Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(25)

I was shaking as I put the towel around me.

To hell with it.

I tucked the edge of the towel under my arm and walked out, leaving water footprints behind me.

He was in the living room, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed.

“I didn’t see anything,” he said, hands up.

“Don’t you knock?”

He lodged his tongue in his cheek and looked away.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “But like I said, I didn’t see anything.”

A second little voice told me to mention the inhuman size of his erection. That would include me admitting I was looking at his crotch, which reminded me that he was starring in my fantasy. So voice number two told me to shut the hell up. Don’t acknowledge it. Don’t even think about it. The state of his penis was an inappropriate topic of conversation.

“You always get hard when you don’t see anything?”

So much for voice number two.

He looked me right in the eye, leveling his gaze in utter seriousness.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss.”

Now it looked like I was suffering from wishful thinking. He was infuriating.

“You’re a dick.” I said it with enough venom to kill an elephant.

He looked at his watch. “I came to tell you Blakely’s coming tonight. You have the night off.”

“Well played, Mr. Sinclair.”

I shut the bedroom door so I could get dressed without his eyes working me over.

“I’m sorry!” he said from the other side of the door.

I didn’t answer. Eventually he left.





CHAPTER 19


CARA


You should quit.

I was still on severance from the Heywoods. Money wasn’t the issue. This was borderline harassment. I lay on my bed in the dark, looking up at the ceiling.

You should quit and sue him.

Blakely had come back at a quarter to ten and gone right back out, leaving Nicole’s monitor with me. Brad had stayed at the event.

I didn’t tell her about the shower. I wasn’t afraid, but I didn’t want her to think badly of him. I didn’t know why it mattered to me. Maybe I didn’t want her to think he was another Josh Trudeau.

Really, what did I want out of him?

I must have fallen asleep at one point, because I had another Brad dream. I had my hands on the shower wall and he was f*cking me from behind.

Get it deep. Harder. Give it to me.

There were pool balls on the floor, and I tried not to step on them, because they’d roll under my feet and I’d fall, but the closer I got to orgasm the harder it was.

He tapped on the shower glass in my dream, loud enough to wake me up. The feeling of his shaft between my legs disappeared, and the sound of rain and tapping continued.

“Cara, waaaakeeeee uuuuuppppp . . .”

His voice far away, but real. Not dream real but real real. I bolted to sitting.

He was tapping on my bedroom window.

“IIII’mmmm knoooockiiiiiiingggg . . .”

It was 2:17 in the morning. The rain was the sound of the sprinklers.

“Jesus Christ.” I shook the sleep away. Was I dressed? Yes. Sweatpants and black T-shirt. I got out of bed and slapped the window open. He practically fell through it. I swallowed a laugh. He was adorable in his wet tuxedo and red eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he slurred, reaching his whole arm in the window, finger pointing aimlessly. “I . . .” He put his hand on his chest. “I am an *. I should have knocked. And I should not have enjoyed the view so long. I am a—” He swayed. Gripped the windowsill. “—I am a pig.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m sorry sober too.”

“Drunk apology accepted. I’ll accept your sober apology in the morning.”

“Okay. I like you. I don’t want you to be mad at me. You should be mad at me, but I don’t want you to be. I want you to like me.”

“Go to bed.”

He leaned back out the window, paused. “Do you like me?”

“Against my better judgment, I do.”

“Okay.”

He was so drunk he could barely stand.

“Please go to bed.”

“Okay. I will apologize tomorrow. And the next day. And . . .” He swayed. “And the next day. I wasn’t raised like that.”

“Go. To. Bed.”

He gave me a salute and walked right through a sprinkler, toward the front house. I closed the window.

This job was the worst I ever had. I really should quit.

But I couldn’t. I didn’t know if it was Nicole, or Blakely, or Brad that kept me there, but I felt a pull to see it through. Or at the very least, decide later. I went to the bathroom, did my business without turning the light on, and walked back to the bedroom. I could hear the sprinklers, and the motion-sensor light was still on. I reached for the drapes to shut out the light.

Brad was lying in the grass facedown, arms and legs in a big X, getting sprinkled on.

I could leave him out there.

The sprinklers turned off.

I could, he deserved it. But I couldn’t.

I put on sneakers and a hoodie and went outside. He was face-first in a mud puddle.