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Still, he had a job to do, and he was going to do it damn well.
“How can I choose one?” Nate hitched a shoulder up. “The Lakers, Ferraris,Die Hard…redheads.”
Not his most subtle moment, but screw subtle. The clock was ticking.
Besides, judging by the smile on Gloria’s face and the gleam in her eyes, it worked.
“Kris isn’t a redhead,” she murmured.
“Kris is great.” A purposeful, perfectly timed pause. “But no, she’s not.”
A stab of guilt pierced Nate’s stomach at the flirty banter. He and Kris weren’t dating for real, but it still felt like a betrayal.
“And she’s out of town this week…” Gloria allowed the suggestion to linger, unspoken, in the air.
“Yes, she is.” Nate allowed his eyes to go heavy-lidded. “I’ll need a way to pass the time. Any suggestions?”
Slimy. As. Fuck. But a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do, especially when he was paid to do it.
Gloria examined him in silence, like she was debating whether to take this next step. She’d flirted shamelessly with Nate in the past few weeks and had even offered him a BJ once—which he got out of thanks to a perfectly timed interruption by Kris—but this was the first time he’d reciprocated in such an obvious manner.
Come on,Nate thought.You know you want to. Just say it…
Based on what Kris told him, Gloria hadn’t seen her fiancé—Kris’s father—in months. Assuming she wasn’t already banging someone on the side, she had to be crawling out of her skin with sexual frustration. Women who looked like her were used to getting some on a regular basis, and self-pleasure only went so far, as Nate knew firsthand (pun not intended).
Besides, Kris’s dad had to be, what, in his forties? Fifties? Probably not stud material, unless he was George Clooney 2.0. Nate no longer had any qualms about shutting their engagement down either, since it was clear Gloria “loved” her soon-to-be husband the way she loved her fancy car. I.e., it was a useful status symbol that kept her comfortable and brought her places she wouldn’t have been able to reach otherwise (in Kris’s father’s case, it was social and financial rather than a physical destination). No heartfelt, for-better-or-worse shit. Otherwise, Gloria wouldn’t be on the verge of fucking her future stepdaughter’s fake-but-she-didn’t-know-that boyfriend.
To prod her along, Nate stretched his arms over his head, his shirt lifting to reveal a flash of his tanned, tight six-pack.
Gloria’s eyes dropped to take in the view—and stayed there.
“I hear the restaurant at the Del Mar hotel is good,” she said. “I was plannin’ to make dinner reservations there myself…but I don’t mind bringin’ a plus one if you’re up for it.”
“Count me in,” Nate said easily. “Nothing gets me going like a good feast.”
The redhead smirked at his double entendre. “Good to know. There won’t be any Ferraris there…” Her voice dropped to a low purr. “But I’m sure we can find something else for you to ride.”
Nate’s grin widened.
Gotcha.
* * *
“Kris,dear, can you file this for me?” Bobbi Rayden breezed into the office, polished and sophisticated in a sleek white suit and bun. A large black Chanel bag hung on one bony shoulder, and she carried a folder in one hand and a large Starbucks coffee in the other.
Grande, iced, sugar-free vanilla latte with soy milk, natch. She ordered the same thing every day.
Bobbi tossed the folder on Kris’s desk, and a few press clippings slid out.
Kris pressed her lips together and forced herself not to lose her shit. Bobbi was a family friend and had done her father a favor by granting Kris a coveted summer assistant position, but Kris did not appreciate being treated like a paper jockey.
Assisting a famous Hollywood publicistsoundedexciting, but her day-to-day was a whole lot of media monitoring and epic boredom. Scouring the internet for YouTube drama videos and snarky blog posts of Bobbi’s worst-behaving clients was not her idea of a good time. Who cared about pop star train wreck Riley K.’s latest boyfriend? Kris had met Riley—the girl was as interesting as dish soap, and her slacker boyfriends were worse.
“Sure,” Kris said through gritted teeth.
Bobbi’s phone rang—no doubt another crisis, like one of her clients taking a swing at the paparazzi—and she was off and running without a second glance in Kris’s direction.
Kris took the press clippings into the copy room and started the tedious task of scanning each article before she organized them in Bobbi’s extensive digital collection.
