Taking Her There

Chapter One

“Miss Rowe… Miss Rowe!”

“How does it feel to be finally sober?”

“Will you make amends with Luke?”

“Or did you switch teams in rehab?”

“Angeline!”

“Miss Rowe!”

Angeline clenched her molars together. She would love nothing more than to raise both middle fingers and tell the paparazzi just where they could shove their questions and all their flashing cameras, but she’d hate to give them a sensational story. Two years ago, she’d ripped a Nikon out of some bastard’s hand and thrown it into the street, where it was immediately squashed by a two-ton truck. Unfortunately, the memory card had survived, and the last photograph on it made the front page in all the rags in five countries. That picture made the photographer rich, but he’d still had the audacity to sue her for his ruined camera and “mental anguish”.

With the photographic evidence, her lawyer urged her to settle. It cost her almost twenty thousand dollars, but it was totally worth it.

“Are you going home to Indiana?”

“Will you grant
Good Morning USA
the interview you promised?”

She kept walking, focusing on the click of her heels to drown out the pushy reporters. Each step took her farther away from the rehab hospital she’d been ordered into and closer to her long, black limousine at the gate. God, she missed her bodyguard, but in a way, this crowd had been a much-needed ego boost. At least the sleazy tabloids still cared about her, if only in regards to making a buck off her misery.

“Have you talked to your family?”

“Do you think you’ll have a hard time staying on the wagon now that you’re out?”

“Did you gain weight in rehab, Angeline?”

None of your fucking business.

Okay, maybe she filled out her jeans a little more now than six months ago when she walked into Redlands Rehabilitation Hospital, but did supermarket tabloid readers really give a shit? Four more steps and she reached her limousine, where her driver had the door open. She raised her eyebrow but said nothing. She’d fired him—well, her entire staff—when she was sentenced to her mandatory stint in the dehydrator. At least she thought she had. Maybe that was another one of her hallucinations. Once the door closed behind her, muting the reporter’s voices, she threw her purse across the length of the car and let loose with a string of profanities.

“You promised.”

Angeline spun around. Sure enough, her image consultant, Percy Tuttlebaum, sat with his smug little grin surrounded by a red goatee.

“They can’t hear me. You never said anything about swearing in the privacy of my own car.” She didn’t flip him off, but she really, really wanted to.

Percy chuckled as if he’d read her mind. Once the driver was behind the wheel, the limo pulled away, and Angeline didn’t even want to look back. Redlands had been her home for the last six months and eight days, but there was no love lost. If she never sat through another group session in her life, she’d be happy.

She toed off her shoes, the five-inch, glossy red heels she’d worn when she checked in. She’d left everything else there. Let the other residents fight over her pajamas and yoga pants. As if she’d ever have another reason to wear Velcro tennis shoes. Of course she’d never wear these heels again. She’d toss them onto the Interstate if she didn’t know Percy would nag her all the way home because of it. Sliding a glance his way, she huffed, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to pick you up. Obviously.” Percy always had an air of superiority about him. Angeline knew now that it wasn’t so much snobbishness as his infinite patience.

“That’s what the dude behind the wheel is doing here. What exactly are
you
doing here?”

“I’m a friendly face.” He waved at the front window. “Do you even remember that
dude’s
name?”

Angeline stared at the smoky glass and the shadowy figure driving her car. She rarely remembered names, but she couldn’t forget sleek and sexy Andre. She’d pointed him out of a virtual lineup from the pool of drivers she’d been presented with. If Angeline Rowe was out on the town, she for damn sure wasn’t going to have an ugly old driver. She slid a sidelong glance at Percy. Her only other employee now. The only reason she remembered his name was because it was so fucking ridiculous.
Percy Tuttlebaum
, for Christ’s sake.

“Andre Salidas.”

“What?” Angeline scowled.

“His name. It’s Andre Salidas.”

“I knew that.” Partly. She remembered his first name, had never asked him for his last.

“Well, I had to beg him to come back to his job, so be nice.”

“I’m always fucking nice.”

“Language.”

“
Putain de merde, je suis toujours sympa!
”
Before she could raise her middle finger, the car jerked. Andre lifted a hand in apology. Angeline shot a glare at Percy. “Can he hear us?”

“Yes, I can, Miss Rowe,” came Andre’s voice through a speaker. “There’s a mute button right below the window, if you’d prefer.”

“I know.” Angeline shrugged. “As long as Percy doesn’t have a shit fit about me cussing in front of you, I don’t have anything to hide.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She raised one eyebrow at Percy, who just shook his head and pulled out his tablet. “I’ve got you in for a haircut and color at two. Would you like your manicure and pedicure before or after?”

“Ugh. Do I have to?” Her signature pixie haircut usually required monthly trims, and though she wasn’t red-carpet ready, she seriously didn’t want to face any small talk from her hairdresser.

“You’re the one who wanted to be pampered.”

“I said that like two weeks ago. Which is an eternity in that hellhole. Can’t I just go home? Veg a little?”

“Fine with me. I’ll cancel your appointment. Which reminds me, I put a few feelers out for a new staff, with priorities being bodyguard, housekeeper and—most importantly—a personal assistant for you. I’m not going to keep playing both roles.” He ignored her dirty look. “Andre?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please drop me back off at my office before you take Miss Rowe home.”

