Zachary David Productions (4 page)

His knuckles turned white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I believe you, but in my experience dealers aren’t the type of people who will just chalk up a missed opportunity as a loss.”

Ice started to collect around the edges of the windshield. She didn’t need clarification but she wanted to hear more of his soothing voice. It kept her own from becoming too loud in her head.

“What do you mean?”

“I suspect this guy will be expecting his eight hundred dollars”—he downshifted like a stunt car driver—“excuse free.”

“Can’t I just give him back the packet?”

“You could try, but in his mind you owe him. Even if it was just the one night on his couch, you owe him.”

“I don’t owe him anything!” She felt bad for getting emotional but she’d been scared since the incident with the cops had occurred and now she was shaking.

The car slowed and Zach pressed a button on the car’s visor, opening the garage to his brother’s French Quarter home.

He pulled in and put the car in park. “I’ll help you take care of this situation, but I need something from you.” He clasped her hand in his warm one.

“What?” she croaked around a grateful sob.

“You’ve got to promise to try harder to keep yourself out of situations where you’re likely to become hurt. This isn’t the other side of the rainbow, you’re in New Orleans now—nothing’s free.”

“I’m not a stupid child. My best friend had invited me to stay.”

“It wasn’t her place to invite you. Surely you can see that now.”

Cammie opened the car door and exited. He had a point but she also felt naive and vulnerable and couldn’t take being closed up in the car any longer with his citrusy scent and smooth voice. She worried he thought her ridiculous and she wondered what he’d been like at nineteen. Had he always been an entrepreneur? Had he always been good at handling problems?

She’d never seen him mad until this afternoon and was devastated that it was because of her. Zach had always been lighthearted and kind. Now he was intimidating and his shortness with her pierced her chest causing sharp pain.

Was this the new Zach? Had she lost the fun-loving, sexy joker?

She hoped he’d let her make it up to him. She had a few ideas she thought he might appreciate.

I
n the kitchen
, Zach turned on the television and then removed the cork from a bottle of red wine. He poured a glass while he watched Cammie at the bar. He’d separated Cammie’s things from the groceries while she’d showered—to get warm she’d said. He couldn’t agree more—this old French Quarter monstrosity was impossible to keep warmed or cooled.

She was busily cutting tags from the clothes he’d stacked on the corner of the counter. Water droplets from her wet hair fell across her chest and rolled between her cleavage. Unfortunately for him, she wore a towel.

He’d seen her swipe at her cheeks three times now and he had a sneaking suspicion those tears were because of his words. Wasn’t it better that she hear about real life from him rather than experience it at the hands of a drug dealer?

“Would you like something to drink? I’m skilled at making cappuccinos with the froth and everything.”

“I’d like a glass of wine if you don’t mind.”

“You’re underage.”

“Until nineteen ninety-five in the state of Louisiana the drinking age was eighteen. By that rationale I’m one year past legal.”

“Too bad for you, we’re in a new millennium.”

She placed her hands on her hips in a demonstration that was undoubtedly grownup. “So I’m old enough to make a porn video but not old enough to enjoy a glass of wine.”

Touché
. He poured her a glass and chuckled.

She folded the last of the clothing and took a seat at the bar, sipping from the wine glass with lips so lush his dick didn’t miss it. He watched her lick a drop from her lips using her tongue in the most alluring way. Shit. He’d filmed lots of naked women. Women who’d give their left arm to pull off a move like the one she did without even trying.

Was she going to wear the towel for a while then?

“Aren’t you cold?”

Her giggle knifed him to the wall. “I turned the steam shower to one hundred degrees which I learned was a little too high. It made me dizzy so I’m trying to cool off.”

Using the lower cabinets to hide his movement, he adjusted himself. He cleared his throat and asked, “So what’s the deal with your stepdad?”

She brought the glass to her lips for another sip and he deliberately turned his focus to peeling potatoes.

