Escorting the Actress (The Escort Collection Book 2) (12 page)

"If you continue on this course, you're not leaving me much choice."

I shook my head and stormed out of the office, anger coursing through me.
I'm the one who doesn't have a choice, Dad. I can't leave her like that.
But I could never explain why to him.

I could barely admit it to myself.

"
H
ow did that go
?" I asked once we were safely back in the car.

"It… went." He looked out the window. It seemed as though a black mood had descended on him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged. "In some ways, it was better than I expected. He actually apologized for cutting me off."

"Wow! That's great, right?"

"Sort of."

I didn't want to pry, but I was overcome with curiosity. "Did he say he was going to the press about us?"

"No. He… can't. He doesn't want it getting out about me. What I've been doing for work." He hesitated. "He offered me a job, Lo. He said if I came to work for him and stay out of trouble, all would be forgiven. He wants me to work with the agency launching the new brand for his app."

"That's great!" Relief washed through me. Pierce Richards had never been my favorite person, but back when I'd known him, he'd at least been a caring father. He'd been preoccupied with my mother and let Kyle push him away, but Kyle had been tough back then. Still, I'd always felt that Pierce loved his son. Disinheriting him had just been the tough side of that love.

Kyle shook his head. "It's not great. He wants me to start tomorrow."

My heart sank a little.
He's not coming back to LA with me
. But I didn't let myself think about that. I quashed my disappointment and smiled. "That's okay. This is a great opportunity for you."

He looked at me then turned away. "I'm not ready to walk away just yet."

Hope and guilt mingled inside me. I wanted to hear what he was saying, but I knew he shouldn't say it. "Does Pierce want to you come work for him right now because he wants you away from me?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's not gonna happen."

"Kyle—"

"Enough," he snapped. "I don't remember saying that I wanted committee approval."

I shut my mouth, hurt by his tone. If Pierce wanted Kyle to quit right now—and I was pretty sure that was exactly what he wanted—then Kyle had to do it. I had a feeling Pierce didn't offer second chances with much frequency; thirds were probably out of the question.

I had to convince Kyle to take the offer, and I only had a few hours to do it. Even if it meant a public relations disaster for me.

I could handle a public relations disaster.

Ruining Kyle's life? That was another matter altogether.

E
van brought
us back to the hotel. I grabbed Kyle's hand when we got out of the car, and he looked at me, surprised.

"Just in case," I whispered in his ear. All of a sudden, I felt as if my time with him was running out.

"I like just in case." He smiled at me, and it seemed as if the black cloud went away, my sunny, good-natured Kyle returning.

I grinned back even though my heart was twisting. I looked up at the Stratum. "This is nice. I might not be that mad at you and Tori after all."

We entered the imposing lobby, which boasted marble floors, marble columns, and teak woodwork accents in unexpected places. It was beautiful and pristine. Our footsteps echoed across the lobby.

"You see a front desk anywhere?" I asked.

Kyle shook his head. "The new hotel lobbies don't have front desks. They think Millennials don't like them and want everything to be decentralized."

"Huh?" I asked. I was pretty sure I was a Millennial, and I had no idea what he was talking about.

"It's just the new thing—don't worry about it. I've spent a lot of time in hotels recently." His face went dark at the thought.

I squeezed his hand. "It's okay, Kyle."

He looked at me, his face bleak. "It's not okay."

"I think I see someone who works here," I said, trying to distract him for the moment. We headed toward a stunning young blonde, wearing a headset, in a simple black dress.

"Welcome," she said warmly. "You must be Mr. Jordan and Ms. Barton. We're honored to have you staying with us at the Stratum. I'm a huge fan of your work, Ms. Barton."

She smiled and motioned for us to follow her. "I'm Britta. I'll have your luggage brought up. You'll be staying on the fiftieth floor, in the penthouse suite. I hope that you enjoy your stay, and please let me know if you need anything while you're here."

We reached the fiftieth floor, and Britta gave us one final smile as Kyle and I got off the elevator. "You have the floor to yourselves." Her eyes glittered with good-hearted mischief. "Just call downstairs if you need anything."

