The Favor

And why should she? She’s at the top of her career. She’s a mega-star and I can’t even imagine what she must be going through.

So, when Warren asked me to take care of her, I almost sank to my knees to kiss his feet for even asking.

I’d do anything for her.

And no, it’s not because she’s my best client. Or one of the biggest money makers on my roster.

Or the fact that her hair smells like wild-berries right now and I want nothing more than to kiss her.

No, it’s simple. I’d do anything for her because over the past four years since I’ve known her she’s been slowly claiming a piece of my heart every day.

So, tomorrow night when I’m supposed to meet her in the Hollywood Historic penthouse suite, I’ll be there. Without my glasses, ready to pleasure her in ways I’ve only ever dreamed of.

Talk about dreams coming true.

I’m going to make sure I savor every single part of her so I’ll be able to rewind my mind over and over again to that night and live a full and happy life just knowing I was the lucky son-of-a-bitch who got to make her fantasies come true.

We spend another hour outside, talking about what all will be expected of her for the Karl Devon movie. We also talk about her family, and she even gets me to open up about my asshole of a father who was once studio head at Paramount. It’s how I got into the business.

The bastard is long gone now, but I haven’t mentioned his name in years.

There’s something about Abby that makes me want to open up to her.

By the end of the night, when I’m dropping her off at her house, with Warren waiting in my car to take me home, I almost want to kiss her.

I almost want to tell her I’ll see her tomorrow.

But, instead I act like my normal self and say good night, and leave her as she takes the last remaining pieces of my heart.

By the time tomorrow evening comes around, I’ve gone over the plan a few times with Warren, making sure Abby truly wants this. I’ve gone over all the outcomes that can possibly go wrong with this whole hairbrained plan, and honestly I can’t find any.

As long as Abby thinks I have no idea who she is, then the plan is solid. Nothing needs to change with our working relationship. You don’t understand how hard my dick is just thinking about tonight.

Warren texts me, letting me know Abby’s waiting for me in the suite. My heart hammers in my chest, wondering if this is the right thing to do.

Of course it is.

Abby’s upstairs, waiting for me. It’s like a dream come true. And I don’t know what I did this Christmas to be put on the good boy’s list, but I’m definitely getting everything I want this year.

I’ve wanted this for a long fucking time.

I push the button to the elevator, my nerves already way past the level of excitement anyone’s nerves should be. Breathe.

I feel a little silly as I watch the floor numbers pass by on the way to the top. How am I supposed to pretend I don’t know her?

How the hell am I supposed to pretend I haven’t wanted Abby since the first moment I saw her?

The elevator doors ping open, and I step out into the hallway. I came right from work, and I loosen my tie, and step up to the door.

I knock and then remove my glasses.

I take a deep breath, hoping I can keep it together and not blurt out the fact that I know this woman.

The door opens, and I stall a moment. Sure, I don’t have my glasses but I’m not fucking blind.

Abby stands before me, tight little black piece of scrap that passes as a dress clings to her body. Her hair is long, and brown like the first time I ever saw her, and god she looks fucking delicious.

“Fuck me,” I say as she pulls me inside.

It’s dark, just as she wanted, and I’m not really sure if I should just get straight down to business. I mean, staring at her right now, I’m shell-shocked.

I know she’s drop dead gorgeous, but I wasn’t expecting this. I can barely make out her face, but she walks around the room with an air of confidence.

“Want a drink?” she asks me in a different voice and accent.

Damn, she is good at what she does. “Sure,” I say, not really wanting to rock the boat just yet.

I’m supposed to act like I don’t know who she is. I’m supposed to act like I’m here for some random hookup with some chick.

“What’s your name?” she asks me, keeping up the game.

“Emmett, you?”

She fiddles with a glass of some liquor, dropping a few ice cubes in with a clink. “Um, you don’t need to call me anything.” She steps closer, holding the glass out for me.