I scratched my neck, as honest-to-God hives started popping up around the collar of my shirt. “We hit a . . . snag.”
Max eyed Jordan up and down. “I’ll say. Also, question: Is she aware that by this time tomorrow her hair’s going to be in the 90210?”
Jordan growled. “Max, what did you need?”
His grin grew. “I live here. In this building. I was just coming up to see if I could talk my brother into reasoning with me about this whole wedding situation. But now? I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Not with you two buying a dog and cohabitating. You’ll either have sex or kill each other before the end of the week. My bet’s on both.”
“My electricity went out!” Jordan said defensively.
“You have to pay the bill, small fry.” Max shook his head at me and pointed a thumb at Jordan. “She always this dense?”
Jordan lunged.
I grabbed her by the arm just as Max stepped out of the way, laughing and holding his hands up in surrender. “We still on for dinner tonight?”
“Shit!” I released Jordan. “I forgot!”
“Bring her.” Max nodded to a very fluffy, aggravated-looking Jordan. “It seems we’ve finally found another friend we can bring around Milo.”
“Milo?” she repeated.
Max gave a thoughtful nod. “Yes, yes, I think you’ll do quite well together.”
“Me and Milo?”
“No, you and Reid.” He clapped his hands. “Keep up.”
“But—”
I put a hand over Jordan’s mouth. “Shh, don’t question him.”
“Until this evening.” Max tipped his nonexistent hat and walked down the lobby to another door.
“Tell me.” Jordan closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tell me he doesn’t live in the penthouse next door.”
“Two penthouses in this building.” I shoved the key into the lock. “We own both.”
“Because?”
“Because we own the building,” I finished, pushing the door open. “Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten, we need ground rules.”
Jordan tried to push past me. I stopped her halfway through the door. “Unless you want a repeat of that kiss—the rules need to be established.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Then can I please take a shower?”
“You’re being kind of demanding, all things considered, don’t you think?”
“No.” She crossed her arms. “What I think is that this is all your fault to begin with!”
“How do you figure!” I yelled, tossing my keys onto the granite countertop, where they slid across the smooth surface and fell on the floor. Otis barreled over and started sniffing them.
“It was a normal day for me!” Jordan’s voice rose. “I was reporting to my job, not hurting anyone—”
“—except the eyes of the poor people who had to stare at you while you whistled your way to work!”
She let out a horrified gasp, and her hair actually seemed to grow with her anger. Seriously, she needed to get ahold of that hair before it took over the world. Max would be pissed if someone ruined his plans.
“You”—her nostrils flared. It would be cute if it weren’t so terrifying—“are the reason I’ve had the day from hell! Because of you and your evil brother—”
“Thank you!” A muffled voice came from the far wall.
“How thin are these walls?” Jordan screeched.
“Enunciate!” Max yelled back. “And for the love of God, project!”
I shook my head and walked over to the fridge, pulling out two beers, both for me, and briefly contemplated hitting myself over the head with the second bottle once I finished the first.
“Fine.” I held up my hands. “You win, it’s my fault, but now that I’m sharing my multi-million-dollar paradise with you—we’re even.”
Jordan marched over to the counter and grabbed the other beer, hitting the tab off the top via the side of the granite.
She made it look cool.
Not that I would ever say it out loud, lest she never move out and make my life a living hell.
“Rules,” I said for, oh, I don’t know, the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes? “No bringing men home to my house—ever.”
“Do I count?” Max yelled through the wall.
“Seriously,” Jordan said in a hushed voice. “Who built this place?”
“Who do you think?” I nodded to the wall. “Max was in charge of this project and offered me the other penthouse.”
Jordan shook her head. “Sneaky bastard.”
“Thank you!” Max said again.
“Can we block him out?” she whispered.
“Talk louder!” Again Max.
Jordan smirked. “Oh, baby, right there.”
I choked on my beer.
“That’s it!” she screamed, slamming her hand against the countertop. “Oh, you know how to make a woman feel so good!” Otis started barking. I wasn’t sure if that was a check in my favor or not as far as Max’s listening was concerned. “Oh, oh, yes, yes, yes, yes!” Bonus points for screaming, and suddenly I appreciated her hair and the wild way it seemed to bounce with every scream. I could definitely be down with that . . . oh, I could do a lot of things with that. I squeezed the bottle harder, blood pumping to all the wrong areas.
“Yes!” She slammed her hand against the counter again. “You’re so—”
Silence.
And then. “Guys?”
Otis barked.
“Guys?” Max yelled. “What happened? Since when has Reid ever gotten a girl to scream?”
“All the damn time!” I yelled back.
“Please,” Max replied. “I live here.”
“Really wish you didn’t!”
“You love me!”
I turned to Jordan. “It was a nice try . . .” This time I patted her hand. “Really, you had me believing I was a magic orgasm-giving unicorn.”
Jordan giggled, the beer teasing the edge of her lips. I wanted to take a step forward. Instead I backed up, nearly colliding with the fridge. “So, I guess the only rules are . . . don’t bring any guys back here. Ever. Keep it down until Max gets married and moves somewhere else, and well, try to keep the apartment clean.”