Kyle let out a low whistle as we entered the room. It wasn't just the penthouse suite—it was clearly the
honeymoon
suite, built for romantic and most likely naked behavior. Unlike the minimalist space in the lobby, our suite had plenty of romantic flourishes: roses in crystal vases, champagne in a bucket, a view of the Commons, intimate seating throughout the room and a fire roaring in the fireplace.

It was August.
Who the hell needs a fire in August?

Lusty, love-struck couples on a sexy vacation. That's who.

I stared around, taking everything in. "Maybe I
am
mad at Tori."

"Don't be." He pulled me against him and looked at me hungrily. "She did a good job—and I'm pretty sure I won't have to call Britta—because I have every single thing that I need."

"Kyle!" I said in protest, extricating myself before I accidentally-on-purpose jumped him. I was happy he'd briefly escaped the dark cloud again, but that didn't mean I could throw myself at him.

I, for one, didn't need the roaring fire. I already had a very inconvenient one between my legs at the thought of being trapped here with Kyle for a whole weekend. We could skip talking about Pierce and his offer. I could turn off my phone and pretend Lucas and his list of athletic and calorie-restrictive demands were figments of my imagination. We could order room service and defile every available surface of this suite with our sweating, naked bodies. We could…

Mental slap. Mental-fucking-slap, Lo. You have to break up with him—fire him, I mean. So that he can have a normal life again.

Furious for more reasons than I cared to entertain, I stomped into the bedroom. It was luxurious and decadent, with a crystal chandelier hanging over an enormous four-poster bed. Red draperies hung on the wall; I felt as if I were in an ultra-expensive brothel. I peered into the bathroom, and it was exactly as I'd feared: clear glass shower, enormous tub built for sharing, bubble bath, everything that a couple having a sexy weekend would want. I tore through the rest of the suite—but that only confirmed my worst fears. There was only one bedroom and only one bed.

I stood next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, my fists clenched, my breathing rapid.

"What's the matter, Lo?" Kyle asked, and I heard that shit-eating grin in his voice again. At least he was in a better mood.

My
mood, however, had taken a turn for the worst. "There's only one bed."

He was stretched out on the couch, and he put his enormous arms behind his head. I tried in vain to look away from those bulging biceps.

"I can sleep on the couch," he said, grinning. "If that's what you want."

I gritted my teeth, stalked over to the champagne, and opened it. Anything to avoid staring at his biceps. When in Rome, the least you could do was drink the available alcohol.

"Okay. Sleep on the couch." Two could play this game. "If that's what
you
want."

He sat up a little and watched me. "It's not what I want."

Oh, holy hell. Now he was being completely direct.

I rolled my eyes as if he were being ridiculous. "Stop. You just met with your father. We have enough problems right now." I swigged some champagne.

His eyes didn't leave my face as he shrugged. "Okay, boss."

"Don't call me boss."

"Okay, princess."

"Stop. It." I sighed. "At least you're in a better mood. I do hate it when you call me names, though."

"Does it remind you of the good old days when I called you bookworm? Or pencil-neck?" Kyle grinned at me.

I grunted. "It's not like I still call you scrotumhead."

Kyle raised eyebrows. "You called me scrotumhead?"

I shrugged, feeling my face reddening. "I only called you that… in my head… when we were growing up and you were being mean to me. Which was pretty much all the time."

Kyle nodded thoughtfully, as if considering his nickname. "Scrotumhead had a certain something to it, I guess. At least you were thinking about my scrotum." He continued to grin at me, and I felt my face go from pink to crimson.

I stalked around the room, clutching my champagne and no longer wanting to discuss scrotums. I had enough to worry about: my upcoming premiere, the fact that Kyle might very well quit this weekend, and that I hadn't lost a pound. Not one.

"You can come sit next to me, you know. It's not like I'm gonna bite. Although a bite from a scrotumhead might be… interesting." Kyle laughed, and it was great to hear. I'd hated it when he came out of his father's office, pale and fuming.

In spite of all the trouble mounting around me, I laughed too. Shoulders shaking, I sat at the foot of the couch.

Kyle made himself comfortable and put his feet on my lap. "That's more like it, Lowell. Just give in to it."

