Escorting the Actress (The Escort Collection Book 2) (9 page)

I
took
his glass and headed to the kitchen, pretending to give in. The reality was, I wanted a glass of wine. The reality was, I'd like to drink a whole bottle of wine and have an excuse to throw myself at Kyle, to run my fingers along that strong jawline and finally know what those lips tasted like… just once.

Just once, and nobody ever had to know.

Mental slap,
I told myself harshly and slammed the glass on the counter, almost breaking the stem.
Mental fucking slap.

T
he next few
weeks fell into a surprisingly easy routine. I supposed that was because we'd lived in the same house before. Strangely, I didn't remember ever being as comfortable around him while we were kids as I was now.

Like a lot of other things, I was choosing to ignore that.

Every morning, we had coffee in our pajamas. Kyle and I took turns going out and offering hot coffee and baked goodies to the paparazzi. There were always a plethora of them out there, even early in the morning.

Then we got dressed in our workout clothes and held hands as we walked to my car, smiling for the press.

After a punishing two-hour workout—Kyle always made me post pictures to social media so Lucas knew we were working up a sweat—we headed over to Jamba Juice, always holding hands, followed by the press. We'd all gotten used to the routine—even the Jamba Juice attendants. They knew our regular orders and usually had our drinks waiting for us.

After that, we'd head home, shower, and eat lunch. Then I would read scripts and check email while Kyle checked social media sites for news about us.

Then we'd change and head out for our next public spectacle.

We went to Whole Foods. We went out for (fat-free) frozen yogurt. We hiked in the canyon. We went bowling. We went to dinner.

We held hands everywhere we went, and Kyle often kissed me in public. Just little kisses, but still.

But still.
If I was being honest with myself, I would admit that I really looked forward to those outings.

Of course, I was being anything but honest with myself.

We'd come home after dinner, put on our sweats, and binge-watch the first season of
True Detective
. Kyle would have one glass of red wine while I had a seltzer.

Kyle's good behavior was impressive. He had comprehensively reformed—the Kyle I remembered would
never
have had just one glass of wine and gone to bed at a reasonable hour. When he was a teenager, he partied until dawn on a regular basis, sneaking back into the house while our parents slept in their own wing, oblivious to what was going on.

Having him around really was like having a live-in boyfriend, except we didn't kiss or hold hands when no cameras were around. And we didn't sleep in the same room and never had.

And never would.

Otherwise it was exactly like Kyle was my live-in boyfriend.

I still locked my door every night—to lock myself in. Of course I knew that was ridiculous. Like I would
ever
go find him at night.

Caroline hadn't called, and neither had Pierce. It was eerily quiet on the parent front. I knew that couldn't last, but I was choosing not to think about them.

No one had run a story about Kyle being my stepbrother or my escort—or both, God forbid. But I felt as if I was holding my breath every day, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I got multiple daily texts from Lucas, Shirley, Gigi and Tori. Everyone agreed that we were doing great. I even got a note from Officer Scott and Officer Deborah, thanking me for the gift cards, balloons, flowers, coffee, and doughnut bonanza Kyle and I had personally delivered to their precinct. I'd also given them, and all law enforcement in general, a long-winded, teary, and heartfelt apology.

All in all, considering I'd hit rock bottom only a short time ago, things were looking immeasurably up.

So of course I knew it wouldn't last.

K
yle was waiting
for me to go to the gym. We were running late, which he hated. I got into the kitchen, and whatever he was about to say died on his lips as he inspected my lycra workout pants and snug-fitting tank top.

"Sweet baby Jesus in the manger," he said.

I laughed, blushing as he stared at me. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, his eyes raking over me hungrily.

I felt myself blush deeper, in pleasure and in anger at myself. I was playing a dangerous game, and I knew it. I craved his eyes on me. I craved more than that, but in my heart, I knew his eyes were all I could ever have.

"You look nice," he said, his voice strained.

