Escorting the Actress (The Escort Collection 2)

Great. Just fucking great. Just when I thought things might finally be looking up.

* * *

After Lo had agreed that I could stay—for now—and shown me back to the guest room, I took a deep breath and called Eric.

"Kyle," he said, picking up before the phone even had a chance to ring, "your father's very unhappy with you right now."

"What else is new?" I flopped down on the bed and tried to sound more casual than I felt.

"Your girlfriend, apparently," Eric said.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. I have an alert set up online—any time your name is mentioned or your image is posted, I get a text."

"Great," I said, wincing. .

"So you know exactly who I'm talking about—that actress. Lowell Barton."

"Mmhmmm. Yep. That's her, all right."

"She's your stepsister," Eric said.

I didn't know Eric personally, but I heard what clearly sounded like contempt in his voice. "My ex-stepsister. Emphasis on the ex."

"You can't date your stepsister." Eric's voice was flat, non-negotiable.

"I'm not dating her," I said, finally thinking of a way out. I was going to one-up my father for once.

"What does that mean?" Eric asked.

"Tell my father to ask me that himself," I snapped and hung up.

I sat there and fumed for a minute until Lowell poked her head in. "You want a snack?"

"And a drink," I said.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay." I followed her out of my room.

She'd changed from her cocktail dress into a pair of sweats and an old Cal Tech sweatshirt. She'd scrubbed off her makeup and was barefoot. I could almost see the girl I'd known underneath the current-day babe. Almost.

"What's the plan?" I asked, settling in on the couch. I gratefully accepted the glass of red wine she handed me. Thinking about my father could give me a headache like nobody's business.

"Well… I had every intention of firing you when we got back here," Lo said, adjusting her feet on the coffee table.

"That's not good."

"It actually would have suited me fine." She yawned. "But then I looked online again. It isn't just XYZ gushing over you—it's all the sites. We got picked up by everyone. They loved you. In some of the articles, they were even being nicer about my puke-formance. Gigi and Shirley are in their glory."

"And you think that's because of me? Because of my brilliant work earlier?" I asked, allowing myself to feel an echo of my former smugness.

"I think it's because of me. Because of my brilliant plan, in which you are a mere pawn."

"But I'm an awesome mere pawn. Admit it," I said.

"I admit nothing."