Vegas Love (13 page)

Me:
 
So do you like this guy?

Chloe:
 
He delivered pizza to my friend’s house. He’s hot. That’s what I like about him.

Me:
 
You’re way worse than me. See you Saturday.

At lunch, Ashlyn picks at a salmon salad and then retreats to her dressing room.
 

I follow her.

“Don’t you ever knock?” she says, one hand hidden behind her back.

I grab her hand and hold it up, exposing a bag of Cheetos, and grin at her.

“What’s with that smirk?”

“You told me that you sneak back to your dressing room and eat crap snacks.”

“The only reason I jog every morning is so I can eat whatever I want,” she laughs. “But if I eat it out there, everyone looks at me like I’m crazy. I just can’t face another day of salmon. I mean, would it be that bad to bring in some cookies?”

I steal a bite out of her hand.
 

Her eyes get sad again. “You were gone this morning.”

I take another out of the bag and feed it to her. “I didn’t want to wake you. I also didn’t want to get caught sneaking in. Carter would tell Cade and I’d get fired.”

“I don’t want you to get fired,” she says softly.

I tenderly touch her face. “You weren’t upset, were you?”

Her shoulders drop. For someone who is such a good actress, she seems to have a hard time hiding her emotions from me. “I cried.”

“Why?”

She shakes her head as tears form. “I don’t know.”

I hug her tightly. “I do. I told you, you need someone to take care of you. Let me take care of you.”

She brightens. “I’m off early today. Would you want to do something?”

I think about what she said to me about being a house whore. How she wants a home.
 

“I know exactly what we should do.”

“Let me guess, it involves us being naked.”

Well, if you want to go look at houses naked, I’m fine with that.”

Her eyes get huge. “You want to look at houses with me?”

“Yes. I want you to be happy. Happiness isn’t just about money. You told me that you hate where you’re living. Tell me why,” I say, taking her hands in mine and peppering them with kisses.

“I love Malibu. It’s beautiful and the ocean is beautiful. But the houses are really close together where I am, so I always feel crowded. I want space. A yard. I want to walk around naked in my backyard without the neighbors calling and complaining.”

“If I was your neighbor, I’d be encouraging that behavior. You said you’re a house whore. That you have houses you drive by. Maybe today we should actually go inside.”

“I told you I’m a house whore?”

“You told me a lot.”

“Damn champagne,” she says with a laugh.

“So do you have a list of places you’d like to see?”

She nods and hands me her phone, pulling up a real estate app. “My favorites are saved here.”

I scroll through her list. “While you work, I’ll get this all set up. Heck, Mrs. Sexy, maybe we should get a place together.”

She bites her lip. She’s so damn cute. “Are you even interested in looking at houses, really?”

“I’m pretty interested in you.”

I go lock the door then pick her up, carry her to the couch, and uphold my wedding vows.

Again.

After a hot quickie, she goes back to filming and I get to work, starting with a call to my brother.
 

“I heard you told off Kenton at lunch yesterday,” he says without a greeting.

“She’s right. He’s an ass.”

“He’s well respected in the industry.”

“Hmm. Didn’t seem like it at lunch. In fact, most of the nobodies like me were practically applauding.”

“And how did Ashlyn take what you did?”

“She liked it. I think we’re becoming friends. In fact, she told me that she hates her house. Apparently, her manager said she needs to stay in her leased house. What I want to know is why. Does she work with a financial manager, like we do for our trusts?”

“No, she lets her manager and his accountant do it all.”

“That’s not good. Okay, well, find out what you can. She’s off early this afternoon and I’m going to look at houses with her.”

“I wondered why she always leases. Sounds like she’s not getting good advice. There are a lot of tax benefits to owning, not to mention a good investment.”

“Yeah, I didn’t say anything to her, but something fishy is going on with her manager. You need to look into that.”

“I’ll see what I can find out. Carter told me that you met her on the beach and she came over for breakfast.”

“Yeah, she thought I was him.”

“And you’ve become friends so fast that she wants to spend her time off with you?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? Does she have very many friends?”

“Other than Harper, no. Most are more like party friends. You know the kind.”

“Sure, they are there when you want to party, but disappear anytime you really need them.”

“Exactly.”

“I assume you’re okay with us becoming friends?”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Cash, you’ve been having a lot of fun.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I don’t want her to be your fun.”

I should tell him. Tell him right now before it goes any further. That she’s not just fun, she’s my wife.

But, I can’t.

So I fire back with, “I’m gonna say one word. Palmer.”

“I hate that name.”

“Because you’ve never gotten over her. Just because you got in a personal mess with a client, doesn’t mean you should hold it against her forever. Besides, Ashlyn isn’t my client. She’s yours. It’s not the same thing.”

