Impossible Glamour (11 page)

“Uh, okay. So when you find my sister, have her give me a call.” I pressed “off” and put my phone beside me on the chaise lounge.

What the heck? I could depend on Sophia’s snarkiness the same way I depended on the sun. Of course she loved me and I loved her, we were sisters, but come on. Aside from our looks, we were pretty damned different, a fact she seemed to take great pleasure in pointing out, and not in an
oh, my sister is so smart and awesome
way but in a
yeah, she dresses like a bag lady half the time, what can I do?
Sort of a way. I’d grown used to how we communicated.

What was going on? She’d thrown me for a loop with the supportive sister crap. That was nearly as unnerving as discovering my entire circle of family and friends had discovered Webber stayed at my house after Choo and Jackson’s wedding.

I lifted my thumb to my lips and tugged at a hangnail that had been bothering me most of the afternoon.

The sun approached the horizon, and soon the wind would whip up and the air would grow chilly. A few laps to get my head straight. I tucked my JAMA magazine into my bag with my phone. Last night I’d eaten in the dining room, but tonight would be room service,
Trainwreck
on VOD, and then maybe a Nora Roberts romance. Nothing like taking my mind off the demise of my career dreams and a man sleeping in my bed and my whole family talking about it like a little romance reading.

I slipped into the pool. A perfect eighty degrees. I pulled down my goggles and pushed off the side. Sliding through water calmed me. Weightless and free, I couldn’t remember a time I hadn’t loved the feeling of buoyancy and ease. My arms sliced through the water, and I concentrated on the far end of the pool. Of course, no one else was swimming laps. Pools at resorts in Southern California were for viewing purposes only. No one actually swam, they lounged and looked awesome. Maybe they hopped into the water to cool off and perhaps some effortless cavorting took place, but not laps. I pressed my fingertips to the smooth surface of the wall, flipped underwater, and turned. My feet pushed off, and back toward the other side I went. I was nearly to the other end when I saw in my periphery someone else actually swimming laps too.

*

This Joe Schmo was actually trying to race me. I could feel it. Could feel the pressure of him keeping up and passing and then me keeping up and passing. We were stroke for stroke on the same side of the pool. My lungs burned and I touched the wall and flipped. I wouldn’t stop. No. Way. We’d been going for nearly fifteen laps and I was close to tapped out, but there was no way some guy in board shorts was going to force me to quit. Just no.

I sliced my hand through the water and kicked hard. If I could solidly beat him on this next lap, really end with an obvious win, then I was out. I pressed on. Nearly there, my hand touched. I glanced to my left. No one. I’d done it. He had to be eating my wake. I popped up and sucked air deep into my lungs.

What the hell? The guy who’d been racing me for the past half hour was already sliding up from the pool. Son of a bitch. He beat me. He turned back to me and a giant grin claimed his face. I pulled my goggles up and shot him my nastiest look.

His smile slid. He shook his head. “This day couldn’t get worse.”

That voice.

“Webber?”

“I didn’t know bag ladies could swim.” He reached out his hand to help me from the pool.

“And I didn’t know sharks could ever stop.”

His hand clasped mine. Electrical pulses shot up my arm, and I sucked in a quick breath and hopped up onto the pool deck. Webber was in front of me. Inches from me.

“Looking good there, Michael Phelps.”

I wanted to say something smart. Something edgy and funny. Something to diffuse the heat that thrummed through me, but I couldn’t think. I couldn’t really form words. I could, however, stare into those brilliant blue eyes that laughed at me. That cocky grin that tightened my stomach. The water droplets cascaded down his well-muscled, sun-kissed chest. I could consider those hands on my body and those lips on my… Oh my God, I had to stop. I was keenly attracted to Webber.

“What are you doing here, Webber?”

“Agency retreat. And you?”

“The place Mom and Daddy sent me to relax for a week.”

Webber nodded. “Your dad must not have known CTA’s retreat was here this week. No way Steve Legend sends you, his little brainiac daughter, into shark-infested waters to swim.”

I started to step back, away from this attraction, but my foot slipped and the pool deck wasn’t there. I flailed with my right arm.

Webber reached out and snaked his arm around my waist. “Gotcha.” He pulled me in close.

