Dirty Boy (13 page)

Yesterday, when Story got into Max’s car, she’d barely appreciated the new scent, the black leather, polished wood, or kickass sound system. She wasn’t a car aficionado. Offered a million dollars to give the make and model of his car and she would’ve had to decline. Her life hadn’t changed much since her mom and Winston separated. Except, before, she hadn’t had to worry about finances. When she hadn’t been sketching her designs and dreaming of seeing them on a runway, she’d been studying.

Even before Winston kicked her mom out, Story planned to return to their hometown of Dallas. She wanted roots and stability. To her, finding a true home meant going home to the place where her life began.

For Story, everything seemed to fall into place. Until…Babs returned to Dallas as well. Though sad to see yet another of her mom’s marriages end, she
had
been happy to have her in the same city again. Moving out to Dallas alone had been a huge step for Story. She’d had to do it to find herself.

Instead, she found near ruin and homelessness, an unwanted repeat of her formative years in Dallas.

Returning there led to this moment—in a beautiful car with her gorgeous stepbrother, as he sped along an L.A. freeway. The rising sun turned the sky shades of pinks and oranges. From the fine nuances of a first blush to the deep intensity of a fiery glow, the horizon was glorious and glorying.

She hadn’t gotten much sleep. Once the clock struck 5AM, she’d given up on shut eye, took a shower, and settled on her clothes from the day before. She had everything planned. Wearing the same outfit for two days would net her six days of clothes. By then, she hoped to have all her domestic issues solved, such as where she’d do laundry, if she had use of the kitchen or if she had to eat out, and would Max expect her to sleep in his bed.

Throughout the night, she’d wavered first one way and then the other, until she’d decided to ask Max for a different job. If that didn’t work, then being his mistress totally did. Of course, Max had other ideas. She’d still have sex with him, but other people, too. Maybe, even girls.

She bit her lip at the idea of giving herself to another man. As for girls…

“Max?”

Hand loosely holding the steering wheel, he released a long-suffering sigh. “What now, Story?”

She wrinkled her nose. If he didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t press the issue, so she’d make this quick.

“Will I be required to make out with other girls?”

He flashed her a grin before refocusing on the road. “We’re going to film girl-on-girl. Get used to the idea.”

She swallowed audibly. Any complaints—regrets—would fall on deaf ears, so she wouldn’t expel unnecessary energy to express either.

“You’re against fucking another woman?”

“I’ve never been attracted to women.”

“You might enjoy it. Women are soft, beautiful creatures whose bodies are meant to be enjoyed if you let yourself go and
feel.
Don’t worry she’s a girl like you.”

“I’ll try,” she promised, squirming in her seat at her next question. “Is that how you feel with other guys?”

“Gay for pay isn’t me. I’ve never fucked another man in my life, nor will I.”

“Gay for pay? That’s so not politically correct.”

“Thank you for telling me that, Anne of Green Gables. It’s an industry term. Look it up.”

“Anne of Green Gables?”

“Laura Ingalls then. Maria Von Trapp.”

Story squinted. “In other words any naïve, goody two shoes?”

As he took the exit, he nodded. “Your words, not mine.”

“I’m neither, Max, and you know it. I mean I jumped into bed with you on camera twenty minutes after I greeted you. That so isn’t a goody two shoes or naïve.”

“It’s very naïve,” he countered. “You jumped into bed with me because you’ve always wanted to give pussy to me.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’ve fantasized about having sex with you, but I did what I did yesterday for—”

“School money,” he interrupted with impatience. “I know. Still doesn’t take away the fact that you are too inexperienced to know what you’re doing.”

Max turned into the parking lot of what looked like an ordinary industrial building with dull gray paint.

“I’ve taken care of myself for months, Max. Explain your reasoning to me.”

“You’ve done a lot for months but taking care of yourself isn’t one of them. If you had, you would’ve remembered to ask me for money.”

“Money? I’m supposed to earn three hundred dollars per scene.”

The hardness of his eyes captured her attention. “No, that doesn’t stand any longer. You get a year’s tuition from me. Not money for the film.”

“If I can’t breach the contract, neither can you, asshole.”

“You’re pushing it,” he warned. “As I see it, you staying out of jail rides on my generosity. Fuck school for a minute. Let’s discuss the fucking money you embezzled.”

“How could I embezzle anything? I never worked for your stupid company.”

“Your mother might be a money-grubbing thief, but she loves you.”

“And I love her! My mother went through a lot to keep me safe, warm, and fed. We lived—”

“I don’t give a fuck if you lived in a gutter.”

She closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath, pretending she didn’t care about his words, despite how close to the truth they were. “You’re such an asshole.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think of me. I don’t care. I stopped giving a fuck years ago about impressing anyone. Being an asshole doesn’t make up for the crimes
you
two committed.”