“You work for me, that makes her your client too. Everyone knows you don’t shit where you eat.”

“I get it. You don’t want us to date.”

“No, I don’t want you to fuck. Big difference.”

“So are you saying that if I liked her, like if we fell in love, it would be okay?”

My brother sighs audibly. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. Palmer is the reason I’m so adamant about you not sleeping with Ashlyn. Trust me, mixing business with pleasure just screws everything up. I’ll see what I can find out about her lease and get back to you.”

“Do you have a realtor you use? I was thinking about calling Dad’s friend.”

“That’s exactly who I would recommend. I’ll text you his contact information. And, Cash?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you’ve only been on set for a short time, but reports are that she seems happy and hasn’t been high.”

“I know. And thanks.”

More Complicated

Ashlyn

I’m in a shitty mood when we stop for dinner.
 

“You seem frustrated. I thought you’d have fun,” Cash says to me.

I can’t help it. I let out a big sigh. “I’m just so disappointed.”

“Because you didn’t find a house you loved?”

“Yes. The last one we looked at was my online favorite. It’s new, modern, sleek. Has gorgeous views. That infinity pool and spa on the cliff belong in a magazine.”

“So what didn’t you like about it in person?”

“It was so white it was practically blinding. It’s not that I didn’t think it was pretty, I just couldn’t picture myself living there. I couldn’t picture myself living in any of them.”

“Why?”

I shake my head, because I don’t know the answer.
 

He reaches under the table, takes my hand and puts it on his knee. “Tell me why.”

“I don’t know, okay,” I say, getting angry because I can’t tell him what having a home would mean to me. How it’s what I’ve always dreamed of. How it’s what I imagined coming home to when I was a kid and not the disaster that was my house after my dad died.
 

But since I met him, that dream has become even more complicated because I don’t want to live in the house by myself.

I want to live in it with him.

Am I desperate for attention? Is that why I keep choosing the wrong guys? Am I just so needy that I’m not picky? I take anyone who will toss some attention my way?

Do I have daddy issues?

Do I need to see a shrink?

Is it wrong to want love? Crave love? Weren’t we made to love each other?

He rubs his finger across the top of my hand, pulling me back to the present. To his adorable face that is still so beautiful it makes my heart ache.
 

And I think I’ve figured out the reason for the ache.

I don’t want him to leave.

“So tell me what characteristics your dream house has,” he says, and I’m just wishing he’d drop it. I need to go back to my own world—my normal world—and stop feeling like I’m living in a fairytale every time he’s around.
 

Because fairytales and real world don’t mix.
 

“I’m not sure,” I reply.

He leans closer. “It’s okay that you didn’t find the right one today. You will. I want to help you.”

“But why do you even care?”

“Because,” he says, kissing me.
 

I back away quickly, hoping no one saw. I don’t want him to get fired. I’d never forgive myself if I ruined his close-knit relationship with his family.
 

“I’m really tired and have an early call time tomorrow. I’m going to head home,” I tell him.
 

But he doesn’t give up.

“So it’s the way the house made you feel, not how it looked?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And how did the last house make you feel?”

“Cold.”

He scrunches up his nose and nods his head, seemingly understanding what I want. It’s freaking adorable.
 

He’s adorable.
 

“Tell me about your family,” he says. The way he says it is commanding. Like I have no choice but to tell him.
 

But I haven’t told anyone, really. And I’m not going to start with him. I grab some money out of my bag, toss it on the table to cover the bill, and stand up. “I want to leave.”

Emotional Hook

Cash

I’m trying to figure out what I did to piss her off.
 

I took her house hunting to try to help her find what she wants.
 

But as we’re driving back from dinner, it hits me that she knows exactly what she wants. She just doesn’t want to talk about it.
 

I think back to what I read. About her dad passing away when she was young and about how she doesn’t talk about her family.
 

I think she craves a home.
 

A real home. One where she feels loved.
 

And as I look at her defeated body language, I realize that I want to be a part of that place. I want to be there for her and be the one who kisses it and makes it all better.
 

When we get to her house, she hops out of the car before I can even get it into park.
 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, clearly struggling to hold it together. I’ve seen that look on my sister’s face numerous times. She’s about ready to start bawling and wants to do it in private. Although I will never claim to understand the female race, I do think that having a twin sister helps me better understand their emotions. Or at least understand that they are just more emotional.
 

She’s standing at the garage door, entering her code. She slams her fist into the keypad. “Dammit.”

And I see the tears forming.
 

“What’s your code?”

“Eighty-seven sixty-two.”

I grab her hand, enter the code, and pull her inside.