Step Wilde: A Stepbrother Romance (8 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

OLIVIA

I set up two aluminum and vinyl folding chairs on the walkway that doubled as a wrap-around porch in my aunt's quintessential Californian apartment complex. When I'd moved in all those years ago, I fancied myself Veronica Mars. The complex looked almost identical to the one she had lived in with her father, complete with a swimming pool smack dab in the middle of the courtyard.

It also came with neighbors screaming at each other through the thin walls at all hours of the night, along with a handful of eccentric personalities who would make amazing characters in scripts. One of them - a Doris Day impersonator - lived in an all-pink apartment with a small fluffy dog dyed to match. She only ever wore pink clothes. She was nice, but she also had the bad habit of practicing her songs at three in the morning.

Another man was an eighty-year-old bodybuilder who left his empty cans of beans and franks along the balcony railing. I usually helped him with his groceries so I could hear stories about what a cad Arnold Schwarzenegger used to be.

As for my aunt, she was still a rainbow-haired set designer in high demand around town. Why she still lived in this place was beyond me. I was convinced she was one of those people who would die and we would all find out that she had five million dollars stashed away somewhere.

I adjusted the chairs and went back inside our apartment to grab two cans of off-brand soda. They were the only kind I could afford, but I'd grown to enjoy them more than the regular brands. Sometimes Aunt Sally would buy a few cases for me. She knew I was still struggling.

Tonight she was at some party. She was vague about the specifics, which led me to believe she was likely hobnobbing with Martin Scorcese or someone equally famous. She hated to brag. I never pushed it, either, because she'd landed me ninety percent of my jobs. I let her be on the nights where she didn't want to be my conduit to a job.

Tonight, Lydia was coming over to hang out. I'd made homemade macaroni and cheese and it was nearly finished. I pushed aside one of the five thousand ceramic, kitschy cookie jars Sally loved to collect and set down a can of green beans. As I twisted the can opener, I thought about my situation again. I had approximately two hundred dollars in my bank account. Sally never charged me rent, and I made up for it by dusting her entire place top to bottom three times a month. It usually took me three hours.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" I yelled. As varied and wild as my neighbors could be, we all looked out for each other. This was a safe community. The door opened, thudding against a low table covered in more cookie jars.

"Jesus, we need to call that TV show about your aunt. You know, the one where they go through the person's shit and burn it all?" Lydia said as a way of greeting.

"And hello to you, too," I replied, setting down the can opener and walking over to hug Lydia. She looked great. Her dyed-silver hair was cut in a sleek, angled bob set off by her all-black wardrobe. She was the same Lydia I had roomed with in college, with the addition of a wildly successful career and a full bank account. She set down her handbag, which was vintage Gucci, and looked around.

"Anything I can do to help?" she asked.

"Grab a plate and a fork. We're eating outside," I replied. Within a few minutes, we'd scooped out a mountain apiece of baked noodles and cheese and were sipping our colas out front. A few little kids were swimming in the pool below us. Delilah, my Doris Day neighbor, was taking her pink dog out for a walk. I waved and she waved back.

"How are things?" Lydia asked me after chewing her macaroni. "Oh, and by the way, this macaroni is
amazing
. What did you put in it?"

"Fat and more fat. All the things forbidden elsewhere in Los Angeles. Don't call the body police on me," I replied with a laugh. I set my plate on my lap. "Things are shit, actually. The trilogy was cancelled."

Lydia responded with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. "Seriously? Oh...because the author and his high school-aged comrades?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Exactly." I took a few more bites and chewed carefully. I hated to do this. Even after all this time in California in a business built on who you know, using friends and family to find jobs filled me with anxiety. My inability to overcome that self-promotional discomfort might explain my bank account. "So I need a job. Horribly. If you hear
anything
about
anyone
needing a script supervisor,
please
let me know."

Lydia paused and set down her plate, fishing in the pocket of her pants for her phone.

"Oh, I didn't mean right now. You don't need to-" I said hastily, feeling guilty and like I'd pressured her into helping me.