"Thanks." I flashed him a grin in spite of knowing better.

He held out his hand for mine, and I took it, my eyes tracing the lines of his biceps, visible from beneath his T-shirt.

"Let's do this," he said, and my insides clenched.

"Okay. Let's do it."
It. All sorts of It.

We went outside for the flashing cameras and the myriad of questions, and I found, quite unexpectedly, that they no longer bothered me at all.

K
yle made me do weights
, which made me scowl, but he put his hands on my waist to help me, which made me smile.

Which made me scowl.

"You don't need to touch me like that," I whispered. "We're inside."

"You never know who's taking a picture," he said into my ear. "Like that guy? The one who keeps checking himself out in the mirror? He could totally be an
XYZ
informant."

I looked at the huge, fake-tanned man Kyle was talking about, and I giggled. He was watching his reflection in the mirror as he lifted enormous weights over his head; it seemed as though he only had eyes for himself.

"He doesn't look too interested in us," I said.

Kyle kept his hands on me. "Better safe than sorry."

Resigning myself to the garbled emotions running through me, I lifted the heavy weights again. He kept his hands on my waist, and heat rushed through me. For once, I just let myself enjoy it.

A
s we were leaving
the gym, Kyle threw his arm around me.

"Ew, I'm all sweaty," I said, recoiling.

He gave me a wicked grin. "I know, and I don't mind one bit. Besides, you know our friends are waiting outside."

I excused myself, running to the locker room to quickly wash up and put on a small amount of makeup. I told myself it was for the photographers, but the deodorant was definitely for Kyle.

He whispered in my ear before we went through the door, "You look gorgeous, and we're going to show them all that I love you even when you're post-workout. That I love you for better or for worse." He pulled me closer to him, and my breath hitched. I felt the heat blooming between us, and it wasn't because we were hot from our workout. "Although I'm not sure there's a worse here. You look great amazing when you're all hot and lycra-ed up."

I gave him a small, bewildered smile. "You
are
good at confidence building."

"You shouldn't need it, Lo. You're perfect."

With that, we went through the doors to meet the press, all sorts of hot flashes going through me to match the flashes from their cameras.

"You guys look like you had quite the workout!" Rob, one of the regulars, called. "Is Kyle a good workout partner, Lowell?"

"He's the best," I said, giving the reporter a megawatt smile. "Looking at him's a good incentive."

"A good incentive to work on losing weight?"

I gritted my teeth and turned to find Katie, the annoying reporter from
XYZ,
looking at me expectantly. Of course it had been
her
question.

"A good incentive to work on having a healthy body." I'd decided, without telling anyone, that I wouldn't promote losing weight to be skinny. I didn't think that was a responsible example to set for young women, many of whom would never be model-thin. Just like me.

I inspected Katie. She was stick-thin, her collarbones jutting out beneath her patterned blouse.
No wonder you're such a miserable bitch
.
You need to go eat something and stop being so angry
.

"I thought you were required, per your contract, to lose weight," Katie called, not giving up the point.

Anger bubbled up inside me, but I made sure I kept my face neutral. I'd learned the hard way that
XYZ
was not an entity to be messed with. "My contract requires me to be fit for my role in an action-adventure film. My
conscience
requires me to act as a healthy role model for young women around the world." What felt like a thousand flashes went off. I put my hands on my hips. "And now that I've had a great workout, I'm gonna go have a Jamba Juice, if you don't mind. Feel free to check the nutrition information."

Kyle put his arm around me and led me to the car. "Katie, that exclusive's not looking too good," he called back to her, grinning.

I saw the sour look on her face as she packed up her equipment and followed us with the rest of the reporters.

Trouble
. It seemed that trouble was following us again.

Kyle threw his arm back around me. "I'm very proud of you, young lady."

I grimaced. "Lucas might not approve of what I just said. That might have been a mistake."

"It wasn't. Doing the right thing's never a mistake."

