April (Calendar Girl #4) (2 page)

I stopped on the step in front of the woman. When she finally stopped watching Mason’s ass as he rummaged around in the entryway, her eyes flashed to mine. I grinned. “Hey rudeness, the pretty blonde in a suit was trying to get your attention,” I called to Mason while keeping my eyes on her. “And you forgot to get my bags.” I shook my head and mumbled asshole under my breath.

“Excuse me,” she dipped her ear toward me.

I shook my head and held out my hand. “Mia Saunders, I’m Mason’s girlfriend.”

The blonde woman closed her eyes and took a breath, seeming to steal herself against something. “I know who you are Mia; we suggested he hire you. I’m Rachel Denton, his public relations representative. I’ve been assigned to work with the two of you on fooling the public. Usually, his publicist would work with him, but I offered to help,” she bit her lip and looked away.

“Well, then we’ll get through this together I assume. He’s a real a character,” I smiled just as Mason showed up at the door.

“Get lost, hot stuff?” His eyes were laughing, but his words grated. I rolled my eyes and grabbed Rachel’s shoulder and brought her to my side.

Mason seemed to notice her for the first time and when I say notice her, I mean he looked her up and down…twice. “Rachel, what are you doing here? I thought Val would be working this job?”

She shook her head and blushed. Interesting. “No, Val’s really busy securing the sponsors and ad lineups for you to interview with. I offered,” she preened as he continued to eye-fuck her.

“Can’t say that I’m going to miss Val,” he said in a way that actually didn’t sound condescending or skeevy. Also interesting. Rachel giggled, yes giggled. His eyes seemed to soften when he looked at Rachel’s face he then opened the door wide for the both of us to enter.

“Um, slacker, the bags?” I nodded to the car.

“Oh right,” he stopped, looked at Rachel then backed up, knocked into the door that hadn’t latched properly and grinned. “I’ll just uh, get the bags.”

I stared as the over-confident, womanizer, douchecanoe fumbled over himself while in the presence of his PR chick who wasn’t doing much better hiding her own interest. Rachel’s cheeks were a rosy red and her teeth were permanently biting into her bottom lip.

I flicked a thumb over my shoulder. “You into him?” I asked.

She nodded mutely and then her eyes widened suddenly. “No! What? Um you have the wrong impression. I merely have a professional relationship with Mr. Murphy.” She ended her verbal diatribe with a firm crossing of her arms and mighty pursing of her lips.

Snorting, failing at hiding my laughter under my breath, I moved into the house. “Whatever you say.” I’d have to dig into that a bit more later, just for the hell of it. If I wasn’t going to be getting any on this trip, the least I could do was have a little fun.

Mason dumped the bags in the foyer and ushered us into the living quarters. The room was a long rectangle as would make sense for a standard brownstone in Boston with multiple levels going up and possibly one going down. I looked forward to having the grand tour.

In the center of the living room was a black, leather sectional. Opposite the sectional was at least a sixty plus inch flat screen television hanging on the wall. There was baseball paraphernalia here and there. Some framed jerseys and a line of signed baseballs sat over the mantle. Each was within its own protective square glass or plastic case. Proved he took care of the things he cherished. Maybe there were two sides to Mason Murphy. If I had to spend a month pretending to be his girlfriend, I sure as hell hoped there was.

“So what brings you here, Rach?” He asked, his body turned completely towards her, even though it didn’t need to be. Rach. Her name was shortened. When people shortened other’s name, it connoted familiarity or a small intimacy.

She crossed her legs, her skirt riding up her thigh. Mason zeroed in on the movement, his eyes following the small slip of fabric. I snickered, but neither one heard me or was paying attention to the fact that I was even in the room.

“I just wanted to make sure that you both were briefed for tomorrow. It will be your first public appearance as a,” she cleared her throat and pushed a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear. It didn’t stay, slipping delicately down her jawline once more. Again, Mason’s eyes were riveted to her, to that piece of hair as if he wanted to touch it, be the one to push it back, caress her skin. His hands gripped into the meat of his thighs. “As uh, a couple,” she finished. “You’ll need to make it look realistic. Hand holding when outside of the stands, small touches, smiling…erm,” she cleared her throat and winced as if it pained her to finish. “Kissing, that kind of thing. Do you have any problems with that, Ms. Saunders?” she asked.

