Taking Her There (5 page)

Oh God. Angeline covered her face. A sex scandal within forty-eight hours of release. She could already imagine the late-night talk shows’ monologues. Percy would have a coronary. Damn it, why did she have to live her life under the microscope? If she were just an ordinary girl working a nine-to-five in suburbia, no one would give a shit about her love life. Her career certainly wouldn’t suffer because of it.

Quit whining, Angeline. You signed up for this, remember? It’s your freaking dream come true, even.
She forced herself to breathe steadily, though her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Why the hell did she always screw up? Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry. Not now. She needed to figure out what to do. How to fix this.

Deep breaths. She’d call Percy. He’ll know what to do.

“So I guess you didn’t want to introduce me to your new man?”

Angeline looked up. As she focused on herself—
as usual
, she sneered—Andre had left, and only Luke stood in the middle of the room with a smile that sent a shiver down her spine. If she thought he’d come to win her back, that smile proved that theory wrong. There wasn’t the faintest sliver of jealousy behind those eyes. Just humor that he’d caught her with her pants down.

“What do you want?”

“Not ‘hey, how are you’? I don’t get an ‘I’ve missed you, Luke’?”

“Oh, like all those phone calls, e-mails and visits from you in the last six months? While I was shaking from withdrawal and dealing with sobriety? While everything I knew and loved was torn away from me and I had to play fucking board games to
express my feelings
? Like all those times you asked how I was? You’re the one who abandoned me.” With the dirtiest look she could muster, she tugged the lapels of her robe tightly together at her chin and stomped over to her closet, where his chuckle followed her.

“It’s a little late for modesty. It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked.”

“Hope you have a good memory.” She kept her voice lofty.

“Whatever.”

She found her favorite pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt. She winced at the new tenderness between her thighs for only a second before it turned into a smile. Twelve hours in that man’s arms, and not one moment did she think about getting drunk or stoned. So that crazy therapist was right.
Find something healthy to keep you busy
, she’d said.

And Andre looked plenty healthy. She sighed and stomped back into her bedroom, where Luke stood exactly how she’d left him. “What are you doing here?”

One shoulder went up, but he never lost that cocky grin. “Appearances.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s all? A photo op?”

“Well, I’m trying this new thing. It’s called
Making Luke Edwards Look Good
. You wouldn’t believe the sympathy I got when you were sent to detox. I had starlets throwing themselves at me—I even hosted
Saturday Night Live
.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. But everyone reminded me on a daily basis that we were an amazing couple. You brought out my wild side; I tamed yours. Everyone expects to see us together at the Music Awards next month.”

“You ignored me for six months. Now you expect me to hang on your arm in public?”

“For appearances.”

“If you’re so worried about appearances, why the hell did you send Andre out to the wolves?”

“I’m only worried about
my
appearance. His humiliation is just collateral. No offense, but I don’t give a shit what the press thinks of—wait. Andre?”

Angeline crossed her arms to mimic him and raised one eyebrow. “Yes. Andre. I believe you’ve met before.”

“Your driver? Oh Jesus, Angeline.” Luke rubbed his face. “You’re fucking your driver? You’re lucky I came when I did. You have any idea what those vultures will do with that information?”

She refused to react. Luke had the power to blow this way out of proportion and make her into the bad girl. And with her reputation, she knew the media would believe him. “You know nothing about him. He’s smart and funny, and an amazingly talented artist.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Luke strolled across the room to peek out the window. “But none of that matters. I’ll still be the victim. You’ll still be Hurricane Angeline.”

She scowled at the nickname. He knew she hated it.

He ignored her scowl and checked the other set of windows. “And your driver Andre will just be the ‘other man’.”

“What do you care?”

“I’m a businessman. And my reputation is my business. Just like you and yours.”

“So now you’re worried about mine?”

“Ours. We both do better as a team, babe. You had your fling with your driver; I had a few flings while you were in detox. Now it’s time to get our shit together.”

Angeline’s head swam, but she refused to show it and instead faced the mirror. She ruffled her hair, combed through it with her fingers, then brushed off the remnants of mascara on her cheeks. “You’re delusional. You expect me to jump back into your arms and play the part of your leading lady?”

“You’ve always liked the dramatic roles.”

“And you’re such a comedian. I suppose that would be easier than if you went out there and told the truth. That you dropped me like a diseased rat.”

Luke’s gaze raked over her bed, the sheets rumpled. “Looks like you got over me pretty easily.”

“I got over you months ago. So you’ve done what you came for. You can leave now.”

“Not quite yet. We haven’t even talked about the future of our relationship.”

“Future? We have no—”

“We’re good for each other. Always have been. Professionally at least. Your fire to my ice.”

“It’s all about appearances to you.”

“Exactly.”

She picked up her phone. “I wonder what the public will think when the police come to drag you out of my house.”

“Now, now… You’re always flying off the handle. I thought you were going to work on that. Remember? Think before you act? Like, maybe think about the shit storm you’d start if the cops really did show up.”

She pursed her lips and stopped dialing. God damn it, he was right. If she really wanted to head off unflattering articles, a swarm of police hauling Luke from her house wouldn’t be the way.

Sinking onto the vanity stool like a deflated balloon, she let her phone drop to the floor. She was like a little kid. Always getting into trouble and hoping someone else would bail her out. At Redland, at least she’d had a crew of nurses and psychologists directing her life. Making her decisions. Now, out on her own in the wild, she was already making the wrong choices.

