Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(31)

Zoey and Scott exchange scathing looks. Their mutual disdain is palpable.

Zoey: “Excuse me. I have a lot of things to take care of.”

“Nice seeing you too, sweetheart,” Scott snickers as my assistant pivots on her heel. My eyes stay on her as she traipses back to the guesthouse. My X-ray vision penetrates her jeans. I can see that gorgeous ass. And that delicious cheek is still red. My cock flexes. It’s as if it’s telling me there’s no such thing as mind over matter. Damn it. She’s f*cking with my brain.

Scott takes a seat. “Mind if I have a smoke?”

I do mind, but I let him. He reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer and pulls out a pack of Camels and his gold lighter. Scott really seems to like gold. He’s wearing a thick gold chain that hangs low on his hairy chest and a pinky ring with a substantial diamond. He lights up a cigarette and inhales. I’m relieved he blows the smoke away from me.

“Scott, why are you here?” Though he’s been my long-time manager, my relationship with him since I awoke from my coma has been on shaky ground. I don’t like the fact he’s shown up here uninvited.

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “I have something to ask you.”

“I want to ask you something first.”

His face tenses. “I thought we were done with that Farmer’s Market incident. And I’m going to level with you. I don’t like the smell of that cop on my trail. What’s his f*cking problem?”

You. But I keep my mouth shut. Pete’s instructed both Zoey and me to not talk about it with him or make any mention of the fact that we know he lied when he told me he called in my accident. I tell him I don’t know why he’s being investigated and assure him my query has nothing to do with the incident. I brave my question.

“Did I ever share anything about my sex life with Katrina before my accident?”

“You told me it was off the charts hot. And Katrina told me the same thing. You two were going at it like bunnies.”

I don’t know whether to believe him. Since discovering he lied to me about my accident, I can’t trust him. All is not what it seems.


“Have I always been honest with you?”

“You’ve never held back.” He takes another puff and then flicks the ashes on the patio. Fucking slob. I should get him an ashtray, but by the time I get back, there’ll be a mountain of ashes. No point.

“Was there anything else she or I told you? Anything unusual?”

He puffs again on his cigarette. “Other than she likes to be on top?”

I’m getting nowhere with him. It’s strange he knows what she likes but has no clue about my kinkiness. I’m definitely not going to tell him about it. Or that I’ve been having wild sex dreams about my assistant. Even when I’m not dreaming about her, I fantasize about spreading her legs and bending her over. Making her come a thousand different ways and hearing her scream out my name. Oh, that pretty mouth. So beautiful when it opens wide. Wide enough for me. In my mind’s eye, I picture it wrapped around my massive shaft, sucking, licking, and sending me over the edge. I feel my cock swell beneath the table.

“How did it go in New York?” asks Scott, bringing my focus back to him. “It’s too bad you couldn’t go with Katrina to Paris.”

I squirm in my chair, painfully aware of the ache between my legs. I’m going to tell him the truth and gauge his reaction.

“Katrina and I still aren’t getting it on. And I still don’t have any feelings toward her.”

Scott’s jaw tightens. “Well, you sure could have fooled me on Letterman. The two of you rocked it. It was one of his highest rated shows ever. The public can’t get enough of Bratrina. Fan mail has been pouring in everywhere—CBS, Conquest, and at Celebrity-TV. The world can’t wait for you and Katrina to tie the knot.”

My stomach twists. The words spew out.

“I’m having second thoughts.”

Scott’s cigarette practically falls out of his mouth. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Maybe we should postpone the wedding until my memory comes back.”

Scott’s left eye twitches while his face darkens. “You’re out of your f*cking mind. You’re talking career suicide. Listen, Brandon, just get the hell married and everything will come back to you.”

Maybe he’s right. He nervously takes another puff of the cigarette and then blows out an offensive cloud of smoke in my face. He goddamn better not give me cancer.

“Scott, do me a favor. Put out the cigarette.”

A troubled expression washes over his face. He tosses the cigarette butt to the ground and stamps it out.

“Listen, Brandon, let’s change the subject. I came over here because I have a personal favor to ask of you.”

“What?”

“I need to borrow a couple grand. I’ll pay you back.”

I digest his words. I just paid him his weekly salary. Twenty grand. He needs more money?

His anxious eyes stay fixed on me. His left eye is twitching considerably. More than before.

“Sure,” I say, no questions asked. “I’ll write you a check when we go inside.”

He smiles with relief. “Thanks, Brand-man. I appreciate it.”

Five minutes later, we’re in my office. I unlock my safe and pull out my large checking ledger. Transporting it to my desk, I sit down and make out a check to him in the amount he requested. Two thousand dollars. With my felt-tipped pen, I write “loan” in the memo before signing it. Somehow, I think I’m never going to see the money again.