Jordan set down her beer, and her teeth teased her lower lip as she slowly held out her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Oh.” I tugged her closer to my body. “And another thing?”
“Yeah?” she said breathlessly.
“You need to take a shower before dinner. I refuse to claim you and that thing on your head.”
She stomped on my foot and walked down the hall.
“Second door to the left,” I yelled. The door slammed.
It was worth it to see the fire in her eyes. “Well.” I nodded to Otis. “What do you think, boy?”
His answer?
To lift up his leg and pee on my keys.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JORDAN
There were worse things than cohabitating with your client turned fake boyfriend, right?
I chewed the lipstick from my lower lip and shot a nervous glance at Reid. I hadn’t exactly brought cocktail attire to his apartment, but I did own at least four Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses. I threw on a white one and added my fake green crocodile heels and prayed that my hair would stay in the tight bun I’d fastened just above my neck.
I even added makeup.
A real effort took place!
I think it probably helped that Reid had some of the best bathroom lighting I’d ever seen. It was the type that made you look half your normal size as well as tan, something I’d never been accused of in my entire life. If anything, my paleness just made me more invisible.
“You look good,” Reid muttered in a hoarse voice once we were walking toward the restaurant. I’d pretended to be busy checking my messages in the cab while he stared longingly out the window, probably wishing he cou
ld simply jump out of the car and be done with the whole charade. It’s not like it had been a cakewalk for me either.
I was going to have to line up TV interviews, do a press release, and try to appear shrewlike while also enamored with him while filming. Just the thought of it had my head aching. Granted, it was my job, but he was adding a crap load more work onto what I usually had to do, and all he needed to do was smile and wave. To add insult to injury, I was going to be in the spotlight as well, and it’s not like I was comfortable with it, not even a little bit.
I sighed. At least he was easy on the eyes.
But his personality left much to be desired.
“Thanks.” I held my head high as he opened the door to Barbour, a high-end bar and grill in Upper Manhattan.
A couple exited the restaurant, nearly colliding with me in the process. I barely managed to sidestep them when someone else ran into me from behind.
“Sorry,” I managed to croak out.
Reid frowned, then pulled me firmly against his side. “Seriously, people can be so rude.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine; it happens . . . often.”
“What? People being rude to you?”
“No.” Because at least then they would see me. “People not watching where they’re going . . .”
He nodded and ushered me through the door. I stopped at the hostess booth, but Reid kept walking, so I followed him back. We walked through black velvet curtains and into a large room with a table set for eight.
Max was already seated, a beautiful girl with short, dark-blonde hair by his side, her smile captivating and fun. She was wearing a miniature black cocktail dress and had some killer leather wrap bracelets on her left wrist. I always noticed jewelry—thought it said a lot about a person.
Her jewelry screamed fun.
Not pretentious, or even psychotic, which was the most surprising thing of all, considering she was marrying Max.
As if reading my thoughts, he jerked his head to the side and made eye contact with me. “Well, well, well, the fake orgasm girl. Glad you could make it.”
He stood.
A guy sitting next to him choked on his drink while a girl with blonde hair launched herself across the table and patted him on the back, spilling water in his lap. He screamed, then jerked away, only to bump his knee on the chair and fall to the ground.
“So.” Max barely gave the scene a second glance as he yawned and continued talking. “The accident waiting to happen, aka the bastard on the floor, is Jason. Don’t ask him about his black eye, he’ll just get pissed.” He stood and made his way over to me. “Also, the one causing said accidents, that’s Milo. She’s my ex–best friend.” He whispered in a low voice, “My fiancée gets that title now.” He blew the girl in the black dress a kiss. Her response was to swat it out of the air and grab a giant glass of wine, tilting it back until it was gone. Smart woman.
“And this”—Max wrapped his arm around me—“is Colton.”
Colton stood and offered his hand. “Milo, the accident causer’s other half.”
I nodded and shook his hand. “Great to meet you.”
“So.” Colt crossed his arms. “Fake orgasms? Do I even want to know? And what the hell does Max have hanging over your head that he forced you into our monthly get-together?”
“Oh.” I took the drink from Max’s hand. “I doubt you’d believe me.”
“You’d be shocked what I’d believe where this one’s concerned.” He nodded to Max. “Also, I’d start with the hard stuff right away. Wine won’t work when he’s in the room.”
“Please.” Max sniffed. “I’m standing right here and I make your freaking sun shine, Colt. Just remember, I helped you win your wife. Without me you’d be a lonely bastard with blue balls.”
“Let’s leave his balls out of it.” Milo rounded the corner. “Hey, I’m Milo. Are you Reid’s date?”
“Uh.” I shifted uncomfortably in my heels. “Kind of.”
“She’s his roommate,” Max added helpfully. “And his publicist.”
“Oh.” Milo frowned. “Is that normal?”
“She’s also his shrew.” Max nodded. “He has to tame her for the people. Give them what they want, that’s always what I say!”
“Shrew?” Colton took a step back.
What, was that word the universal indicator that I wanted to kick men in their parts, then point and laugh?