“Max, I didn’t—”

“As I said, I don’t believe you, so save your breath.”

“Call my mother. She’ll tell you the truth.”

“Will she tell me she alone stole from us?”

Glancing out the window, Story debated on how to answer. They knew Babs had stolen the money and lying to try and protect her mother would make it worse. Telling the truth, though, seemed the quickest way for Babs to go to jail.

“The contract money will go toward the debt you owe.”

“You’re so stupid. How can you offer to pay my school costs, but withhold money at the same time for a crime I didn’t commit?”

“Don’t ever fucking question me,” he growled to her. “I do what the fuck I want to do when I want to do it.”

“Got it,” she said sarcastically. “Let’s do what
I
want to do right now.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

Story snapped her brows together at Max’s smug words. “Let’s renegotiate my contract. Tear my old one up. Put in writing about the tuition stuff and give me one hundred dollars a week in cash.”

Max opened his door. “Too fucking late to bargain. Negotiations are closed. Which, when you think about it, places me at an advantage.”

Not adding another word, he got out and slammed the door. He hadn’t needed to add the obvious. She was at his mercy. Unless and until she figured a way out. His triumph hurt her pride, but she had no one to blame except herself.

Max held the door open so Story could slip through. Other than a moment of defeat brought on by his words, she kept her head high and her chin lifted. As much as he tried, he couldn’t get under her skin. She’d even admitted to wanting to fuck him, when his aim had been to fluster her.

“Follow me,” he instructed, heading to his office. Unlocking the door, he flipped on the lights, grabbed a copy of the script from desk drawer and a company handbook, before turning to her and handing her both. “Study your lines. You’re Shelby.” Originally, Shelby was the wife of his character’s best friend. He’d have to change it to the daughter. Greta’s older, harder look could’ve passed as a wife. Story’s fresh beauty wouldn’t. Snatching the script from her, he flipped through the first two pages. “Start there. The other pages need tweaking.”

“Okay.” She reclaimed the script.

“Read through that handbook. It has company rules. Our expectations from a Dirty Boys star. Advice on how you might help your career and important phone numbers.” Done with the explanation, he turned and started out of the office, halting long enough to bark out, “come on.”

Awards for their movies, for him, and other company stars, lined the wall that led to the studio. Max took pride in each and every accolade he’d ever received. In the last year, he’d scaled back on public appearances. He had “legitimate” business interests he wanted to develop
and
he enjoyed working behind the scenes at the studio. His plan to retire at thirty died with Kayleigh.

Keying in the code to open the door that led to the sets and dressing rooms, Max beckoned Story in and then allowed it to close. The low hum of voices greeted him. Eric, Ryker, and whoever else, were already preparing for the day.

Max led Story to the dressing room, watching her as she took in everything.

“The bathroom is through that door. There’s a shower.” He pointed to a closed cabinet. “Supplies are in there. If you need help, let me know. It’s very important that you’re clean, so do it as you shower.”

“Do what?”

Her confusion he could deal with. It was her wide-eyed innocence that fucked with him. He’d corrupt her in no time, a scenario best for both of them.

“What’s in the cabinet, Max?”

“Pussy cleaner.” Ass cleaner too, but anal wouldn’t happen today, so he didn’t point the enemas out. She’d see the boxes when she opened the cabinet.

Right….about…
now
.

“Oh.”

Max needed to remember that, until yesterday, she’d been a virgin, so she might not have ever thought it necessary. He didn’t know why women used that shit outside of the industry. “Do you know how to give yourself a douche?”

Her face blazing scarlet, she grabbed a box and slammed the door shut. “Instructions are here. I’ll figure it out.”

“It’ll be easier if I show you,” Max said, walking to her and grabbing the box.

Story snatched it back. “Get out. There’s no freaking way you’re doing this with me.”

Glowering at her, he reclaimed the box. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice. But I
am
helping you with this.” He tore open the box and took out the bottle with the solution and the nozzle wrapped in plastic. “Get in the shower and undress.”

Biting her lip, Story’s look turned imploring. “Don’t make me do this with you. It’s so personal.”

Virgin
.
It didn’t matter that she’d fucked in a roomful of people. This was still new to her. “Sweetheart, I’ve been inside of you. There’s nothing more personal than that.” Still holding the items, he drew closer to her and teased her lips with his. “I won’t hurt you and I’ll be quick.”

“Max…”

“Do you trust me?” he asked, wondering where the fuck that question came from. He’d given her no reason to do so. He didn’t trust her, so he shouldn’t expect her to feel that toward him. However, even if he didn’t have any faith in her, she needed to believe in him. It would allow her to relax with him in bed, respond to him on camera. “Scratch the question.” He drew her closer and slanted his mouth over hers.