Got me.
A breath shuddered through my chest. My body fit against his bare skin. Those thick lips. Lips that I’d kissed. A memory of heat sliding over heat and his tongue tangling with mine flew through my mind. My sex tingled and my tongue trailed over my bottom lip.

He dropped his arm and backed away from me. “Don’t let these people know you’re a Legend. They’ll be all over you.” His eyes trailed toward the two stragglers that sat poolside in the setting sun.

“Your agency represents my entire family—what could they possibly want from me?”

“Access. Make nicey with you and then make nicey with the famous people in your fam.”

“Not my first rodeo, Webber. Fully aware of how these games work. Why do you think I have so few friends?” My heart lurched. Not really something I liked to admit. Truth hurt sometimes, even for a girl who cultivated invisibility.

“Hard for you not to be noticed with that face you got going.”

“Because I look just like Sophia?”

“No,” Webber said and his gaze dropped to my mouth. “Because you look like Ellen Legend, and she’s a damn fine-looking woman.”

Breathless and speechless. Webber had made me completely unable to utter words. Who knew? I certainly hadn’t. He raked his fingers through his wet hair. “Okay. So I have to motor, have this thing…uh…that I need to go to. Maybe I’ll see you before we leave.”

I nodded. Maybe. Hopefully. Damn, what was I thinking… No, no, absolutely no. I didn’t want to see Webber. While the rational portion of my brain understood the impossibility of a Webber rendezvous, the rest of my body, including my tingling girl parts, didn’t seem to want to follow along with logic. Webber grabbed two towels. He handed me one and pulled the other around his waist.

Damn. Webber was fine. His body was cut and just exactly what I liked. Lean and mean and well maintained. I wrapped the plush cotton around my body, and for the first time in my life, I actually wished I’d worn a bikini.

We stood there beside the pool in the setting sun, both of us looking at the other. Why? Because I felt like I was seeing Webber for the first time. The guy I’d known for a couple of years as an obnoxious agent was actually funny and way too sexy for my own good. His smart mouth didn’t utter any smart-ass words. I pressed my fingers to my hair.

“Well,” I said and broke the spell. “I should go. I mean, you have your thing.”

“I do.” Webber’s gaze followed my fingers through my hair. Then his eyes caressed my face. A long, lingering look, his usual playfulness replaced by a hot intensity.

I nearly stepped back again but didn’t want to tumble into the pool. Instead, he took two steps back, turned, and let me walk by.

“See you, Webber,” I called and walked to my chair to grab my bag.

Instead of a smart-ass comment about the Webzie always being around, he simply nodded and never once smiled as I turned to walk away.

Webber

My heart wasn’t in the bar scene. Two of my CTA compatriots had convinced me to hit the Santa Barbara nightlife. We’d fled the resort for a wine bar downtown. Sure, I walked the walk and talked the talk, slinging bullshit with the fellas like the best of them, but my heart wasn’t in the outing. I slipped my phone from my pants pocket and checked the ringer for the third time, hopeful that a Legend had called me.

“What’s up, Webber?” Matt asked. A lit agent who specialized in Oscar-winning screenwriters, he was tall and athletic, a little too tan even for SoCal, and looked like he should be a golf cart jockey in the OC. “You got a hot date?”

“Not tonight, from what I hear,” Joel said. Wider and stocky, Joel had been a Marine for four years before heading to college. Blond and blue-eyed, he looked like your typical all-American. “You’re not getting ridden until tomorrow night, right?”

“What the fuck man? Ridden?”

“Isn’t that when your sit-down with Selena is? Tomorrow? Late-night drinks, a little conversation. Testing you out to see if you can fulfill your partnership duties.”

There were no secrets in Hollywood, and definitely not in an agency. “Dude, it’s drinks, not a schlong-fest. We’re talking business. Rhett Legend business,” I added. “The best kind.” I took a long, slow sip of my pinot noir. The wine wasn’t going down easy tonight.

“Right,” Joel said and tilted his beer bottle toward me. “You enjoy that
talk
.” He winked. “Ride ’em, cowboy. Get ready to be that lady’s bitch for the rest of the week.”

I smiled but wanted to shove the open bottle of wine up his ass. Agents were assholes. Cowboy? Selena’s bitch? Who talked like that? And why? Wow—well, I guess I did most the time, but none of those words seemed funny tonight, nor was the idea of spending tomorrow night with Selena, especially not with Ellen at the same resort.