She held up a hand. "Shush," she replied. She tapped her phone screen and then held it up to her ear. I sat there quietly, not even bothering to eat. There was a scream and the sound of tears from down in the pool. A dad rushed over to reprimand an older brother for splashing his baby sister. The little boy pouted and nodded, tears streaming down his face as his father calmly explained something to him.

"Hey love, it's me," Lydia said into her phone in a cheery voice. "I think I have who you're looking for. Yeah, they're available. Wide open schedule."

I looked at Lydia, panicking. It was also bad form in Hollywood to not pretend to be busy. You couldn't look desperate. Being desperate was worse than being fat.

She waved me away with a head shake. "Seriously. Full availability. They aren't cheap, but...who else are you getting on such short notice? For the next three weeks? Seriously, she can fly anywhere you need her to be. She can leave tonight, if that's what you need." Lydia frowned. "You can't screw her on this one. I know you can't get anyone else on such short notice.”

She sighed. “Don’t play me. Nobody wants to touch this project.” I looked at her, panicked. She gave me a smile and shook her head as if to indicate that she was exaggerating. “Okay. Okay, she'll be touch with you later tonight. Love to the kids." Lydia hung up her phone with a slick swipe of her finger across glass. "I just got you the job of a lifetime."

I gaped at her. "Lydia - seriously?"

She smiled. "You'll
really
be thanking me in a few days. Plus, I negotiated you a higher rate than you've ever had before. I mean, I don't know what the figures will be. But be sure to emphasize the fact that you
know
they couldn't get anyone else so quickly when you're signing your contract, okay?"

"I don't even know how to repay you," I replied, at a loss for words.

She laughed. "You haven't seen the job yet. I'm not sure of
everyone
involved, but it's three weeks in Italy, so it can't be that bad. I just wish you'd told me sooner you were looking for work." She took more bites of her macaroni as her words slowly sunk into my brain.

"I'm sorry.
Italy?"

She smiled. "Hope your passport's renewed. And the only way to repay me is to make me a platter of this meal once a week for the next three months. After we get back, of course." I was still gaping at her, feeling her words turn over slowly in my brain.

"Oh! Not a huge help if I don't give you my guy's number. Here," she said, pulling out her phone again. "You have your cell?"

I ran into the apartment to get it, my legs shaking. This had to be too good to be true. When I stumbled back outside, I finally asked her. "Wait – when
we
get back? Are you going to be there?"

Lydia smiled. "In a few days, yeah. They need a costume supervisor, but I need to spend time here pulling things to send over."

"And Brian's okay with you leaving for that long?"

Lydia laughed. "He's thrilled. We need a break, actually. Things have been getting a little too close for comfort recently." She sighed and stared out into nowhere. "This will be the make or break point, I think." She shrugged amiably. "It'll work out how it works out. I'm not worried."

"Is this you just running away again?" I asked her, forgetting completely why I was standing up and holding my phone in my hand.

"If it is, so what?" Lydia replied with a smile. "If he were the one, wouldn't I be certain?"

It was my turn to shrug. "That's what they say."

"And
they
who say those things all have a fifty percent divorce rate, so fuck
they
," Lydia replied, holding up her phone. "Okay, you ready?" She called out the number and I typed it into my phone, hitting save.

The screen lit up and the phone vibrated. 'MOM' flashed across the ancient, cracked display. I exhaled loudly.

"Geez," I said. "Sorry, Lydia. If I don't answer this my mom will call me eighteen more times in a row until I do. I haven't talked to her since she called me after the alumni thing last month."

Lydia held up a hand. "Say no more. I know Hurricane Penelope almost as well as you do." She pointed at her plate, indicating the macaroni. "I'll just be here stuffing my face with this."

"Thank you," I replied, hitting the answer button and taking a deep breath. "Hey, mom," I said, bracing myself for an avalanche of words.

"Livvy! Oh it's so good to hear your voice! I haven't heard from you in so long!"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well I
did
call multiple times. You must have been busy."