I looked at her with widened eyes. “Do you have a problem with it?” I asked ,honest to God not believing I was watching these two. It was obvious to me and I’d seen them together for a total of ten minutes, that they wanted one another. What the hell was keeping them from moving on it?

Rachel’s head slammed back as if punched. “Excuse me?” she clutched her chest and gasped. “Why would I have a problem with it?”

“Really?” I shook my head.

“What Mia is probably trying to ask is whether or not us having public displays of affection will be a problem with the sponsors or the agency?”

No, that is not at all what Mia was suggesting. What planet did I land on when I got off that plane? Were these two for real? I sighed and decided it was best to play along until I figured out what was going on. “Yeah, what he said.”

Rachel’s lips twitched and the tension seemed to ebb out of her shoulders. It was like watching a morning glory close up for the evening. Slowly relaxing, curling its petals inward to rest until the morning sun brought it back up again, or in this case, a nosey escort originally from Vegas with very little filter. “The team has spent long hours planning this. We understand it’s an unconventional approach, but Mr. Murphy has not presented the public with an idol people look up to. Along with some other things, he’ll need to change the frequent bar brawls, excessive drinking, even the occasional cigarette is a no-go. The team believes that the horde of women he’s paraded around all last season, never being seen with the same woman twice did very little to help his image. We’re committed to turning that around and you’re step one.”

Finally, I chanced a glance at Mason. His elbows were on his knees and his head was in his hands. A defeated posture if I’d ever seen one. I got up and sat right next to him placing a hand on his back then rubbing up and down. He turned his head toward me. “Man, I’ve fucked up.”

“We all fuck up. At least you’ve hired Rachel, and your publicist thinks you’re worthy of turning it all around.” I continued to smooth a hand up and down his strong back until he lifted his head. He adjusted his shoulders, pushing them back, leading with his chest.

“Okay, so you want PDA?” he asked Rachel and she nodded.

“You got it.” He turned to me with a fierce expression and a laser focus to his gaze. “Let’s do this.” Then his hands were clasping the side of my head and his lips were on mine. I gasped, opening my mouth by accident. Instead, he took it as an invitation. Initially, it wasn’t one, but then the taste of champagne still lingered on his tongue as he flicked over mine, and I hadn’t been kissed in what felt like forever, but was really only two weeks. Couple that with the yummy cologne that wafted over his body and I was gone. Lost to his kiss. His tongue dipped in, demanding yet playful. I licked back, leaned forward, clasped the front of his shirt, and held him in place while slanting my head for more. More of his kiss, more of him. Fuck. This was not part of the plan.

When we finally pulled away, both of us were panting, gasping for breath.

“How was that?” Mason turned around to where Rachel was sitting, but she was gone. I could hear her heels clicking on the tile. “Rachel?” he called out.

“See you tomorrow. Great job!” she called out through the house two seconds before the door slammed shut.

Mason slumped against the back of the couch. “Fuck me.”

I shook my head and leaned back. “Not gonna happen.” He chuckled. “What was that?”

“That was me kissing a seriously hot escort.” His eyes glinted with a hint of lust, but I knew better. It was body mechanics. Sure he was drop dead gorgeous, and I can’t say that kissing him didn’t get my juices flowing, but attraction and genuine interest are two totally different things.

“You like her,” I offered him an olive branch.

His lips pinched together and he closed his eyes. “Of course I do. She’s nice and I pay them well. We’re all happy. What’s not to like?”

“That not what I mean and you know it.”

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry and you need to get settled. There’s a bunch of shit, in bags, that Rachel or Val purchased as part of the deal. I didn’t put it away; I just set it on the bed. Pizza okay?”

He stood quickly and started to walk away and then must have thought better of it. He turned and offered his hand. “Thanks for taking the job,” he said as he pulled me to my feet. “Your room is the first door on the right, unless you want to share mine,” he waggled his eyebrows and thrust his hips. I blew out a fast breath and shook my head. As I started walking, he smacked me hard on the ass.

“That’s a mighty fine ass ya got there, Mia.”

I stopped, cocked a hip, and put my hand on it. “If you want to keep that hand, you’ll keep it off my ass.”

He backed away with two hands up. “Okay, okay, just getting a little practice in for tomorrow’s game. No harm, no foul, right?”