“I don’t know.” He heard the glass clink against the counter and then she sighed. “He drinks. A lot. ”

The goblet slid across the granite and he forced his thoughts and eyes away from her mouth.

“He’s abusive?”

“He can be.”

She stood and grabbed a few pieces of clothing. His eyes followed her towel-clad body from the room.

Anger bubbled thick like lava through his veins at the thought of anyone harming her. Damn his past and its reach that had almost caused him to lose her.

Relief blossomed like a flower that she was here and she was safe. In the six months he’d known her, he’d grown to expect that she’d be around. He didn’t want to analyze what that meant, but he knew better than to think he wasn’t affected by her.

She returned in a tight white top, the word
Saints
spread perfectly over her ample breasts. In contrast, the black yoga pants she wore displayed the words
New Orleans
across her ass that she wiggled at him as she looked back with her chin over her shoulder. Catching his eye, they laughed together.

“Great outfit.”

“CVS at its finest.”

Cammie walked over to him, watching as he operated the potato peeler.

“What are you making?”

“Sausage and potatoes.”

“Can I help?”

He pulled another cutting board and knife out and handed her a bag of assorted peppers. “Julienne these.”

“I see you already forgot my name?”

“Never.”

He had all of the potatoes cut into perfectly diced cubes when he turned and saw her wreaking havoc on the peppers. He took a piece of misshapen red pepper between his fingers. “I asked for julienned cuts. These are cut like spaceships.”

“Oh, is it wrong?” She swiftly set the knife down and backed away from the counter.”

He shrugged, “It can be argued that food is an art form—poetic license lies with the creator. So you’re not wrong but maybe you’d like to learn to julienne.”

“Show me.”

He took the knife from her. “First, you’re holding the knife wrong”—he positioned his hand on top of the blade and handle—“like this gives you more control.” He grabbed a large piece of pepper and flipped it so that the tough skin was on the board. “Cutting through the flesh is much easier than the skin. Slide the knife through from tip to blade.”

He passed the knife to her. “Give it a try.”

She had trouble getting the grip right. Zach encircled her from behind and wrapped his arms around her body to assist. Soon they were cutting peppers together, his hands guiding hers. It was more intimate than he’d meant to get with her, but she felt warm and smelled like fresh lavender from the bath. Once she had the hang of it he tried to pull away but their magnetism held him their.

“Um, I’ve cut them all.” She turned her face toward his and he smelled the dark cherry from the wine on her breath.

“You’re perfect…the cuts are perfect.” He closed his eyes tight and then blinked them open in an attempt to clear her intoxicating scent and touch from his overloaded system.

He added the peppers to the pot of already simmering sausage, potatoes, and onions and covered it with a lid, wondering what they’d do with the additional ten minutes while they waited for the vegetables to soften.

Cammie hoisted herself onto the counter to sit. “So, when are we going to start filming?”

The thought of her on film, and subsequently on the internet for download, didn’t feel quite right. “Did I say I’d be filming you?”

“No, but I’m hoping you will because I’m anxious to start living my life. I need money to do that.”

He could understand that. “What are your plans for the future?”

“I want to go to college.”

She’d need more than the three thousand he’d pay her. “I think you’d do well. What subject?”

“I’d like to be a nurse, but I’m not good with blood so I thought about a social worker.”

His mother had been a social worker. “That’s a good field.”

“If I do a good job will you offer me additional roles?”

Again, the thought of her on film didn’t sit well in his belly. “Potentially.”

“So when can we start?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule.”

With her top row of teeth, she razored her lower lip, worry evident on her face between the wrinkles that had popped up between her brows. He placed his hand on hers, “Hey, you’re welcome to stay here until you figure out what you’re going to do.”

Her anxiety evaporated and a smile slowly built, giving him so much joy in that moment that he could have hugged her to her death. He’d failed in the past, but he wouldn’t fail Cammie. He’d help her accomplish her goals, help her get through college, see her safe and maybe, just maybe, somewhere somebody was doing the same for the one he’d been unable to save.

