Tidal (9 page)

box of shoes to the floor. I knelt down

beside it. “It’s . . . nice.”

“I don’t like that voice,” Mom said.

“What’s wrong?”

Cooper.

But I wasn’t going to get into

relationships with my mom because she’d

pick me apart with a million questions.

Are you taking your birth control? Are you

using condoms? You’re not . . .
you know
.

. . again, right? I changed the subject. “We

start shooting in like ten days.” It was a

lame change of pace, but her voice perked

right back up.

“I know, aren’t you excited?”

“Why didn’t you and Dad let me know

you had a part lined up for me?” I asked,

shoving a pair of Christian Louboutin

pumps to the back of the closet. One of

them tipped over to the side, its bright red

sole facing up at me.

“We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Mom, you sent me details about the

gazillion lawsuits against me. I could’ve

handled a damn part or, you know, a

script.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Don’t

be rude, Willow.”

But I wasn’t being rude. Rude would

have been asking my mother where she

was when I was released from Serenity

Hills a few days ago. Rude would have

been asking Mom where she was right

now. I threw another pair of shoes into the

closet and gritted my teeth before asking,

“Is Dad around?”

“He’s getting dressed for dinner, but

he wanted me to tell you to take care of

yourself.”

Meaning he didn’t want to talk to me.

That had always been my father’s solution

to dealing with my screw-ups, and it was

one I had never understood. My counselor

at rehab had told me he’d come around

after I atoned for my failings. Because

according to her, proving myself was the

best way to win my father’s thumbs up. I

couldn’t help but wonder how many

people left Serenity Hills with even more

fucked up Daddy issues than they’d

arrived with.

“You’re being too quiet. Is everything

alright?” she asked.

I slid into the closet, pulled my knees

up to my chest and placed my forehead

against them. “Have you heard from the

lawyer about the case against the agency?”

I demanded.

“These things take time,” Mom said in

a sing-song voice.

Because apparently, three fucking

years wasn’t long enough.

After that, my conversation with my

mother went by quickly. She reminded me

that I needed to get in touch with my

probation officer and start my community

service. I rolled my eyes and told her I

would. When it was time to hang up, Mom

gasped and said, “Damn, before I forget—

have you started your personal training

yet?”

My neck and shoulders tensed up.

“Not yet,” I replied in a clipped voice.

“You know it’s important for you to

stay in shape,” she admonished, and

suddenly, I remembered her putting me on

a diet of grilled chicken salads and water

a few years back. She hadn’t known what

was going on then because I’d been too

afraid to tell her, too afraid of my parents

finding out what I’d done, but it still made

me upset to think about it now.

I just wanted this call to hurry up and

end.

“Got it, Mom,” I said.

“Good. We love you, Willow.”

“Uh huh. You too.”

The moment she disconnected the call,

I found the manila folder Kevin had given

me a few days before. I pulled the

personal trainer’s information from the

back of the folder. And I heard Cooper’s

words from a few days earlier echo in my

head. “Nobody wants to see a sickly-

looking surfer.”

After I ripped the paper into shreds, I

sent Miller a text.

Do you feel like some sight-seeing?

You know . . . this is my first time in

Hawaii.

He responded back five minutes later

with a message that made me heave a sigh

of relief.

1:48 p.m
.: Mine too. Got another

hour of working out then we can hit the

town.

It was going to be my first time out on

“the town” with a bodyguard when I

wasn’t too drunk or too fucked up to

function.

Chapter Six

Though I was still on the verge of

being broke, Miller and I stayed out late

into the evening, walking around a cheap

amusement park. He was a welcome

change from the bodyguards I had before.

Not once did he give me that look that

clearly conveyed he thought I was a

dumbass, or worse, that he was picturing

me naked. I probably would have stayed

out all night, but as Miller and I stood in

line to ride the only decent rollercoaster

in the entire park, he slowly turned to me.

I groaned when I realized he was

nervously working his teeth back and forth

over his top lip and that his skin was

flushed beneath his slowly fading spray

tan.

“I hate when people look at me like

that,” I pointed out, knowing his sheepish

expression meant an end to my night and

the noise.

I wasn’t at all ready for that.

Miller lifted his muscled shoulders.

“Don’t you think we should call it a night?

I mean, this place is thinning out.” He

gestured around us at the handful of tourist

strolling through the muggy darkness.

When we arrived—two or three hours ago

—the place was in full swing.

Shoving my giant sunglasses up on my

nose, I focused my attention to the front of

the line and let the sounds around us wrap

me up. “It’s only nine,” I argued.

Miller snorted. “Yeah, an hour and a

half ago.” Okay, so we’d been here more

than four hours. When I held up my hands

in a so-what motion and gave him an

irritated look, he said in a gentle voice,

“You’re the one who told me two hours

ago to make sure you went home before

eleven to study your lines and go to bed

for your lesson with Billabong,

remember?”

If I wasn’t so irritated about making

that particular promise to Miller, I would

have smiled at his nickname for Cooper.

Instead, my frown deepened. Thinking

about surf lessons with Cooper made my

chest hurt. And the last time my heart or

chest or
anything
hurt thinking about a guy

. . .

Things ended badly.

“One more hour,” I pleaded and

though he looked conflicted, Miller

dipped his head. He stepped forward

when the person in front of us showed his

wrist band to the attendant.

