Tracy Ross, another young actress. She had a bleached cropped bob and skin as white as porcelain.

  "Let me be a lesson to you," I said.

  "To not get drunk?" she asked.

  "That, and to just in general keep your mouth shut. It's safer that way."

  She nodded toward Kyle, who was examining a pair of platform high-tops. "He seems to be a hit tonight."

  "He's holding up nicely," I admitted.

  "Well then, you will be a lesson to me. Next event I have, I'm bringing man candy. Quality man candy."

  "Quality helps," I agreed. I watched him for a minute.

  He was chatting easily with some of the other guests while checking out the shoes. Letting him come tonight had been a mistake. A mistake in a long line of mistakes, I lamented. The press loved him, which meant I wouldn't be able to get rid of him easily. Shirley and Gigi had already sent me about ten text messages saying what a great job he was doing and how impressed they were.

  And he needed this job. He wanted to quit turning tricks.

  Tonight was going surprisingly well. Everything was heading in the direction I wanted so badly—to clean up the mess I'd made last night. To make the press happy with a new story and win back my director's approval. Still, I couldn't help feeling as though I was making a terrible mistake.

  Stop it, Lo. You need this. You have to make it work.

  I went to fetch Kyle. I had a headache, and I wanted to intercept him before he went back to the press and started trying to sell an interview with me to the highest bidder.

  "Are you ready to leave?" I asked hopefully.

  "I'm at your command, princess," he said, flashing his dimples.

  Heat pooled in my belly as I remembered his kiss. I made myself shake it off, or at least try to disguise it to myself as righteous indignation. He shouldn't have kissed me in the first place. "I'm hardly a princess." Still, I reached for his hand when he offered it.

  "I just want you to feel special," he said.

  "That's a first from you," I said lowly, so no one else could hear. I needed to take him down a peg or two.

  "I've grown up," he said, sounding hurt but keeping his grin intact for the public. "It would be lovely if you did too."

  That cut. I wanted to frown at him, but we had to walk by the press. Being the fine actress I was, I beamed at him instead.

  He took the opportunity to put one hand on my ass again as he waved at the press with his free one. "Call us! We'd love to go on the record!"

  By the time we finally made it back to the safety of the car, my righteous indignation was bubbling over. "You weren't supposed to talk. You weren't supposed to grab my ass. You're a loose cannon, Kyle. I should fire you. You don't have the right to speak on my behalf like that."

  Control freak, Tori's voice sing-songed in my head.

  "Now, Lowell," he said, sitting back calmly, "you don't strike me as the reactionary type. Except, of course, for when you hired an escort to clean up the proverbial mess you left all over the Internet."

  "I can't do this," I said, my ch
est heaving.

  "Of course you can. They loved me. Admit it."

  I glared at him, but he was right. They had loved him. "You look good. They like that."

  "That's awfully objectifying." Kyle tsked under his breath. "That doesn't seem like part of your brand."

  I rolled my eyes and counted backward from ten, trying to calm down.

  "Lowell, I need this." He was looking at me earnestly, and the shit-eating grin had completely evaporated from his face. "And so do you."

  "You weren't supposed to talk," I said stubbornly. "And no one said you could kiss me. Or grab my ass."

  "But grabbing your ass was brilliant, and you know it."

  It was brilliant, and I did know it. I had, however, absolutely no intention of admitting it.

  "You need to remember that you work for me." I tried to sound authoritative, but I still felt like a bratty kid next to Kyle. It was as if I was trapped in another dimension of myself.

  Kyle held up his hands in mock surrender. "I promise. You're the boss, Lo. You always have been."

  The truth was, as many lines as he'd crossed, he'd earned his keep just now, and a good boss never takes the hired help for granted. Not everyone was replaceable.

  But it would be a lot more convenient if he was.

  Kyle

  We were both quiet on the rest of the ride home. I didn't know what she was thinking—aside from her obvious annoyance at some portions of my commanding performance—but I was processing what felt like a triumph. The press had eaten us up. XYZ had taken a particular liking to me.

  Lo was a smart girl. She'd said she didn't want me to stay, but she'd backed off. She knew we'd been successful in obfuscating the ugly, vomit-filled truth about last night with the sexy, promising glory of today.

  And when I'd kissed her—it was brief but wow. Just wow. It was as if her whole body had lit up beneath me.

  When I'd cupped her fine ass—I shouldn't have just put my hand on her like that, but Jesus. It was so firm and curved, just begging to be squeezed. My hand still felt hot from touching her.