C
ammie pushed
a dry dust mop across the dark, rich hardwood floor in one of the many living areas of the massive grand mansion she’d been living in for a week. She felt like Alice who’d jumped down the rabbit hole and into a world of grand splendor, unprepared, but hyperkinetic about the journey that awaited. Of course she’d spent many hours in this grand mansion, but she’d always gone back home to her little two-bedroom house on piers.

Living here was an adventure. She’d made use of the bidet—a contraption that she just couldn’t quite understand. Her favorite feature by far was the steam shower, but a close second was the media room. With its movie-theater-style popcorn maker and reclining leather seats with surround sound headrests, watching
The Wizard of Oz
was one of the best times she’d ever had. The screen was as big as any she’d seen at the theater.

The contraptions in the home were nice, but she knew she’d be happy if only she could get back into her little home she’d grown up in. How long would it take to prove it belonged to her? And how long would it take to boot Phil out? These were all questions she’d planned to pose to the lawyer, but since she’d lost her bag and phone, she knew she wouldn’t be hearing back from him. In fact, she had no private phone line at her disposal to use.

Dusting the three-tier crystal chandelier, Cammie thought of how simple life could be for those who never had to think about where money would come from. It had just always been there like family money. She laughed at the thought.
Family money
.

No, she wasn’t born into money, but she was left with a home that had been in her family for over forty years and she damn well planned to keep it that way. Three thousand dollars would go a long way in helping her secure the lawyer who could assist her. Somehow she had to make Zach realize she was an adult and could make the choice to star in an adult film.

History and time stood still in this corner of the Vieux Carre. Pausing from her work to look around the grand esplanade mansion, she squinted and imagined the chandeliers alit with candlelight. Gloved women in big Southern Belle dresses with eyelet petticoats and men dressed in double-breasted tailcoats would have promenaded across the floors of the imposing double parlors. Her hand feathered over fluted Corinthian columns that supported sixteen-foot ceilings complete with original medallions and gold foil. The crown molding and matching marble fireplaces exuded opulence and light poured in through veranda windows that were kissed by the leaves of the old towering oaks that lined the streets to form an arc.

What would it have been like to live here, sipping mint juleps on the balcony overlooking the cobbled streets and listening to the clip-clop of horse hooves with the steamboats hissing in the distance, the hot and moist gulf air wafting up to greet you across the face in a whispered kiss?

She didn’t know if it were the mansion or the man, but over the last seven days she’d been overly aware of Zach’s bronzed biceps and raspy voice. In exchange for her room and board she’d taken to not only completing her usual cleaning, but also took on the task of cooking and doing the wash. That meant washing his boxer briefs that were Armani and she’d fantasized about the feel of her fingers slipping under the elastic waistband and sliding them seductively over his body. Outside it was cold, but in her bedroom at night she’d been hot enough to break out in neck sweat.

The days had passed so peacefully Cammie could almost imagine that she’d never again be all alone. That Zach would always be there when she needed him. That the tray ceilings and bright white ornate trim would always be there when she looked up. But he’d said that one word…until. She was offered the comfort of this home and his security only for a period of
until
.

Finished with the parlor rooms Cammie gathered the trash bag and broom and made her way to the first level and to the room where Zach worked at his desk.

She emptied the waste bin and then took a seat in the plush cream rococo revival chair on the partner’s side of the desk. She liked his attention and longed for it now, but he clicked away at his keyboard, intently eyeing his work. The trendy black eyeglasses he wore when he worked turned her on. His office attire consisted of a white T-shirt and old, well fitted jeans. He left his feet bare—an act that Cammie found sexy as hell given that his feet were high arched, outlined by deep peaks and valleys, and had a light dusting of silky hair across the top.

She cleared her throat, hoping he’d look up from his work.

“What?” He clicked the mouse.

“Can I help you do something?”

“I’m working.”

