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My gaze narrowed at the way he was practically drooling. While I was allowed to appreciate the view, Sam wasn’t.
“Dude, stop eye fucking her,” I snapped.
He spun on his thousand dollar shoe and faced me, an unrepentant grin on his face. I was represented by a huge PR agency, and he was the agent they’d assigned me back in the day. Sam Weismann was forty, born and raised in LA. He wore expensive clothes, got an expensive haircut, drove an expensive car, and repped expensive clients.
Before the plane even landed, he’d texted me five times wondering about the photo I’d posted. Since then, I posted more–welcoming my girl to LA by posing us in front of a palm tree and another with her by my side with the Hollywood sign in the distance–and he’d driven into the hills to see me in person.
“Aspen.”
“Right. Perfect.” He nodded, gave her one last glance through the window before I moved in front of his view. “I told you I’d have found you a girlfriend. How much are you paying her? While I admit, she’s a stunner, they’re a dime a dozen around here. You’ll have to make sure she has her union card though because–”
“Shut up,” I told him. “She’s my girlfriend. She’s not a fucking actress.”
I left out that I paid her, but that was between me and Aspen. And I wasn’t giving her the money for the ring as a trade. Okay, in her eyes, I was, but there was no way in hell I was going to let her wander around in the woods alone finding some ridiculous bulldog rock and a buried ring, or let her go into debt for a loser like her ex. Once she found the money in her account, she could make him disappear from her life for good.
There was no question she had a tight budget. Her little apartment was too small for her and Sierra. Her car was far from new. It didn’t sound like she had any family support, whatever the story was there. She didn’t deserve to have an ex treat her like shit, then go after her like this. While legally the ring probably belonged to the fucker, but if he did the things she said, she’d earned it.
Sam held up his hands. “Whoa, okay. You met her in Montana?”
“Yeah. She’s a yoga instructor.”
“Yeah? She looks like a ballerina to me.”
“She has a yoga studio in Hunter Valley.”
“Ballet. Yoga. Twice as flexible.” I didn’t like his grin, or that he was right.
“Get your head out of the fucking gutter,” I snapped. Even though I’d gotten inside her before we fell asleep the night before, that was between me and Aspen.
“Does it matter if I’m into her or not? You’re talking like a total asshole.”
He didn’t look the least bit contrite. In fact, he looked as if he had no idea what I meant. “I’ve never seen you like this about a woman.”
“I’ve never been like this about one. When they’re sharks like Lacey, I have no interest.”
“She doesn’t want you for your money?”
“No.”
“You sure? ‘Cause it’s one thing to hide your cash in Montana with a snap shirt and a pair of jeans, but even a natural blonde like her can tell that a private plane and this house means a huge payout.”
The last thing I needed was to be seen on a commercial airplane. Trapped with fans was not a good idea. The cost of the chartered flight was worth it to stay out of the public’s eye. As for my house? It cost a fucking fortune but was a good investment. At least that was what my financial advisor told me. It had stunning views–including the one I had now of Aspen on my deck–but it was just a place to live. I worked all the time. I didn’t hang with my neighbors or do block parties. It was a house. My parents’ place in Nebraska was a home. With growth charts on the door frame of the kitchen, the burned hole in the living room carpet where my brothers and I set it on fire in fifth grade. The love. The family.
This was where I hid out and slept.
If a woman wanted this place, she could have it. What I was stingy with was my heart and I’d give it freely, to the right woman. So far, the only one I ever was willing to share it with was Aspen.
I pushed him toward the door. “Get out.”
He huffed as he stumbled. “What’s the problem? I have your back.”
“No, you have your percentage of my contract,” I countered, opening the door. “If you want to keep it–”
He stood in the entry. “You really do like her.”
He eyed me with surprise, as if the possibility never occurred to him. As if all he dealt with was fake and transactional arrangements between men and women for the purpose of furthering and advancing a career.
The sound of the sliding door had me turning. In came Aspen and she froze when she saw us. “Oh, hey. Sorry to interrupt.”
