Married Lovers (20 page)

T
wenty-four hours before kick-off and Freddy–the eccentric contractor and his team–had done a phenomenal job of finishing everything. It had been costly, but their new mystery investor didn’t seem to care; the money was flowing.

In her mind Cameron had pinned the investor down to Natalie’s current boyfriend–a successful real-estate developer with money to burn. This was all fine as long as the affair lasted, but what if they broke up? Cameron had high hopes that
Paradise
would be making plenty of money by that time, and they could pay off their investors and be done with outside interference.

She was feeling quite optimistic and full of excess energy when she turned up for her regular seven a.m. work-out with Don.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, greeting her at the door of his house.

“You’re all dressed,” she observed, thinking that she usually saw him only in his work-out clothes. “I certainly hope this doesn’t mean we’re not working out today.”

“Right on, Miz Paradise,” he said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. “It means I am taking you for
breakfast to celebrate the opening of your establishment tomorrow night.”

“You make it sound like a brothel,” she joked, wondering what he was up to.

“Now
that’s
a quaint old-fashioned word,” he said, mildly teasing her. “I didn’t think brothels still existed, what with the Internet and all.”

“Don’t look at me,” she said with a casual shrug. “I know nothing about such things.”

“And so she plays innocent,” he said, starting to smile.

Was Don Verona charming himself into her good graces? Perhaps.

Recently she’d made time to watch his evening show. He came across as slightly cynical, witty and original. His interviewing skills were playful but right on point. She’d enjoyed seeing the professional side of him; now she could understand why his show was so popular.

So…Don Verona was smart, great-looking, and he always made her laugh. And since she’d decided to give up Marlon, and it was quite obvious that Ryan–damn him–was never going to call, what would be so wrong about going out with Don?

Why?

Why not?

Idly she wondered what it would be like to date a man like Don. He was into the chase, she knew that. Twice divorced–everyone knew that.

But…he was a player, and that was not such a good thing.

Ha! Better than being with a married man.

Like I have a choice. Ryan hasn’t called. Remember?

“Okay, so where are you taking me for breakfast?” she asked, figuring she wouldn’t mind a break.

“You mean you’re not putting up a fight?” he said, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Now why would I do that?” she answered lightly.

“’Cause you always do.”

“You’d better tell me where we’re going before I change my mind.”

“Malibu.”

“I don’t have time for Malibu.”

“Yes, you do–that’s if you want me to appear at
Paradise
tomorrow night.”

“I smell blackmail,” she said accusingly. “You’re always doing that to me.”

“True,” he said, unabashed. “Seems to be the only way I can get through to you.”

“You’re bringing Mary Ellen to the opening, right?”

“Do I have to?” he groaned.

“You most certainly do.”

“Then I definitely need you to come to Malibu. If I give a little, you’ve gotta learn to do the same.”

“Well…if you insist,” she said, giving in far too easily. “But I have to be back by ten.”

“Deal, Cinderella,” he said, sensing victory.

“Promise?”

“Have I ever let you down?”

“You mean apart from never being ready in the morning when I get here, and forcing me to make the coffee?”

He laughed.

She had to admit he had a great laugh.

“What are you thinking?” he said, as he led her over to his Ferrari parked in the driveway.

“That’s for me to know and you to guess,” she answered succinctly.

“Jesus, Cameron,” he said, his expression perplexed. “Do you ever come out with a straight answer?”

“Isn’t–
what are you thinking
–a very seventh-grade question?”

“My bad,” he agreed. “I’m a talk-show host, guess I need my writers around me telling me what to say.”

She got into the passenger seat of his Ferrari.
This is crazy
, she thought.
I shouldn’t be doing this
.

Why not? I’m my own boss, I’m allowed to take time off. Natalie and Cole have taken over arrangements for the party, so what’s wrong with stealing a break?

‘Cause you’re starting to weaken.

No. I am not.

Don was a speed demon, darting his Ferrari in and out of traffic as if it were a toy and they were zooming around on one of those fun-fair car tracks. He roared down Sunset like he was competing in the Indie 500, hit the Pacific Coast Highway and never once slowed down.