I gave him a nervous sideways glance. "Thanks."

He was becoming too indispensable. I
liked
him too much for my own good. I'd known from the beginning that this would end badly, but this added a whole new layer of bad.

"You're welcome. Now let's go get some overpriced juice. Overpriced juice makes everything better."

I
called
Tori before I went to bed that night.

"Oh my God, Lowell! You've finally met the perfect guy! I am
dying
over these pictures of you two! It's too cute!" my best friend gushed.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. I loved Tori, but she had an issue with looking at the bright side of everything—sometimes to the detriment of reality. "He's an
escort
. Remember?"

"I know," she said defensively. "Doesn't mean you two can't actually
like
each other. And it looks like you do—in the pictures anyway."

I sighed. "I'm an actress, remember? It's an
act
."

Tori hesitated for a second. "Don't you at least like him? A little?"

I looked at the picture of my mother and Pierce on my dresser and sighed. "I like him. A little."

"So why do you sound sad?" she asked. My best friend knew me too well.

"Because I
know
him. From before this." I was dying to tell her and wishing it wasn't true all at the same time. "You have to promise not to tell anyone."

"The fact that you already knew him can't be worse than the fact that he's an escort, and I'm already keeping
that
secret," she reminded me. She was silent for a second, as if thinking through her words. "Unless you mean you've
hired
him before—is that it? Do you have a history of hiring escorts? Oh my God, I never would have guessed—"

"Tori?" I waited while she continued babbling about escorts, how you never really knew anyone, and how much she hated it when I kept secrets from her. "Tori!"

She finally stopped.

"Of course I've never hired him before. I
grew up
with him. His dad was married to my mom. His dad was Husband Number Three."

Tori made a couple of unintelligible noises, as if she was trying to speak but the words kept canceling each other out. "What? What the heck did you just say?"

"He's my stepbrother, Tor. He used to be anyway."

She took several deep breaths. "That is unfuckingbelievable. Of all the luck. Your hot escort is actually your
brother
. Gross."

I felt my hackles rise. "
Stepbrother
. And actually, he's my ex-stepbrother, so it's even more removed than that."

"So it's not gross? Or is it just less gross?" Tori asked.

Sometimes, I wasn't sure she'd actually gone to Stanford.

"No, it's not gross! It's not even less gross—it's just
not
gross. I mean, I don't think it is anyway. It's
unfortunate
. But it's not like I've done anything with him, anyway."

"You kissed him at that shoe event," Tori reminded me. "And in every other picture of you two, he has his hand on your ass."

"It's an act," I said, trying to sound superior.

"I'm pretty sure he likes having his hand there," Tori said. I could just picture her twirling her curls and giving me a you-are-so-busted
look. "He does it
all
the time."

"He does sort of do it a lot." I didn't want to agree with her, but I wished she was right all at the same time.

"But you're
not
sleeping with him?" she asked, still sounding a little hopeful.

"Of course I'm not sleeping with him," I snapped. "Jesus. That's the last thing I need. Sleeping with my escort ex-stepbrother."

"But you're pretending, remember? That he's your boyfriend."

"Uh, yeah, I remember. It was my idea, wasn't it?" I asked, exasperated.

"So you
could
actually sleep with him. Like he's your boyfriend. It'd actually make your story tighter." She snickered. "Emphasis on
tighter.
"

"What does the word 'tighter' have to do with anything?"

"I don't know." She giggled. "It just sounds dirty."

I shook my head and snorted. "Tori, you're gross. And I know you're smart, but you make no sense. I gotta go."

"So go! But try to have fun. Try to have sex! See if you remember how—it's just like riding a bike!"

I hung up on her, disgusted. Whether I was disgusted with her or with the fact that I was actually considering what she said, I wasn't sure.

And I couldn't afford to find out.

"
Y
ou wanna do
something different today?"

"Like what?" she asked, peering at me over her coffee mug.