I shook my head. "I don't even know what to say anymore."

"Then don't say anything. Just relax, for once."

I smiled weakly. I was going to put "relax for once" on my ever-growing list of things that were never going to happen.

I
n an unfortunate turn of events
, Kyle's father called him that afternoon at the same time my mother called me. We looked at our respective phones and exchanged wary looks. Kyle retreated to the bedroom; I headed for the far end of the living room.

"Hey, Mom," I said through the crackling line. "Can you call me from a different phone? I can barely hear you."

"What about now?" she asked, and suddenly her voice was perfectly clear. "I moved into the sanctuary. I'm forbidden from being on the phone in here, but you're my only child, so whatever."

I could just picture her stalking around the temple in capri yoga pants and a gauzy organic tank, her face smooth and unnaturally plump with filler. Her hair, frosted only with the most expensive chlorine-free bleach, was probably hanging past her shoulders in age-inappropriate waves.

"I can hear you now." I swallowed and realized I had a lump in my throat. I was hiding so many things from her, and that wasn't like me. "How are you, Mom?"

"I'm great, darling. I tried to tell you last time we talked, but then we got cut off. This has been the best trip ever. It's not even a trip—it's a
journey
. I'm so mentally clear right now, you could probably see right through my head." She chuckled. "How are
you
? I've been worrying about you non-stop."

"I'm... fine." I tried to sound like I meant it.

"Did you wrap
Renegade Hearts
yet? Did you get everything straightened out with Lucas? Did you tighten up your derriere, darling?"

I groaned. I couldn't say anything about my ass, lest she offer to fly home immediately or sic her personal chef on me. "We're not finished filming yet. We're on break right now. They had some… things they needed to work out."

The issue is still my ass, Mom. And yes, it's still too big for Lucas's taste.

No, I haven't lost a pound.

Even though I've been going to the gym. Every. Single. Friggin. Day.

"I'm actually in Boston right now for a long weekend."

"Huh? What was that, sweetie? I thought you said you were in
Boston
," she said.

"I am."

"Are you on a
vacation
?" She sounded thoroughly confused. I hadn't taken a vacation… ever.

"We're sort of on vacation," I mumbled. Then I groaned, realizing my mistake.

"I'm sorry," my mother shrieked, probably breaking every rule ever made about the sanctuary she was in, "but did you just say
we
? As in you and an actual someone else?"

I swallowed, hard, over that lump. "I'm, um… here with someone."
Please dear God, don't let her have had an Internet connection on her spiritual expedition.

"Is it a
man
?" she asked.

"Um… yep?" I let my answer trail up in a question. Because I was afraid.

"Lowell, darling, I need details.
Now.
Who is it? What does he do? Is it serious?"
Is he rich? Does he have any single friends you can set me up with?
Those questions were coming. It was only a matter of time.

I took a deep breath. "His name is Kyle... Jordan. He's in consulting. He likes to surf… he's nice. You'd like him."
You'd hate him. Actually, you
do
hate him.
"But you probably won't meet him. I'm pretty sure it's not gonna work out."

"He's
nice
?" she screeched, ignoring every other important detail. "You never say guys are nice!"

"That's because they're usually not," I said. "Especially not yours."

"Well, I guess I have a bad habit of picking the wrong men… maybe someday I'll meet 'the one'…" Even though my mother was stunned by my news, she was incapable of talking about anyone other than herself for longer than a minute. She prattled on about the nonexistent state of her love life while my mind raced a mile a minute.

Knowing she could go on forever, I interrupted her with the million-dollar question. "When're you coming home?"

"Sooner than expected, honey." The line crackled again. It sounded as though I was about to lose her. "I'll come find you—"

The line went dead, cutting her off mid-sentence.

That was just perfect. My mom was coming back sooner than expected, she knew I was in Boston, and she knew I was dating someone. Why had I opened my mouth? I could have just let her blather on about her yoga poses. I'd just made everything worse. Again.

Kyle walked in, his normal tan replaced by a slightly ashen color. His father seemed to have that effect on him.

"Pierce wants to see us. Together."