“You’re crazy!” she gasped, kind of getting off on the speed since she wasn’t exactly a slow driver herself.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“Do you always drive like a maniac?”

“Only when my date’s in a hurry.”

“I’m not your date,” she corrected. “I’m your trainer.”

“Point taken,” he said, finally making another sharp turn before racing down Old Malibu Road.

“There’s a restaurant here?” she asked, surprised.

“Yup. My restaurant.”

“
Your
restaurant?”

“S’right,” he said smoothly. “I make the best pancakes this side of Mississippi, an’ bacon that’ll bring tears to your eyes.”

“Really?” she said suspiciously.

“You got it,” he said, pulling up outside a rustic beach house. He jumped out the car, opened the passenger door and helped her out. “This is my escape hatch,” he explained. “Nobody knows about it except me and my business manager.”

“Then why tell me?”

“’Cause you’re kinda special. And I want you to know you can use it any time. All you have to do is call, tell me when, and it’s yours.”

“I might take you up on that.”

“I wish you would.”

“Can I bring my dogs? They love the beach.”

“Dogs are welcome.”

The house was so unlike his ultra-modern masterpiece in town. No TVs, no computers. It was a comfortable one-bedroom beach house with shabby chic decor and a real cozy feel. A well-worn dog bed took front position in the living room, next to an all-wood kitchen that appeared to be very cook-friendly.

Don led her through the house to a small deck overlooking the ocean.

“You’re sitting out here staring at the waves while I make breakfast,” he informed her, settling her on a comfy lounge chair. “Drift off, you’ve been working too hard.”

He was right, she had been working hard. Ever since she’d left Hawaii she hadn’t actually stopped. She’d worked her butt off, saved money, and now
Paradise
was about to open and it was all because of her vision.

She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the smell of the sea and the light breeze ruffling her hair. The sound of the waves was mesmerizing. How nice it was to relax for once, forget about work, forget about everything.

She must’ve fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew, Don was serving her his famous pancakes and bacon, along with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. He’d set everything on a wicker table, then he pulled up a chair and sat opposite her.

“Please tell me you didn’t slip me the date rape drug?” she sighed, pushing a hand through her hair.

“I would’ve,” he dead-panned. “Only we’re not on a date. Remember?”

“Oh, that’s
right
.”

“However…”

“It’s too late now,” she said, picking up a strip of bacon with her fingers and nibbling on it.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you went out with me?” he said, serious for once.

“No,” she answered on automatic pilot.

“Why no?”

“Why yes?”

“Here she goes again with the slippery answers,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“My answers are not slippery. I told you upfront I do not believe in mixing business and pleasure.”

“In that case I’ll hire myself another trainer. Will that solve your problem?”

“Fine with me,” she said casually, knowing he didn’t mean it.

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“God!” she gasped. “You’re so persistent.”

“I like you. Is that a crime?”

“You
do
need writers,” she joked. “That’s a
really
old line.”

“Screw you,” he said, a grin spreading across his face as he contemplated how refreshing it was to spend time with a woman who knew how to banter.

“What about Mary Ellen?”

“So I say screw you–and you immediately bring up Mary Ellen?”

“C’mon, Don. You must admit that she’s very sweet, and she obviously adores you.”

“I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have gone there.”

“Well you did, so now you’ve got to treat her nicely. The poor girl’s been through tabloid hell, she doesn’t need you dumping her on top of everything else.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“You have a mother?”

“Man! You’re something else,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Listen to me,” he said seriously. “Here’s the deal. I am not responsible for Mary Ellen. She’s a big girl who makes her own choices. I slept with her once. Nobody forced her.”

“Ah yes, but she thinks you like her,” Cameron said, feeling genuinely sorry for the girl.

“What
are
you–a mindreader?” he said, perplexed. “You don’t even know her.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. After the three of us worked out that day, she called me for a private session. I went to her house, and all she could talk about was you.”

He frowned. Mary Ellen had no right contacting Cameron without his knowledge. The thought of them exchanging information about him was not a welcome one.

“What did she say about me?” he couldn’t resist asking.