This was one of my favorite times of day. We were in her kitchen, having coffee, so her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and her face scrubbed clean of makeup. She was adorable, and it was becoming a real problem.

"Something… fun," I said, grinning. "The
most
fun. That doubles as a great photo opportunity."

She grinned back, even though I felt certain it was in spite of herself. "How can I say no to that?"

"You can't. So go get dressed. Wear something casual, with sneakers. I'll meet you at the front door in ten."

Ten minutes later, she came out in a tank top, baseball hat, and denim shorts, her long legs tanned and gleaming. I just stared.

"What?" she said, blushing underneath the brim of her hat.

"You're sort of cute," I admitted.

"Well, thank you. Sort of." She smiled and grabbed my hand; it had almost become automatic for us. "Where are we going?"

"Not telling." We went through the door and greeted the throng of photographers.

"Are we headed to the gym? The usual?" one of the photographers asked, scratching his head and yawning.

"Nope," I answered. "We're mixing it up today."

"Where are you going?"

I beamed as I hustled her to the car. "I can't tell you—I'm surprising Lowell. But so we don't lose you and end up causing an accident with some sort of high-speed chase, I
will
tell you that we're headed to Anaheim."

They perked up a little.

"Are you going to
you-know-where
?" one of them asked.

I grinned. "Exactly."

"Cool!"

"Awesome!"

"See ya there!"

I got into the car, and Lowell was scowling at me.

"Where the heck is
you-know-where
?" she asked. "And why does everybody besides me know where that is?"

"'Cause you don't get out much." I threw the car into drive.

"
N
o way
!" Lo exclaimed as we turned down Disneyland Drive. "No, sir!"

"Yes way. Yes, sir." I looked at her face as I got in line to pull into the quickly filling lot. She looked excited, looking up at the Tower of Terror in the distance. "Do you…
like
Disneyland?"

"I've never been here," she said breathlessly. She looked like a young girl again, all full of hope and unrealized potential.

"Never?"

She shook her head. I would have been surprised, but I couldn't really picture Caroline Barton on a roller coaster, getting her hair messed up, or waiting in line with a bunch of tourists. That was surely beneath her.

"It's fun," I said. "We used to fly down here sometimes for the weekend when I was younger. My mom loved it." I felt Lo watching my face.

"What was she like?"

I parked and looked at her before tucking a loose hair behind her ear. "She was awesome." I smiled from just thinking about my mother. "She would be happy I'm here. I hadn't even thought of coming back, but it popped into my head this morning."

I grabbed Lo's hand, lacing our fingers, after we got out of the car and headed for the tram to take us into the park.

"Hey, Kyle, wait for us!" called Alex, one of the photographers.

I looked back at him, momentarily caught off guard. I'd been so excited about surprising Lo, I'd completely forgotten about them on the ride over here.

And yet, I'd already been holding her hand.

It wasn't just for show anymore, and I knew in my gut that spelled trouble for me. Big trouble. Still, I smiled at the photographers easily, then I decided to forget about them for the rest of the day. Today was about me and Lo.

For better or for worse.

W
e went
on all the rides.

"Can we do it again?" she asked when we got off Space Mountain.

I grinned at her. "You
liked
that?"

She grinned back. "I loved it."

So we went again. And again. We stayed until the sky was dark. I kept my arm around her the whole day, and neither of us stopped smiling. In the back of my mind, I knew the paparazzi were taking pictures of us, but I didn't care. We posed with Goofy, and I took a selfie.

Because I wanted it. For me. For later, when I was alone again.

We watched the fireworks from a gondola on Mickey's Fun Wheel.

"The Ferris wheel kinda reminds me of my career," Lowell joked when we reached the top. "It goes up, up, up, then it goes down, down, down." She laughed.

"I don't think that's just your career—I think that's life in general." I pulled her to me and nestled her against my shoulder.

"No one's in here with us," she whispered. "Even if they have a zoom lens, they probably can't see us up here."

