Dirty Professor (21 page)

A video call came through on my laptop, and I smiled when I saw who it was.

“Delaney!” I said, seeing my best friend’s freckled face on my screen.

“How’s my L.A. girl?” she asked. “Have you been discovered yet?”

I smiled. “Not yet.”

“Well, hurry up so I can move out there and be your personal assistant!”

I laughed. Delaney and I had been best friends since second grade. She broke down crying when I told her I was moving to Los Angeles, and I’d begged her to come with me. “And do what?” she’d asked. “My family’s business is here. And I’m pretty sure no one in Los Angeles eats frozen custard—or fat of any kind, for that matter.”

Seeing Delaney’s familiar face after too many days of having no one close to talk to made me let out of sigh of relief. “How’s the ice cream business?” I asked.

“It’s custard and you know it.” It was a joke I always made to her. The Day family didn’t sell ice cream—they sold frozen custard, thank you very much. Her family owned a local shop called Day’s, and her father expected Delaney to expand the business from Maine down to New Hampshire, and that was plenty of pressure for a recent college graduate.

“Sell more scoops so you can come visit me,” I said, her familiar face grinning back at me. “How’s business?”

“Who cares? I didn’t call to talk about how egg yolk is basically the only difference between custard and ice cream. You talk. Tell me something exciting,” she said. “What’s it like out there? Is it crazy or what?” Delaney wanted stories of adventures along Sunset Boulevard, swimming in the Pacific, and posh dinners in Beverly Hills. I’d been here just over two weeks and I hadn’t seen any of the familiar sights.

“I hate to disappoint you,” I said, “but I haven’t done much sightseeing. Just been working, trying to figure that whole thing out.”

“Have you made any friends? What’s your roommate like?”

“She’s okay. A dancer, tough, doesn’t like to bullshit or coddle. I’ve hardly seen her since I moved in.”

“Best kind of roommate,” Delaney said. “Come on, Soph. Something must be happening out there.”

She looked at me eagerly, but not in the greedy way the girls in the office had as they waited for my report from Leo Armstrong. Delaney looked at me excitedly because she wanted me to have an adventure. And as she’d said a hundred times since I told her I was leaving our small town, she planned to live vicariously through my adventures.

But I couldn’t tell her about Leo Armstrong. I knew I could trust Delaney with my life, but I hesitated in telling her my big writing assignment.

“The roommate is a little intense. So are the girls in the office,” I said. “What I need is my partner in crime with me to explore the city.”

“And its seedy underside,” she joked. “Does the fact that you haven’t seen the sights yet mean you haven’t met any guys yet either? Or are you already so wrapped up in some Malibu surfer dude that you haven’t had the time?”

“That’s not it at all,” I said. Normally Delaney would be the first and only person I’d call after a night like last night. I was in unfamiliar territory, not being able to tell my best friend about the hottest non-sex I’d ever had.

“I hope it’s not because you’re still hung up on Paul,” she said. “He is a royal prick. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he cheats on Meredith.”

I perked up. “Paul is with Meredith?”

Delaney cringed. “Sorry. I thought you knew.”

“How would I know? I’m out of the gossip loop.”

“And in a much better place than this, that’s for sure. Listen, Soph,” Delaney said, turning serious. “Make the most of your time out there. I hate the thought of you being in one of the world’s most exciting cities but staying inside your cramped little shared apartment because you’re too afraid to get out there on your own and meet people. Surely your roommate does something other than dance. Oh! She can introduce you to her hot dancer guy friends. They have the best bodies, and are totally uninhibited, too.”

“I know,” I said, guilt washing over me. “You’re right.”

“Don’t let what Paul did to you make you think all guys are like him. Because they’re not. There are good ones out there, too. And we’ll find them—one for each of us.”

As much as I hated it, my mind naturally clicked over to Leo and last night. As far as I could tell, most guys were just like Paul. The only difference between him and Leo—aside from money, success and
GQ
looks—was that Leo made girls sign nondisclosure agreements to try and keep his jerky ways completely secret.

My phone buzzed on my desk. Blocked number. My heart raced, thinking it might be Leo.