“You’re just like my kid sister. Okay,

one more hour and then I’ll carry your ass

out of here if I have to.”

If any of my friends back in

Hollywood knew I was hanging out with

my bodyguard as friends, that he was

talking to me like we’d known each other

for years, they’d make a smart ass

comment. They’d ask me if we were

sleeping together. Luckily, I wasn’t in

Hollywood. Besides, my friends’ opinions

weren’t exactly at the top of my list of

things to give a shit about since I still

hadn’t heard from any of them—not even

Jessica, who was supposed to be my best.

Giving Miller a smile which coaxed a

gap-toothed grin from him, I crossed my

fingertip over my heart. “I promise, only

one more hour,” I said.

Of course, when my phone rang and

woke me up at 8:45 the next morning, I

immediately wished I’d chosen to turn in

much earlier. Apparently, I was losing my

party girl touch. I answered without

opening my eyes to check the ID, letting

my fingers wander over the smooth

surface of the screen until I found the right

button.

“Hello?” I mumbled.

“Hi, I’m trying to reach Willow

Avery,” a female voice said.

I flew up into a sitting position,

brushing my hair out of my eyes. “It’s me.

Anne?” I asked, thinking it was Kevin’s

assistant on the line. Now, I was fully

alert—wide-eyed and expecting good

news.

“No, sorry. This is Officer Stewart

from probation.”

Fuck my life.

“Oh,” I said, unable to hide the drag of

disappointment from my voice.

“I was calling to set up your first visit

to our office—and to confirm your

address.”

As I copied down the information

Stewart gave me on the back of a scrap

piece of paper I found in one of the

nightstand drawers, and answered all her

questions in a monotone voice, I felt a

chill claw down the middle of my chest. It

wasn’t like I was in danger of failing a

random pee test—and I’d failed my fair

share of those in Los Angeles with my old

probation officer who overlooked them

because Kevin represented his son—and

yet I felt like the walls were closing in

around me. I felt trapped.

“When are you planning to start your

community service?” Office Stewart

questioned.

I grimaced. I should have known that

one was coming. Swallowing back the

lump in my throat, I croaked, “I’m not

sure. What am I supposed to be doing,

exactly?”

“You’ll be working at Harmony

House,” she said. Then she gave me the

name and number of the person who’d be

supervising me. “So, I’ll see you Friday

morning, at 9:30?” she confirmed.

“I’ll be there,” I said slowly, thinking

of how embarrassing it would be to have

my bodyguard take me to probation

because I didn’t have a license. It could

be worse, I reminded myself. Like asking

Miller to escort me to the gynecologist or

making him wait for me while I hooked up

with someone in a hotel. I’d never been

one for random hookups but I had friends,

like Jessica, who had no problem having

sex with a new guy every weekend while

her bodyguard waited in the car or outside

her hotel door.

I looked down at my phone, wincing

when I saw the time. It was 8:58 a.m. and

I was supposed to meet Cooper in two

minutes. I shot him a message letting him

know I was running late then I sent Miller

one telling him I’d be ready to go in five

minutes. I changed quickly—today in a

modest two piece that had been delivered

with my things yesterday. Somehow, it

managed to hide the telltale scar and

accentuate my boobs at the same time.

One of my hands was working on the

button of my tiny yellow shorts and the

other was cramming my face with a whole

wheat waffle that tasted like overcooked

cardboard as I ran outside to where Miller

was waiting by the Kia. He shook his

head, grinning and got into the driver’s

side. My phone vibrated in my pocket and

I held my waffle between my teeth to

check it.

Cooper had messaged me back.

9:08 a.m.
: You know that James

Dickson won’t be so lenient when you

stay out too late partying, right?

I didn’t want to care what he thought I

spent my spare time doing, but I found

myself hesitating before getting inside the

car to text him back.
Thanks for the heads

up, smartass. If my body wasn’t so tired

from your “basics” I’d probably have

gotten up on time.

I slid the phone back into my pocket.

The look on my face must have said it all

because when I dropped down next to

Miller, he cocked a dark eyebrow and

scratched the back of his buzz cut. “You

look like you just told someone off,” he

said, as he began to drive.

“Oh, I did.”

“Let me guess, Billabong?” he asked,

chuckling. When I shot him a look, he

cringed and said in a serious tone, “Sorry,

I keep forgetting that you decide whether I

have a job or not. You’re just not what I . .

.”

“Expected?” I asked. My phone

buzzed against my thigh again, and I felt

my heart jump.

“You can say that,” Miller said.

“I’m actually quite charming,” I said.

Then, I gave him a grin that was forced but

sincere. “And you don’t have to worry

about getting fired. As long as you don’t

try to sell my dirty panties to
Sleaze

Police
, we’re good.”

“Gross.”

“It’s happened before,” I said as I

fished my phone out. It was still buzzing

from incoming text messages. “You

wouldn’t believe what some of these

dickwads will pay for.” I didn’t add that

the panty incident had happened to Jessica

and that she’d been sleeping with the

bodyguard who did the deed.

I was more interested in Cooper’s

newest responses.

9:15 a.m.
: So you’re saying you

spent the night in bed with sore muscles,

thinking about me?

9:16 a.m.
: I’ve got to say Wills, I’m
pretty turned on.