"So?" I asked.

"So"—she sat up and away from me—"we don't have to sit that close together."

I pulled her back, feeling hot and needy and confused. "Just because we don't have to doesn't mean that we shouldn't. Or that we can't."

She leaned into me and looked up at me, making my heart stop. "But we shouldn't. And we can't." She smiled sadly.

I kissed the top of her head and just held her. The jumble of feelings was replaced by a dull ache. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I had a bad feeling I was about to find out.

L
ater
, I walked Lo formally to her bedroom door.

"G'night," I said.

She smiled, but it was a tired smile. "Good night, Kyle. Thank you for today. It was awesome."

"It
was
awesome." I stood over her, wanting to put my arms around her, wishing the press was in here so I had an excuse to touch her. To kiss her.

She held my gaze. Just once, I wanted to run my hands down her whole body. Take her clothes off and press my face against her naked skin. Feel what it was like to see her light up underneath me. Make her moan in pleasure.

"Well, good night," she said again, seeming flustered. "See ya in the morning." She pushed past me and closed the door immediately.

Fuck
.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Or not. Sighing, I headed back to my room, where I could at least jerk off and find some release.

But I knew that wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't be nearly enough.

Ugh,
I thought, collapsing on my bed.
This is what having feelings is like.

Frustrated, I padded back to Lo's room. She had to be feeling what I was feeling—at least some of it. When I got there, I promptly lost my nerve. I just stood outside her door, wanting to knock.

For an hour.

I had to respect her boundaries, even as I wanted to crash through them to take her in my arms. I gave up and went back to bed, not even bothering to masturbate. I wanted to feel her next to me. Nothing else would satisfy me.

I fell into a fitful sleep, cursing my attempts at being a responsible adult. Being a responsible adult was exhausting and lonely.

I was starting to lose hope, and that dull ache was back. If Disneyland wasn't going to work on her, what the hell was?

T
he next morning
, we were all
business.
Gym, Jamba, lunch.
Neither of us spoke about the day before.

Lo wasn't looking at me, and I was too ashamed to look at her. It was as if we'd crossed some sort of line, and although there was no going back, there was no going forward, either.

After lunch, we set up camp in her living room. She was checking email, and I was catching up on the
XYZ
site when my phone buzzed. It was a text from my father.

I want you to come up and meet with me,
he wrote.
I have an offer for you.

I can't,
I wrote back.

Find a way to make it work. Charge the tickets to my account. I'll see you tomorrow,
he wrote. He texted me his credit card numbers, which was an act so out of character that I sat there, stunned. I hadn't seen him in so long. I felt as though this was an offer I couldn't refuse. Sighing, I looked up to find Lo watching my face.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

I held up my phone. "My father wants to talk to me. In person. Tomorrow. In Boston."

She blew out a deep breath, looking worried. "What does he want?"

"He says he has an offer for me. I think I should hear him out, but I don't know how that's gonna work right now…"

"I'll go with you," Lowell said. "I mean, if that's okay."

I smiled at her. "Of course it's okay." I didn't want to be away from her for a minute.

"We can make it look like a sexy getaway. Which hopefully won't push your father over the edge."

I grinned, trying to make light of the heaviness between us. "You had me at
sexy
."

"Stop," she said, looking back at her screen. "I'll have Tori take care of the tickets and the hotel. How many nights should we go for?"

"Three?" I asked. "I've never been to Boston."

"Me either."

"Then let's be tourists while we're there. The photographers probably won't follow us, so we'll have to take a ton of selfies to keep everybody happy."

"I'll let Lucas and Shirley know what's going on," Lowell said.

I nodded. "And I think we should go out tonight. Yesterday was a huge success. If we're gonna be out of town for a couple of days, we need to leave them with plenty of material."

"You mean go to dinner?"

"I mean go to dinner then go
out
. Get all dressed up and go to a nightclub."

Lowell wrinkled her nose at me. "I don't go to nightclubs."