“How much she likes you. That you’re witty, smart, oh yes, and that you’re a lousy lover.”

“Hey–” he said, starting to grin. “If there’s one thing I’ve never been accused of–”

“Just f-ing with you, Don,” she teased.

“I should hope so,” he said, getting up.

“Hmm…” she said, pausing for a moment. “Did I get too close to your ego?”

“You can get close to any part of me you want,” he said, moving around the table.

“According to Mary Ellen—”

Before she could finish he bent down and kissed her, taking both of them by surprise.

“What was
that
about?” she asked breathlessly.

“Do not act all shook up and innocent. You know how I feel about you, and it’s time we did something about it.”

“Yes?”

“Most
definitely yes
.”

“Okay,” she murmured, surprising herself. “You bring Mary Ellen to the
Paradise
opening, and I’ll go out with you.”

“Finally!”

“It wouldn’t be fun if I’d said yes immediately, would it?” she said, smiling at him.

He had to admit she was right. And now he had something to look forward to.

E
lla was a resourceful girl. Once she discovered what Anya claimed to be good at–and
that
was quite a shock–she made it her business to try and make a connection. Ella was street smart; she might be only seventeen–the same age as Anya but she’d been around. And it did not escape her notice that Anya was better-looking than most. “I know this dude who says if we do sex stuff together,” she informed Anya, “he can get guys t’ pay us.”

“I am not interested,” Anya said, her voice flat and devoid of any emotion.

“Why not?” Ella demanded. “We can make us some money an’ get our butts outta this creephole.”

It was the same old story–sex, sex, sex–but Anya was not listening. She was in America now, and things were different. Circumstances had turned her into a whore, but she’d decided that if it was her destiny to stay a whore, then she’d become a whore who made a lot of money like the girls on
Sex and the City.
Television had taught her plenty. She’d watched
Sex and the City
many times and noted that the girls on the show slept with different men all the time. And not only did they sleep with them, they were treated with respect and handsomely rewarded. None of them appeared to have serious jobs, yet the money seemed to flow. They all lived in luxury apartments, they all wore beautiful
clothes. And the shoes…oh, how Anya yearned to own a pair of shoes like that
.

She was deeply impressed. “I want to be like those girls on TV,” she informed Ella.

Ella laughed in her face and said, “Doncha get it? Those bitches are actresses. Everythin’ on TV’s a big fat dumb-ass shitty fairy story.”

“I don’t care,” Anya said, her expression stubborn. “It is possible. I am in America now. Anything is possible.”

“No it ain’t,” Ella argued. “You gotta put out or you don’t get nothin’ in this crappy world.”

Anya did not believe her. She had plans and Ella did not factor into them
.

B
etween Natalie de Barge and Dee Dee Goldenberg, the two of them had made sure that
Paradise
was
the
place to be seen on opening night. Dee Dee had received instructions to pull out all the stops, so that’s exactly what she’d done. Outside the building a neon sign flashed
Paradise
, while a red carpet snaked its way from the valet service to the entrance, and silver ropes held back a healthy gathering of photographers and TV crews. Two of Dee Dee’s assistants manned the entrance, each armed with a guest list. Inside,
Spago
was catering. Champagne and special drinks christened
The Paradise
abounded. The drinks were carried aloft on trays held by waiters clad in tight black pants and nothing else. Dorian had personally conducted the ab inspection to make certain that every one of their waiters for the night were up to par.

Cameron felt like a princess as she made her entrance escorted by Cole on one side and Dorian on the other.

Dee Dee immediately instructed the photographers to get busy, even though they didn’t know who Cameron was. Dee Dee soon told them, embellishing somewhat. “She’s Cameron Paradise, the owner of
Paradise
,” Dee Dee announced. “Remember the name, she’s soon getting her own reality show on Bravo, and in September she’ll be guesting on
Two and a Half Men
, playing herself as Charlie Sheen’s love interest.”

