Ana
Saturday morning I lay in bed, no sign of the sun peeking through the shades though it was already nine o’clock. On this cold, cloudy December day I wasn’t in a hurry to rise. Tonight I had a big holiday party to go to, the annual Kavanaugh family bash. I needed my beauty rest.
Plus, I had some stuff to think about. Like the way it had felt last night when Ash had touched me. It was a marvel, the way his fingers felt against my skin, such a mix of rough and gentle. His touch was magic, awakening erogenous zones I hadn’t even known existed. The back of my knee? My hair? My waist? I mean, sure, it had felt good when Stan had put his hand at my waist. Solid and steady. But Ash? When he’d reached his hand down and wrapped it around my curves, it made me feel so delicious. He touched every inch as if he couldn’t believe how perfect I was. Every stroke felt like a prelude and a promise of more to come. As if he could coax any sensation he wanted from me, feelings I’d known nothing about.
My whole body had sung to his touch, sighing into him, as if I were an instrument he played. As if I’d been waiting my whole life to feel his hands. As if everything up until then had been shadow play, mere pretend approximations of the real thing. I’d given myself orgasms before, but those were like miniature playthings in comparison to how he’d made me feel. They were like the fake plastic food you pretended to bake when you were a kid, compared to sinking your teeth into a fresh-baked morning bun for the first time.
When he’d slid his strong fingers into my wet, slick folds I’d nearly come instantly. He had me so aroused, my clit so swollen, the way he pressed and circled, flicked, then plunged his fingers up inside of me. I’d never felt anything so good.
I didn’t want to get up, not yet. I knew myself. The minute I rose out of bed, I’d start feeling nervous again. All those reservations and concerns waiting on the sidelines, offering reasons A-Z why this arrangement with Ash was a very, very bad idea would all start clamoring for the mic. He’s a jerk! You’re going to hate having every second of your life photographed! How are you going to explain this to your parents? And, most challenging of them all, how did I expect to spend an intimate month with him without anything like what had happened last night happening again?
Because it had felt so good. And now I’d agreed to spend a month pretending to fall in love with him, in a ‘whirlwind romance’ as he’d put it. He’d say things to me with that low, sexy voice of his. I’d probably even hear him sing. He’d mentioned he had a New Year’s concert—the one he was going to propose to me at. What would it be like to see him perform all those songs I loved? To be backstage for it all?
With any luck, the more time I spent with him, the less I’d like him. That would make things easier. He’d sure surprised me last night. And humiliated me. Just when I’d thought things were working out like a dream, he’d sprung it on me—I’m average. That was why he liked me. Even in my bed, I could feel a blush stealing up to my cheeks.
My phone blipped. A text message. I reached over to my night table and picked it up. “Call when you’re awake.” From a number I didn’t recognize, area code 310. Hmm, was that L.A.? It could be Ash.
I clicked over to my email and saw there’d been a flurry of activity. Ash had a lawyer who apparently didn’t sleep. Last night he’d sent me a bunch of documents and I’d looked them over with a mug of tea in my pajamas. I’d clicked to e-sign more because it all felt surreal than because it all made sense to me. All the language seemed to be around protecting Ash’s privacy, and I had no interest in messing with that. I had a long list of personal hopes and dreams, but gaining notoriety through a celebrity tell-all wasn’t one of them.
Plus, Ash had put it in writing that he would set up a fund to cover operating expenses for the branch library for twenty years, exact financial details to be finalized at a later date. I honestly had no idea how much it would cost, but there had to be renovations involved. The building dated back at least a hundred years. All that charm with the lions and gargoyles came with the price tag of leaky plumbing, poor ventilation and loud, hissing radiators that made children jump as if monsters were in the walls. But Ash had agreed to cover it all.
The latest email from Nelson Armistead, esq., was from an hour ago. It said I could expect the hardcopy paperwork for signing to arrive via courier at nine a.m. On cue, I heard a buzz.
Jillian got to the intercom first, irritated at the early morning interruption though I knew she’d probably already been up for a few hours. Early to bed, early to rise and all that for Jillian. On the other hand my other roommate, Liv, had probably only hit the hay a couple of hours ago.
In my fluffy blue robe and slippers, I ran down the stairs and signed for my documents. Jillian waited for me up at the door of our apartment, holding a cup of coffee and brimming with questions.
“How was it last night? Is that package from him? Did he apologize for what he did to Mandy Monroe?”
“Well.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Subterfuge was not my middle name. On the scale from crafty as a spy to over-sharing as my Aunt Irina, I tended more toward my aunt than I’d like to admit. “I had a good time?” It came out way too much like a question.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes?”
She looked at me quizzically. “Is he a jerk?”
Yes, he was a jerk, wasn’t he? If you weren’t a creep, you didn’t have to hatch elaborate plans to prove that you were a good guy. You didn’t need a lawyer drawing up agreements and a PR firm cooking up a storyline. If you were a decent guy, you just walked around your life being decent. Not like Ash Black.
But I couldn’t tell that to Jillian, because I’d sworn everything to secrecy. I couldn’t tell a soul about what we’d agreed to do. I couldn’t really say anything about him to anyone other than the types of details that we’d officially agree upon.
“Does he feel bad about breaking Mandy Monroe’s heart?” Jillian asked.
“Yes, I think he does.” At least he felt bad about it getting taped and millions of people watching it, I knew that much.
“Do you think you’ll see him again?”
I nodded. “He’s taking me to his family’s holiday party tonight.”
“What?” Jillian’s mouth dropped open, but I was saved further questioning by my phone ringing in my bedroom.
“Sorry.” I ducked out of our kitchen and closed the door of my bedroom behind me. Our walls were as thin as paper, though. This was going to be harder than I’d thought.
“Hello?” I caught it after the third ring.
“Anika?”
“Yes.”
The woman calling introduced herself as Lola Delacroix from the PR firm representing Ash Black. “I hear you’re joining the team for the month?”
“The team?”
“Team Ash. You’re going to be a clutch player. You can think of me like your best friend and your coach all-in-one.”
Huh. Why did that sound more like an ultimatum or a threat than reassurance?
“I’ve just sent over your itinerary for the day. Look it over and tell me if you have any questions.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.” I could practically see her eye-roll through the phone. I could tell, this one ruled with an iron fist. I found her email and clicked open the attachment. Oh my, the first appointment was in 45 minutes in midtown Manhattan. First a stylist, then a salon, then a personal shopper, then a meeting with Lola, herself.
“You’re in New York?”
“Will be. I’m hopping on a plane right now, and we can review your role together in person.”
My role. “Are you sure all this is necessary?” I could already tell my day looked like a montage from a teen movie where the nerdy girl gets a makeover. Only I wasn’t sure I was ready for all that. And hadn’t Ash said, he’d picked me because I was so average? Why did they want to give me a whole new look?
Lola gave a dry laugh. “You’re so cute.” But she didn’t sound like she really though
t that, more like moronic. “Have you ever been interviewed before, Anika?”
“You can call me Ana.”
“Ana?”
“One time, my school was changing its lunch policy and the local news came and interviewed students.” My palms had sweat and I’d looked like a terrified rabbit on the news that night, replying in one-word whispers.
“We’re not talking anchormen and school lunches, Ana. We’re talking vultures. Sharks. You’re going to be smack in the middle of a feeding frenzy like nothing you’ve ever known.”