"I know. Which is why we should."

Lowell shook her head. "I don't want to project a party-girl image after what I did."

"That makes sense, but I think the press needs to see you out at night, looking hot." I watched her face. "You can be a good role model by enjoying yourself responsibly."

She looked as though she was struggling with the idea of the club, but then she nodded. "While people still care."

Not caring about her seemed impossible.

"Works for me," I said and started counting the minutes until I could hold her tight little body on the dance floor.

S
he came out in a short
, skin-tight black dress and black booties. I almost passed out.

"Is this okay? Or is it too slutty?" she asked.

"It's perfect."

She looked tentatively pleased. "Really? You'd tell me, right? I'm used to having my stylist do all this. Okay, my stylist is Tori, but still."

"Skype her," I said, pointing at her laptop. "She'll approve, I swear it."

Lowell went over to her computer and fired it up. After clicking away for a few seconds, she smiled at the screen. "Tori? How are you? I miss you!"

In spite of my protests, Lowell hadn't allowed a single person from her inner circle to meet me. Not Tori, not Shirley, and I hadn't even glimpsed that Gigi with the long legs again. Lowell had been working with them all from her laptop at home. She was protecting me like Fort Knox. I wasn't sure if she was keeping me away from everyone because she wanted to shield me, or because she was embarrassed by me, or because she thought somehow one of them would be able to tell that I used to be her stepbrother—just by looking at me in person.

But Tori knew who I was. And yet Lowell still wouldn't let me meet her.

"Oh my fucking God, Lo!" A voice that must have belonged to Tori screamed from the computer. "I saw the pictures from Disneyland—that was
so
cute—and Kyle is
so
hot! I can't believe he's your
stepbrother.
That sucks
so
hard!
I swear, you two look like you were
made
for each other! Holy freaking—"

"Enough," Lo shrieked. "Kyle's right here!"

Hmm. Maybe this was why she'd kept us apart.

"Oh geez, I'm sorry!" Tori wailed, and I tried not to laugh as Lo adjusted her dress and tried not to die of embarrassment. "Is he still right there?"

"Yesss," Lo said through gritted teeth.

"Oops." Tori promptly stopped talking.

"Can you check my outfit before I go out for the night?" Lo asked, sounding defeated.

"Your dress looks wicked hot," Tori said, regaining her enthusiasm. "I was there when you picked that out, remember? We went shopping for slutty clothes so you could finally get over your dry spell? Well, this is it! That dress screams sex!"

Lo glared at the computer screen, her shoulders rising and falling as she tried to maintain her composure.

"He's still right there, isn't he," Tori squeaked, not bothering to make it a question. "I'm so sorry. I'm just excited!"

"Oh, I can tell you're excited. Everyone can."

"You
do
look wicked hot," I called from across the room.

"Is that him?" Tori squealed. "Is he always that nice? It sounds like he really likes you!"

Lo looked absolutely livid. "Tori, I'm assuming from everything you've said that you approve of my dress. As my stylist, do I have your permission to go out like this?"

"As your stylist, I absolutely approve of that dress. Go forth and have fun." It sounded as if Tori was trying to be serious.

"As my best friend, do you understand that I'm totally pissed at you and I'm going to hang up now?" Lo asked.

"As your best friend, I thoroughly understand your position."

"One more thing—Kyle and I are heading to Boston tomorrow. He has a meeting. Can you deal with the travel arrangements for me?"

"Ooooh, an east coast getaway!"

Lo glared at the computer screen, and Tori stopped.

She cleared her throat. "Of course," Tori said primly, pretending to be all business. "I can take care of that." She cleared her throat again. "But do you acknowledge that you have to call me tomorrow morning and tell me
everything
?"

Lo smiled indulgently. "Of course I'll call you tomorrow. You're still my BFF." She closed the computer and looked at me. "Sorry about that. Tori gets a little… excited for me sometimes."