“So what about you, sweetie?” she asked when she managed to take a breath. “What did you do today?”
The face of a handsome billionaire flashed through my mind in a cloud of pepper spray, but I quickly deemed that one of those “too much explanation required” topics and moved on.
“Oh, you know—work. Blew another casting.” I took a scalding sip of mocha. “The usual.”
I felt the judgment in her sigh from two states away.
“Let me guess, you grabbed a mocha-chino, headed straight home, and now you’re milling about in those ugly penguin slippers you love so much.”
I glanced from my coffee to my slippers before peering suspiciously around the living room. Sometimes I got the terrible feeling that my mom had the apartment bugged. Casting wary glances at the blinking light on the smoke detector, I wandered out to our tiny balcony overlooking the street.
“You know, I happen to like my mocha—”
“Bex, you’ve got to get out there,” she interrupted. “You spend all your time at work with old people.”
I snorted. “Well, one day when you’re one of them, you’ll appreciate people like me.”
“Very funny.” She chuckled, then sobered all in one move. She was the only person I’d ever met who could do that. “I just want you to be happy. Live your life! Take the plunge!”
I covered my other ear in frustration to mute a commotion further up the street. “Yeah, Mom, except things like that don’t happen in real…”
Oh…my gosh.
I dropped the phone in my hand as a slow-moving limo pulled up on the street in front of my balcony. A tiny crowd of people trailed behind, snapping excited pictures on their phones. But it wasn’t the limo that had everyone up in arms.
It was the fact that Marcus Taylor was sticking out of the sunroof. Mocha-chino in hand. I bet this stunt would land him on every newspaper tomorrow morning. Hell, I bet it’d go viral within an hour. Yet, it seemed like he didn’t care. Was he risking his reputation for me? Because wooing a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks might not look so good for him. Even if it was all fake, like he claimed. Wouldn’t it look better for him to date a wealthy socialite?
He was grinning from ear to ear, obviously elated with the theatrics of his plan. “Hark, fair maiden,” he called, making the women in the crowd instantly swoon, “might I come up and borrow your ear?”
My mouth fell open, and I stared dumbly between him and my coffee. Hark? Hey, where was he when I was practicing my lines today?
I picked up the phone. “Mom, I have to call you back.” I hung up and leaned over the railing, trying to pull myself together. “Has someone been watching romantic comedies again?”
He ignored me and climbed up the fire escape like a champion, all while trying not to spill coffee. And by the time the two of us squeezed into the tiny metal box, I had to admit I was blown away that he’d go out of his way like this to get my undivided attention.
“Wow,” I said. “I’m impressed. You didn’t spill a drop.”
“This looks a lot better in the movies.” He glanced around the cramped space and handed me the cup.
“Yeah, well, this is Los Angeles. Space i
s money.” I shook the mocha and smiled—it was about a quarter full. “So what’s the number to this coffee delivery service? I love it!”
He winked. “Are you asking me for my number?”
I grinned.
He straightened his shirt and put on his best poker face. “I’ll get right down to it. I want to pay you twenty thousand dollars to come to the Caribbean for the weekend.”
“I’m not a high-class call girl,” I said. “Maybe you should check with them. I’m sure they’ll jump on it. Should I kick you now or later? I told you, no prostitution.”
“I need an actress. Not a call girl.”
“That’s right. You had mentioned that you wanted me to act like your girlfriend so we can fix your Casanova image problem you got going. You could’ve paid a hooker to do this, you know. They have ‘girlfriend’ packages, from what I hear.”
“I don’t want to be associated with a hooker.”
“Yeah, if you get busted, that would really hurt your image.”