“Delaney, that’s my phone,” I told her. “It might be work. I gotta go.”

“Okay, but think about what I said. Get out there and have fun.”

I smiled. “I will.”

“And remember the dancers!”

I told her I loved her then ended the video chat. When I answered my phone, a deep sexy voice greeted me.

“Did you read it?” Leo asked by way of greeting.

“Yes, in fact I did. Twice,” I said.

“Trying to get to the head of the class, are you?” he asked. “Well, young student, I’d like to go over your work. Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

“To discuss the screenplay?” I asked, teasing a bit but also to see if he had more in mind. Last night would hold me over for a while, but not for long. Just hearing his voice made me crave him all over again.

“That, and whatever else might come up,” he said, and my thoughts immediately went south.

“Just tell me when and where.”

“I’ll send a car. Be ready in thirty minutes.”

“You don’t give a girl a lot of time, do you?” I said.

“You don’t need it,” he replied. “I’m sure however you look now is perfect. But, uh, if you are taking requests, where something that shows off those gorgeous curves of yours.”

Chapter Eight

When I slid into the back of the black SUV, I expected to find Leo waiting for me. But he wasn’t there.

“Good evening. I'm Steve, I’ll be driving you this evening. Mr. Armstrong will meet you at the restaurant.” Aside from that, Steve the driver said nothing else to me. I watched out the darkened windows as we drove on, to where I had no idea.

I got excited as we pulled onto Sunset Boulevard—finally something to check off the list and tell Delaney—but I should have known that Leo Armstrong would not be so common as to dine on one of the city’s most popular streets. Instead we soon turned off onto a small side street that wound its way up the hills until we arrived at a little place that looked like a small house tucked into the trees. The driver pulled the SUV up to the door, and a valet opened the back door for me, helping me out.

Inside the lights were dimmed and although most of the white linen covered tables were occupied, the noise level was low. Respectable.

“I’m meeting…Leo Armstrong?” I told the hostess, feeling ridiculous. The words sounded ludicrous coming from my lips. But the Amazonian blonde in the tight black dress said, “You must be Ms. Adams? Mr. Armstrong hasn’t arrived yet, but I’ll show you to your table.”

She took two hardcover menus, and I followed her through the dining room. I sat in the horseshoe booth, sliding to the center. I tugged on the dress Mel had provided me from the fashion closet. Rebecca let me take home a few clothes and cosmetics that I need for a story we were working on. Since I didn’t know much about the restaurant when Leo had called, I opted for a rich blue wrap dress that showed off my cleavage and hips perfectly. I just hoped Leo would find it acceptable.

And if his face upon seeing me was any indication, he did.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, that bright smile spread across his tanned face. He slid into the booth and kissed my check, his hand washing down my back, sending instant chills. “I hope you haven’t been here long.”

“Just long enough to get this,” I said, raising my glass of prosecco. I’d never admit it, but I hoped a part of me thought it would become our drink.

The waiter stopped by our table. I paused for his face to light up with recognition of having a big-time movie exec at his table, but he showed nothing when he said, “Can I get you something to drink, sir?”

“No, nothing for me.”

I turned to look at Leo, confused. “Can you give us a moment?” The waiter nodded and turned away without another word.

“Is everything okay?”

“Well, not really,” he said. He turned to better face me, his hand resting on my hip. It felt warm there, comfortable, his hand cupped perfectly around it. “I’ve got a bit of a work emergency on a set up in Seattle. I can’t stay for dinner. I'm on my way up there now.”

I felt myself physically deflate. I wouldn’t admit it, but I didn’t think it was because of the lost opportunity to turn more dirt up on him.

Being near him made me anxious in the most thrilling way.

“But I think you should come with me,” he continued.

“To Seattle? Now?”

“Sure, why not?”

“No, I’ve got to work tomorrow,” I said. Leo turned his head, and I realized my mistake.

“Doing what? Don't tell me you booked an acting gig,” he teased while watching me closely.

“Temp, I got a temp job,” I said quickly. “I think I’m answering phones. Not sure. I have to be there by nine, though.” I prayed he didn’t ask more.

“I’ll have you back in plenty of time, I promise.”