“On what?”

“Promotions.”

She walked around to look at his computer. A picture of a naked woman posed on hands and knees advertised an upcoming video release.

“You’ve been putting me off for four days. Why do I think you don’t intend to use me in your films?”

He dropped his hands from the keyboard and turned his chair to see her better. He removed his glasses. “I will, but with the upcoming ice storm your costar has jetted to the Florida Keys.”

“He just up and left?”

“He’s from southern California.”

She didn’t know why, but she’d assumed she’d be making the film with Zach. “So you don’t star in the videos?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. Shaking his head he said, “No, I produce them. Is that what you thought?”

Disappointed she answered, “Yeah, I thought it would be you.”

His long fingers rubbed across his lips and chin while he thought on something. Man she wished he’d quit drawing attention to his lips with that gesture of his.

“Prove it,” she said as she leaned her hip against the desk.

“Prove what?”

“Prove that you intend to use me in a video.”

He sighed and rolled his chair forward to focus on the computer screen.

“I knew it!” She jumped from the desk.

“You don’t know anything and I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Take some promo photos of me. You’ll need those anyway, won’t you?”

“Why are you so eager to lose your virginity on camera?”

She knew why. She knew exactly why. “If I answer the question can we take some photos?”

“Yes.”

She walked toward a wall of built in bookcases and pulled a heavy silver snail from the shelf. The cold steel in her hands anchored her, focusing her emotions. “I almost had my virginity taken from me. Twice. For my first time I want to be in total control. I want to decide
who
and I want to decide
how
and I want to decide
when
it happens. I refuse to let someone take that right away from me.”

“Hey”—he took the snail from her hands and set it back on the shelf—“you don’t have to take back control by starring in an adult film with some scuzzy guy you don’t even know.”

“I know I don’t, but I want to.”

He grasped her hands in his. They looked so small sheltered in his warmth. “No one can hurt you here. You can take your time and decide all of those things you mentioned, but don’t let it happen just because you’re afraid it’s going to slip through your fingers. That’s not going to happen.”

He pulled her into his strong chest and she believed him when he’d told her that no one could hurt her, but that wouldn’t always be the case. One day soon all of this would no longer exist for her. Eventually she’d have to leave. This experience with him would make going back to the lonely streets all the more difficult because now she knew what it felt like to be held in a warm embrace and to be sheltered and protected inside a loving fortress.

This moment in time with him in this mansion was an alternate reality that her brain had quickly zeroed into, blocking out almost all traces of the life she’d known. But reality was a bitch and she knew that when you weren’t looking life would turn on you and make you wish you were dead. She’d wished for that fate many times before and if she didn’t get out of here, she’d be wishing for it again.

She pulled back from him. “I should go.”

“Go?” His expression was one of disbelief.

“I’ve stayed way too long already.” She’d get one of those rent by the week hotel rooms. Not near as nice as her Slidell home, but she wouldn’t be risking her heart by staying there.

“Have you not been listening? There’s a winter storm coming.”

He followed behind her as she walked toward the staircase that led to the room where she’d been staying.

“Cammie, please stop.”

The sadness in his voice was her undoing. She stopped and turned to look up into his concerned face. “I’ve told you before you can stay while you get your life together.”

“I don’t belong here.”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head, “I don’t know,” she huffed. She searched the grand staircase with its ornate pineapple finials and gold inlays that screamed at her,
you don’t belong here.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t get used to it. However, the longer she stayed the harder it would be to forget.

“Will you at least take some pictures of me?”

“If you me a good reason for it that isn’t tied to your insecurity and if you promise to stay afterwards.”

Leveling him with her stare she admitted, “Since the day I walked in on you taking photos of that French woman, all I can think about is your hand between her thighs, positioning her. I want your hands on me.”

His jaw dropped and then his hand took hers, tugging. He led her up to the third level where a red velvet chaise lounger sat before a white screen.

“Let’s take some pictures.”