Am I hallucinating the way Nico is looking at me? Maybe. There’s no other explanation for it. He would never be interested in someone like me.
And hello, he’s your client. So, yeah, he wasn’t checking you out. You made that shit up.
“I think we should skip the rest of the tour,” I say once we enter the kitchen.
Where would he take me next? His bedroom? Nope, not going to happen. That would be way too unprofessional. And I’m supposed to be acting like one.
Nico opens a cabinet that has a refrigerator inside. All the appliances blend in with the rest of the wall. Rich people are weird. They’re so fancy they can’t let people see they have a refrigerator or a dishwasher? That’s just crazy.
“What can I get you? Beer, wine, water, soda…”
“Water is good.”
Nico hands me a bottle of Perrier. I stifle my laughter as I twist the cap on the sparkling water. My mom would laugh her ass off if she were here. She would say, “Tap water is the same as bottled water, only it’s free. And if it’s free, it’s for me.”
Nico fixes his eyes on me from across the kitchen island. “What’s the plan?”
“We have to repair your image,” I confess, wishing there was a better way to say it. He nods, and I continue, “Some studios think you’re a drunk or on drugs.”
“I’m not,” he groans. I give him a hard look, and he adds, “I promise. There were a few times when I showed up after a late night, but I’m not an addict.”
I hate being the bearer of unpleasant news. So, it’s better if I just rip off the Band-Aid and give it to him straight.
“I think we should start with a minor part in a big film and work our way up.”
He studies my face, his expression unreadable. Either he’s a better actor than I give him credit, or the idea dumbfounds him. My throat is suddenly dry, and I take a sip of the fancy bubble water. It tastes weird as it slides down my throat.
“That’s our best course of action.”
Nico cracks open a can of Dr. Pepper and takes a big gulp. He licks the soda from his lips, which is way sexier than it should be. But this is Nico Chase we’re talking about. Everything he does is sexy.
“I’ve been the lead in every movie for the last five years,” he says in a hushed tone. “It’s come to this?”
“Afraid so. I put out some feelers. I’m waiting to hear from a few studios.”
I hand Nico the contract. “I need you to sign this. To make it official. Then we can get to work.”
Nico signs on the line, and I follow suit. I have my first A list client. Holy crap! I want to do cartwheels through his massive house. But I’m an adult. And a professional.
“How about a celebratory party?” Nico’s voice is deep and husky.
I wave my hand dismissively. “That’s unnecessary.”
“Not for you,” he points out. “I’m moving next week. And I’m having one last party before I go.”
“Oh… Um…”
Say yes, you idiot.
“Sure, I guess. It’s just—”
“You’re worried about what people will think?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t. If I cared about what everyone said about me, I would never leave the house.” He comes around to my side of the counter, so close I can feel his breath on my lips. “Stop thinking so hard, agent girl.”
Chapter Nine
Nico
I push my way through the crowded bar, keeping my head down. The ball cap helps to obscure my face, but with dozens of people in attendance, it’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes me.
Lately, I have been finding more clever ways to hide in public. Despite being hounded by paparazzi, I’m sick of sitting inside the house. So, when Aaron asked me to meet him at a bar in Studio City, I said, I can always use a drink.
Aaron was my driver and bodyguard for a few years, but after he met his wife, my lifestyle caused nothing but drama for him. Like everyone else in my life, he moved on.
A blonde woman throws back her head and laughs, her long curls smacking my cheek as I pass by a group of young women. For a split second, I swear she looked in my direction. Maybe I’m just growing more paranoid.
A dark-haired man with broad shoulders, dressed in a Lakers jersey and jeans, punches the air when our home team scores. He high-fives his friend, accidentally slamming his elbow into my arm. I shake off the pain spreading up my bicep and lift my head higher to look for Aaron.
He stands up from a booth in the back of the bar and waves his hand to get my attention. Thankfully, the high wooden walls around our table will provide us with some form of privacy.