“Save it for the game. You’re going to need it.” I sauntered to the stairs thinking I’d gotten the last word when I heard him respond just as I got to the top of the stairs.

“Honey, don’t you know I always play to win?”

Oh brother.

Chapter 2

The moment a girl like me finds bliss in clothing, it should be treated like a national holiday, highlighted, and circled on the calendar with a giant red Sharpie pen. Tugging on a sleek new pair of True Religion jeans, followed by a tight, Red Sox t-shirt, had me wanting to bow down to Aunt Millie for scoring me this gig. I was spending a month with a famous baseball pitcher. Sure, he was rough around the edges, immature, and needed a spanking…and not the good kind, but you couldn’t beat a job where you got to rock jeans and t-shirts. I slipped on a pair of red converse and just about melted.

I looked at myself in the mirror, sliding a hand over my rounded ass. Yep, still looking pretty tight. I hadn’t put on any weight since this started; I was still a good size eight, but felt tight where I needed and soft where I wanted. The overall picture seemed to be booking me gigs, and I was getting closer and closer to paying off Blaine. Four payments down, six to go. If I booked every month, I could leave this life before the holidays. Though who am I kidding? I was making a hundred grand a month, sometimes with an additional twenty thousand. Why give it up?

As I pulled my long black waves into cute pigtails, another thing I found out men like Mason dig on, and placed a baseball cap on my head, my thoughts trailed to Wes. Out of anyone, he’s the one thing I’d like to pursue. When we’re together, it’s everything. Apart, I find it too easy to come up with reasons that we’re not meant to be or that our connection isn’t as strong as I wanted to think it was. Basically, I figured out that I was really good at protecting my heart, but I missed him. It had been a couple weeks. Wouldn’t hurt to reach out…

I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. It rang a few times before a female voice I didn’t recognize answered. “Hello,” she giggled.

“Um, Hi, I think I may have got the wrong number.”

She laughed, and I could hear feet slapping noisily against wood floors. Booming laughter rang out which I knew for a fact belonged to Wes.

“Are you calling for Weston?” she cooed and that sultry sound of her voice tinged the recesses of my memory. I knew that voice. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Gina DeLuca, one of the most beautiful, sought after, Hollywood starlets alive. The woman was currently playing the lead in Wes’s movie Honor Code.

More rustling came through the line. “Gina…girl, you are so going to get it!” Weston’s voice was rough yet playful. “Come here, sexy,” Wes said breathily, obviously chasing after her.

“Sorry to cut you off, but Wes will have to call you back. He’s very busy,” she squealed.

“Gotcha!” I heard Wes say and then the unmistakable sound of kissing noises followed by a female throaty moan. “Get off the phone,” he growled and she mewled, obviously not paying attention to the phone. A jagged edged knife dug deep into my heart, but, even with the fiery pain, I couldn’t hang up. I was glued to the spot, an onlooker staring in awe at the site of a car accident, only by phone. I had absolutely no right to be hurt, none at all, but it didn’t change the facts. I felt gutted listening to Wes carry on with another woman.

Is this what he felt knowing I was going to a new man every month? Probably not anymore if the noises of wet lips meeting flesh were any indication.

“It’s your phone! Not mine. Some chick. Here.” I heard her say and then time stopped. My heart beat like a heavy drum almost counting the mere seconds before he realized who called and what I’d heard.

“Fuck.” I heard him curse as the phone probably changed hands.

“What’s the matter baby? Okay, you win. Come back to bed.” Her voice was distant as if she was getting farther away and riddled in apology.

A groan split the space between us. “Mia,” his voice was a pained rumble in my ear. “I’m sorry, that, uh, that shouldn’t have happened.”

I shook my head, but he couldn’t see me. Tears pooled at the surface but there was no way I was going to allow them to fall. If I did, I’d be a pile of mush on the bed and incapable of pulling off the happy, pretend girlfriend to hot shot Red Sox pitcher Mason Murphy. “Hey, no, it’s okay. I just uh, called to say hi. So, hi.”

“Hi,” he responded sadly. “Fuck, Mia. It’s not…um, technically, it’s just. Jesus Christ!” I could hear a door shut in the background and birds chirping in the distance. He was probably looking out over Malibu as far as the eye could see. If I were there, I’d be holding him around the waist and doing the same. Not now. No, now he’s got Gina to do that for him. “This doesn’t change anything,” he choked out.