Luke squatted before her and took her hand between his. “Angeline.”

She looked into his eyes, blinking tears away from her own.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s okay now… I’m back. I’ll give you some stability. I’ll take care of you. Don’t cry.” He pulled her into a hug, and, despite her anger and confusion, she slipped her arms around his back and held on.

Andre wrapped the towel around his waist and leaned over the sink.
Great way to start off the new job. Sleeping with your boss.
He stared at his reflection and even rolled his eyes. If he somehow got to keep his job after Angel went back to her rich and famous boyfriend, it was going to be damn awkward driving the pair of them around. As tempted as he was to pack his bags, he hadn’t tucked tail and run since third grade. He’d be damned if he gave Luke Edwards the satisfaction. If the guy couldn’t handle Andre’s presence, it was his own damn fault.

What he really needed to do was get his mind off the woman. Luckily he had a huge painting in progress. Focusing on brushes and a palette full of paint would be just the thing.

He stepped into a pair of sweats, then pulled a comb through his hair but left it loose to dry. With one more scowl at his image, he made his way to his living area, which he’d more or less converted to his studio. The canvas took up most of one wall. If it wasn’t due in two weeks, he’d scrap the whole project and start over. But he needed this commission.

Shape, movement and texture.

Angeline.

No! Focus.
He didn’t need any more gesso, but it was the first tube he could reach. After squirting a generous amount onto the palette, he picked up his brush, just to make himself feel like he was actually working, but the sun setting through the picture window to his left cast a shadow across his canvas. He turned on his work lights and went to close the curtains but instead stared through his window at the immaculately landscaped back deck of Angeline’s house. From his vantage, he wasn’t even able to see the crowd of paparazzi at her gate, let alone give them a sensational story. Thank God for small favors.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t see if Luke’s Ferrari still sat in the front driveway either, so he had no idea what Angel was up to.

He snapped the drapes closed, then picked up his remote and turned on some music. Twenty minutes later, he caught himself with a brush full of fuck-me red, without a single stroke on the canvas.

Fuck. Stop it!
He swiped his broad brush across half the canvas, then froze in place as he realized what he’d done.

Ruined. His stomach dropped, and his blood ran cold. He shook his head, hoping to deny the fact that he’d just ruined the artwork for the governor’s mansion.

He took a step back to take in all the damage. Yes, something had to fill that negative space, but a bold red line certainly wasn’t what he needed. This was nothing like his vision. But then again…

Angel…

Andre filled his brush again and stepped back toward his almost-disaster. This time when her image filled his brain, he didn’t push it away.

Distortion…saturation…bring the focal point to…here…

Vibrant.

Bold.

Angeline.

Andre answered the knock on the door and squinted against the early morning sun. Though he couldn’t imagine who else it could be, he was still surprised to see Angeline on his doorstep. “Angel?”

She tilted her head and raised one eyebrow, giving him the once-over as he stood barefoot and shirtless. The blast of fresh air reminded him he hadn’t slept at all and had spent the last ten hours breathing paint fumes. He probably looked like hell, but all she did was smile. The beautiful smile that had gotten her that lipstick commercial last year. The sun’s rays highlighted the gold in her hair and gave her skin a warm glow.

“Andre. I see I didn’t wake you.”

He blinked, lifting one paint-smeared hand to drag through his hair. “What time is it?”

She shrugged. “The sun came up about an hour ago. Or have you been up all night?”

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Once finished, he’d turned his project around to face the wall so it wasn’t visible from the doorway. He relaxed marginally. “Yeah, I guess I have without realizing it. I kind of get in a groove sometimes and just block out everything else. Did you need a ride somewhere? I can get the car.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Nope. I don’t need the car. I want to talk. Are you going to invite me in?”

His mouth went dry. “Of course. Sorry. Please.” He probably should apologize for the state of his apartment. Paint-stained tarps covered most of the hardwood floor. Two of the three chairs were propping up his canvas. He didn’t own a couch.

“So that’s the masterpiece, huh?” She took a step toward it.

He stopped her with a hand around her elbow. “I just finished it.”

“So?”

“So…the paint’s still wet.” He glanced toward the canvas.

“I won’t touch it. She shifted to take another step, and he tightened his hold.

“It’s not…ready.”

“You said you just finished.”

He looked everywhere but at her. “It’s…finished, just not…ready.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. “It sounds crazy, but after I finish a piece, I need to let it sit. It’s a time when I have to”—he shrugged—“sever ties.” The hand on her arm gentled to a caress. “I invest a lot emotionally. It takes a while for me to come to terms that it’s no longer an extension of me and now its own entity.” He groaned. “Sounds a little psycho, huh?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Not at all. There are times after playing a particularly difficult role where I’ll need some time alone just to purge that character and get back to myself.”

He released the breath he’d held. “Did you ever think you’d have so much in common with your chauffer?”

She spun away and out of his hold. She flopped into the recliner, the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been sacrificed to the art project. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Here it comes.
He clenched his fists, wishing he at least had a shirt on. Being fired half naked and sprinkled with paint would be pretty humiliating. After a deep breath, he said, “Go ahead.”

“Well, you know, I had a nice long chat with Luke.” She didn’t elaborate. The little spitfire was playing with him.

“And?”

“And he seems to think I’d be committing career suicide if I start sleeping with my chauffer.” She met his gaze. “I think he might have a point.”