“It’s a long story.” My eyes greedily searched for Reid. Finally, he made his way over to me, his swagger both pissing me off and making me a little bit breathless.
“We’re, uh, together.” Reid coughed into his hand, then awkwardly put an arm around my waist.
“Oh, dear Lord.” Max made a cross motion in front of his body. “All those years at theater camp boil down to this moment and you just coughed while introducing the shrew.”
“Am I late?” an elderly, hoarse voice said from the door. When I turned to greet the woman, I nearly lost the wine I’d just tossed down my throat. A small black wig was placed on her head. It was backward. Her lipstick was halfway across her mouth, joker style, and her blouse was three buttons away from being completely open.
Reid made the kind of noise I’d only ever heard on the Discovery Channel and ducked behind me while Max muttered, “You play dirty? I play dirty.”
“Grandma!” Max shouted, making his way toward the old woman. “Glad you could make it!”
Grandma tittered, her black wig dipping across her nose. Was she blind? Then again, earlier today people could have easily said the same thing about the rat growing on my head. “Oh, I do love being naked too. Thank you, Max, don’t mind if I do.”
The woman started unbuttoning what was left of her shirt. She swayed on her feet, clearly intoxicated. Reid gripped my hand and tugged me backward, whispering in my ear, “We’re going to make a run for it.”
“Really?” I didn’t turn around. Another button popped. “And miss the show?”
“Trust me.” His lips grazed my ear. “I’ve seen this show. I had to go to therapy because of it. On the count of three, you faint and I carry you out.”
“Wait.” The sad elderly lady was fighting a losing battle with that last button. I’d never been so thankful for strong thread in my entire life. “Isn’t she your grandma?”
“If she were”—Reid’s grip on my wrist tightened—“the things she did to me would have landed me on Dateline.”
“Fine,” I huffed, setting my wineglass down on the table. “I’ll faint.”
“Thank God.”
“Grandma, no, no.” Milo ran to the woman’s side and jerked the shirt tight across the woman’s chest. “This isn’t that sort of establishment.”
“What’s that?” She cupped her ear.
“No nudes!” Max shouted helpfully.
“Prudes!” Grandma scoffed. “I have no time for them.” Her eyes scanned the room and landed on me. Or at least I thought they did. Reid went absolutely still behind me. “Lover?”
Without missing a beat, Reid flipped me around and smashed his mouth against mine, digging his hands into my ass so hard I was going to have bruises. One minute I was standing, the next he was slamming me onto the table and silverware went flying, clattering to the floor. A plate was making a permanent indent in my back, but I didn’t care.
Because not only was Reid a movie star—he kissed like one.
You know those kisses you see on TV? Where you wonder if the kiss is as good as it looks?
It is. Trust me, it so. Is. My entire body trembled with delight. For a brief second I forgot where we were—or that we had an audience.
His mouth was aggressive while his tongue was smooth and calculated as it invaded my mouth with such finesse that I wanted to eat the poor man alive.
“That’s enough,” Max hissed from somewhere in the room.
Reid pulled back, face flushed. “Sorry.”
“Huh?” Seriously, the building could have caught on fire and I still would have been
trying to figure out a way to pull the guy back on top of me and wrap my legs around his body—trapping both of us until we burst into flames.
“Damn.” Grandma snapped her fingers. “Didn’t know I’d been replaced.”
I choked. “Replaced?”
Reid’s expression was pained. “If you care about me as a human being, you’ll lie. And make it good.”
“What will you give me?” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.
“Really?” He pinched my ass. “I don’t know—a place to live so you don’t have to roam the streets and live in a cardboard box with Otis while eating people’s leftover hotdogs?”
“Grandma!” I yelled and opened my arms wide. “We haven’t met! I’m Reid’s girlfriend, Jordan.” Yeah, that little lie felt way too easy to tell.
The grandma in question glared and flipped me off, then waddled over to the table and started chugging wine.
Max winked. “She’ll get over it. She gets very attached to her boy toys, though. She’s just sad because poor Reid was so broken after playtime.”
“So many things in that sentence that will probably scar me forever,” Reid said under his breath. “Thanks, man.”
Max nodded. “So shall we order?”
“Damn it!” Grandma slammed her fist onto the table.
Jason poured her another glass of wine. “Here you go, sport.”
“He was my favorite,” she said, disappearing behind a glassy-eyed stare. “That boy’s mouth.”
A horrified expression crossed Reid’s face while I sent him a judgmental stare. “You’re literally every publicist’s nightmare. Not only are we lying to the press but now we have a sexually frustrated grandmother we have to please?”
“There is no pleasing her.” Reid knocked back a glass of whiskey. “Believe me. At one point I thought trying it would be the only way to escape.”
“And?” I crossed my arms.
“I ended up taking her Xanax and threatening to kill myself if she didn’t release me from her clutches.”
“No way.” I fought to hold in my laugh. “So what happened?”
“She called my bluff . . . and her pills weren’t labeled correctly. Apparently Grandma likes to get high—a lot. They were . . . happy pills, and for thirty minutes I thought I was a mama eagle training my eaglets to take flight. Oh, and by training I mean I was under the impression I needed to show by example.”