Ellen?

What the hell? Like Ellen being around had any bearing on my actions. Ellen was off-limits. The prudent thing would be to bang Selena, guarantee her yes vote for my partnership, and get this wacka-doo desire for Ellen out of my system. If Steve wasn’t considering leaving me as an agent now, he definitely would be if he caught me making love to his daughter.

Making love?

Where was this shit coming from? I’d never “
made love
” in my life. I hit it and quit it. Wham bam, thank you, ma’am. Banged it. Tapped that ass. Fucked. Had sex. But
made love
? Come on. Never. I wasn’t in a romance novel, and I wasn’t some Fabio look-alike ready to hook up for life. No, my life was all James Bond or maybe Jason Bourne. I was an agent. I was a rogue. I was…the Webzie.

Even I wasn’t pulling that shit off in my own head.

But seriously, I’d kissed Ellen two times and was thinking about
making love
plus considering the impact my decision to sleep with Selena might have on
Ellen
? I needed to pull my shit together because there would be no “making love” with Ellen Legend. There would be me acting professional around Ellen Legend or maybe even me avoiding Ellen Legend, but there would be no repeat performance of my and Ellen’s little rendezvous after Choo and Jackson’s wedding.

Joel nodded toward the door. “Webz, maybe you can get in some extra time.”

Selena walked into the restaurant with her urban department entourage. There was no denying it, she was one smokin’ hot chica. Long, lush black hair, full lips kept a permanent red, big brown eyes that were a dark chocolate, curves that went for days. As hot as Selena was, and she was scorching, she just didn’t do it for me.

Nope. Big Boy had no reaction to the lovely Latina walking straight for us. Hiding wasn’t an option. I’d never hear the end of it from Joel and Matt. Nope. I needed to sit here and take this one like a man. Selena and the four agents with her followed the hostess toward their table. She paused beside me.

“Gentlemen.” Her gaze caressed each of us in turn but lingered on me the way a lioness watches a gazelle.

Selena was beautiful, smart, and powerful. I was damn sure she’d make a man—some man, any man—very, very happy one day, but she scared the fuck out of me. Maybe her intensity was too much, maybe the way she took what she wanted. I liked a strong woman; I was a true feminist. Power to the ladies. Equal pay, all the way! But damn, this woman really made me squirm.

“Webber.” She tilted her head, and those dark brown eyes, that gaze, locked onto me. “I hear we’re on for tomorrow night.”

“Yes.” My voice cracked like a prepubescent teenager; my voice actually split a decibel in two. I cleared my throat.

“I’m really looking forward to it.” Her finger stroked the back of my hand.

“Me too,” I lied. Big Boy didn’t respond to her touch. He actually cowered in fear. Damn. If Selena was expecting to cowboy-up tomorrow night, I wasn’t sure I could provide. I didn’t want to, but I would take one for the team. My team. The Webzie team. The team that needed to be partner to save his numero uno client and still keep paying for Mom’s expensive care.

“See you then.” She pulled up a corner of her mouth and her lips actually formed a tiny pouty kiss. Again Big Boy shrank back into my drawers. Selena followed the hostess and her minions followed close behind.

“Damn,” Joel said. “I would tap that ass in a nanosecond.” He shook his head and looked at me. “How are you not on top of the fucking world right now? She’s hot. She’s powerful. She’s a partner who will give you her vote. Man, it’s sex with Selena, dude. I think you should be walking on air.”

I took a long, slow drink of my wine. Nope. I felt like I was taking a long, slow trip to the gallows. Definitely not walking on air.

Matt scrolled through the messages on his phone and then set it on the table. “What’s this about Steve sitting down with Thad over at ACA?”

My heart thumped against my ribs. Not a good time to have news of a possible Legend exodus while at the company retreat and up for a partnership vote. Couldn’t really be a worse time.

“Dude,” I said and leaned back in my chair, channeling every ounce of nonchalance I could muster. “That was at Steve’s production company and was about a film one of Thad’s client’s is writing for Legend Productions. Totally impromptu. No big deal.”

Matt lifted his eyebrow and tilted his head. “Not what my source is saying.” His gaze lingered on an e-mail.