“Okay, you’re pouting again.” She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset your delicate sensibilities. I just meant you’re lucky to have me.”
I lower myself back onto the stool while she gets a glass of water. I’ll hear this out because, honestly, I’m too shocked by the cojones on this chick to do anything else. I don’t often play the celebrity card, but even if I wanted to, this woman couldn’t care less. Not about listening to my personal calls, not about following me, none of it seems to bother her conscience. She’s so focused that the things most normal humans worry about, like common decency, falls to the wayside. Is that what happens when nobody can see you?
“Here’s what we know. I need to get close to Zebulund. You can get on his yacht. You could help me.” She leans against the tile counter and ticks off points on her fingers.
“Why would I help you? You aren’t exactly charming me out of my pants over here.” I step so the counter is between us.
“I’m so glad you asked.” A genuine smile grows and it’s transformative. “Because you need me, Mr. Roe. You need me as much as I need you.”
We’re leaning over the counter, face-to-face. Her eyes glint with mischief. I swallow.
“How’s that?”
“I can help you find out what’s happening back home in Pennsyltucky and in exchange you get me closer to Zebulund.”
“That simple, huh?”
“I think so.” A smile hangs on her lips until she licks it off. Her gaze roams over my face and grows concerned the longer I take to respond.
Getting involved with this woman is a bad idea. Every man-instinct yells for me to get away from her. But other instincts suggest investigating how soft her lips are.
I could hire someone or I could do the research myself. I could look into things, but it’s a lot harder for one of the most trending actors to go poking around without being noticed. A person who can’t be seen, well, they could get places.
“I’m going to regret this.” I scrub my hands through my hair.
“Hell, yeah!” She smacks the counter and straightens. “That’s what I like to hear.” Her fingers tap a rhythm on her chin, wheels churning, smoke all but pouring out of her ears.
“Are you going to tell me what it is you’re looking for?” I ask, hoping that while she’s distracted formulating a plan I can get to the root of this.
The world is full of reporters trying to shed light on Zebulund. Hell, a few have even come close with stories of abuse and crossed lines, but the accusations fall off him like fresh snow on a windowpane. Of course, none of those reporters could disappear. There’s something she’s holding back.
Eventually, my question sinks in and she frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not telling me the whole story. I want to know what your end game is.”
“You help me at the party this weekend and I’ll consider trusting you.”
“Well, with how open and friendly you’ve been, I’m dying to put my neck on the line for you.”
I lean forward on the counter between us again and catch her checking out my arms. I flex. She frowns and looks away.
“Come on. I’ll take you home,” I say.
I push off the counter as she comes around it. We both notice her hands on my chest at the same time. She snaps them back and tucks them under her arms.
“I’m sorry. Please. Pretty please.” She rounds her eyes and blinks up at me. “I need to work out the logistics of creeping around naked. Admittedly, having a partner to help with clothing and distractions may be useful.”
I stiffen and give nothing away. Truth be told I’m on board with this plan, but I have to make her work for it a little bit.
“You expect me to trust you when you didn’t even trust me with your name. Seems fair.”
“Sorry. I’m used to working alone. But look, this could really work.” The wheels are really spinning, and she begins to pace.
I let her simmer for a few minutes.
“Zebulund said I could bring someone,” I say. “Go as my date.”
Her face falls, and the color drains away.