My mom giggled. "Oh, I might have remembered that you called me once or twice, but that doesn't matter." She paused and I heard her take a massively deep breath. That wasn't a good sign. It meant she was gaining momentum to gust at nine hundred words per minute. "Well, I
have
been busy, actually. Do you remember the man I met at the alumni event? The one I told you about?"

I walked back into my aunt's apartment and started pacing the living room, mentally attempting to count the number of cat-shaped vases she had as a means to keep me calm. "Uh, yeah I remember that. Garrett or something?"

My mom shrieked and then giggled. "You remember! Yes! Garrett. Well, honey. I wanted to wait until I saw you in person, but who knows when that will be? You never come back to Ohio."

I nearly tripped over Sprinkles, my aunt's favorite cat who darted out of nowhere. "Fuck!" I yelled without meaning to.

"Honey? Are you alright?"

I resisted the urge to not punt the furry little creature across the living room, but only barely. "Yeah, Mom, I just tripped over one of the cats. Go on."

"I'm getting married!" she exclaimed.

I didn't bother containing the rolling of my eyes. I felt like they might fall out of my head. "That's great," I replied, trying not to sound cynical and failing miserably.

"Oh, honey, it is! Now, I know that you might be skeptical, but this is the real deal."

I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Yeah, Mom, let’s think for a second of why I
might
be skeptical. Is this engagement number nine? Ten?"

My mom sighed. "This is different, Livvy."

"Right," I said, pushing Sprinkles over and sitting down on the floral sofa. I knew that I'd have cat hair all over my clothes but tomorrow was laundry day anyway. "I will believe that it's different when you actually make it to the altar."

"I don't understand why you have to be such a killjoy over this, Olivia. You should be happy for me."

I squinted my eyes and leaned my head on the back of the worn sofa. "I am, Mom. I'm happy if you are."

That seemed to pacify her. I entertained her rambling for ten more minutes before begging off, using work as an excuse. I didn't tell her about Italy. I usually kept my life as close to the vest as possible as my mom had a tendency to steal thunder from everyone around her.

As for her engagement, I knew that the next time I saw her she’s be on her next boyfriend. There’d be no mention of Garth or Gary or whatever his name was. I’d already forgotten it.

My excuse for ending the phone call had been true. I had a work-related phone call to make. I hoped that it would be a phone call to change my life.

CHAPTER NINE

WILDER

I rolled over in bed, sheets tangling between my legs. Sunlight fell through the curtains. I reached my arms out to stretch and felt skin on both sides of me. I looked left and right to see one blonde and one brunette tangled up next to me.

Welcome
to
Italy
, I thought to myself. I slid down to the foot of the four poster bed, taking the sheets with me. The round, curvaceous, tanned asses of the two women I'd fucked last night teased me. I reached out to touch both of them but then stopped.

If I started that I'd need to finish it. And today was my first day being somewhat in charge of the production of a movie. I needed to get my act together.

I tiptoed into the shower and bathed as fast as I possibly could underneath the gold-plated faucet installed in the tile wall of the Four Seasons Milano. When I stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in the plush, thick, complimentary robe, one of the women had woken up. She smiled at me. She had perfect tits. I felt myself rising underneath my robe and had to force myself to think of Fox's shining face. There. That did it. Erection interrupted.

"Morning," I said briefly.

The woman smiled and sat upright, her round breasts bouncing slightly. "Morning," she replied.

Shit.
She had an American accent. I thought back to the night before. Everything was foggy. I tried to remember whether or not we were working together on the film. I threw caution to the wind and asked her.

"We don't...work together, do we?" I tried to be nonchalant about it as I paced over to the walk-in closet and pulled down a button down shirt off of a hanger. Harrison had lined up all of my clothes in perfect order, a fingertip's space between each bit of cloth. I wondered for the first time how long that had taken him.

"No, silly, I work at the hotel next door," the woman replied. She had one of those shrill, baby-talking voices.