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“Yes!” Ben gives me a big hug. “It’s going to be great. You’ll love LA. You can meet some of my friends out there.”
He turns his back to me, returning his attention to the dishes. I watch as him for a moment, wondering what’s going through his mind.
Is this just a chance to show me the ropes when it comes to handling media? Or does he want to show me more of his world? And will I be able to fit in with his glamorous LA friends?
Focus, Lacy. Ben isn’t what you should be worrying about right now. Maisie is the one you should be worrying about right now. I take a deep breath, grab my phone, and text Alyssa.
Tell Maisie I’m in.
Chapter Eleven
Lacy
I’mstandinginthecoolest penthouse I’ve ever seen, staring at myself in the mirror, and regretting pretty much every life choice I’ve ever made that’s led up to this moment.What the hell was I thinking coming to LA with Ben?I’m clad in the same blue dress I wore when we pretended to be a newly engaged couple at Burt’s Beds. At the time, it seemed like a great outfit. Simple and sexy, but not too sexy.
But here in LA? I look like the wife of some puritanical cult leader, dowdy, timid, and weirdly repressed. Since we’ve arrived, my jaw has dropped more than once at the women in this town. Long-legged, tanned, perfectly toned, and clad in next-to-nothing, they all look like popstars, supermodels, Insta-influencers, or actresses to me. Looking at myself in the mirror now, all I can see is my frizzy brown hair, mousy glasses, and pale skin. Not to mention, I’m far from toned.
“So, what do you think about my place?” Benjamin asks, walking up and wrapping his arms around me from behind as we make eye contact in the mirror. He kisses my cheek playfully as I sink into his arms.
“It’s verycool,” I respond, turning around to face him and bringing my arms around his neck.
“You make that sound like a bad thing,” he says with a grin, leaning down to give me a kiss, his strong hands firm and warm on my back. I let out a little sigh of pleasure, pressing myself against him eagerly. Ben hasn’t made a move beyond kissing me yet and I’m getting impatient, the desire in my body growing increasingly with every touch. I kiss him eagerly, one hand gently tracing the stubble on his chin, the other gripping his strong shoulder.
I feel that familiar heat wash over my body as our kissing gets more intense and my tongue finds his. With Ben’s strong hands firmly gripping my waist, running over my body, I feel sexy and desirable. But then I open my eyes, for just a moment, and catch sight of myself in the mirror, looking just as dowdy and uncool as before. I pull back, perturbed.
“I just feel a little out of my element, that’s all,” I say.
“Come on, Lace, you’re Elliot Kincaid’s daughter. You’ve seen nicer places than this,” Ben replies in confusion.
“Nice, yes. Expensive, yes. Opulent even. But notcool,” I emphasize the word again as I step back from him, extricating myself from his grasp, and gesture around me. We’re standing in Ben’s enormous living room. To my left, floor-to-ceiling windows open onto a gorgeous backyard, with a large terrace and a swimming pool. To my right, an entire wall is mounted with guitars, both electrics and acoustics of all types and brands. I’m no musician but I recognize some of the names, like Fender and Gibson. The living room has dark leather furniture and minimal décor, giving it a sleek, raw, sexy vibe. Over the mantlepiece, some of Ben’s awards are displayed—including his Grammy.
“What’s the story with that one guitar,” I say, gesturing to a light-blue electric Fender that’s encased in plexiglass and illuminated, as if it came out of a museum.
“I got it at an auction. It used to belong to Jimi Hendrix.”
“You’vegotto be kidding me.”
“What’s wrong with Hendrix?!” Ben asks, his eyes wide in shock.
“That’s what I mean!Cool. This whole place is socool. And look at me!” I gesture helplessly to the mousy looking girl in the mirror.
“You look gorgeous, Lace,” Ben says, running his hands from my shoulders down over my arms until they rest perfectly in the curves of my waist, where he gives me a gentle squeeze, sending a shock of wanting through me. “And you’re pretty fucking cool, in case you weren’t aware,” he adds with a grin, as he leans forward and plants a firm kiss, cool and confident, on my lips.
“That’s whatyouthink,” I say, biting my lip anxiously. “What about your friends?”
“My friends don’t get hung up on the superficial bullshit,” he replies. “Not myrealfriends anyway. But if you’re so stressed about yourcoolfactor,” he emphasizes the word with a wink, mimicking my intonation, “maybe this will help.”
He walks over to the couch, where he grabs a lightweight jacket of black leather and walks back to me. He turns my body so I’m facing myself in the mirror and slips it over my shoulders. The supple leather feels smooth as butter and drapes easily over me, hugging my frame.
“Fits like a glove,” Ben says with satisfaction. He gently takes my hair, now hidden under the jacket, and pulls it out, draping it over one of my shoulders. He then leans forward and kisses the bare side of my neck, nibbling it gently, maintaining eye contact with me in the mirror the whole time.
I let out a gasp of pleasure at the prickling sensation this sends over my body, my mouth opening slightly as we lock eyes. Ben’s eyes are sparkling at me in the mirror as he pulls back and surveys me, slipping his hands under the leather jacket and running them over my waist.
“Amazing,” I say, not sure if I’m referring to the jacket or to Ben. But the sight of myself in the mirror brings me back to reality. Ben looks so effortlessly cool. Meanwhile, I look like I’mtryingtoo hard. The jacket is great, but with the dress, it looks like I’m playing dress up—trying to be the rock star’s girlfriend. “But I’m not sure the jacket goes with this dress,” I add hesitantly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ben says easily. “I’ve got a whole closet full of stuff like this. I know you went to Rose Manor prepared for just a couple weeks of cleaning, not a glitzy trip to LA. You’re welcome to take whatever you like.”
For a split second, I wonder why he has a closet full of women’s clothing. Could it all be from ex-girlfriends? I open my mouth to ask but, feeling stupid, shut it again quickly. I feel weird asking, like it’s not my place. Ben, as if reading my mind, flashes me a knowing glance.