Cameron opened her mouth to object, but Dee Dee shot her a look that screamed–“
Don’t you dare!
”

The photographers went to town. She might not be famous–yet, but she was certainly beautiful enough. Posing for the cameras she felt quite ridiculous. It was a relief when Natalie turned up with Nicollette Sheridan and Michael Bolton, because the cameras immediately swiveled away from her. Grasping the opportunity, she rushed inside. The spotlight was not for her.

“Two and a half men?” Dorian inquired, raising an arch eyebrow.

“Speak to Dee Dee,” she said, giggling. “It’s her vivid imagination, not mine.”

“I
looove
people with out-of-control imaginations,” Dorian sighed, his mane of blond hair freshly highlighted for the occasion. “Do you think she could make up a story about me and Josh Duhamel getting it on in Vegas?”

“Come on you two, stay focused,” Cole said, getting agitated. “This is our big night, we gotta be on top of our game.”

“You’re right,” Cameron agreed. “And Cole–perhaps perhaps you can tell me exactly how we’re paying for all this? It’s way over what we budgeted for.”

“Natalie’s silent investor requested the best,” Cole said, resplendent in a black Armani suit–purchased for him by one of his many admirers. “The dude’s payin’, so who gives a fast one?”

“I don’t understand,” Cameron said, perplexed.

“What’s to understand?” Cole responded. “It’s his money.”

“Yes, but it’s
our
business,” she pointed out. “How can we work with someone who thinks they can come in at the last moment and call the shots?”

“This is a party to get us on the circuit,” Cole explained. “Tonight is gonna pay off big time, you’ll see. Let’s go with it, babe. Natalie’s cool, we should be too.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said, worried about all the extra money being spent.

“I’m always right,” Cole boasted, taking off to greet a major Hollywood mogul who was waving at him across the room.

Lynda darted over, all excited. “Oh, mama! You look hot!” she exclaimed. “Lookit
you
in a dress all slit up an’ sexy. It suits you so fine.”

“Make the most of it,” Cameron said dryly. “It’ll be a long time before I wear another one.”

“Why’s that, sister?
Mucho
sexy suits you.”

“I’m not going for sexy,” Cameron said, perplexed. “I’m going for fit and healthy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lynda said, her abundant curves bursting out of a short scarlet wrap dress and very high strappy gold sandals. “Didja see Carlos around?”

“Is he here?”

“Of
course
he’s here,” Lynda said, plucking a smoked salmon canapé from a passing waiter. “I gotta keep a sharp eye on that bad boy, ’cause women–they chase after him like crazy. You got no damn clue what I gotta go through shooing off the crazy bitches who get too close. He’s got that Antonio Banderas vibe goin’ on.”

“Sure,” Cameron said, thinking that Carlos resembled Antonio Banderas like Pamela Anderson resembled Nicole Kidman!

She wondered when Don was going to show. She’d told him a dozen times he had to come with Mary Ellen, now she was kind of regretting that she’d insisted. Ever since their kiss at the beach she was definitely regarding him with new eyes. Should she go out with him? Would it be a mistake? Was he too much of a player?

What the hell–why not?

Natalie was standing at the temporary bar set up in front of a row of gleaming new treadmills. She was holding court with a group of friends. Mr Moneybags, her real-estate boyfriend, was by her side.

Cameron contemplated going over and saying something to him, then she remembered he wished to stay anonymous.

So be it.

Where are you, Don?
she thought.
Don’t let me down. I need you to show your face here tonight
.

A few minutes later, Katie arrived. She’d flown in from San Francisco especially for the opening.

“Wow!” Katie said excitedly as they exchanged hugs. “I’m so glad I made it in time. My plane was late, I grabbed a cab and came straight here.”

“Where’s Jinx?” Cameron asked, delighted to see her best friend.

“He finally scored a record deal,” Katie said, beaming. “He’s in the studio, sends big kisses.”

“That’s such great news! Give him my love and congrats.”

“Ah, but I have even
more
exciting news,” Katie burbled. “We finally got engaged last night!”

“You did?”

“We certainly did,” Katie said, flashing a modest diamond ring.

“Fantastic!” Cameron said, throwing her arms around Katie. “I’m so happy for both of you, I know it’s what you wanted.”

“We’re getting married on the day Jinx gets his first gold record,” Katie said confidently.