“Go up to Seattle and back tonight?” I asked. “You’re joking.”

“It’s just three hours. You fly up with me,” he said, leaning close enough that I took in his scent, already becoming familiar to me. He ran his fingers down my arm, sending me serious chills. “I’ll stay in Seattle to handle the business for a day or two, but you’ll fly back tonight.”

Confused, I said, “Why would I fly up to Seattle only to turn around and fly right back?” Even if it were first class, as I assumed, it was still a plane. It didn’t sound fun. It sounded the opposite of fun.

Leo leaned in close to my ear, nudging my hair away with his nose. Softly he said, “Did I mention it’s a private jet?”

Realization washed over me. For a moment, a flash of hurt seared my chest. This was nothing but a straight up booty call. He wanted to hook up with me, and then send me right back home like a paid escort.

But as soon as the pain erupted, I quelled it. I reminded myself that we were both using one another, and now that I saw Leo’s intentions, I could stop feeling guilty all of the time.

This is why I was being paid to write an expose about Leo Armstrong—because he was sleazy and rude and he used women.

My guilt now assuaged, I turned to him, our lips inches apart. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see the Seattle airport,” I said. “It’s on my bucket list.”

“You won’t believe your eyes,” he said, smiling so close to my lips. I wanted to close the inches between us, but in a crowded restaurant…

His lips covered mine before I could finish the thought. They touched me gently but firmly, his fingers just under my chin. I forgot about everyone and everything in those few moments, feeling the kiss he gave me and enjoying it fully.

“Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” I said. He leaned his forehead onto mine, his fingers still delicately caressing my jaw.

“Let them.” He moved away from me to exit the booth. I followed his lead. He tossed two twenties on the table and said, “One of the reasons I come to places like this—aside from their outstanding filet mignon, is the discretion I know I can count on. Good night, Sylvia,” he said to the hostess as we walked past her.

“Good night, Mr. Armstrong, Ms. Adams,” she kindly replied.

Steve had us at the airport soon after, and I found myself walking up the steps of the Epix Studios private jet—one of them, anyway. This one, Leo told me, was for his use. “Sometimes I let the CFO use it,” he said, “since he handles the money. But this is the good one. Gulfstream G650.” He sounded so proud—or maybe arrogant. I tried to commit the plane to memory for my notes later.

Once the crew had greeted us—two pilots and one flight attendant, Helen—we buckled into our seats and readied for takeoff. Leo and I sat facing each other, and my eyes caught the long couch just across the narrow aisle.

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning across the table from me once Helen had served us white wine. I could smell rich food warming somewhere in the cabin. “Once we finish dinner, Helen retires to the front and closes her door, and knows not to disturb me unless called. Cheers,” he added, and I clinked my glass to his. I felt a tightening in my throat at the thought of Helen knowing his routine, and when to stay away. It seemed to mean that I was not the first girl to take a ride with him on the jet.

I’d only flown a couple of times. Once Paul and I flew down to New York for a long weekend, but the entire trip was filled with his complaints of the traffic and noise and people and crowds, the very things I loved about the city.

The plane took off and I gripped the armrests tightly, the power of the long, sleek plane feeling so close, as if it were shooting us off like a slingshot. Leo watched me with an amused look on his face. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“You get used to it,” he said. “And then you can’t go back to commercial.”

I wondered if that’s how he felt about the women in his life, but decided to let it go—for now.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not the first girl you’ve taken for a ride on this jet,” I said.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Do you always take women with you wherever you go?” I asked. “Tucking them in your pocket like a trinket?” I smiled while I sipped my wine, trying to look like I was teasing when I really I wanted to know the truth.

Leo shrugged. He looked perfectly at ease in the high-back cream leather chair, flying away at a moment’s notice on a private jet. “I like to be surrounded by beautiful things. Is that so wrong?”

“No, not at all,” I said.

He swirled the wine in his glass as he watched me, waiting for me to say more. If he was so willing to answer, I’d be willing to ask.

Obliging my instincts, I went further. “Is your staff—like your driver Steve and Helen back there—carefully briefed on your new girls? Has anyone ever had a slipup and called someone by the wrong name?”