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Before I can apologize, she orders, “Come get me now or forget driving me tomorrow. I’ll find another car service.”
Bristling at her clipped tone, I grit my teeth, more ticked off at myself for letting fatigue get the better of me. Gus needs this job.
While his business is doing well, it’s still in its infancy, and success is a fine balance. I refuse to be the reason he loses this kind of cash infusion.
My body groans in protest as I swing my legs out of bed. “I’m on my way.”
It’s going to be a long night.
3
LEIGHTON
The endless tap, tap, tap of my red-soled heels on the driveway feeds my impatience or is it my regret? I was rude to Tom. I shouldn’t have been, although maybe he’s making me pay for it by making me wait.
I called him nearly an hour ago, and he still isn’t here. Even still, I’m upset with Fallon for ditching me. Everyone in my life seems to have no problem ignoring or abandoning me.
A Hollywood A-lister sways, zigzag-like, from the house toward me, much in the way one’s supposed to run from an alligator. Except this guy is slow and sloppy, and my feet tingle with the urge to flee.
I stiffen, increasing the tempo of my shoe against the ground. If only the world could see the once-named sexiest man alive, considered a box-office slam dunk, now.
He makes my skin crawl. At twice my age, he doesn’t know how to hold his liquor or keep his hands to himself. I’d sooner eat my puke than let him touch me.
“Not interested, Mitchell. Get lost.”
“Oh, so cold.” He attempts a mock shiver and nearly topples over. Pity he’s able to muster enough control to stay on his feet but not heed my wishes. He reaches for me. “Why you gotta be like that?”
Given his inebriated state, a simple sidestep is all it takes to evade his clutches. Could I deck him without bruising my hand or chipping a nail? I feed on my irritation and growl at him, if only to bury my fear.
For now, I have the upper hand, but things could just as easily change. So much could go wrong. The attendants from earlier in the evening are gone, and the loud music, laughter, and conversation emanating from the house would easily drown out a cry for help. It’s just the two of us out here.
A grabby, drunken, self-entitled asshat and me.
Bright headlights and the soft purr of an engine inject hope into my lungs, but I don’t dare tear my gaze from the jerk leering at me. Then there’s that voice, his deep rumble as he nears, and my erratic heart rate immediately slows.
“Hey, darling.” Tom sidles up to me and wraps an arm around my waist. “Sorry I am late.”
What is he doing? I freeze, torn between sinking into him or pushing him away. Before I can react or say anything, his head dips toward mine, and his scruff scrapes at my cheek.
What on earth? His mouth lightly brushes mine. His lips are soft and warm. And then it’s over. The kiss is so quick.
Hints of minty freshness, a rainstorm, and an undeniable masculine scent linger and fill my nostrils all at once. It’s all too much. The heat of him, his strong, solid body so close and comforting. All of it short circuits my brain.
But the potent stench of whiskey slices through the alluring smells and causes me to snap out of my stupor.
Mr. Hollywood is only a foot from us, listing to one side. “Who’s this? Jeff Spicoli?”
I stifle a snort born from equal parts fear-induced adrenaline and relief. Or maybe my bravado and the ability to find the humor in this has something to do with the man holding me?
Even plastered, Mitchell is a master at delivering lines. I steal a glimpse at Tom. Still close, still gripping me. With his board shorts, faded T-shirt, tan, and tousled blond hair, he could be the iconic surfer fromFast Times at Ridgemont High.
Tom wears a grim expression, gaze fixed on Mitchell. This is the first time in our short time knowing each other that I’ve seen him anything but smiling and lighthearted. And it’s plain to see that he finds nothing about Mitchell funny.
His fingers dig possessively into my hip. “Is there a problem?”
I think the question is for me, but his glare intensifies. If he could incinerate Mitchell just by looking at him, the man would be ash.
Tom releases his hold on me and walks toward the drunken actor. I internally weep at the growing distance between us though there’s no time to dwell on the loss. When he’s practically nose to nose with Mitchell, he finally stops.