You might have a long wait,
Cameron thought, before slapping herself metaphorically on the wrist for being mean-spirited. Jinx was talented, but he wasn’t John Mayer or even Adam Levine of Maroon 5.

She felt her cell vibrating in her purse and quickly pulled it out.

“Running late,” announced Don. “The show ran over, technical problems. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

“With—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said resignedly. “I’m picking her up as soon as I leave the studio. Reluctantly, I might add.”

Cameron laughed softly.

“You having fun without me?” he asked.

“I’m managing.”

“Don’t forget our bargain. Tomorrow night is date night.”

“You make me feel like I’m back in high school.”

“Wait until I move in for second base,” he said with a knowing laugh. “That’s when you’ll
really
feel it!”

“Is that a promise?”

“You want it to be?”

“Concentrate on your date tonight,” she reminded him. “Remember to smile nice for the photographers.”

“Jeez, you’re a tough one,” he grumbled.

“Hurry up. Your name’s on the list and the press are getting impatient.”

“Soon,” he promised.

She snapped her phone shut, slid it back in her purse and looked around. The place was buzzing. Was
Paradise
about to become L.A.’s hot new fitness center? If only people signed up to join, they’d have it made. Cole was already talking about expanding–putting in a tanning booth and a beauty spa. “Let’s get the gym off the ground first,” she’d said cautiously. “Then we can think about adding other elements.”

Lynda approached balancing a drink, a canapé and her span-gly purse. “Are we open for business tomorrow?” she wanted to know.

“The day after,” Cameron said, wondering if anyone ever listened to her. She’d told them all ten times that the day after the party was clean-up day, but that they should all come in anyway to field calls and get organized.

“Carlos has a cousin who makes T-shirts,” Lynda said, popping the canapé between her glossy lips. “He wants to know if you’ll place an order.”

“Carlos has more cousins than the Queen of England,” Cameron remarked.

“He’ll print
Paradise
on the front,” Lynda promised. “They’ll be so cute, an’ we can sell ’em at the front desk.”

“
No
, Lynda, maybe later.”

“Okay, okay,” Lynda said, all put out. “No need to snap at me.”

“Who’s snapping? I’m trying to concentrate on one thing at a time. Our focus right now is signing members, not selling T-shirts. Membership is what guarantees a steady income.”

“Oh…my…
God
!” Lynda exclaimed. “Take a peek at who’s walkin’ through the door. It’s Mister Potty-mouth himself.”

“And that would be?”

“Mr Lordy el creepo.”

“Who put
him
on the list?”

“Certainly not me,” Lynda said, indignant that Cameron would even think such a thing.

“I don’t even train him anymore,” Cameron said. “So what the hell is he doing here?”

“Maybe Cole sent him an invite.”

“I hardly think so.”

“Shall I get Carlos to throw him out?”

“No, leave it. Hopefully he’ll blend in.”

“That’ll be the day,” Lynda said, rolling her expressive brown eyes. “Watch out, he’s comin’ this way.”

And so he was. Everyone’s un-favorite client.

Cameron searched for an exit strategy, couldn’t spot an escape route, and faced him head on.

“Cameron, Cameron, Cameron,” Mr Lord said in an accusing voice, his black wig slightly askew, with caterpillar eyebrows almost forming a unibrow. “You left me high and dry.”

Mr Lord always managed to include a cliché or two in his conversations.

“Actually,” she said, determined not to get agitated, “I wasn’t allowed to take any of my clients from
Bounce
. House rules.”

“Screw house rules. You were my trainer, and one day you were there–all sexy and creamy in your little shorts–the ones where I could get a load of your juicy crack, and the next day your wet little pussy was history.”

Realization dawned. She didn’t need to get agitated, she had her own place, she wasn’t desperately trying to save money, she could tell him to piss off.

It was an empowering sensation.

“Mr Lord,” she said calmly, “your
saggy
old dried-up ass is history. So you can take your dirty mouth and sexist diatribes and get the hell out of here.
Paradise
does not welcome perverts.”

And with those satisfying words, she turned and walked away.