“You got it.”

Either she’d never noticed Andre’s sexy voice, or half a year confined with one thousand females and twelve angry nurses messed with a girl. Suddenly, her whole idea of pampering took on a naughty twist.

At the height of her career, back when screenwriters fought over her, she was able to snare a night of serious fun with just about any man on the receiving end of her suggestive wink. Now, after her very publicly humiliating DUI, possessions charge and subsequent detox, her on-again, off-again boyfriend Luke Edwards had abandoned her. No phone calls, no visits, no letters. Not that she was surprised. She knew their relationship had been purely physical. He needed a high-profile girlfriend to keep his name in the news; she needed a man to prove to the public that she was stable. Now she not only looked wildly unstable to her fans, she also had no one to go home to. Although he seemed to have found a new headliner last month, according to
American Magazine
’s spread about his Mexican vacation with Jet Lark, the emo-pop star with the big tits.

She didn’t need anyone to wait for her anyway. After spending her birthday locked up, it was definitely time to treat herself to some really raunchy sex. It looked like presently she had two options: Percy Tuttlebaum—who was a total no. Not only was he happily married, he was
Percy Fucking Tuttlebaum
—or Andre Salidas.

She didn’t know a thing about the guy. She’d never actually taken the time to get to know him. Since her staff turned over so quickly, it really was a waste of her time and energy. Maybe now she was sober, it wouldn’t hurt. “So Andre, you from around here?” Angeline crossed her legs and wagged her bare foot back and forth.

“Yes, ma’am. Born and raised in LA.”

“So you probably know all the best places to go for a good time.” She focused on the shadow of the rearview mirror, knowing he would look back at her.

“I’m not sure what you mean, miss.”

“I think you do.” Angeline winked.

The limo slowed in front of Percy’s office building, and Percy packed his tablet away. “Angeline…” His disapproval was almost tangible as he tucked his tablet under his arm. “No drinks.”

She opened her eyes wide and adopted her most innocent expression. “Drinks? I never said I wanted any alcohol. Goodness, Perceval. You’re the one who needs rehab. Is alcohol always on your mind?”

Andre’s snicker came through the speaker, but Percy just shook his head. “Here.” He reached into his briefcase, then tossed her a cell phone box. “I’ll call you tomorrow after you
veg
. Right now I’m the only one with the number. Try to be selective for a while.”

Angeline carefully schooled her features to hide her pure pleasure in owning a cell phone again. The cops had taken her last one when she used the case to conceal her coke stash. In her hand, she held not only the latest and greatest device known to man, but it was hers. And it represented both a small and immensely huge piece of freedom. She tore it open and powered it on.

“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to call my drug dealer and schedule a delivery?”

Percy got out of the car, then leaned through the window. “I trust you.” With a wink, he tapped the roof of the car and walked away.

Trust.

She’d let a lot of people down in the past four or five years. She didn’t deserve anyone’s trust. The phone in her hand brought it all home. She’d spent the last six months just looking forward to the day she’d get out of Redland. Now that she was a free woman, she needed another focus. Gaining trust might be a good one.

“Home, miss?”

“Please. Thanks, Andre.”

“My pleasure.”

Staring at Percy’s back, Angeline was left with her silent thoughts as Andre drove her away and eventually merged onto the freeway.

There were other rehab facilities closer to home, but Redlands was one of the few equipped to deal with increased security demanded by high-profile patients. As confining as her hospital stay had felt, it was nothing compared to the long drive home she faced. Depending on traffic, she could be cooped up for the next two hours at least.

She couldn’t wait to get back into her home gym and run on her treadmill until her legs ached. Or swim fifteen laps in her pool. Maybe take a three-hour nap. It didn’t matter what she did. Today she was again in charge of her life. The city’s Halloween decorations reminded her exactly how long she’d spent locked up. Isolated. While the rest of the world went about their business. The only thing Angeline had done to commemorate her birthday was to refuse her mother’s phone call, even opting to have a bland turkey sandwich in her room rather than join the rest of the patients in the dining room.

I’m such a bitch.

She powered the phone on and added her first contact.
Mom and Dad.

“Glad to be out of there?” Andre’s voice broke her out of her morose musings.

She squared her shoulders and huffed. “You have no idea.”

“One summer during college, I spent two weeks painting my very religious aunt’s house right in the middle of the Bible Belt. I think that’s about as close to dry as I’ve ever had to be.”

“Okay, now imagine twelve of your aunts and several hundred recovering drunks in their pajamas all up in your business.”

Another chuckle. “I don’t think I want to imagine that. My dad threatened military school so often that I have an irrational fear of camouflage to this day.”

“Hah! You were a difficult child, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“Oh, really? I’m not sure I like the idea of my driver having repressed anger issues. What’s to stop you from driving us over a cliff?”

“Don’t worry, Miss Rowe. You’re safe with me.”

Her half-closed lids were lost on him, thanks to the tinted window, but she couldn’t help the expression and even found her lower lip between her teeth. “You have no bad boy left, huh?”

There was a long pause before he answered. “I’m a very good boy.” His voice dropped low and dripped with sexual overtones.

Angeline crossed her legs and squirmed in her seat before sighing dramatically. “That sucks. Good isn’t any fun.”